Fractured Desires Masterlist

Men who are academically gifted, very smart and calculated, but somewhat clueless when it comes to love. He has a good reason for that though; nobody before you had caught his attention. Now that he’s found you, his heart is beating faster, cheeks heating up, fingers itching to reach out and hold you. His normally cool demeanour is crumbling. Did you cast a spell on him? He has a lot to learn about romance, and the good thing is that you basically have a completely blank canvas to paint on. He didn’t pick on any bad habits and he’s already a perfect gentleman.

He would do anything for you, he might not know much about being in a relationship, but he adores you. He is eager to learn about affection, dating, kissing, establishing a routine with you, loving you. He’s an act of service kind of person, eager to please and care for you. He’s the one reminding you of your appointments, making sure you eat enough and stay hydrated, taking care of you when you’re sick, helping you study or work on whatever projects that you have. Whenever he comes over, he cleans your dishes without even a second thought, and you felt bad at first to subject him to your messes until you realized that he loves doing those things for you.

He quickly learns how and when to hold your hand, what kind of dates you like, the pet names that make your heart skips a beat, how to kiss you until you’re breathless and wanting more. He’s also a very good listener, which is actually impressive since he seemed mostly socially clueless when you first met him. He takes an interest in all the things you like. He does research on your favourite music groups, he catches up on TV shows you enjoy so he can understand what you’re talking about when you mention them, and he tries to learn the recipes of your favourite meals. He has a whole folder in his notes app dedicated to gift ideas and things he wants to remember about you — your drink order, favourite restaurant, the flowers you like, the brand of a bag you were eyeing last time he went to the mall with you. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

He’s become completely attached to you and he’s so touch starved that he takes each and every opportunity to be near you and hold you in some way, usually burying his nose in your neck. He takes note of your sweet perfume then, mentally adding it to the list of things he knows about you, right next to the flavour of chapstick he tasted on your lips the last time he kissed you.

fushiguro megumi, todoroki shoto, shinso hitoshi, tsukishima kei, kozume kenma, armin arlert, tomioka giyuu, hayakawa aki, + all your favs.

ViolinProdigy!Megumi has my heart. w/c - 600 (Reposted from my old blog which I don't have access to anymore (thanks Tumblr), if you liked it reblogs or likes would be appreciated to get me back on track since I've lost all my followers and half my work :(

-

“You’re biting your nails again, Fushiguro.”

“What?” He takes a split second to register your words before letting the hand near his mouth dig back into his pocket, “Uh, sorry.”

“I like seeing you nervous,” you admit, barely audible beneath the wave of applause coming from the auditorium.

He sighs at the noise, placing a long finger near his ear, waiting for you to repeat yourself.

“I said ‘Good luck with your performance’!” You smile bashfully, nudging at the door where the stage manager waves frantically at Megumi.

He nods at the man, kneeling down to run gentle fingers on the clasps of the violin case to undo them, taking out the instrument before following the stage manager out of the waiting area.

Even though you have a seat reserved in one of the spaces prearranged for friends and family, you watch him through the crack of the stage door, listening to the other soloists groan as soon as Megumi swings his bow onto the strings.

"It's precise," a light-haired boy says, resting his arms on his own violin case, "but emotionless."

You feel your face grow red; the perfect sounds tickling your ears are nothing but pure feeling.

"Quiet, Naoya." An older man beside him chides, tugging at his thick English-style mustache. "If you listen, you might understand why your ass fits so well in the second place."

-

Megumi's quiet all the way to the train station. He finds a seat on a bench in a secluded corner, scooting to the side to make room for you.

"First place again, huh, Fushiguro?" You elbow him, trying to interrupt his pensive state.

He only utters a small Mh-hmm, watching another full train depart from the platform, clutching at the violin case resting on his leg.

"You should be happy, Megumi."

"It wasn't perfect," he mutters.

"It was perfect, you should have heard Nayoa's whines as soon as you started playing!" you beam, hoping it would improve his mood, but he just stares off into the space between the bench and the platform.

