beau-regards

[beau-regards]

This is so underrated

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.

[beau-regards]

twitter links w/ hsr men

pairings. blade, jing yuan, aventurine, sunday, gepard, sampo x afab/fem! reader

warnings. NSFW no minors! please read at your own discretion, explicit/18+ smut, established relationships for most, brat taming for blade, mention of being called a whore (teasing manner) for aventurine, mentions of puppy for gepard but there's no meaning about it. aggressive sex, passionate sex, masturbation (fem.) sub! gepard for 1 twt link, fingering

a/n. i don't think i've done one for hsr yet... or genshin so maybe that'll be in the future. sorry (not sorry) guys i'm ovulating (i need them all carnally). also i think for some you need to be logged in twitter for them to work! this only has a couple of characters cause i'm a bit lazy today

blade

✧ fucking you so good from behind, "you like that don't you?"

✧ eating you out in a room just beside his colleuges room, he likes the risk and it turns on him. you feel the same way, right?

✧ teasing you for being such a brat, spanking your tight pussy and rubbing soft languid on your sensitive clit. you'll learn your lesson sooner or later.

✧ the size difference never fails to amaze him. but that's fine, he'll take his time with you.

✧ making you cum just by his slender fingers

jing yuan

✧ riding your boyfriend jing yuan

✧ fucking you in his bathroom while you're wearing his shirt. how adorable of you ♡

✧ best friend! jing yuan who fucks you right and how you deserved to be fucked. "feels good doesn't it? i know baby but you need to keep your voice down.. your mom is here.." it's quite hard to stay quiet while being pounded relentlessly, isn't it?

✧ a 5 star meal in his opinion, nothing beats your pussy.

aventurine

✧ slowly and painstakingly teasing you with his cock, oh, and you're wearing that new blindfold he bought for you!

✧ bouncing up and down on his dick, "like the whore you are"

✧ morning sex (is this based off the artwork recently posted by hoyo? yes)

✧ fingering you from behind

✧ "fuck..." aventurine loves hearing you moan

sunday

✧ "ride my face, please."

✧ passionate sex with sunday

✧ giving your boyfriend an awaited tit job ♡

✧ restricting your movement by binding you. "stop moving or i won't put it in." he says while also rubbing his hardness on your entrance.

✧ fucking you 'till you're braindead

gepard

✧ your puppy boyfriend who loves eating you out. best meal ever.

✧ breeding you just like you asked, one peak down at the messy sight gets him 10x more hard. good luck with a horny gepard

✧ milking your beloved with a vibrator

✧ teasing your poor husband with a video of your wet pussy while he's at work.

sampo

✧ your boyfriend still continuing to finger you through your orgasm. overstimulated would be an understatement.

✧ making out in your room

✧ fucking you aggressively after seeing his rival, gepard, flirt with you (?? gepard flirting??)

✧ your pleasure is his pleasure//masturbating while eating you out

a/n: me after not writing anything for a couple of weeks (i think almost a month?) :) i haven't done this in SO long. no continue reading for this since it's short. (this is a shitpost)

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

[beau-regards]

[beau-regards]

TWITTER LINKS JJK !

☆ cw : nsfw twt links w your favorite jjk men. afab reader. minors do not interact. have your age visible on your blog.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

will it fit?

he loves playing with ur sweet and sensitive pussy

size kink

KENTO NANAMI

gentle fingering

he loves to eat you out

riding his thigh

CHOSO KAMO

he’s so sensitive

loves to worship you

doesn’t admit it but loves teasing

GETO SUGURU

long nights in his room when no one’s around

you’re his good girl

this is soo geto listen to the way he moans

٠ ࣪⭑ © kkageyamx 2025 all right reserved. you may not copy, reproduce, modify, create derivative works, or translate what i write.

[beau-regards]

❝ 𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆 𝙈𝙀 𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏. 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙈𝙀 𝙒𝙃𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘼𝙍𝙀. ❞

Captain Hayakawa seemed to have it out for you, if the constant remarks and comments were any indicator. That was something you had come to terms with. What you hadn't expected was for something to shift between the two of you. Something dangerous.

Suddenly, the line between hate and passion had never been murkier.

▷ i ▷ ix

▷ ii ▷ x

▷ iii ▷ xi

▷ iv ▷ xii

▷ v ▷ xiii

▷ vi

▷ vii

▷ viii

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 5/4/25

cw/tags: hayakawa aki/reader, aki hayakawa/reader, himeno, enemies to lovers, like aki is meannnn, slow burn, coworkers to lovers, asshole aki, explicit sexual content, drunk mishaps, including from himeno, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, gratuitous smut, sex pollen, vaginal sex, reader lowkey has problems, dom/sub dynamics, semi-publix sex, rough sex, rough kissing, oral sex, everyone but them knows they're into eachother, just read itll be a good time, abuse of authority, nastyyyy smut, aki hayakawa is a freak, but so are you , BDSM.

[beau-regards]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,��� and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa

wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[beau-regards]

I just want to read a serious, steamy, passionate foreplay session between my fave and their chosen partner, and before it leads to the awkward, "I'm clean, are you?" tangent, the story takes a twist and just says, "and before they screwed on the hinges, they started banging away like a screen door in a hurricane. "

And just end on that.

[beau-regards]

This account is my lifeline omg

Hey Neighbour!

Synopsis: in which you and Gojo are neighbours/childhood friends Warnings: some rivalry, teasing and bullying, a little angsty, pining but from whom?, different but similar kind of fantasy setting, not proofread Pt 1, Pt 2

[beau-regards]

TANGLED THREADS [Noah Sebastian x fem!reader, Nick Ruffilo x fem!reader]

COLLEGE!AU

CHAPTER TWO: TAKING THE LEAD SUMMARY: Nick knows. And he won’t let it slide. PAIRING: Nick Ruffilo x fem!Reader; mentions of Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ [unprotected p in v, degradation, rough sex, …], no mentions of reader’s name, angst, reader is toxic, toxic dynamics, nick is a meanie but he kinda is right, mentions of nick and reader thinking about noah during intercourse, swearing, its not entirely proofread (ill do it eventually, pinky promise …) WORD COUNT: 2.2K A/N:Holy hell. My brain hurts after writing this. Nick finally made a proper appearance!!! I don’t even know what to say. There is one part left, but don’t ask me when it will come out. Hope you enjoy! Bye bye. READ PART ONE HERE.

You knew it was stupid. You knew you were incredibly stupid for doing what you were doing these past few weeks. You were so deep in this tragedy that the thought of calling your mom had slipped your mind for a reasonable amount of time, but you quickly realized that you were not quite ready to tell your mom that you had slept with two guys in the span of four weeks who, to make matters worse, were also best friends.

You wanted nothing more than to leave what had happened behind you, but for some reason you kept coming back to that one particular moment. Your thoughts revolved around that one night that changed everything. Nick had called you that night to catch up on your day, and you had asked him outright if he was in love with you. You wanted to be the bigger person, wanted to show Noah that you were really just casual with Nick, but when he did not answer right away, you felt something crack inside of you. You liked Nick. Maybe a little too much for your own good.

On the other hand, you really didn't know where to put Noah. You had noticed the way he looked at you before something had even happened between you. You saw how he always seemed a little too close to be just friendly with you. You had noticed the way he looked at you when you were with Nick, and somehow you understood how he felt.

It must have felt similar to the first time you saw him and Nick in that bar. They felt like this unbreakable team. Like a duo that really cared and loved each other no matter what. You had sworn to yourself that you would not try to challenge their bond, but when Nick kissed you just a few days later, you knew it was too late. You were already far more invested than you should have been.

You liked to think of yourself as rational and collected, but you really couldn’t understand the actions you had participated in, these past few weeks. You had sworn to keep your distance, even skipping classes to avoid Noah, but somehow he kept slipping right back into your life. Or literally… into you.

Not once had the two of you talked about Nick as if his name was a curse. But you soon realized that you were stupid to think that Nick would just let it go.

The air in your room was tense as Nick stormed in angrily. There had been weeks of silence and tension since your breakup, but this night would be different.

You sat on the bed, your legs crossed and your eyes fixed on the papers you had to finish soon. You knew exactly why he was here, but you weren't quite ready to face it.

"Please tell me you're joking." Nick hissed, his eyes glittering with anger.

"What?" You asked, your eyes still glued to the screen. Then he threw something at you. You jumped at the impact before examining the piece of cloth. A small piece of black lace with a little heart on the waistband. It was your panties. You vividly remembered the last time you had worn them. You had stood outside Noah's room that night like a desperate little shit.

Your eyes darted to Nick's angry face and back to the garment. Inside you were screaming, but there was also this intense anger bubbling up inside you.

"Could you explain to me why you think it is necessary to snoop through people's things and then barge into my room like that? I have things to do." You exclaimed as calmly as possible while throwing your panties to the floor.

"You know exactly why I'm here. You slept with him, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question, but an accusation that dripped from his lips like poison.

"So, what? The last time I checked, we weren't serious or exclusive." You answered him, the annoyance you felt lacing your words. It still stung. Thinking about how he had gotten to you and how pathetic you were to think he really wanted a real relationship with you. With Noah, things seemed easier. You knew something was there, but neither of you felt the need to talk about it, and you liked it that way.

"He's my best friend, for fuck sake." He said, his eyes cold and distant. If you weren't so sure that this had to do with his ego being bruised, you might have misinterpreted it as some kind of vulnerability.

He took two big steps to stand in front of your bed and leaned down slightly, causing you to close your laptop. "You knew it was wrong. You knew how he felt about you."

You quickly got up from your bed and looked him in the eyes with a fake smile. "And now? It's not like it stopped you from fucking me anyway, knowing damn well how he felt."

Nick clenched his jaw as he studied your face. Neither of you dared look away.

"To be honest, it sounds to me like you are jealous that he actually had the courage to show me how he felt." You almost spat the words in his face.

His gaze darkened, but that only made you ramble on. "Or maybe you're angry that he can get me off a lot faster than you can."

"You're a fucking whore, you know that?" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't flinch at his words, but leaned forward, his warmth radiating off your body. "And you're a fucking hypocrite, Ruffilo."

His eyes traveled to your lips for such a brief moment that you almost missed it. Anger was written all over his face, but there was something else you noticed that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"Wait." You murmured, a small and mocking grin finding its place on your features. "This shit turns you on, doesn't it?"

Nick didn't say anything, but didn't dare to move away from you either, while you started to snicker bitterly. "You're seriously calling me a whore when you get all aroused at the thought of Noah and me together? "You're pathetic."

Nick was silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stared down at you with such intensity that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes as they bore into you. His hands were clenched into fists and before you knew it, he had grabbed your wrist and was pushing you against the wall next to your bed.

“Noah just doesn’t know how to deal with your fucking attitude.” Nick hissed, bringing you so close that your lips almost touched. You met his eyes, the warmth spreading through your body, while your heart still leaped with pride.

"Noah has a bigger dick than you." You answered him, knowing it was childish, but you wouldn't let it go.

"Yeah, that's a lie." He breathed. "Maybe you need a reminder."

"Noah has a bigger dick than you." You answered him, knowing it was childish, but you wouldn't let it go.

"Yeah, that's a lie." He breathed. "Maybe you need a reminder."

With a quick move, he had turned you around. You leaned your hands against the wall for support as you felt Nick's breath against your neck. You tried to stifle a moan as his hand traveled over the curve of your body, but failed miserably. You cursed yourself internally for wearing only your thinnest shorts, making it harder and harder to ignore his touch against your lower abdomen.

“You still wanna tell me about Noah?” He asked as his hand slipped through the waistband of your shorts, teasing you.

“As if you wouldn’t like it.” You tried to say as confident as possible, while his hand slipped into your panties. 

“Aw, look at you. You’re so invested in Noah that you’re already soaking wet for me and I didn’t do shit.” He mocked you as his finger teasingly flicked over your clit. A stuttering breath escaped your mouth.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, but you also weren’t thinking about stopping him in the slightest. 

“Don’t be like that, princess. We both know you love this.” He snarled in your ear before retrieving his hand, causing you to shiver. You were about to push away from the wall, when you heard him hiss: “Don’t you dare.”

It merely took seconds for him to get you out of your shorts and also get rid of his pants. He kicked your feet further apart, one hand placed on your waist, the other lining up his hard dick at your entrance. You felt precum leak onto your leg, causing you to suppress another moan and you felt how you arch your back in his direction, without even realizing it.

“Look at you. All of the sudden, all desperate for my cock.” He said, as he slowly pushed inside of you. “You can brag about Noah all you want, he still can’t fuck you like I can.” With that he bottomed out, groaning quietly.

You clenched around him. Of course, he was right. But you would rather run into an open fire than admit that to him. You bit down on your lip when he started to move, his pace immediately as brutal as his emotions.

You wanted to say something. You desperately wanted to put him into his place, but you were too busy trying to lower the pleas that left your mouth, while your pussy throbbed with the burning need to come.

You gasped for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his cock, but nothing besides whimpers came out.

“I see why Noah couldn’t resist you. I think we both like it a little too much to see you fall apart like this.” Nick tried to hiss, but his words came out as a moan. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to moan out his name, as his right hand dropped from your waist onto your swollen clit.

“You sound like the desperate little slut you are.” Nick mocked you as heavy breaths left your mouth. You sputtered, one of your hands leaving the wall to grasp onto his wrist as if it would save you from falling apart.

“Tell me… Who do you think makes you come harder?” Nick whispered in your ear and your mind betrayed you. For a split second you thought about the two of them together. You wondered if they would try to compete against each other. You remembered how Noah’s tongue felt against your clit and with what precision he carried out his acts in comparison to Nick.  

The image alone of Nick and Noah sent you flying over the edge. “Nick - I…” you stuttered, your voice strained. “I’m gonna…” 

“Come on.” He almost ordered, his finger flicking over your clit in fast motions while he hammered into you. “Come on my dick just like you did on his.”

You let out a sharp cry as your head hit the wall, thighs shaking violently as Nick’s hips went on in his brutal pace. You tensed up, your vision becoming blurry as you moaned out his name in a repeating and pleading manner. Nick, in the meantime, didn’t stop, fucking into you in overstimulating manner. 

You felt how his nails dug into your hips, causing you to gasp for air immediately. It felt like something was missing to tip him over, when an idea shot in your head.

“The night…” You breathed out. “when he first fucked me, I was wearing your Limp Bizkit hoodie.” Your voice was so hoarse and quiet, you first weren’t sure if he heard you, but all of the sudden, he let out a groan.

“F-... Fuck you.” He cried out, his hips stuttering ever so slightly, while his grip on your hips became bruising. Without another warning he spilled into you so violently, you could feel each hot splash painting the walls of your pussy.

With a deep breath, he leaned against your back, his head resting on your shoulder. 

It took the two of you a few long minutes, before anyone dared to move or talk. You were sure if he suddenly decided to move, you would simply collapse to the ground. 

“You know, Noah would-...” You wanted to annoy him even more, but he quickly cut you off. “I swear to god, if you say his name one more time.”

Something in his tone had changed though. He wasn’t as angry anymore as he used to be. If you had heard right, he even let out a small snicker.

It took another minute, before Nick slowly pulled out of you, causing you to take a deep breath. You felt how his cum slowly started dripping down your thighs, but you couldn’t care less.

You silently cleaned up and got dressed again, before facing each other. 

“Noah told me, by the way.” Nick confessed, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah, and we both think the three of us have something to talk through.” Nick then exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. You started to pick the skin on your index finger, not knowing what was about to come, but you slowly began to nod.

“Text us when you’re ready.”

That was the last thing Nick said, before stepping out of your dorm without looking back. 

There was no way you could ignore that now.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6 @sitkowski @exitwoundsx

[beau-regards]

ུᩧ JJK TWITTER LINKS P5 !

৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .

TOJI FUSHIGURO. ꒱‎‎

listen to his voiceee. ⋆ cunt devouring. ⋆ massive size kink. ⋆ prone bone. ⋆ straddling his lap. ⋆ anal princess. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ pretty & shy girl blowjob. ⋆ pounding you in missionary.

CHOSO KAMO. ꒱‎

beneath the table. ⋆ cockwarming while he plays games. ⋆ squeaky girlfriend. ⋆ what a distraction. ⋆ pussy eating. ⋆ clit licking. ⋆ rubbing you off. ⋆ plap plap plap ! ⋆ tit worshipper.

NANAMI KENTO. ꒱‎

slow teasing. ⋆ soft choking. ⋆ ass groping. ⋆ kissing in lingerie. ⋆ somnophilia. ⋆ the vids he sends you at work. ⋆ warm & entwined. ⋆ gentle fingering. ⋆ rubbing your pussy for you.

GETO SUGURU. ꒱‎

slutty waist. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ love hate sex with your ex. ⋆ let me show you a trick. ⋆ ass eating. ⋆ hard pounding. ⋆ bathroom floor. ⋆ balancing on the wall. ⋆ rubbing you. ⋆ sideways.

GOJO SATORU. ꒱‎

dumbification. ⋆ backshots in a maid dress. ⋆ 69ing. ⋆ spread your legs & let him do his job. ⋆ taking it so well. ⋆ kinky shit p2. ⋆ tied & edged. ⋆ fucking in the backseat of his car.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. ꒱‎

schoolgirl fit (kunas ver.). ⋆ kidnapped. ⋆ personal use. ⋆ position goes crazy. ⋆ punishment in cuffs. ⋆ folded & munching your cunt. ⋆ rough fucking. ⋆ full nelson.

[beau-regards]

JJK TWiTTER LiNKS ⟡ ݁₊ .ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

𓂃₊ ⊹ p!links / don't like, scroll ! before clicking on these links you need to have an existing twitter account

GOJO ⭑.ᐟ

fucking yourself on his cock , size training , car sex , riding him while watching tv >< , sucking him , licking and sucking your titties

TOJi ⭑.ᐟ

backshots <3 , big cock , sucking him off in the bathroom , fingering you with all his fingers , teasing him before you ride his dick , fucking in the bath

NANAMi ⭑.ᐟ

mutual mansturbation , morning sex , making you squirt from his fingers , stroking his cock , hes missed you , sucking your titties while you ride him

GETO ⭑.ᐟ

keep your legs open , princess treatment , you've been a bad girl all day , breeding , holding you close , pinning you down and fucking you nice

SUKUNA ⭑.ᐟ

fucking the attitude out of you , using a leash on you , fucking your throat , shower sex , fucking you on the couch , size kink

[beau-regards]

Kiwi's kinktober masterlist <3

Thank you all for being so patient with me, i've wrote for many fandoms over the years but have never actually done kinktober properly so this year that's my goal.

Will link when posted, thank you for all your requests!

Day 1: Public Sex with Reaper

Day 2: Roleplay with Kiriko

Day 3: Cockwarming with Lucio

Day 4: Mutual Masturbation with Lifeweaver

Day 5: Bondage with Ashe

Day 6: Cum Swapping with Cole Cassidy and Hanzo

Day 7: Phone sex with Sombra

Day 8: Free use with Ramattra

Day 9: Spanking with Venture

Day 10: Dacryphilia with Moira

Day 11: Face sitting with Mauga

Day 12: Threesome with Ashe and Widowmaker

Day 13: Body worship with Brigitte

Day 14: Mirror sex with Baptiste

Day 15: Orgasm control with Tracer

Day 16: Clothed sex with Junkrat

Day 17: Somnophilia with Cole Cassidy

Day 18: Size kink with Roadhog

Day 19: Anal with Hanzo

Day 20: Wax play with Pharah

Day 21: Blindfolds with Reinhardt

Day 22: Food play with Widowmaker

Day 23: Daddy kink with Ramattra

Day 24: Mommy kink with Mercy

Day 25: Pet play with Moira

Day 26: Femdom with Lucio

Day 27: Panties with Junkrat

Day 28: Praise kink with Lifeweaver

Day 29: Temperature play with Sigma

Day 30: Choking with Junker Queen

Day 31: Strap ons with Zarya

[beau-regards]

ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ 'ʀᴏᴅᴇᴏ'

✭ pairing(s): boothill x afab reader

✩ inspo: need him

★ summary: you can't help but notice how hot your boyfriend is at the rodeo...

✧ a/n: mmghhfhh robocock

🗒 cw: SMUT, gn! afab reader (no use of breasts), porn with plot, dry humping, cunnilingus, manhandling, overstimulation, edging, facesitting, not proofread

✎ wc: 3.8k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Dates with Boothill were few and far between, and when you two are able to have one, it’s not necessarily the most glamorous. Case in point, you were at a dingy rodeo, standing near the railings as you watched some poor soul get tossed around like a ragdoll on the bull, clutching on for dear life for only 2 seconds. As spectators cheered and hollered around you, the wranglers did their best to calm the beast down and usher it out of the ring, the announcers chatting about the performance in a language you don’t understand. Due to the rodeo’s clearly small budget, no gear had been provided for the riders, you can’t help but cringe at the thought of the possible back pain of the rider, but that fades quickly as you finally start paying attention. You could care less about the other riders, and most likely, after the next, you’d probably leave.

The next rider being Boothill. You don’t have to worry about Boothill and his gear; he’s a big boy, and he can deal. If anything were to happen, he’d just have to ask his mechanics to buff it out. It’s the last ride, and the crowd is antsy. Chatting reaches a peak around you, as the smell of alcohol becomes more prominent. Your eyes fall to the stall below you, where Boothill’s stationed, hand on the railing, chatting away with the handlers. His attention is broken for just a second, looking up at you with a cocky grin, and a tip of his hat. His eyes linger, met with a soft smile from you.

The eye contact is fleeting, however, and the announcers pull him back to focus on what’s next. They rile the crowd up, talking so fast it makes your head spin, as if you were at an auction. The only word you catch is ‘Boothill’, of course, and when you look back down at him, he’s raring to go. The minute that gate opens, he lets go of the bar, his right hand up.

The bull bucks, left, then right, right again, and into a full circle. It’s miraculous how his hat has stayed atop his head with how violently the bull is throwing him around. His chin is tucked to his chest, knees pressed against the bull, spurs digging into the bull’s ribs. Beneath the rim of his hat, you can see that cocky grin, in fact, you can almost hear his laughter under all the cheering and muttering as he makes it past 2 seconds. The wranglers pace back and forth around the bull as it jumps, another left spin. It has to be the longest 8 seconds of your life, every time the bull’s hooves touch or kick up dust, your stomach tightens. You’re undoubtedly more nervous than he is, but that feeling is soon replaced with something else.

You don’t understand why, but watching him steady while the bull thrashes about, toothy grin unwavering, heel and knees tight, something stirs within you. The whole world goes quiet as you watch intently, biting at your lip as you try and fathom how you are attracted to this. Your face flushes, the people around you are too rowdy to notice how you’ve squeezed your legs, to abate the heat forming. Luckily, that action snaps you back to reality, and as the horn sounds above you, signaling that Boothill has made it to 8 seconds, he rides out a couple more. Finally, after about another second and a half, he lets go, falling to the ground and rolling back on his feet. The bull continues to buck, and the wranglers usher it back out of the ring.

The crowd cheers and hollers as he climbs up the railings, taking his hat off and waving with a triumphant grin. Some people around you grumble and move away while the announcers try to end off the show. Boothill looks directly towards you, and you must’ve given him the look, because he gives you a sultry smirk, one that screams ‘I'm gonna get my reward’. You can even hear him say it in your head, as you try and tear your gaze away. Alas, it’s futile, cause he shoots a wink at you, before putting his hat back on and tipping it towards you again. You can’t help but stare, really. It’s only when he walks out of the ring with the wranglers that you can look away.

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

You meet Boothill outside of the ring, the stars above dulled by the shabby street lamps that flickered weakly. As he walks up to you, he’s thumbing through the money he’s got, grumbling something about being scammed. Yet, when he sees you, he beams, as if he hadn’t been annoyed at how little he won.

“What’s the payout?” You ask, trying to look over the cash.

“Enough for a motel,” Boothill replies quickly, moving his hands away from you as if to hide the money. “That’s all that matters.”

Despite his complaining, his tone is heavy with implications. Truth is, he could care less about the cash. He’s never around one place long enough to really need their currency; save for enough for a round of drinks or two. He was much more interested in the adrenaline rush, or the substitute of it. Boothill has always been rough n’ rowdy, he didn’t mind being thrown around, especially now. He enjoys pushing his body to his limits. But, since you’ve come into his life, there’s a new thrill added to the list. Who cares about the money when he could have his head pressed between your thighs? You knew exactly where this was going. And it’s not like you mind.

“C’mon,” Boothill jerks his head in the direction of the motel he’s got in mind, that grin never leaving his face. “There’s one close to here.” You can tell he’s eager, as much as he does his best to hide it. His hand slips around your waist, squeezing your hip gently as he ushers you away from the venue. He’s quick to pull you away from the crowd forming outside, perhaps it is to slip away from any sore losers.

You follow his lead without complaint, after all, why not indulge? A date with Boothill is rare, a night with him even rarer. You can’t reel your mind in once it’s wandered back to the sight of Boothill on the bull. You have no idea why you were entranced and why it stoked the fire low in your belly, but it’d be quelled soon enough.

As honest and sometimes discrete Boothill may be, the quick walk to the motel is filled with all sorts of lingering touches. He hooks his thumb into the waistband of your pants, teasing lightly at your hip bone. He presses himself up against your side, whispering all sorts of sweet nothings and dirty words, or what he can, at least. His goal is to make you squirm, and squirm you do. Every heavy-lidded look, every breath, it serves to fan the flames of want, of need. And by the Aeons, he’s doing it. And doing it well, at that.

By the time you two make it to the motel, you’re essentially whipped. He’s got you wrapped around his finger, and it’s hard to keep your composure for much longer. You’re a blushing mess, and you can only hope the clerk doesn’t take notice of the way you’re clinging to Boothill, the way that you avert your gaze from anyone else, even the cowboy himself. It’s not that you’re embarrassed, it’s just… a while without his touch and his time, you’ve been left empty for a long time. It’s a hunger that you can’t satiate with your hands or even toys– which feels ironic, considering the definition of Boothill’s dick was essentially a toy. But you weren’t after his dick. No, it’s his mouth you missed.

As you reminisced, you hadn’t realized he had whisked you away to the room. But, he brings you back to reality with a bruising kiss, pushing you further into the room and slamming the door behind him. His eyes are shut tight, it seems he’s more keen on satiating the heat within him then you are. He cups your face as your hands find his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Out of instinct, he begins to grind against you, even if it does nothing to abate his own desire. Regardless, he moans into the kiss. Perhaps it was some sort of phantom feeling, chasing after something he can’t quite feel. But that didn’t matter, no, not at all. What mattered was the feeling of your lips pressed against his, the way his hands tangle into your hair and pull ever so lightly, and the way you give him another moan in response.

As you begin to lose your breath, he finally pulls away. With a half-lidded gaze, his hands drift down to your waist. Wordlessly, he pushes himself closer once more, bending down ever so slightly and wrapping his arms underneath the curve of your ass, before essentially throwing you onto the bed. You yelp when your back meets the plush mattress, bouncing back slightly as the springs squeak underneath you.