The train ride felt long, and his legs grew weary of standing pressed against a crowd of people - but despite living a far way from where your station was, Megumi stepped out together with you, like he always did, just to walk you home.

"Why did you say you liked seeing me nervous?" He finally utters when you cross the bridge exiting the station.

"I thought you didn't hear that," you mumble, trying to swallow to relieve the dryness forming in your throat, "I guess it just makes you look more, uh - human?"

"You're saying I don't look human?" He furrows his brows, coming to a halt behind you.

"I don't mean it like that," you turn to face him, watching his features under the yellow light of the street lamp, "You just look so rigid all the time that I -," you lift your arm to press two fingers to the bridge of his nose, smoothing out the wrinkles formed there by his expression, "I like to be reminded that you have feelings, too."

"I have feelings, y'know." He says, a blush creeping on his cheeks.

"I know, I just said you do!"

You walk the rest of the way home in silence, secretly scolding yourself for saying something so brazen. You smile at him when you reach your doorstep, delivering a quick 'See you tomorrow' before stepping inside.

Megumi takes the long route to his house, repeating the same phrase over and over; "I have feelings for you (Name)," he utters silently into the air, "Just tell her dumbass, it isn't that hard."

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: sukuna's been a father for over a month now and seems to be getting the hang of things, or at least he looks like he is. he's no stranger to mental turmoil and it seems to have only gotten worse for him when ever he finds himself alone.

genre: hidden child trope, toxic relationships, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

part two | part three | part four

notes: taglist is closed!!! also this isn't proofread, I'll be doing that right after posting bc im an impatient pos.

The first time you meet him is a blur. You just so happened to be staying at the same hotel that night— you were on your first business trip while he was away for the nth time for a game. You wanted to enjoy the last night of your trip and treated yourself to a drink at the hotel’s bar. It doesn’t take long until Sayomi’s father spots you, goes to sit obnoxiously close to you, and proceeds to ask you what you were drinking, even though he already knew what a martini was. 

You’d think he couldn’t get any more cocky than he already is now, but that’s all what Sukuna was when he was 24 years old. He just couldn’t wait to tell you what he did for a living, and accused you of staring at his thighs to get that conversation rolling. 

“I don’t mind you staring at ‘em, just means I’ve been training right.”

You didn’t ask him to elaborate on that like he thought you would, so he eventually just told you. 

He also eventually convinced you to come back up to his hotel room with him, where he also couldn’t wait to show you how big his dick was and how good he could make you feel with it.

You really don’t remember much except for the way he kept pulling your hips back to meet each thrust and how that alone made you cum more times than you ever have in a single night. And the way he moaned— god it was sexy. So low, so smooth. He’d stare at you with half-lidded eyes, watching his cock split you open and disappear inside of you, in a complete trance over how you took every inch he gave you. 

That was the night he realized he’d fuck you forever if he could, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel that way anymore. 

It obviously didn’t last forever because that’s just not possible, but he did want your number. One could imagine his disappointment when he woke up the next morning and realized it was a fucking pillow that he had his leg thrown over, not the woman who’s guts he spent hours rearranging the night before. 

Fate decided to do its thing though when he spots you on the same plane back home, where you happened to be sitting right next to him in first class. 

No, you never met him in the bathroom for round 2. He tried, believe him, but he understood why you rejected him when he noticed you walking with a slight limp as you got off the plane. He did get your number though, which will always be worth so much more than just a quick fuck in a cramped bathroom of an airplane. 

He especially feels that way whenever he looks at his little girl that he’s known for over a month now— should be 10 months, but it seems to be just him that’s counting with how normal everyone is about this. 

Everyone except for the woman that’s been blowing up his phone, despite upping the number of date nights they have every week. 

He’s been wondering what his 24 year old self would think about all of this. 

Probably happy at first, after finding out the kid he has is with you, then confused after finding out you two weren’t together. Maybe even hurt after finding out how things ended. 

“What did we even do to her?” 

“I don’t fuckin’ know.”

He gets a knot in his stomach whenever he thinks about it long enough. This strange feeling of impending doom begins to wash over him, even when the worst has already happened. He’s constantly having to remind himself that he’s okay and everything will be fine, then he sees you and realizes that you’d slap his hand away if he ever tried to reach out to you. 