Everything he does is hasty, it’s not that he’s rushing the moment, he’s just hungry… starved. He snakes his way in between your legs, arms caging you in, placed by your waist as he finally leans back down. Boothill’s face is flushed, lips parted as he pants slightly. He takes in another heavy breath before he closes the distance between you two again. He allows no room for words, only breathy moans and whimpers. This kiss is a lot shorter, it is more like an act of devouring your lips then anything, short ragged breaths escaping from the both of you in the split seconds that your lips part. Eventually, his lips make their way from your lips, down your chin, to your neck. His teeth graze your throat, causing you to sigh softly.

Oh, how you’ve missed this feeling. The sense of desperation that fills the air as you two rut against each other, the gasps and breaths that fill the space around you. As much as the space between you two feels like it could kill you, and how those nights wishing– even praying– to have Boothill in bed with you again are agonizing, these nights where desperation reigned supreme made up for it. Where you two could be at eachothers throats, ripping each other apart, exploring every inch of skin and metal once more. The nights where Boothill sinks his teeth into every inch of skin he can see, where you’re putty in his hands. It’s wonderful, letting everything go, allowing yourself to unravel. The touch you so desperately craved, metal and skin alike, honeyed words lost into a sea of bliss.

His cold hands slide up your shirt, anchoring you back into reality for a second time. His teeth sink into the crook of your neck, letting out a low hum as you whine. You arch your hips, but he pushes them back down, running his tongue along the definition of his bite. He murmurs something against your skin, the first words since you two have entered the room, and you can’t exactly make out what it is. Something like ‘stay put’, which you oblige to, regardless. His hands knead at the flesh, trailing his tongue along your shoulder where his teeth find home once more. He groans this time, as you close your eyes and roll your head back. He doesn’t even have your shirt off and you are soaked. You try to close your legs to stave off the heat build between them, however, his legs prevent you from doing that. You whimper slightly at this, which finally draws Boothill’s attention away from your neck and shoulders. He looks down between you with a smirk, and for a moment you swear you could see his eyes lock on.

“This what ya want?” Boothill asks, pressing his body closer, grinding his groin against yours. The friction makes you groan, arching your back once more. The friction is delicious, every press of his hips against yours fanning the flames of tension. It only serves as a temporary reprieve, but it feels good. You can only nod and babble out something that sounds like a ‘yeah’, pressing your hips up against his every moment they pull away.

It’s wonderful, the way that his cock slots in between your legs, and presses up against your clit, despite the barrier. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist, locking him closer. In your hazy dance, you feel as if you mourn every split second his cock doesn’t press against you. He can only chuckle at your desperation, pressing increasingly more feverish kisses against your neck, sometimes sucking, sometimes biting.

Boothill is drunk off all the little sounds you make, picking up the pace of his grinding, pressing you back into the mattress. He just can’t get enough, the way you raise your hips into him, wordlessly begging for more, the taste of your skin… Aeons, you’re addicting. He could care less about how little physical gratification he gets, to have you undone beneath him already is reward enough. Every moan from you earns a grunt of appreciation from him, throwing his head back. While you miss the warmth of his mouth against your skin, you aren’t necessarily disappointed with the view from below…

The heat in between your legs hits a fever pitch as you feel a coil tighten below your stomach. Your legs squeeze against Boothill’s, shutting your eyes tight and letting out a high pitched ‘mmh!’ as a warning. Boothill takes this as a sign to stop, to toy with you. Just as you feel like you’re about to unravel, he pulls away, leaving you feeling empty. You groan and reach up for him, wiggling a little underneath him as an attempt to allow yourself to finish.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Boothill tuts, stepping back. Before you can press your legs together, he catches your thigh with his hand, squeezing and the flesh. “Gotta wait. You can do that, yeah?”

All you manage is a weak nod, wanting so desperately to beg him to let you cum. That doesn’t mean you’ll be complacent though, you know he’s missed you just as much as you have, and you know he’s rather… impulsive. All you have to do is moan a little louder, say his name in a sweeter way, and you’ll have him weak in the knees. You’re so sure of it.

As you hatch your plan, Boothill takes his sweet time getting himself ready. He takes off his hat, setting it on the bedside table, before climbing up onto the bed. His knees pressed against your hips, stradling you. He’s got his cocky grin plastered to his face once more, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he looks down at your flushed face. You prop yourself up on your elbows, a silent challenge as you shift beneath him. His grin turns sultry, leaning his head down and meeting your lips. It’s a chaste kiss, somehow softer from the hungry kisses from early, and he pulls away all too soon.

He doesn’t leave you wanting this time, though. You can tell by the way his eyebrows are barely furrowed, the way he starts chewing on his lip, and the slight narrow in his eyes that, good Aeons, he just cannot wait. That, and, the very obvious tent in his pants. Sure, he’s not adorned with the most ‘human’ bits, but he told the mechanic to make sure ‘it worked juuuust right’. But that’s not the focus here, no, the way he’s sliding down between your body, practically drooling as his head rests on your thigh.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” Boothill grumbles as he fumbles with the button on your jeans. It takes him a full second to undo them, sliding them down to your ankles. You wiggle them off, just as he decides he’s too impatient and presses his mouth to your underwear, tongue flat against your pussy. You let out a stifled moan, hand instinctively tangling within his hair.

Boothill’s eyes flicker up to you, then close, his hands sliding up and anchoring you in place by your hips. He noses at your clit, lapping up whatever he can between your legs. He could care less about the barrier, really, you can feel his teeth grazing your clit every once in a while, which adds a whole new thrill to this experience as is. He wouldn’t bite, as he is prone to, he knows better.

In between hurried licks and sloppy sucks, getting what he can even through the barrier, he presses gentle kisses to your thighs, sometimes licking along your stretch marks. He does this to prolong the experience, granting himself some restraint, no matter how badly he wants to make you cum over and over and over in his mouth. You can tell how hard he’s trying to hold back, his fingertips digging into the plush of your hips, small exasperated grunts found their way in between his ministrations.

You tug on his hair softly, thighs pressed against either side of his face. He looks beautiful like this, face squished between your thighs, eyes closed, mouth open as he laps at your clothed folds. It’s a sight to behold, truly. Every lick causes you to whine, the rough feeling of your underwear pressing against you, pushing just a little further. His breath fans against your pussy, soft grunts and groans escaping his lips, providing a delicious vibrating sensation against your heat.

You feel the coil tightening once more, and silently pray to Lan that he won’t stop in your hazy mind. Your moans increase, letting out soft, high-pitched noises, tugging at his hair slightly. Boothill lets out a low, raspy laugh, hands pulling you closer harshly as if you weren’t close enough. He doesn’t pull away this time, lapping at your underwear at a near crazed pace, like he needs you to cum. And cum you do, your body arching as you dig your nails into his scalp, whimpering out his name.

He laps up your release, or what he can, growing increasingly agitated at what little he can taste through your underwear. Only then does he finally peel away the barrier, his fingers almost too quick. If he was still human, he’d be shaking. He is too quick to claim his place back at your pussy, his licks sloppy and greedy as he claims his prize. Each stripe licked up against your drooling pussy sends a tingling feeling up your spine, making you whine and try and push his head away. But he doesn’t stop.

When your thighs squeeze against his face, as if trying to block him away from such a precious well of ambrosia, his hands fall from your hips, snaking in between your thighs and pushing them open. He pants against your pussy, his warm breath fanning over it, causing you to shiver. You feel like you are… at his mercy, even if you’ve only came once. It is not a bad feeling, you yourself know you are putty in his hands, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

However, it seems Boothill is now unsatisfied with this position. He pulls away from you reluctantly, pushing you up further on the bed, and shimmying his way up onto the bed fully. Before you can even ask what he’s doing, he grabs you by the hips and rolls you over so you were on top of him, hauling you down easily. His mouth finds purchase on your pussy so easily, lapping at it eagerly.

You don’t dare to even move, simply arching your back as you press your hands into his abdomen to keep yourself up. All sorts of lewd noises come from his throat as he continues his ministrations, staring right up at you with a near challenging look. He alternates between licking and suckling on your clit, hungry growls filling the space in between grunts as if having you press flush against his mouth was not enough.

You can feel overstimulation creep up on you, while his actions don’t hurt, it’s starting to tingle a little, providing a comfortably numb feeling alongside the pleasure that wells between your legs once more. Your body heats up more than you thought it could, and slowly your hips follow Boothill’s tongue. It’s not long until you start to grind against his mouth fully, his nose notching against your clit when he wasn’t sucking on it.

“Ya forkin’ like that?” Boothill asks, muffled, before diving back in once more, his hands pulling your hips down even more, pressing you into his mouth. “F-Fudge… So gosh dang good…”

You’d be poking fun at his censorship, but you just can’t help the moans that roll off your tongue. You can’t help but chase after it, your orgasm already gripping you. Your thighs tense and you groan, rolling your head back and cumming onto Boothill’s tongue once more. But he wasn’t done. Your hips jolt as his eating becomes even more hungry, sloppy, the need to ravage you taking hold. What a beautiful aphrodisiac you are, how he would love to drown in between your thighs.

But you stop him from that dream, unfortunately. The numb feeling gave way to an odd hurt, something that felt almost electric. Your hips buck as your body tenses, doing what you can to pull away from Boothill’s iron grip. Eventually, he loosens, his hands coming down onto your thighs, and you raise your pussy from his lips. Slimy tendrils of spit and slick connect his mouth to you, his chin covered in your slick. He grins up at you, eyes practically sparkling.

“M’sorry,” He starts, squeezing your thighs. “Taste too good. Got ahead of m’self.”

You can’t help but admire the sight beneath you, Boothill’s flushed face, happy as can be, as if he had just won the world. Before he lets you go, he leans in, pressing a heated kiss to your clit, pulling back. He changes his mind quickly though, now peppering your folds with more kisses until you shuffle off of him. At that, he lets out a low, mock annoyed groan, before sitting back up.

You sit on his stomach, your slick painting his abdomen, your ass pressed up against the erection pressing against his tight jeans. He doesn’t move to relieve it, he could really care less about it. He’d already taken what he wanted– more like what he deserved– and he was sated. Unless you were game to give him more…

© sentoooo, 2024 | masterlist | kofi | star header by roseschoices | sfw blog DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[beau-regards]

⭒ 𝑴𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑼𝑷 𝑺𝑬𝑿, minors do not interact

fem reader x sunday, aventurine, jing yuan, boothill + blade ( separate ) ; arguments. angst if you squint. apologies. controlling tendencies in sunday’s. petnames used; my dear - sweetheart - my angel - darlin’. reasoning for argument explained in each charas hc. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.

⭒ SUNDAY

you were sure it was something that sunday never meant deliberately, but instead it came naturally with his more… protective personality traits. he was a worrier and maybe he was just more unaware that it came across to be controlling; the people you interacted with, your freedom to roam around penacony unaccompanied… he was always watching.

he’d also echo that “it is for your own benefit, my dear. i must ensure your safety, that is my sworn duty afterall, is it not?”

and it’s true, you were not ignorant to the fact that as oak family head sunday may have enemies, even enemies of the family themselves could use you as a means of leverage over him but that didn’t make it any less… suffocating.

but he always had his own effective ways of luring you back to him, to comfort you within his own means.

which is why it’s almost cruel the way sunday’s letting his cock rest inside of your pussy, deliberately not moving as he watches you twitch with need — desperate for him to do anything except look down at you with that same oh so patient expression he’s wearing now. it’s like he’s unknowingly trying to wear down your resolve by taking his time admiring your expressions, trying to listen to your reasoning when you’re babbling on the end of his cock, begging for friction was not an easy task.

nonetheless, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing that (still beautiful) little frown, especially when it’s directed at him.

“now now, my dear. there is no need to fuss.. you know i simply can’t stand when you are upset with me.” the tone of sunday’s voice feels like it drips through you, it’s almost condescending but there’s a gentle, loving undertone that feels familiar for you when it curls down your spine, feeling like it ignites something inside of you.

he’s sure to lean in to smear a kiss along your temple before he continues, he knows how much you like when he does that. “do you remember what i told you? everything i do is with your best intentions at heart, or do you feel that is otherwise not the case?” you feel a pang in your own chest at his words, like he’s appealing to that adoring part of you that he values so much, coaxing it back to him with a barely moving stutter of his hips that isn’t much; but with how he’s holding out on you it makes you twitch.

and sunday softens as he watches you, before he continues.

“although i know you would never tell me my means of showing my adoration for you could be considered too.. overbearing, would you? or am i wrong for thinking as such?”

you‘re shaking your head quickly before sunday can even finish his sentence with a question, responding with something that’s a little whispery and choked off, “i know, i wouldn’t.” you hiccup and the man over you coos—feathers shuddering at the sweet sound. “i’m sorry, just.. please, just fuck me!”

oh—he loves you like this, pliant and pretty beneath him and you’re all his, so he decides that he’ll reward you with a few teasing thrusts as your tight cunt squeezes down around him at the sudden friction you’ve been craving. “there is no need to apologise my dear, unless you have done something that requires repentance?” he’s closer this time when he leans over you — brushing his nose along your jawline as he inhales the familiar scent of your perfume that’s now mixed with his own scent, making something carnal boil in his stomach.

your fingers and toes curl tight, so driven by your own yearning for bliss, but you still find it in yourself to shake your head at the question, and sunday chuckles.