Gone is the girl who’d happily lean into his touch— she literally vanished into thin air for him. 

His phone vibrates after letting a call go to voicemail, and finally checks it. 

Yor: Are you sure you can’t leave early? We’ve been wanting to go to the concert for a while now. 

Sukuna: I really can’t, I already told you Yomi’s got an appointment. She’ll probably be in a bad ass mood after, you know how sensitive she is. 

No, she doesn’t know, she’s never met the kid.

He didn’t specify what kind of an appointment it’d be, but he’s sure getting an ear piercing would be a worse experience than getting flu shots or whatever they give to babies.

Truth be told, he just doesn’t wanna be away from her. He spends more time at your house than he has at his own and will probably stay with you both up until her bedtime tonight—ingraining it into his daughter's head that he’ll be there for her every time she feels pain.

She won’t remember it, but it’ll become a subconscious thing. She’ll eventually just know that he’s someone she can go to if she’s not okay. 

You two decided to go in the same car and meet your mom at the fancy piercing shop she suggested, more than ready to spend a fortune on her granddaughter's first pair of earrings.

“Are you excited, sweetie?” She turns to you and asks

“I’m just worried about how long she’ll be sore for.” 

“Just give her some Tylenol.” Your mother simply says, waving off your concerns.

“Fuck, I should’ve called her pediatrician and asked if that was okay.”

“Honey, we used to line your gums with vodka whenever you were in pain from teething, a little bit of baby Tylenol isn’t going to hurt her.” Your mother reveals and Sukuna immediately steps away from her, to which she immediately scoffs at. “It was a different time, okay? I’m sure your parents did the same to you.” 

He ignores her and turns to you, “call them and double check.” 

He met your parents a couple weeks ago and so far it’s been good. Their relationship is very relaxed. You weren’t sure what to expect since it was you that decided to be a single mother, but they were pleasantly surprised to find out who exactly it was, with your father muttering “I fucking knew it” under his breath. 

You ignored that comment. 

They’re just glad their grandchild’s father isn’t a bum, which also confused them more as to why you did what you did. 

“I kinda wanna get mine pierced with her.” Sukuna mentions while rubbing her little earlobe between his fingers. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah. I feel like she’d cry less if she saw me getting it done first.” He explains his little last minute theory. There’s also no doubt in his mind that they’d look good on him, but that’s something he keeps to himself. 

“Guess it won’t hurt for you to try.” 

He turns to your mother with a shit eating grin. “You tryna buy me a pair of earrings too?”

“Never in my life would I do such a thing,” she laughs a little too hard. “We all know you could buy this whole store and it wouldn’t put the slightest dent in your pocket.” 

“Rude.” He complains boyishly while looking at which diamond studs he wants. “It’s the thought that counts y’know.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind during christmas time. Let’s hope I forget how much Google said your net worth was by then.” Your mother quips. 

“Tch– whatever.” He clicks his tongue and chuckles, then turns to you. “Do you want anything?”

“No, I don’t see anything I like that I don’t already have. Thank you though.” You say after taking a brief look at what they had to offer. In the end you decided it’s probably best if he doesn’t buy you anything, even though there was a necklace in the corner of the glass display that you really liked.

One that he was more than capable of buying.

Soon enough, it’s you holding Yomi while you both wave at her father who’s sitting across from you too. For once, you find yourself appreciative of Sukuna and the lengths he is willing to go to in order to make your daughter's life slightly easier.

It was a smart idea, you could see why he thought that her seeing him getting it done would help the process.

Except when the gun goes off, she flinches and her eyes grow wide in horror as she sees the diamond stud that the little device left on his ear. 

She started crying before the piercer got to Sukuna’s second ear and cried even harder when he actually got the second piercing. You both ultimately decided that today just wasn’t the day you’d get them done— you might not get them done ever given how traumatized the experience of just watching her dad getting piercings has left her. 

The three of you were supposed to go out for lunch with your mother right after, but you also decided that it was best to go straight home. She’s having one of those meltdowns where it’s best to go home and put her to sleep, scheduling the appointment at noon probably wasn’t the best thing to do since it clashed with her nap time. At least she’ll sleep well, you know you do whenever you sob as hard as she is right now.

You ended up having to sit in the backseat to comfort her, which was fine until she decided that she was going to string out the tears, because getting attention from mommy is nice. 

“oohuhuhu,” she whimpered in her little voice, it was so forced— barely any emotion behind it and Sukuna bursts out laughing because of it.

You end up having to look away too, not wanting her to think you were making fun of her. But it was already too late as tears started to well in her eyes again from feeling embarrassed. 

Lately, it’s been him who’s been trying to coddle her whenever she’s in one of her moods. It actually works half the time— something that’s even surprised your parents when they came over the other week and watched him successfully calm her down. 

Today’s not one of those days, she keeps turning around and looking at you— wanting for you to come get her. Sukuna tried turning around so she couldn’t see you and she just stuck her little hand out to the side of him, reaching out for help. At that point you started to feel bad and ended up taking her, not missing the slight pout on Sukuna’s face when you did. 

“Sukuna.” 

“Hm?”

“Can you look away?” 

“Oh right, my bad.” He doesn’t mean it. You throw the baby blanket over you and let him know his eyes were free to roam again.

His eyes go straight to Yomi’s little feet that were sticking out of the blanket and joyously kicking around because she finally got what she wanted, once again reminding him how much of a brat she is. “Are you sure she didn’t get her attitude from you?”

“No, my parents said I was the easiest child ever.” You laugh at how in denial he is of being the one to pass down the ‘tude to her. “Even Jin said she gets it from you, you just didn’t hear him because you were too busy arguing with Yuji.”

“Don’t believe a word Jin says,” he says, taking a seat on the sofa across from the one you were sitting on. “He was a thousand times more sensitive than this one.”

“I’m sure.” You say and leave it at that. After hearing about their parents dying when they were just 18, you try not to talk about anything that would lead to a conversation about them. You’re only cautious about it since Sukuna’s never brought it up before. And aside from sharing a child together, you two just aren't that close. 

“How long are you planning on breastfeeding her for?” He nods at Yomi when he asks, or your tits, you’re not sure anymore. 

“I wanted to be done by the time she turns one, but that’s a month away and I just don’t see that happening.” You sigh, starting to get literal war flashbacks of when you tried to stop. “I tried weaning her off right before you came into the picture and I lost so much sleep that I started seeing shadow figures.”

“What the fuck?” His face twists in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” You wish you were kidding, that was the worst week of your life. “She’d take her normal naps during the day, then she’d cry all night. I had to have my parents come help. I slept for like 16 hours and went back to breastfeeding her.”

“I can always watch her for the night if you wanna try to stop again.” He suggests, it doesn’t surprise you, he’s been like that one guy from the movie Holes. 

I cAn hELp wiTh thAt.

Very sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he has an underlying motive sometimes. 

“Maybe. I thought about trying again when she’s 18 months old.”

“You mean a year and a half?” He tries to correct you. He thinks he might actually lose it if you say she’s 24 months old when she turns 2.

“Same shit.” You roll your eyes at the man. 

“Okay.” He says sarcastically. “The season starts again around that time though, so it’d probably be better if you do that before then.” 

“Oh yeah huh?” He’s been around so much that you almost forgot that he travels half of the year. 

He used to fly you out a lot when you two were messing around with each other. This was back when you had the energy to hop on a flight right after work on Fridays, then get ready for work at 3 am on monday so you could go straight from the airport to work. 

You’d never do that for anyone, ever again. It was so much work now that you’re looking back. There was one point where you did that for nearly a month straight. You just had to stop, but by then he only had a couple weeks of the season left, so he didn’t seem to mind when you tapped out on him. 

“Do you think you two can travel with me for a bit once the season starts?” He asks in a low tone, it’s almost as if he’s nervous to ask. 