“heh, it is as i thought. i simply do not want to put you in a position where you may be taken from me.” his teeth nip softly at your jawline as you lean into him, lifting your otherwise bleary gaze to meet his own all-consuming one as he smiles, kindhearted despite the way he’s making your lungs and insides quake. “you are aware of your importance to me, are you not? or must i remind you by… other means, hm?”

your lips part, almost quietly—wordlessly until he offers you another thrust and the pleasure it plants to bloom makes you arch as you manage out a strangled, soft little please! anything, i just need you! as you lashes flutter.

your answer pulls a groan from sunday nonetheless, it’s a sweet sound that makes your insides curl and ache when it’s followed up with another languid roll of his hips — deliberately pushing up against the sweet spot inside of you that has your lips parting to moan his name.

“very well, my angel. then allow me to extend my most sincere apologies to you.” as much as sunday’s words may feel otherwise insincere, you know that he would never ignore your comfort despite his own anxieties. so he’ll simply ask your accompanying guards to keep a more casual distance next time they escort you around penacony, maybe then you would feel less trapped.

like the door to the birds cage has been propped open just enough for them to explore the locked room the cage otherwise resides in, he’s simply expanding your territory is all.

he feels like the breath is punched from his lungs with how intoxicating you look beneath him as he ready’s himself to begin a pace. but you feel his fingers tighten around your jaw before he’s forcing your gaze to meet his with the next deep push of his cock into your cunt.

“fret not, i will ensure your satisfaction with this outcome, it is my utmost priority afterall.”

⭒ AVENTURINE

you and aventurine rarely argued… but there was a particularly noticeable strain whenever a certain topic seemed to emerge in your relationship. notably so, whenever he seemed to have little to no regard for his own life, using it as a bargaining chip or a means to acquire intel.

he seen no value in himself and given who he was—where he came from, he served to gain a lot more than he had to lose. high risk, high rewards was something that he frequently lived by but what he never really considered was how that made you feel when he opted to risk dying by that same motto. he always had a way of talking himself out of the topic of conversation but it never squashed it no matter how good he was at it, so you’re hellbent on making him hear you now as you grind yourself down onto his cock.

aventurine looks up at you from where his head is resting back into the pillows on his bed, hair mused as he digs it back beneath him and the grin on his pretty features almost seems misplaced given the situation.. the topic.

“hey now, is it really something to get upset about? if all that’s at risk is my neck, what’s the loss? especially when i stand to gain so much.” he drawls in that same saccharine tone that he always used with you. you’re resting above him, thighs straddling his hips as you press the shaft of his pretty cock between your folds, rubbing your slick along the length of him. but you still can’t quite ignore the heavy weight in your chest despite the lust that licks at your spine.

“you have other means to gamble with; money, information..” your words are a soft mule when aventurine deliberately meets the next roll of your hips with one of his own, like he’s coaxing you to drop the topic despite the way you stubbornly refuse to.

that’s exactly why you’re not letting him have as much of you as he wants until you know your words are reaching him. but before you can continue listing the long list of other means your lover has at his disposal, he snorts beneath you.

“please, even the ipc are aware of my disposability and what’s more tempting than a game with high stakes? having no surviving family members only lessens the draw back—anyway, i emerged victorious so it was a worthwhile bet.” you find it to be quite fascinating how aventurine treats himself with so little regard. he truly seen himself as a pawn, as something that would be forgotten about completely if one of his deals fall through and he pays for it with his life.

instead of the person he truly is.. the one he deserves to live to be, and it makes you ache terribly.

“but if you lose, what happens to me?” you whisper and keen, peering at him from where he’s gazing up at you and his thighs quiver beneath you at the languid back and forth sway of your hips in his lap. “your possessions are nothing to me but trinkets unless you’re there to accompany them.”

“oh? i don’t think i quite understand what you mean.” the feeling of your body against aventurine’s is truly captivating, your pussy feels like silk as you roll your puffy folds along his cock, his swollen cockhead catching under the hood of your clit as you both twitch and sigh.

“i don’t want to lose you, don’t you see that’s why i’m upset. i’d cry for you.. mourn you.” you lean and settle down above him as you take his cheeks in your palms and for the first time since this exchange started, his smile drops.

aventurine looks at you, flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and his mind is so full with conflicting emotions—all while he’s mindlessly helping you rock back and forth along the length of him. he feels you begin to press slow, soft kisses along his cheeks and his lips part to allow another whimper to slip through with a lewd swirl of your hips.

it’s an almost vulnerable sound, like you’ve just taken your heart in his hands—he wonders if you’d be as mad as you are now if he offered his life up to you instead, he trusts you’d treat it well.. he knows you wouldn’t ask for anything in return either.

aventurine swallows once before he returns to his usual demeanour and you feel his fingertips squeeze into your skin before he’s twisting his neck to meet the next press of your lips with his own. its softer than the kisses you’ve shared before and it makes you feel terribly warm, looking up to realise that he’s already gazing at you when you pull away to continue with another sinful roll of your hips.

he chuckles, “well it seems… i have a little more to lose than i thought, hah. however will i repay you, i wonder?”

“just be careful, please?” as he expected, its a soft request—you don’t ask much from him but just to be, and he finds himself gripping your hips tightly as you continue to grind yourself against him. aventurine suddenly feels like he can barely think, he loves how it feels to push against you, he could spend every day like this, watching you thrust and glide your pussy across the length of his cock and suddenly he realises the weight of everything he truly has to lose.

“oh, you can count on that, although i don’t think that’s an equal deal and im all about playing fair…”

he takes another greedy swirl of your clit across the intense, sensitive nerves of his cock before he draws himself back completely and he huffs when he gives you a teasing look from beneath you, “so how about i start here, instead?” he drawls, as you finally feels the head of his cock press against the entrance to your sweet pussy and you gasp as he pushes into you, slowly and gently.

⭒ JING YUAN

it’s not that you’re notably upset about jing yuan’s responsibilities or his lacking presence considering how busy he would get at work. it would be silly for you to be ignorant to how busy he was as general of the luofu, so it was never something you notably brought up to him. ofcourse, you missed him—but it was an emotion you kept to yourself, not overwhelming enough to risk an argument over.

but, your lover still finds it vital for him to makeup his absence to you in a way that reminds you of how much he adores you… just incase you’ve forgotten while he’s been gone. it’s like he is immediately aware of the yearning residing inside of you without it ever being spoken out loud, irritatingly so when he seems to be wearing that same smug grin on his lips as he does.

“come now, my dear. i didn’t realise you’d become so sensitive in my absence.” jing yuan breathes, a teasing undercurrent to his voice when he draws his hips back, and his hands massage your waist almost soothingly as he feels your tight walls stretch around his thick cock.

every stroke feels like an apology, every press against the sweet nerves inside of you making you keen. it was almost insufferable how well he was able to fill you up, your walls trembling around the thick spread of him only after a few days apart—you’re already struggling to stave off your orgasm but it’s more to prove a point rather than anything else.

jing yuan only seems to feed on your reactions like this though, despite how eager you are to always welcome him home—he still finds it an essential feat for him to apologise for your time apart anyway. although he would much rather hear how much you’ve missed him while he’s been gone, so he continues “well it would be rude of me to not tend to your needs, wouldn’t you agree? you needn’t have to ask.”

he noses against your cheek as he presses you beneath him, it’s just as slow when he sinks back into you, rolling his hips forward into yours and you watch his lips part, a breathy whine falling from them as he blinks down at you smugly. there’s a familiar gleam in his gaze when you lift your own to meet it,

“stop doing that,” you gasp, strained and choked because despite your reluctance to admit it.. you did feel much more sensitive after a few days away from him. but maybe it was the idea of jing yuan making it up to you when he returned home that had you staving off dealing with your own creeping needs—although you’d rather he not know that.

not when he’s already teasing you enough as is,

“and what may that be? i am simply seeing to my most important duties, there’s no need to make a fuss.” the general over you hisses when he feels your pussy flex around his heavy cock at his words, like it’s a little payback for how he’s handing you right now. you manage to mumble something ineligible back—something that has a chuckle falling from jing yuan’s lips when he begins a steady pace because he thinks it’s as sweet as ever.

and you pout as he looks over you, although overcome with the pleasure he gives you regardless. “i feel like you’re teasing me. what’s your p-plan?”

“hm? was it not obvious that i missed you just as much as you have missed me?” his hips jolt forward, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure, needy moans of his name falling from your lips and his head dips towards you, placing a gentle kiss against your cheek as his cock twitches when you look up at him again.

you feel so good, you can barely find it in yourself to be anything other than grateful at how well he treats you.. even if he is insufferably teasing when he wants to be.

but still, you try just to wipe that grin off of his face— “i didn’t say that! you’ve just been busy with work… who said i missed you?” you grumble, teasing him as you find yourself suddenly turning away to avoid his lazy, lidded gaze and he chuckles before offering you a particularly sharp thrust.

it’s enough to make you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself steady, but you pull him closer in the process, watching him lean down to hover just over you—his hair messy and unkempt as it hangs over his face.

he looks almost a little too smug at the pleasure he knows hes giving you, yet… you can’t help but crumble.

“oh? but i have reason to believe otherwise, my dear.” he rocks his huge body into yours again, and you know what he’s referring to when your pussy squeezes around him in that ever so tight, saccharine grip that only seems to beg him for even more, and he lifts a brow at you as you prove his point. “so allow me to apologise for not returning to you sooner.”

you whimper at how good he fills you, your eyes closing in bliss and for a moment you feel his hips stutter, he had a job to do afterall… he simply couldn’t have you mad at him, even if it’s only an excuse for him to spoil you.

“i will make it up to you as many times as you please.”

⭒ BOOTHILL

boothill has a bad habit, mostly due to his past experiences and the things that have been… taken from him. but he was a runner; although it was never meant to hurt your feelings, it was more the fear of having something so close that the sudden idea of it him losing it once more made him seize up, it drove him away and he knows it’s selfish.

but he couldn’t lose you, so he ran—took on a job that took him from you for a good few weeks when he left without a word and even the thought of that sweet expression on your face crumbling made the space in his chest that was once occupied still ache. but because he still wants to be with you, he always seems to come back—it’s like he’s hoping he’ll return to you and you’ll kick him to the curb and tell him to get lost, for your sake.

but you never do, even despite the pout on your features and the cloudy look in your gaze when you blink up at boothill standing in your doorway, you don’t tell him to leave. there’s an apologetic, charming grin on his features but you can tell there’s a longing wrapped up beneath there too.. regret, or maybe that’s just what you’re hoping for.

“come on, darlin’ can’t stand when y’re all mad at me like this. ain’t movin’ ‘til ya talk to me.” he sighs from where he’s got you pressed in his lap.

you’re arching your back to press your chest closer to the cool metallic touch of boothill’s and your cunt flexes around his mechanical cock when it only serves to push him deeper. you’d think given his absence and the fact he’s the reason you’re mad in the first place, that he’d be more than happy to make it up to you. but instead—he’s halting your movements and almost torturing you as he holds you still against him, refusing to give you the pleasure you’ve been missing out on since he left… not until you atleast look at him again.

“you left me, w-what do you expect?” your voice is strained, hurt and it makes the galaxy ranger beneath you hiss like it stings him. it’s not as familiar as the soft tone thats usually reserved for him is and he can’t help but find himself yearning for that same sultry drawl once more as he gives you a tired, regretful look.

“awh, fudge. ya know i never wanna leave ya, sweetheart. ‘ts complicated is all.” boothill’s jaw clenches as you watch him sink back into the chair he’s hauled up on in your living room—tipping his hat off of his head to cast it aside with his next sigh so he can really look at you as his other hand continues to sink into your hips.

he knows you’re not gonna let him off easy with this one and… he can’t really blame you either.

“then why can’t you atleast tell me, instead of just u-up and leaving.. just like that! what if something happened to you?” your voice hiccups slightly as you readjust yourself on his lap, and it’s like boothill can feel all the pain he’s brought to you despite his absence.

he grits his teeth as he meets your gaze, “ain’t nobody gon’ take me from ya, that’s for sure. they’ll sooner be eatin’ bullets, so ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that.” his voice is low and smooth—as self assured as always and the tone has your back curling when he leans in closer as if to emphasis it. there’s something intimate in the way the movement makes his hips roll against yours and your body feels so ready for the pleasure that you know only he can give you. “listen here, i know i fudged up real bad but cmon, ya really gon’ make me beg?”

“nobody took you from me because you left, it was you.” boothill picks up on the way your voice shakes and its scarily instantaneous the way his fingertips reach out to brush against your cheek, to comfort you, as you lean into the familiar cold metal press of his palm. “do you know how that felt?”

“i do, cause i sure am feelin’ somethin’ right now, sweetheart.” his words reply quietly, but the small little call of his voice urges you to blink up at him again and for the first time, you smile. he knows you’ve got a lot more unpacking to do, but for now—he hopes you’ll atleast let him offer you this until you both have a real talk about it.

boothill’s free hand smoothes along the shape of your hips as he appreciates every part of you—basking in the way your soft skin squishes beneath his movements and he huffs out a laugh before he offers you his first, real thrust. its slow and languid and nowhere near enough, but he still can’t help but feel completely enamoured by the way your lips part to gasp because you’re still as beautiful as the day he left you.

“shhhh, there we go, a bet that feels much better for ya, don’t it? i sure got a lot of makin’ up to do, i bet. so, ya gon’ give me a chance to make it up to ya?” he hums before thrusting into you again and you hold onto him with the next, hands pressing against the machinery in his shoulders to keep yourself steady. he lets his hand leave your cheek to join the other on your hips this time as he begins a pace, a little rougher and full of want as the sound of your skin slapping against him echos and he pulls you into him more.

you’re closer now, lips almost pressed to boothill’s ear and he can hear every pretty whine that falls from between them as he ruts up into you. but “i just want you to talk to me.” catches him off guard and he turns to look at you when he hears it.

his cock is still smoothing along all of your sweet spots effortlessly but there’s a sudden softness to the way his lips quickly press against yours when you catch his gaze. its a contrast to how ruthlessly he’s fucking into you—this is gentle, feeling his cold fingers smooth along the side of your cheek again before he pulls away just as quickly, and he offers you one of his usual smirks when he looks at you this time.

“yer real stubborn for somethin’ so fudgin’ sweet, ain’t ya, darlin’? but alright—alls well, no harm done, i ain’t leavin’ ya again anytime soon.” boothill offers you the reassurance under his breath and as much as you want to accept it as enough—you both know it’s going to take time. but he’s willing to work and that is something that you are sure of as you feel a familiar rush of warmth in your veins, letting yourself completely give in to him as lets you use him for your own pleasure.

he chuckles,

“we can get into this later, right now—how about ya show me what i’ve been missin’?”

⭒ BLADE

it was just the sort of person blade was truly, you’d tried so hard to convince yourself of that—that he wasn’t exactly a man who would give anyone he didn’t truly enjoy the presence of the time of day. but you couldn’t help the pang for your anxieties, the insecurities knowing that your relationship didn’t resemble much of the usual one.

there was rarely any affection from the otherwise cold stellaron hunter and although you never expected him to be the type to kiss you in a crowd or confess his love to you in company, sometimes you just needed some simple reassurance that… he really did want a relationship with you like he said he did, albeit in very short words.

but, blade has his own ways of trying to get his point across.

which is why his dark hair is already mused from your hands and you’ve both left a trail of clothes in your wake no doubt that lead to where he resides for now. he’d caught you off guard when he’d came to you, kissing you hard before you’ve both ended up where you are—with the weight of his hips leaning against yours and his fingers groping almost too tight into your skin.

but the thing that surprises you the most, is when blade follows up one of his particularly sharp, rough thrusts with a kiss that’s so gentle it almost seems misplaced amongst his otherwise sharp exterior. although, you can’t help but find yourself arching into the soft touch, closer—especially when it’s followed by another deep kiss of his cock and another smeared kiss as his large hands bruise into your skin.

“why are you being so affectionate suddenly?” part of you didn’t want to ask—almost deciding to just live selectively ignorant and bask in the rare affection that your lover was giving you. but it seemed… off, and as much as you desired more from him, you would never force him into a place of discomfort due to your own selfish gain.

but, even with your question—blade gives you another, albeit shorter kiss before he answers, gruff and low. “why? is this not what you desired?” his words a hum, although you barely pick up on them from where he’s grinding into your pussy.

his answer makes something warm seem to rattle beneath your skin because, he truly was doing this for you but still, you can’t help but find yourself thinking whether he really wants to or if it’s just something he seems to think is a requirement. although its selfish, you can’t help but find yourself wanting to bask in it—even just for a short while, because his cock reaches so deep it has your toes curling and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this new side of him, even if it was an act.

but because you value blade more than that, you find it in yourself to pry. “you don’t have to force yourself to be affectionate i-if.. if you don’t want to be.” your lashes flutter as you speak, and you meet his hips with your own everytime he rocks forward.

but still, the press of his lips and squeeze of his hands on you doesn’t cease. instead, he only seems to offer you a dissatisfied sort of growl at your statement before he slows his pace, albeit only slightly as you still jolt beneath him with every wet connection.

“i told you before. i do not do things that i myself find unnecessary, this is simply the opposite.” blade pushes his cock up against something sensitive inside of you as he speaks, and any anxieties you had about his sudden affectionate tendencies melt with his next quick thrust — leaving you breathless, mindless as he forces his cock deeper into your pussy with the next smear of his lips along your cheek.

“now, as i asked prior, will it do?” he hisses this time, his words are a little sharper with the way you’re squeezing tight around him but when it’s followed by the gentleness in which he kisses along your features before nibbling at your jaw, you don’t even notice.

instead you can’t help but yearn to have blade closer so you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his shoulders before you’re arching into him, leaning into every press of his mouth until you’re turning to meet the next with your own.

“whatever you can give is fine.”

“i hope to provide you with whatever you seek is all. but, very well..” so he kisses you, unbashfully rough and full of teeth as he fucks into you ruthlessly, but this one seems to warm you a little more than the rest do with his next words, “as i please then.”

[beau-regards]

🌐 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 '𝐍 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘!

hsr men x f!reader .... SMUT!! 🚨🚨🚨

request ؛ ଓ @coreakin-sakarat What will the honkai star rail men play when yr having sex and who bottom or both and do they go rithm oh oh and do they use toys on u and what are their favorite parts of ur body to fuck

gia's notes ؛ ଓ i did this as more of me just... talkin abt what i think the hsr men are like in bed in order from least to most freaky in my humble opinion. i hope that you like it even though i didn't exactly hit every point u brought up :(

DAN HENG .ᐟ୨୧ starting it off sweet with him, i see dan heng as more of a bottom than anything... he's not super experienced, quite a tender lover, and i see him as remaining quite serious and stoic within the bedroom too. definitely more of a slow and sensual pace, just wants to feel it all with you <3 he's quite hesitant to try things out imo, but i reckon that you could convince him to try out using toys with some convincing! 1000% a thigh guy, really likes pulling out and painting your thighs with his cum as he watches them shake. presses kisses to your forehead as you come down from both of your highs. lowkey i get the vibe that the aftercare and the cuddling and falling asleep together is more satisfying to him than having sex. THIS MAN CRAVES SKIN TO SKIN!!!! he will interlace your fingers while fucking and kiss all over your face!!! a very sweet lover <3

GEPARD .ᐟ୨୧ this man SCREAMS pleasure service top to me. he could cum in his pants just by watching you i swear. he just wants to satisfy you as best as he can :((( your wish is his command frfr. he'll put you in whatever positions you want fully customisable experience just say the word. will sometimes pause midway through sex just to ask you if he's doing a good job and if it feels good with his big puppy dog eyes AWEE. i think he would probably be a little hesitant to try out toys, especially at first? his logic reverts to him assuming that he wasn't good enough at pleasuring you and so you have to revert to a piece of plastic... but be a bit dominant and show, don't tell, him just how good a vibrator can feel and he'll be a lot more on board with the idea <3 his whole mentality is just.. do anything to give you pleasure so if you're on the freakier side, this man is game! (PEG HIM) the little sadistic side of you gets a kick seeing tears well up in his eyes if you edge him just to hear his whines and moans... he might be a top but this man is a sub thru and thru. a bad bitch (you) tells him what to do and he listens!! anyways back to when you and him are fucking... this man is just utterly in love with your pussy, they way it gushes and clenches around him, and his absolute favourite position is any where he gets to just bury his face in ur tits while he's buried inside of you because everything is just so comforting and all of him is now surrounded by something so warm and soft... he's in heaven <3 so yeah he's a tits guy who would have thought!! no matter the shape or size HE'S PUTTING THEM IN HIS MOUTH <3 his thrusts get real sloppy at the end when he's about to cum too, starts babbling in your ear about how good it feels and how much he loves u. what a cutie pie

ARGENTI .ᐟ୨୧ to be honest? i had to think a bit about this one. to me, argenti doesn't really seem like the type to bring up using toys... but that doesn't mean that he isn't game if you mention it. he seems ... not passive exactly? but he just seems like the type to go with the flow with sex. whatever you're into he'll just be like shit i'm down let's go. not kinky per se, but he's definitely a passionate lover. very much wants to explore sensuality. ooh maybe he would be into some sort of wax play or blindfold type behaviour i take it back. would probably chuckle if you decide to get on top and place his hands on your hips to help you adjust to his size and set your own pace <3 very loving, wants to celebrate the beauty of your naked body and worship it in the name of adrila. so yeah if you've got a praise kink, HE'S YOUR MAN!!! you feel like the subject of a poem as he sings your praises, telling you how pretty you look and sound when you cum. like shiiiii that would be enough to make me blush <33 in terms of pace and stuff, i feel like he would be pretty standard? maybe on the slower side because of... you know... passion. it's nothing crazy but still a good time. he seems like he prefers to be looking up at you so RIDE THAT MAN!! maintain eye contact as you sink down on it. raise your hips back up ever so slowly and watch the slightest twitch of his brow as you swivel your hips, sinking back down on it ever so slowly. you might just see him blush. and just as the name suggests, the knight of beauty is a SIGHT to behold when he cums (probably inside).

WELT .ᐟ୨୧ yeah peepaw has got some EXPERIENCE to him lmaoo. he's got a sort of... cheekier? side to him. as an older man, though, he doesn't exactly have the same stamina as he did in his youth :( but that doesn't mean that he can't still get down and dirty with you!! quite the opposite actually. so his solution? he uses toys on you <3 he's more of a bottom but he is DEFINITELY in charge. his dirty talk OMFGG im giggling just thinking about it he would praise you and whisper such sweet words to you as he slowly splits you open on his fat cock, telling you how you're such a good girl for taking him so well, how you feel so good around him, all so he can feel you clench around him like a vice grip as he finally bottoms out <33 def would just have his hands around your waist as he moves you up and down his length when you're feeling weightless. but if he's in a more passive mood, he also LOVESSSS just sitting back and watching you struggle to ride him with a lazy adoring look in his eyes as he holds a vibrator to your clit <333 he'll coo at you as you start crying from the overstimulation, his hands wiping away your tears so tenderly and encouraging you to keep going just for him <3 a little bit of a sadistic side to him because he really does just love watching you squirm. another thigh and ass guy imo, really loves the way they jiggle as they slam down against his own thighs as you start to pick up the pace and ride him with increasing desperation. also loves watching them shake when you cum <3. so yeah as a no brainer i think one of his favourite positions would be reverse cowgirl. yum <3

BOOTHILL .ᐟ୨୧ now dont get me wrong this man FUCKS. since he's a cyborg does his dick count as a toy...? yeah fuck it let's go with it HIS BIOCOCK VIBRATES!! so the sensations on that will go CRAZYYYY. and then i'm thinking because of his synthesia beacon and stuff he doesn't exactly experience much sensation down there. so when you're having sex, what gets him off the most is just seeing your pleasure as you unravel. makes him feel good vicariously <3 so yeah definitely a missionary lover in my eyes so he can watch all your facial expressions and reactions as he hits all the right places, how your brows furrow and your eyes slide shut and eyes roll back in your head as he keeps up his unforgiving pace at juuuuust the right angle <33 but don't get me wrong he's no vanilla bitch either!! if he wants to be feeling more ... sensations he can and will make you just sit on his face for actual HOURS just eating you out to his heart's content. you'd think that his tongue is cybernetic too with the way it flicks across your clit at a borderline INHUMAN speed. but no he's just that good. some of ur most intense orgasms have been from him tonguefucking you like this, his head firmly sandwiched between your quivering thighs as you're basically humping his face as u ride out your high. and hey, he's not complaining <3 and then his smug shit-eating grin does NOT help at all when you're still trying to come back down to earth and he's sitting up wiping the slick off his face with that hungry look STILL in his eyes good lord i hope u can survive the night. this bastard has definitely ruined toys for you, they just don't feel the same any more <//3

BLADE .ᐟ୨୧ fucks hard. angry and/or jealous sex with him has just gotta be >>> 😮‍💨😮‍💨 he's on the rougher side and for MOST of the time will dom. and also tbh i don't really see him as being the type to use toys since he's more spontaneous in terms of having sex (public sex. he's got a high sex drive) but very very passionate for sure- lots of grunts and low moans right up in ur ear mhhhnrng. but also at the same time i feel like he would be quite emotionally detached from sex at first, seeing it as more like stress relief than an act of intimacy? and don't get me wrong, some of the best fucks of your life have come from him when he's just trying to release some pent up anger, but on the flip side there's a more vulnerable side to him, almost. one that's barely there any more from years of bitterness and resentment, but still manages to creep up on him on those late nights where he can't quite sleep. so if you're with him on those rare occasions, this is when you experience him not fucking you, but making LOVE. he won't talk, but he doesn't need to, not with the way he's holding you close to him and kissing you with something akin to desperation as he sinks into you and kind of just... stays there for a bit. it's oddly comforting to him, and if he's feeling especially weak he'll need some comfort- just to get him through the night. it's these nights where you take control more, setting a slow and sweet pace and kind of just... hushing him and whispering sweet words to him as you slowly let yourself grind over him, feeling the way he twitches inside of u <333 but yeah back to not vulnerable blade. a fan of quickies for sureeee (see: high sex drive) another tit guy because i am biased. the force of his thrusts in some dark alleyway or hidden corner will have them jiggling and threatening to fall out of whatever shirt you wear. and if he's got you lifted up in his arms, your legs wrapped around him as you're chest to chest with each other, he just can't tear his eyes away from your boobs. leaves bites on them, laves over them like a damn dog until they're coated in saliva and stiff and perked up because of how cold it feels when drying on your skin. if you're in doggystyle, you'll feel his hands clasp over them from behind, a few short and sweet squeezes to them before his blunt nails are flicking over your nipples just to hear you squeal <3