“I’m not sure. It's doable since I work from home, but it’s hard traveling with kids.” You hesitantly say. You don’t really travel all that much with her anyways, the thought of being far away from home almost makes you nervous. 

“Well, think about it. Some of the guys on the team are married with children and they bring ‘em along for at least half the time. I’m sure accommodations can be made for you two, maybe even pay for a nanny if you need the help.”

“I will, I’ll let you know in a couple months or something.” You say, before you both are interrupted by his phone ringing again for the third time since you’ve gotten back to the house. 

“You can take phone calls in front of me.” You let out a light laugh. He thinks you don’t know, but you are very aware of how much his girlfriend calls and texts him. 

He lets out a deep sigh while looking at the phone screen, it ends up going to voicemail again, but at that point he’d rather not keep her waiting and calling and waiting and calling.

“It’s probably something important, so I’ll just take it outside.” He mutters before excusing himself and stepping into the backyard. 

By that point, Sayomi’s fast asleep, so you end up sending Sukuna a little text letting him know you’re going to be in the nursery with her. You try not to think about the fact that you heard a couple yells coming out of the backyard as you walk up the stairs. You shut the door too so you don’t have to listen to him fighting with his girlfriend for like the hundredth time that week. 

You set Yomi down in her crib and take a seat in the rocking chair next to it, letting out a little yawn and rubbing the day away from your eyes. Sucks that Sukuna had to take a phone call, you were just about to ask him if he could watch her while you take a little power nap, you don’t get to do much of that anymore.

Your own phone buzzes, but instead of a call, it’s a text from Suguru. 

[11:05 a.m] Suguru G: How’s your morning going?

[01:11 p.m] Suguru G: Just remembered your daughter was getting her ears pierced today, just wanted to ask how it went!

[01:11 p.m] You: Oh my god I never even saw your text from this morning! Sorry about that. And she didn’t even get them pierced. Her dad thought it might’ve helped if she watched him get his ears pierced beforehand, but it ended up scaring her lol

[01:12 p.m] Suguru: LMAO

[01:12 p.m] Suguru: You guys traumatized her

[01:13 p.m] You: I know, I felt so bad! But I think she was just tired too, she woke up kind of early this morning. 

[01:14 p.m] Suguru: Probably. Is everything okay now?

[01:14 p.m] You: Yeah, she’s finally taking a nap, she needed it lol

You hear a little knock at the door and Sukuna comes in right after, walking up to the crib. Except instead of looking at his daughter, he was looking at your phone in your hands— looking like he was about to ask who you were texting. 

And he was extremely close to asking, mainly because he has a habit of starting more fights when he’s in a bad mood, but this time he practices some self control. He already knows it was fucking Suguru anyways and he’d rather not get into all of that when he’s already got other shit to deal with right now.

“I gotta go,” he whispers to you. His hairs slightly disheveled, looks like he’s been pulling on it or something. He leans over the crib and gives Yomi a couple forehead kisses before standing back up at full height. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You whisper back and do a little wave before he gently closes the door.

Even with the door shut and him trying to keep his voice down, you can still hear him suddenly snap and say something along the lines of “I already said I was fuckin’ coming” after picking up the phone, again.

notes: i'm hoping you guys are enjoying the story so far!! seeing the theories and thoughts make me giggle and kick my feet like a little slut, i'm hoping to get back to them very soon!!

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

errands for mom

He is trying to fool himself

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

summ. wine nights and free will? a recipe for disaster— such as matching your ex on a corny dating app and having him in your bed within that same hour. . .

cw. eventual smut. 18+. fem!reader. alcohol/substance consumption. ex boyfriend!gojo. mild toxicity. breakup & makeup. girlhood ft jjk girlies. unreliable narrator sorta. sukuna slander. mild impact play. mild asphyxiation. oral (f). fíngering. backshōts. reader is a little questionable. self sabotaging my beloved. lowkey angsty. @/3aem on tumblr for art creds. most of these stories are real shit i’ve heard/experienced LOL. can you tell i’ve never used tinder a day in my life? 16.4k words. . oops.

rena’s note. @yung-notorious and her filthy mind. . .

“you like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do.”

god, you do.

you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that had you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

friday nights were meant to decompose after a long week. a cute tradition you followed— sipping on moscato wine and munching on takeout with your homegirls while the lamest horror movie played as background noise. the skincare bit happened every third friday of the month, which fell on this particular night, thin layers of korean products lathering at your skins while fluffy headbands sat atop your hairlines, keeping stray hairs away.

it was an easy way of recapping all of your week’s worth of bullshit and listing each girl’s new lineup of men of the season.

girlhood.

“i’m cool off men for a whileee,” you sigh, placing your third wine glass on the coffee table. you tuck your legs back onto the couch, propping your head into your palm. you watch as shoko, who’s seated on the floor, grabs your glass and fills it with another unsolicited round. you narrow your eyes at her, “after the shit kuna pulled— girl, slow down!”

“don’t watch me,” shoko chews at her unlit blunt tucked in her teeth, lifting an arm above her head to pass you your refill. despite the slight spin of the room, you accept the cup against better judgment, “keep talking. what the fuck did he do now?”

“you mean what didn’t he do,” seated in the pink bean bag rested on the floor, utahime quips. in between her teeth sits a wooden stick, drizzled in the honey-like wax residue she smeared over her shin. “i woulda left his ass the second i found out he— FUCK— lived with his mama at his big age.”

as utahime soothes her smoothened skin, yuki leans over the coffee table to grab at the blunt passed over to her. “y/n baby, you know i love you,” she starts off, taking a deep inhale before ghosting the smoke. you can tell she’s about the cook the shit out of you, “but come on— he lives in his parents’ basement. was that not a red flag in itself? is that seriously the kind of man you see yourself marrying.”

“nevermind the fact he’s pushing thirty and still unemployed,” shoko throws in her two cents, takeout back in her lap as she breaks open a new set of chopsticks, “he’s one more ‘tap in’ away from getting caught by the feds.”

“how much y’all wanna bet he’s at the club right now as we speak?” it’s a rhetorical question, but utahime pauses her waxing to check. with sticky fingers, she taps away at her phone, and with a knowing smile she yelps, tilting her screen towards you three, “aha!— and there goes the infamous money spread.”

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

you’re filled with dread and shame at the sight presented. god— every single chance you gave this man, he spun around and somehow does worse. it’s not like the two of you were together— never officially, but the sole fact that you’ve let this man treat you as if you were his girl haunts you. you’ve let countless of bullshit slide all because his stroke game came second within all the men you’ve dealt with.

the only thing you’ll give him besides a being a good lay is that you’ve never had issues concerning other women. he’s a very transparent guy— you’ve yet to receive a “hey girlie. . .” text from anybody. though, it isn’t like either of you have ever dropped any hard launches. it was mostly content that only close friends could catch onto— the interior design of his car, your latest set of nails, subtle shots of his tattoos, your purses and jewelry. nothing evident but pretty obvious to those who know.

if sukuna was still cool with him, however. . . yeah, he’d definitely know, considering the fact he purchased most of the purses you own. that’s excluding the fact your favorite necklace, the one with your name engraved, the one you always wear, was also bought by him.

“move,” you push utahime’s hand away from your peripheral, slumping further into the couch. embarrassment floods you yet again, and you drown it away with more wine. much to your chagrin, they spare no mercy as they giggle at your pout, “not too much on me— shoko, you’re literally the one who put me on!”

“don’t do that,” she rolls her eyes, picking at the orange chicken on her platter. you have half a mind at chucking your drink at her. “all i told you was to fuck him. nobody said anything about keeping him around.”

“instructions: unclear,” utahime giggles, smearing another coat of wax mixture onto her calves. “she’s now a year deep into a situationship with a man who files for disability checks to blow on parlays.”

you spring up in your seat, your wine nearly spilling on shoko in your excitement, “shit, i never told you guys!”

“told us what?” yuki kills the blunt in the ash tray, and stretches an arm to grab at her food. she knocks over a few emptied bottles as they roll on the carpet, and winces when one of them knock at shoko’s knee, “my fault girl.”

shoko clicks her tongue, but you loop your arms around her neck as you proceed, “before you bitches attacked me for literally just being a girl,” you decide ignore the way they all groan, “i was trying to tell you all why i finally ended shit with him.”