AVENTURINE .ᐟ୨୧ just like blade, he very much has two different modes. let's start with the freaky one bc that's fun. he's quite open to experiment with all aspects of sex- who's in charge, who's topping, toys, positions, you name it. he trusts you enough to do anything with or to you short of causing each other pain. so yeah he's a freak alright!! i feel like if you're in an established relationship, he'll feel guilty due to the amount if time that he spends away from you because of his job, and make it up to you by spoiling you with gifts... he loves to buy you new toys to try out as he sits back and just watches as you squirm and then writhe in pleasure as he slowly palms himself, eventually unzipping his trousers and jerking himself off until he cums all over u <33 definitely gets a kick out of seeing his cum painting your pretty face and how your tongue darts out to catch it before it drips onto the floor <333 or maybe he just strokes himself to stay hard, his eyes hungrily watching you as your own remain transfixed on his cock, the flushed tip disappearing with every stroke of his hand, the slick noises of his precum overpowering the buzzing hum of the dildo inside of you. and then when neither of you can handle the tension any more, dying to feel each other's touch, after you've cum a couple of times and are all nice and sensitive for him, then and ONLY then will he finally put it in, quickly setting a pace to fuck your brains out like a wild animal <3 lovessss doggystyle or the speedbump position because then he's all up in your guts and ur moans/screams of pleasure are just music to his ears. definitely the type to go a little feral bc... yeah. so yeah that's freaky mode! but like blade he has a softer side to him UNLIKE blade it is still definitely there and more accessible... but that doesn't mean he exposes it to you just like that either. but yeah if he's feeling more vulnerable emotionally, especially right after he wakes up from a nightmare while you're groggily waking up next to him, he just needs comfort. you holding him and stroking his hair, telling him how he's safe and how much you love him. if you've been together for a while and he really trusts you, he might even cry. almost begs you to call him kakavasha instead of aventurine, and you oblige. and then as soon as his name leaves your lips, he's kissing you hard, gradually letting them become tender as you undress each other with the utmost amount of care. it's love that motivates him, from what you can feel from his fingers tracing your skin and how soft his lips press against yours. he lets out a quiet moan as he sinks into you and basks in your warmth for a bit, letting his arms now wrap around your frame tightly, holding you to himself as if you would disappear any moment. and you hug him too, draw patterns on his back, stroke his hair and hum as you tell him how much you love him, listening to the sound of his shaky breaths as you slowly raise your hips, sinking back down inch by inch to hear him hiss. at first, he would still refuse to let you see his face when you have sex like this, not until you gently coax him to look at you, and you see the crystalline tears already escaping from his eyes. he's definitely the type to cry during sex like this- something so soft and tender that it's overwhelming to him for so many reasons- the vulnerability of it all, how much you love and care for him written all over your face, the way you squeeze against him so perfectly. and then he buries his face in your chest as you keep whispering words of affirmation to him and he cums so fast, deep inside of you and then he stays even when he feels himself go soft. just because it feels nice. and he falls asleep just like that, clinging to you, the person he loves.

JING YUAN .ᐟ୨୧ another member of team lazy but pussydrunk (him and welt have permanent memberships lmfao) whenever the two of you fuck it usually starts with him making you work for it. involving either you getting off by grinding on his thigh or riding him, desperately throwing your weight back onto him to even simulate the feeling of his powerful thrusts- all in vain as he merely sits there, looking up at you with a maddening smile and just WATCHING you... what a creep <3 but yeah he loves loves loves seeing how worked up and whiny you get for him to do something, anything, just for him to do the exact opposite, placing two firm hands on your hips to effectively get you to stop, and you whine again from the loss of friction. and he'll merely smile, telling you how you're such a good girl for him, getti my off from watching you get so so close, just to do it over and over again. orgasm denial and edging really are his two best friends fr. so he's not really a strict dom but more of a tease, you get me? i think that YES he will use toys. really gets a kick out of vibrating panties or a vibrator inside of you that he can remote control <33 just really enjoys when you're in public trying to remain composed (what a creep <3) keeps u constantly stimulated all day, finally making it up to you when you both get back home, fucking you properly as you're on the verge of tears and ready to cum any second. hmmm hear me out on this but i think his favourite place to cum would be your back.. like yeah finishing inside is cool and all but pulling out and cumming all over your back just drives him CRAZY and ready for another round... as soon as you recover <3

LUOCHA .ᐟ୨୧ LORDDDDDD he's like jing yuan but even WORSE. he's dangerous too because in his eyes, it isn't him or a toy but him AND a toy. this man will have u in his lap thighs spread legs hanging over his knees so he can keep them open as he has one hand gripping your chin forcing to look at yourself in a mirror, the other hand holding a vibe to yr clit <33 every time your eyes start to roll back he'll do a light slap to your face, forcing you to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, his feline eyes dancing with mirth at your already fucked-out expression. and then when he's sure that his gaze is holding your attention, he'll let go of your face, letting his hand snaie downwards until his hands are collecting your slick on his fingers before pushing into you, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek that contradicts how hard he's fingering you <3 squirting is not an achievement but the new standard with him!! that man is NOT relenting until you coat his arm and the floor (even the mirror) he really likes making you kiss him just after you cum- when your brain is foggy from the intensity of your orgasm, you can barely hear, let alone process what he's saying, and when u finally manage to connect your lips to his the kiss is just so sweet n sloppy, showing how worked up he is already <33 he's a little mean with it but you wouldn't have it any other way!! because that man knows what you need and will DELIVER. and he loves alllll of you. especially your pussy. and ass lol

DR RATIO .ᐟ୨୧ ok stay with me now cos this one's more of a scenario but!!! imagine that you haven't seen veritas in a while because you've both been busy but he messages you, saying how he'll finally be back soon!!! and ur just so excited that you can't contain it, and all those lonely nights are starting to tally up... your hands just don't do the trick any more and you finally cave, getting out your old reliable dildo to try and satiate your lust. trying your hardest to focus on veritas while you fuck yourself so that you'll be able to cum... pretending that it's his cock instead of some silicone... moaning out his name into your room with your eyes screwed shut to try trick your brain into believing that it's really him!! and it seems to work because you can feel that coil in you begin to tighten, and just when ur about to cum you feel a hand on top of yours, startling you out of your impending orgasm. and you open your eyes to see none other than the man who you had been fantasising about just now <3 and he's got this smirk on his face and a certain look in his eyes, and when you glance down you can see that he isn't exactly... unaffected from watching you earlier <33 i feel like he would degrade you a little, calling you such a stupid girl for needing to think of him just to even get close to cumming <333 and you'll whine and get embarrassed, trying to hide yourself with the covers, but deep down you know he's right so you peek at him from behind your lashes, batting them and begging him to help you as sweetly as you can. and how can he deny you when you're just so sweet and submissive for him? he'll be quick to take out his cock, slipping the head through your folds, letting it catch as it skims past your needy hole, letting the tip slap against your sensitive clit just to watch your whole body twitch as he chuckles to himself before bullying his cock into you. even after fucking yourself it's still a stretch, especially cos he has you in a mating press, his strong hands keeping your thighs pinned as he puts hisbweight behind his thrusts, really slamming into you until you're bouncing back against the mattress <33 a good hard fuck that hits all the right spots he needs to in order for you to cum HARD. but if he's feeling mean, he won't even oblige your request, instead being all smug and settling back on his haunches, goading you to keep going and make yourself cum without him because you're just so close, you can do it. watches your pathetic attempts to do so as you huff and beg him because you just can't without him <//3 and maybe if you beg hard enough he'll consider helping you out... even though it's just so entertaining to watch you keep trying. ironically enough, it's the way he calls you his sweet girl as he finally pushes into you that sends you over the edge more than any of your own touches did. and once you ride out that high, body no longer convulsing on his dick, he'll pull out of you just to flip you onto your stomach, then pull your hips up to meet his before fucking into you to make you really cum because of him this time <33

SAMPO .ᐟ୨୧ this man is MOST DEFINITELY an experimentalist!!! 1000% down for literally anything. you use toys on each other el oh el. the epitome of a switch. he'll top or bottom too, it's always a good time with him. definitely a freak. tbh i headcanon him as having a crazy oral fixation... if he's not sucking on your tits already then put your fingers in his mouth!! he'll have hearts swimming in his eyes, especially if you let them slide to the back of his throat until he gags and his eyes get all teary!!! definitely a sight to behold if u start fingerfucking his throat. or maybe just gag him with your panties, letting urself hear his muffled whines and moans as you finally free his cock and deepthroat him <33 oh god his whines and moans... get this man on twitter NEEOOOWWW. as a top he's definitely more goofy about it, not super strict. sex is about making sure you both feel good and just having a good time im his eyes.

GALLAGHER .ᐟ୨୧ ... this man... a certified freak. me personally im not into it but IF U LIKE ANAL THIS IS UR GUY 1000%%%. he def loves ur ass more than anything. the type to stick a finger in as he makes out with you or just let his finger tease the ring of muscle, circling it ever so slowly to feel u squirm while sat naked in his lap. when he eats you out he'll let his tongue drop a little lower to tease both of your holes. if u let him he'll eat your ass with GUSTO. and YES he's using toys on you you're not safe... buttplugs with the cute jewel on them and when you're in public he'll give your ass a slap or squeeze just to see your face change as you feel it press a little deeper into you... he'll have a vibrator fucking into your pussy as he's all up in your guts, laughing at the way you can't even form words right now. yeahhh he's a FREAK. oh and did i mention that he's an ass guy??

SUNDAY .ᐟ୨୧ ohohoho. this man has actual YEARS of pent up sexual frustration under his belt. his wings. whatever. he's a man who thrives off of control, and this is no exception in the bedroom. massive dom. both soft and hard. but more hard <3. really gets off on u calling him sir LAWLLL. lowkey i see him being into some real freaky bdsm stuff... cos hes got the whole sexually repressed catholic thing going on n all yknow. likes seeing u kneeled w your hands tied behind your back. you stripped naked while hes fully clothed and smiling so sweetly as he watches you try and get yourself off by humping his shoe. anything for that power imbalance with him hrrrrng. and if youre feeling a bit more bratty, touch his wings. preen them, blow air on them, even grip onto them HARD with your fingers and it'll get him all riled up. and then that sweet smiling facade will drop and youll see his eyes change into something a touch more feral as he pins u down and fucks u hard and properly. just to remind u who's really in control <3. the aftercare goes crazy, naturally. but then i also saw this post talking abt how hes a PEOPLE PLEASER and i agree 10000% so when he's feeling more soft, your pleasure is his greatest reward. a headrush mix of sweet praise and filthy degradation. telling you how you're a nasty bitch who's just so good for him... how you take him so well like the filthy slut you are.... and he's just so so composed during it all like an ANGEL EHFHWJFJE it makes ur head spin istg. yeah he's a freak in the sheets LOLL

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ...... eat it 'til your teeth rot!

[ SMUT ] how the hsr men eat pussy!

alternatively, find my hsr masterlist here! ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

[beau-regards]

O I am about to eat these up

Digitally Yours, Moira x Fem!Reader ⊂⊂ ౨・)

Synopsis: Camming was a way for you to get money while also indulging in the cuter things in life. Adorning baby doll dresses, lingerie with frills and bows, and getting dolled up was apart of your nightly routine. One night, a curious Moira stumbles upon your stream and is enthralled with your sweet demeanor.

Contains: NSFW, implied plus size reader, age gap, face sitting, vaginal fingering, etc,… moira is a bit freaky (in a good way)

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: Digitally Yours - Diamond White

Chapters: 1 2

𐙚 Chapter 1: Your Doll

Sprawled out on the bed, you were scrolling through your phone before letting it go with a dramatic sigh. It was a Saturday evening and you had absolutely nothing to do. Bored was not even the word you would use to describe how you felt, you were absolutely disinterested in everything around you. You could always cam tonight, but that was the last thing you wanted to do.

You had been a cam girl for a few months now as a way to make some extra money to support your frivolous lifestyle outside of your job at a local cafe. A typical stream consisted of you talking about your day, your interests, or whatever was bothering you recently, and in return your viewers would send money for showing a little something… extra. Some of the women who watched your streams even sent you lingerie sets to wear for them, they were all too kind when it came to spoiling you rotten. You were their princess, a doll that they could dress up for their pleasure, and you enjoyed every minute of it.

Pink frilly panties hug your hips, but remain hidden under a sheer babydoll slip dress. You had always taken a liking to more dainty and girly things and camming was one of the ways you got to express it for others to see as well.

Two cheeks softly dusted with pink blush, one pair of soft glossy lips, and a set of lashes to accentuate your doll-like eyes later, you set up your webcam across from your bed and started the stream. The website you used was completely safe, all of your information was kept secret, and you had even stayed entirely anonymous when you first became a cam girl. You usually had a set schedule so it took a while for your usual audience to start rolling in, but once they did the comments began flooding with comments, all confused as to why you were streaming tonight, but enthusiastic about it nonetheless.

Anonymous29721: Baby, you look absolutely ravishing tonight. ♡

darlingmommy: There’s my doll.

leslithefingers: She’s not your doll, she’s all of ours.

Anon1212: Doesn’t matter who’s she is, she’s hot.

You let a soft giggle slip past your lips as you watch the comments unfold, “There’s enough of me to go around for everyone…” 

A soft bunny plushie, gifted to you by one of your viewers, made its way into your arms as you rambled on about your day. You detailed how your shift at the cafe went, especially talking about the customers who were less than nice to you. Your viewers showered you in praise for handling all of the situations so well and blush heated your cheeks uncontrollably. No matter how much praise you got from them it always felt like the first time. “You guys are too sweet…” a pout plays on your lips as you continue reading the comments. A moment passes and you let out a quiet gasp and your lips form a small “o” shape as you remember you wanted to show off the new lingerie you were wearing. You angle the webcam slowly down your body, letting the camera soak up every last bit of your body. From your full breasts, to your soft tummy, everything was being accentuated perfectly in the set.