“well don’t hold back now!” utahime eggs on.

“guess what i found out,” you set the empty wine glass back onto the table. you’re most likely gonna need your hands in this specific conversation, “he bet thirty thousand dollars on the super bowl game— and lost.”

the room falls quiet. utahime pauses in her ripping, yuki drops her noodles from her chopsticks and shoko nearly chokes on her wine. amidst it all, three pairs of eyes slowly crawl to meet your gaze, in complete disbelief at what you’d told them.

“are you deadass?” shoko speaks first, her facial expression almost incredulous. her eyes are teary from her food slipping through the wrong tube. “you’re playing, right? right?”

“she has to be. . . this is a new level of low even for him.” yuki shakes her head, most likely in attempts to give him the benefit of the doubt. you don’t blame her— no sane person would drop thirty grand on a fucking betting app of all things— and on top of that, lose.

“i wish i was?!” you groan, still upset, “the worst part is that he told me that money was supposed to be deposit money for a condo he’d been,” you raise your fingers in air quotes, “looking into.”

“you know what though? this doesn’t actually surprise me,” utahime laughs, as if she hadn’t been in a daze for a solid minute. she rips at the strip, and winces, “didn’t i just say he was getting checks to place on parlays? frank gallagher looking ass.”

“but thirty thousand?” yuki emphasizes, blinking rapidly in her disbelief, “what the fuck would possess somebody to bet thirty grand on anything?”

“grown ass man, by the way.” shoko mumbles mindlessly, before chowing down some more food. you can’t find it in yourself to disagree.

utahime nods, blowing a puff of air, “on god, bro. don’t he got mortgages to pay off or some shit?”

yuki shoots her a deadpanned look, “girl, with what house.”

and that had been your final straw with him. not the fact he lived in his mother’s basement despite clearly having money to rent out a place, or the fact he was still flexing bands he allegedly has on the gram— but blowing all your money on a fucking football game. and losing. you do respect yourself, as much as these girls believe you don’t. a man with no ambitions and no money? you need to run and far.

“i’ll miss his dick though.” you pout, the alcohol already coursing through your body. being wine drunk always made you horny, that was a known fact, and letting go of one of your greatest eaters was not on your bingo card. naturally, the girls roll their eyes at your antics, “boo me all you want— he horsed me the fuck around in bed.”

“you used to say the same shit about gojo,” utahime points out, rising to her feet as she grabs the used strips in her hold, before circling around the couch, “and look how that ended up.”

technically. . . she wasn’t exactly wrong but that still stung a bit. “hime, seriously?” shoko rolls her eyes, and you feel her hand rubbing at your foot soothingly. her motions are a little stiff but you appreciate the sentiment, “we get you don’t fuck with him but he was still her man. and basically my friend, kinda.”

you hear her wince in the kitchen, followed by footsteps, “right. . . sorry girlie.” she runs back to you after throwing the waste away, and kisses at your temple. she doesn’t comment on the pout on your lips. “i didn’t mean it. . . okay maybe i did, but i’m still sorry!”

your history with gojo was complicated. you’d met him through shoko in your third year of college, at a kickback party hosted by his people. it’d been an invite only thing, but shoko had brought you along as a plus one, and you both instantly connected. as far as you were concerned, it was technically supposed to be a sneaky link vibe, but you soon learned gojo was anything but sneaky. in fact, he was so vocal in him wanting you, that he actually did end up getting you a couple months later.

he’s a year older than you, therefore he’d graduated a year ahead. the separation in itself was something you hadn’t looked forward to at all, but he had found himself a condo downtown, not too far from your residency, therefore seeing each other hadn’t been an issue. he always made it clear he wanted to see you— even after gruelling nine to five shifts in the office. his words matched his actions, driving you up to his place since yours had a stupid curfew policy for visitors.