You plop back down onto the bed and tuck your legs beneath you as you read the comments rolling in. Some were telling you how cute you looked, or how they wanted to just spoil you endlessly, but others were more vulgar as expected with a hobby like this. You usually rolled your eyes at these because the accounts who wrote them tried so hard to sound dominant in nature, and they came across sounding empty and just for show. But this one… this one came from a viewer you hadn’t seen before.

Doctorsorders: I’d like to part those sweet thighs of yours and see what type of nectar you drip… I’m sure you taste nothing short of divine my sweet doll.

Doctorsorders: These other women do not deserve to see you grace their screens if they do not know how to speak to you properly.

DONATION OF $500 RECEIVED. FROM DOCTORSORDERS.

Nothing could have prepared you for a donation that large from a first time viewer, usually they started with smaller tips or just simple compliments, but she had led with the money. “Thank you for such a large donation… Doctorsorders.” You read out her username, your tone dripping with honey. “Is there something I can call you?” You tilted your head slightly to the side, waiting for her answer.

Doctorsorders: I’d be happy to discuss that in private with you, my doll. I wouldn’t want to give up too much so soon…

Doctorsorders: Message me any time, I’d be happy to chat with a woman like you. I bet you’re so soft… and pliant… so easy to please. I’d like to find out.

She was beginning to become more intriguing by the second, there was no way you could pass up an offer like hers. “I’ll take you up on that offer then.” Your mind was on the mysterious woman the whole rest of the stream. Focusing on anything other than her was proving to be a harder task than you thought, so you wrapped everything up swiftly and said goodbye to the rest of your viewers, claiming the fatigue of the day was getting to you, and that you’d talk to them again next week. 

You sigh quietly, tossing and turning in your bed as you contemplate messaging the woman in your comments who gave you butterflies from the moment she typed in chat. It was safe to say you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself when messaging her, she sounded so… elegant, sultry even. She was clearly attracted to your demeanor though, so you weren’t quite sure what was stopping you from just sending a quick message.

urdoll: Hi! That was a pretty large sum-

No… you thought to yourself. You couldn’t start talking about the money right away, she would think that was all you cared about. You deleted the message quickly.

urdoll: Hello…

A whine of frustration escapes your throat and you fall back onto the bed with your phone held to your chest. You type and delete at least 15 messages before giving up and ending the last one you had drafted.

urdoll: Hi…you really have a knack for charming girls just like me, huh? I’d like to get to know you some more, so what can I call you Miss Doctorsorders? ♡

You hit send and instantly throw your phone onto the bed awaiting her answer. It was late into the night, the moon and stars already hung high in the sky, so you didn’t expect an answer right away. A few minutes later and many thoughts pondering if you had come across as too forward later, your phone buzzes and you scramble to pick it up. Your heart races out of your chest as you open up the message.

Doctorsorders: Moira, but you can call me whatever you please, my dear. What might be the name of the lovely little rabbit who captured my attention tonight?

You know you shouldn’t tell her your real name, but something was telling you to share it with her. After all, you wanted to get to know her in every last way.

urdoll: [Y/N], but you can call me yours. ♡

[beau-regards]

Love the Way You Lie

Ao3 | Masterlist | Taglist | Discord 18+ | Socials |

Pairing: toxic!gojo x toxic!reader

“High off of love, drunk from her hate, it's like I'm huffing paint and I love her, the more I suffer, I suffocate and right before I'm about to drown she resuscitates me, she fucking hates me.” He doesn’t want you to leave, but he’s constantly pushing you away. Nobody ever said leaving Gojo Satoru was going to be easy, especially when he decides he wants you to stay. Fic inspired by Love the Way You Lie by Eminem.

Words: 5.4k

CW: toxic relationship, fingering, overstimulation, vaginal sex, Gojo being an asshole, slight dacryphilia, breeding, rough sex, creampie

AN: This is my entry for @zorotits Ex's and Oh's collab and I had so much fun writing Gojo being a little shit.

AN2.0: this fic takes inspo from Love The Way You Lie, however there is no physical abuse! This is definitely a type of relationship I think a lot of people can relate to, so if this something that's hard for you to read or triggering, please skip!

Being new to Tokyo Tech, you decided to accept Shoko’s invitation and go out to the bars after work one day. You didn’t expect your life to change that night by meeting Gojo Satoru, who happened to show up, complaining Shoko was keeping the new girl to herself.

The two of you hit it off immediately, finding common ground in your dislike for the higher ups, and your desire to change the Jujutsu world for the better. After listening to his smooth voice and honeyed words for the better part of the evening you went back to his penthouse with him.

It didn’t take long for your legs to be entwined, lips locked in a tender embrace, an instant mutual attraction where your future seemed so bright, high off each other's love that slowly turned into a sickening love-hate.

After a few nights together he went to the higher-ups, insisted he be the one to train with you, to take you out on missions. Even in the beginning, he never wanted you far from him, until he was ready to push you away.

It’s the kind of relationship you hear about, only seen in the movies where after every heated argument you’re pushed against the wall, or on top of him, hands around his throat as he thrusts into you with reckless abandon.

You hate it, but you also can’t help but love how you get lost in each other’s touch after every fight. And you love him too much to truly walk away for good. You say you’re going to leave, but you’re never really gone.

At some point in your relationship boundaries cease to exist, and trust went out the window months ago, the way the two of you were always looking through each other’s phones, computers and even stooping so low as to read work emails.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you grab the duffle bag filled with your things, headed for the front door.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving.” You answer, cheeks stained with tears.

“No, you’re not.” He gives a wry, pissed off chuckle before another argument sets in.

More yelling, more tears and after it’s all said and done you end up making up the same way you always do, promising it’ll never happen again.

And things would be fine for a while after that - when things were good between you, they were great.

His penthouse would be filled with joy and laughter as you watch movies, holding onto one another, but inevitably you would get fed up, try leaving once again.

Both of your words are filled with venom when you fight, argue and scream, as objects are thrown across the room and broken against the wall in frustration because he’s so intense, and so are you, fiery and passionate. It’s too much together.

You know it but it’s so hard to let go because you love him so much.

He makes a mountain out of a molehill, seeing a work related text from Ijichi on your phone, shattering the screen in the palm of his hand in anger as he accuses you of seeing another man behind his back, and in response you would throw the stand his precious glasses sit on, watching it shatter as soon as it hits the ground. You stare each other down, neither relenting until your bags are packed and you’re leaving once again, falling back into the same pattern.

He says he hates routines but he sure seems to love this one.

“Baby, please, come back,” he begs quietly outside the bedroom door of your apartment when you refuse to let him in after your hundredth break up, “it wasn’t you, baby, it was me. This one’s on me. Let me in, let me say I’m sorry.”

He always comes, flowers in hand. He always brings your favorites.

And after a while of hearing his strained voice through the door, you open it and accept the gift, you always do. He always knows what to do and say to bring a smile to your face, the tears that were streaming ten minutes ago slowly forgotten as he wipes the last of them away with his thumb, promising it’ll never happen again.

He says you’ll both work on your attitudes and tempers, and learn how to communicate better with one another. You both promise to never use such violent words against one another, promise to never say things you don’t mean again.

It never happens, and you’re both at fault.

He kisses you sweetly, whispers sweet nothings and apologies in your ear until you’re writhing in pleasure underneath him, wrapped in his arms in the morning, makeup still smeared from your tears of pain and pleasure the night prior.

But you can’t keep doing this, you know you can’t. You’re too deep in this cycle of destruction and the only way to stop is for one of you to finally walk away.

So you push his arms off of you, “don’t touch me. I can’t keep doing this Satoru.”

“I thought we made up last night, what the fuck happened already?” He’s following you out of your room like a lost puppy, “you can’t leave me. I can’t lose another person I love.”

“I can’t keep going down this path with you. This is the last time. I mean it.”

“Okay.” He answers quietly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “we’ll get it right this time. I swear.”

He says he’s sorry, it’ll never happen again, just like all the other times before, even though you know it’s all a lie.

And you always did love his lies.

It only took a few weeks this time, before your back is pressed against the wall of your apartment, tears running down your face, unable to catch your breath as you press your palms into your eyes and tug at the roots of your hair because it’s over this time.

And you really mean it.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the upscale restaurant bathroom you’re currently standing in, you look over your makeup while adding a little extra lipstick before throwing the tube back into your clutch purse and moving the necklace you’re wearing to sit in the center of your chest again.

You sigh deeply to yourself, this is a place you and Satoru had come to several times during the course of your relationship. You know you shouldn’t be thinking about your ex while you’re out on a date with another man, but the fact that you are likely means you’re really not ready to put yourself back out there.

Shoko had come over a few weeks ago, during one of the times you were having a breakdown, ready to run back to Satoru’s arms. She brought several bottles of alcohol, reminded you of why you broke up again and that you were adamant about not going back to him this time. So, she suggested you put yourself back out there and try dating someone else for a change.

A few too many shots later and you agreed with her, downloading a dating app to your phone, the two of you giggling into the night while making the profile.

That’s how you ended up here, out with a window. A compromise, you told yourself, someone who has a foot in the Jujutsu world you don’t have to lie about your daily life to, and someone who couldn’t manage to be as much of an asshole or nearly as emotionally stunted as the man you fell in love with.

“Everything okay?” Your date asks as you make your way back to the table and take your seat across from him. He’s attractive, clean cut with raven hair, deep brown eyes where you can barely see his pupils but still incredibly beautiful. He works a desk job in accounting for some bank you’ve never heard of.

“Yeah, everything’s great,” you smile at him, “just freshening up my makeup.”

He cocks his head to the side while smiling, “you look great, er, beautiful, I mean.”

You smile back and sigh, the first date you’ve had since Satoru and it’s… fine. He’s nice enough, talks a lot about his desk job, tries to relate to you about how important his own secondary job as a window is in your world. You sit and listen, nodding along as you play with the straw of your drink, hand resting on your chin.

He does most of the talking, asks what kind of movies you like, what your favorite color is. Simple, surface level questions which were meant to get to know one another but you just couldn’t be less interested if you tried.

There’s no passion in his voice, rarely any sort of influx in his tone - just monotone, droning on and on. It’s too much to ask, you know that, to go on a single date and run into someone who could keep your interest; after all, it’s not every day you run into someone who dislikes the higher ups and has a desire to change the way the world you live in works. Hell, you doubt the man across from you even knows there are higher ups in charge.

“Yeah, I’ll have a tequila sunrise, no tequila. That shit’s nasty.”

“Sir, that would just be orange juice and grenadine.”

“Perfect. Extra grenadine.”

You still at the familiar voice coming from behind you, eyes widening as Satoru comes to stand next to you, hands in his pocket, a saccharine smile spread across his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You hiss incredulously, looking at him horrified and embarrassed.

Satoru looks at you from behind his dark square shades with a raised eyebrow, feathering his jaw.

You look good, all things considered, with the dress you’re wearing pinching at your waist, pushing your breasts together in the most alluring way, leaving just enough of your cleavage exposed to still be classy.

You were looking to get fucked tonight and he does not like that one bit.

Satoru let himself fall in too deep with you, in over his head and he tried to push you away over and over again but he also couldn’t bear the thought of living this lonely, sad existence without you. So a tug of war began in your relationship. He knows you’re suffocating because of him, so he tried to stay away this time, but when Shoko let it slip you were going out tonight with a window-

Well, he couldn’t stay away any longer.

He knows you can do better than that - he'd rather accept you running off with Nanami behind his back because at least he would treat you like a queen, in the ways Satoru never could. Hell, he’d even accept you defecting and running off to follow Suguru.

But a window?

That’s just a disgrace.

Satoru points behind him to a woman at a booth sucking her teeth, arms folded over her chest, one leg crossed over the other bouncing in annoyance as she glares at you from across the room, “I’m on a date too. Saw you here, thought I’d come say hi.”

“Great. I hope you treat her better than you treated me.”

Satoru opens his mouth, ready to retort, but your date cuts in. He's clearly nervous, a little sweaty now because he clearly knows who The Strongest is. He shifts in his seat slightly with wide eyes that could bulge out of his head at any moment.

“You’re G-Gojo Satoru?”

“The one and only,” Satoru replies cockily, “so you guys fuck yet or what?”

“Oh my god, Satoru, that is none of your business!”

He laughs, “okay, well I’ll take that as a no then.”

“Take it however you want and just leave us alone.” You’re seething, of course he’s out on a date and of course it just happens to be at the same place you’re at.

Rather than leaving, Satoru sits next to you, making himself at home, spreading his long legs out under the table and spreading them wide, just to take up as much space as humanly possible. He snakes his arm around your shoulder and you stiffen from the contact, unable to help the jolt that's sent between your legs after not having felt his smooth hands on your body for so long when he gently caresses your exposed shoulder with his thumb.

“Who-Why is he here?” Your date looks at you, an expression just as mortified as your own.

“He’s my-”

“Boyfriend.”

“Ex.” You clarify as Satoru rolls his eyes from behind his glasses because that’s just semantics.

Your date purses his lips, looking between the two of you before clearing his throat, “right, well, this is a lot, so I’m going to head out. It was, uh, nice meeting you.”

“Ouch, first date, huh? That sucks.” Satoru laughs loudly as your date exits the booth, grabs his coat jacket and makes his way out of the restaurant.

“Fuck you. Move so I can leave.”

“No, I don’t think I will. In fact, I’ll just have Jazmyne join us, that’ll be fun to watch.” Satoru smiles at you, ready to call his date over to your table.

“You’ve already ruined my evening, Satoru. The least you can do is move out of my way so I can go home alone,” you hiss, blood boiling at his antics. You wouldn’t put it past him to have planned this entire thing just so you couldn’t go out with someone else, “and after tonight I never want to see you again.”

He chuckles, looking at you with a sly grin, “sure, babe.”

“I put in a transfer request. I’m done, we can’t be near each other.”

Satoru stills at your comment, looking you up and down, “to where?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “away from here, away from you. I was serious when I said I can’t keep doing this.”

He watches you, the way small tears prick the corner of your eyes, the way you swallow thickly and your shoulders slump slightly. You’re telling the truth, you really want to leave and be done. After a few minutes of silence, he moves, letting you out of the booth.

Satoru noticed before your date left that he didn’t bother paying, leaving the bill to you. You’re clearly too upset to have realized as well, so he sighs, pulling out his wallet and throwing too many bills on the table for the dinner you didn’t even order yet. Pursing his lips, he watches your hips sway as you make your way out of the restaurant deciding to follow suit, because there’s no way he’s just going to let you leave.

“What are you doing?” Satoru is standing beside you, on the sidewalk just outside of the restaurant, hands in his pocket.

“Taking you home?” He answers as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“Just - go back to your date.”

“Nah, gotta make sure you get home safe.”

There’s no point in trying to argue with him, you’ve learned well enough that it will just result in more tears and pain, and you’d probably give in and take him back at the end of it. So, you make your way to your apartment with him in tow.

And despite wearing heels, the bastard doesn’t even offer to warp you there.

“You know,” he says as soon as you enter the hall of your apartment, “if I were that shitty little window, I would have had you spread out across the table-”

“No, you wouldn’t have Satoru,” you say exasperatedly, opening the door to your apartment, “you would have been too busy arguing with me over something trivial and meaningless.”

“I don’t  want to fight all the time.” He hopes you can hear the sincerity in his voice.

You scoff and roll your eyes, closing the door but his foot blocks the path before he easily pushes it open, entering your space, “right, I can totally tell. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s over, we’re over and I’d like to move on and pretend we never happened.”

“You sure about that?” He smirks, amused.

“Satoru, I don’t care what you think, just leave.”

“Baby, you’re so cute when you lie.” He coos, voice low and smooth as he removes his glasses, crystalline eyes shining in the light of your apartment as he walks over to you.

“You went out with another man tonight, wearing a dress I bought you. You’re also wearing that shade of lipstick I always loved on you when you’d be between my legs,” he runs his thumb over your bottom lip as he watches in amusement, “wearing the necklace I got you for our anniversary. You even let me follow you back to your place without so much as a mild argument.”

You roll your eyes and click your tongue. All of those things were just a coincidence, you certainly didn’t mean to pick out several items he bought for you, and the only reason you let him follow you was because you already know there’s no way to get him to leave you alone despite how many times you tell him to.

“Satoru, I can’t keep doing this back and forth with someone who doesn’t love me, so just get out.”

“You think I don’t love you?” He laughs, “maybe if you keep this shit up I won’t.”

You stare at him, pissed but not the least bit surprised about what he just said, always turning it around. It’s the same thing all over again. He doesn’t want you to leave, but is constantly pushing you away.

“See this is what I’m talking about, every single time, Satoru! You don’t want me so we fight non-stop and then you say things will change and they never do! It’s just lies, all of it has always been lies.”

He stares at you for a long moment, before you’re speaking at the same time.

“That’s not true-”

“Just get out-”

The two of you are arguing now, such a familiar sight, speaking over one another, arguing about your relationship. You’re trying to make a point about how hot and cold he’s always been but his lips are on yours before you can finish your thought, hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him so you won't push away, you’re gripping onto his silky button up shirt with no plans of letting go.

Satoru pushes you against the wall with enough force the picture hanging in your entryway rattles on its hook while lifting you by the back of your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist. It’s an automatic response, the way your hips move on their own to rut against him, you can’t help it. 

“Gonna,” he sighs against you, “gonna make a mess on my pants if you keep doing that,” he runs his hands over your thighs, gripping into the plush of your ass, squeezing hard enough bruises begin to blossom around his fingertips.

He pulls away, moving his hands to rip the top of your dress, exposing your breasts as the soft fabric pools at your waist. He’s entranced by you, always has been, especially now, watching the way your tits rise and fall so beautifully with every heave of your chest. 

“Look at you,” he coos, hips moving in time with yours, dry humping you against the wall, “can’t go more than a few weeks without needing me.”

“Fuck you,” you’re ripping open his shirt, the small buttons flying out in every direction. Neither of you care, he’ll buy a new one, hands roaming over his sinewy torso and chest.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he dips his hand in the space between his stomach and your thighs, groaning into you as he runs his fingers through your slick folds, his cock is straining against his thigh, so hard it hurts.

Satoru chuckles at your feistiness, he always did love it, “you know,” he slips two fingers in watching with an icy stare, “I can scare away anyone you try to date with a single glance.” He angles his fingers up, running them along the spot that always makes your legs shake and quiver, using his thumb to encircle your clit causing you to clench around his fingers as he smirks at your reaction.

You’re moaning his name, pulling him in closer to you, hand gripping his soft white tresses as you do so. He loves how malleable you are to his touch, the way you melt as soon as his lips are on yours. You’d let him do anything he wanted.

There’s a knot forming quickly in the center of your core. Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand, knows all of the spots that have you crying out, whimpering and convulsing around him.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll let you cum as many times as I want.” He coos, leaning forward to whisper next to you, his hot breath on the shell of your ear causing a shiver to run down your spine.

He pumps his fingers, brushing your spot every time, he knows you're close, the way you’re mewling into him, bucking your hips as he picks up his pace, the palm of his hand slapping against your clit with every thrust.

“S’toru- I’m-” your words are cut short with a series of broken moans as he continues to pump his fingers, working you through your orgasm, the small space filled with lewd squelching noises as your walls clench and legs tremble around him.

He slows his pace, continuing to rub slow circles on your sweet spot watching the way you arch your back away from the wall, your soft breasts pressing into his hard chest.

“Satoru, wait-”

“Nah. I’m good.” His voice is stern, hardened as he continues to run his fingers along your insides, “I already told you, you’ll cum as many times as I want.”

He knows if it’s too much you’ll use the safe word you agreed on, but he knows you won't. As much as you’re trying to pretend you don’t love what he’s doing to you, he knows you do.

You let out a chain of embarrassing whimpers as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, steadily increasing his pace again until you’re shattering around him over and over and over.

Through each and every one of your orgasms Satoru’s soft lips are on yours before planting several soft kisses over your flushed face before moving down to suck and nip at several spots along your neck, chest and shoulders.

Closing your eyes, you rest your head back against the cool wall before he shoves his fingers in your mouth. You open your eyes and watch him; cheeks pink, lips parted, eyes half lidded, pupils blown with lust watching the way you swirl your tongue around, tasting your arousal as he works to undo the button and zipper of his pants.

You let out a loud gasp when you feel the blunt end of his thick cock slide through your folds, tip teasing your clit, pulling your hips away from him automatically at the sensitive feeling.

Satoru grabs your hip and pulls you forward again as he continues to tease you, sliding his cock up and down your soaked cunt.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, trying to wiggle your hips out of his grasp.

“You can handle it.” He remarks bluntly, leaning forward to suck a tender spot below your ear, “besides, you deserve this, don’t you? Trying to make me jealous, going out with another man.”

“No.” You answer firmly, breathlessly as he leans up, amusement in his eyes at your response, “we’re over. Just-just fuck me already, Jesus.”

He chuckles, letting his cock circle your clit a few times, twitching when he hears your pretty little gasps, before teasing your entrance, “I’ll let you have it when I’m -ah-” you buck up, his tip slipping past your folds. He lets out a loud groan, lips ghosting yours as you slide down the length of his cock despite his words, “ha- you bitch.”

Satoru rolls his hips a few times, both of you moaning at the feeling of having each other just one more time, because that’s all this can be, even if he’s not ready to give you up yet.

“I made you everything you are. Training you, taking you on missions,” he rambles through clenched teeth, pulling out about half way and slamming back into you, “you’re mine, aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you answer in a broken whine, moving your hips back to meet his every thrust, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix in a way you know you’ll be sore later “all yours.”

It’s an automatic response at this point, even when you’re delirious, getting fucked within an inch of your life. He gets jealous, seeing you speak with Nanami, smiling at Ijichi and now it’s another routine, a part of your relationship you had come to expect.

“Yeah, fucking right you are, baby,” he groans, slamming his hips into yours relentlessly, watching your tits bounce in time with his thrusts as tears pick in the corner of your eyes, making his own light up as they overflow and spill down your cheek. “You wanna change the world? You know that’s only possible when you’re by my side."

He regrets pushing you away, the way he lets you leave each time your bags are packed. Despite your words, he knows, deep down, you’re not going to take him back this time, but he wants you to, even if it’s incredibly selfish of him - he doesn’t give a shit. Doesn’t want to know or think about you going out, being with someone else, being happier with someone else. Not when you could and should be with him.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to.” His lips slam into yours, hot searing kisses on your lips, tongues gliding together sloppily until he moves to nip at your ear lobe, “gonna fill you so full, put a baby inside you - won't be able to leave then, will you?”

He laughs next to your ear, unhinged, high pitched and amused with his own thoughts, his hot breath tickles your neck, sending a jolt right to the apex of your thighs.

“You’re demented. I hate you -shit-” your hands are under his open shirt on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, he doesn’t try to stop you or use his infinity. He lets it happen, his own twisted form of punishment for watching you drown under him and being unable and unwilling to let you resurface.

Satoru rests his head against the wall, heavy breaths fanning your ear, his cock twitching each time you grace him with one of your pretty moans, the picture frame continuing to rattle with each thump of your body against the wall.

“I hate you too,” he kisses your jaw, licks the trail of tears streaming down your cheek, leaving a kiss below your eye before ripping the rest of the silky fabric of your dress from your waist, letting it fall to the floor, “you take my cock so fucking well, baby.”

You look down, moaning at the sight of where you’re connected, watching the way his thick cock disappears in your cunt. He runs his hand along your abdomen, where the familiar bulge from his cock sits.

“Right there keep going, harder, please.” 

Satoru watches your eyes roll back, watches the way the sheen of sweat that’s formed over your body glistens in the light of your apartment. You’re so gorgeous with the blush that’s formed on your cheeks down to your neck, with your sweet, breathy moans that are only for him.

He snakes his arm around your hips, pulling your ass out from the wall, leaving your shoulders connected, putting you in the most severe arch you’ve ever been in. His hands are cemented on your hips keeping you in place while he fucks into you with reckless abandon, throwing his head back, using your body however he wants, however he needs.

“Nobody will want you -ah- if you have a kid with me. Scare off any fucking date you have, you’ll have to stay with me then, won’t you baby?”

The sound of your arousal drips obscenely to the floor below, as he pins your hands over your head, using his infinity to keep them against the wall as he continues to fuck into you. Grabbing your legs from his waist, he pushes your knees down to your face, literally folding you in half, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the feeling of your soft, warm walls tightening around his cock.

“Shit, right there,” you gasp as his hips falter, “don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Your walls clench and shudder around him, encouraging him to speed up, to cum inside you like he knows you want him to. You’re clenching around him, hard, before you know it, body shivering like you’re seizing, vision going white as your high takes over all your senses.

Satoru lets out a string of breathy moans, brows furrowed at the feeling of your walls squeezing him for all he’s worth, hammering into you until his hips are stuttering and he’s no longer able to hold back.

“Take my cum, baby,” he hisses, thrusts sloppier than ever as he loses himself in you, “I love you so fucking much.” 

He lets out a deep guttural groan as his release floods your insides, and you could swear the force shifted the world in his favor. It always seemed to be that way, after all. He wills something to happen, so the universe makes it so.

You’re panting into one another as he continues to slowly rock his hips, fucking his cum deeper inside, making sure it sticks, because he meant everything he said.

Lifting you off the wall, he carries you back to your bedroom and gently lays you down on the bed, cock still buried inside you as he runs his nose along the length of yours, whispering sweet nothings about how he’s sorry, how he misses you and wants you to take him back. This time things will be different, he swears.

You know better than to listen, but you missed this. Missed being in his strong embrace, so you let it slide for the night, indulging one last time before it’s over, really over this time.

You stay like this until he’s hard again, going at a much slower tempo, deeper strokes than before.

Somewhere between the third and fourth rounds, he gets a call, a Curse User running amok and he’s needed to go out and take care of the situation.

“Satoru,” you say, holding the sheets over your frame trying to cover the shame of falling into bed with him again so easily, “I never want to see you again.”

He lets out a mix between a scoff and a laugh, looking you up and down before putting on his little black glasses and giving a nefarious grin.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”

It’s been a little over a month since that night. After Satoru left, you got up and started cleaning your apartment of all the things he had gotten for you over the years. Just like when you told him you were never getting back together, you meant what you said about never wanting to see each other again.

You even followed up on your transfer request, but Ijichi informed you that it could take a few months to make its way to the higher-ups and to count yourself as lucky if they approve the request.

It seems Satoru heard your message loud and clear, since you haven’t heard from him over the last few weeks, taking care to avoid one another in the halls, not sparing a glance at each other during meetings you’re both required to attend.

But that’s about to change as you walk through the halls of Jujutsu Tech, eye’s red, puffy and swollen from crying the last few days.

It’s evening and hardly anyone is around as you open the door to Satoru’s office. You knew he would be here tonight, because you had threatened Ijichi into not doing his paperwork earlier in the day, so you’d be able to easily find him without having to show up at his apartment.

He looks up, a cocky grin on his face as if he already knew you’d show up with a stick in hand, two pink lines on the display.

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