(you’ve kept him in your dorm numerous times.) (your closet has suffered enough with his lanky ass.)

the first year worked out for the better. he was still welcomed to the parties you invited him to, he made time in his schedule help you with your studies, planned consist dates and even took you out on trips. he was physically, mentally and emotionally present— and you genuinely believed he would be your forever man when you’d introduced him to your parents at your graduation ceremony and he seemed thrilled. they adored him— and that says a lot considering they hated all your other exes. with good reason, but still.

it’d been the honeymoon phase until it wasn’t.

you expected arguments. those are inevitable in relationships, but with every argument he grew distant. you were now both graduated students juggling between jobs, rent and a relationship. it was a lot— your schedules never seemed to align which jumbled into multiple failed dates, which further escalated into more arguments. it hadn’t always been him, you could agree you were at fault too. that post graduation depression spiralled worst than you’d anticipated— the fear of falling behind when your boyfriend had already been successful so early into his career entirely consuming.

he reassured you plenty, but you could see it in his face as he spoke to you— he was exhausted. of work. of life. of you. he had bigger fish to fry than dealing with a workaholic girlfriend with low self esteem. the bigger the promotion, the less your value. you’d seen this play out before— it was less i love you’s and more hours in the office. less dinner dates and more project plannings.

the more time you spent by yourself, the more your mind began overthinking. you had no place in his life anymore. you didn’t resent him for it— you wish nothing but the best for him. he deserves to be successful in life, and he’s already so close to it. your slacking behind is nothing more than dead weight in his rise to the top.

the breakup had been anticipated. you’d broken up with him first. he never asked you to explain why. he nodded, never uttering a word. it’d been the first time you’d seen him in weeks. you kept it simple, “we should break up.” and he kept it even simpler, a curt bounce of the head in agreement. as quick as he’d entered your apartment, he left.

and that’d honestly been it. you’d been together for four years, and broken up for a year and a half. after all this time, you still don’t resent him for it. he made the rational choice in prioritizing himself and his future, and you simply didn’t fit in it. it took you quite some time to work on yourself as well, and you’re honestly satisfied with where you are in life. the breakup clearly worked in favour for you both.

it sucks that he was genuinely the only man you ever cared about. the only man you can confidently say you loved.

“look— now you got her thinking about him!” shoko complains, chucking the nearest thing— a throw pillow, at utahime. it hits her square in the face, to which she lets out a muffled oof! “way to fucking go.”

you blink out of your thoughts. well that’s embarrassing, you got caught up in the past again. you lift yourself from the slumping position you’d unintentionally fallen into the midst of daydreaming, “shit, my bad. got flashbacks to that time he ate me off the bone after his first promotion.”

“yo, what?!” yuki hollers, falling into a fit of laughter. shoko rolls her eyes so much you’re thinking it’ll get stuck at the back of her skull and utahime physically cringed from head to toe. “so fucking unserious— here we are, worried about your ass and here you go, upset you lost your best eater.”

not exactly, though there was some truth to her words. gojo was your best eater, and nobody’s topped him since. he really did tongue fuck you that night like you were the boss who raised his pay. but it wasn’t just the sex you missed— you wholeheartedly missed him. the closest thing to a soul bond you’ve experienced, now gone.

they don’t need to know all that though.

“oh come on,” utahime groans, picking at her nails. trust her to find any reason to slander your ex. for what reason? she’s never told you other than him annoying the fuck out of her, “he could not have been that great. it can’t be anything you can’t find elsewhere— plenty of men eat pussy.”

“okay but do they enjoy eating it or is it more of a duty thing?” yuki points out, rolling her thumb on her lighter mindlessly. she watches the flame arise, casting a soft glow on the sheet stuck to her face, “because you can definitely tell the difference. one eats for foreplay, the other eats for his own pleasure.”

shoko hums in agreement, still poking at her plate, “a man versus a munch,” and with a beat of silence, she takes a deep sigh, throwing her head back, “i should call him.”

“no! no you should not,” utahime laughs, before shooting you a glance. your smile quickly falters and is switched with a look of confusion as she points a nail filer in your direction, “and you,” you cock a brow, “stop thinking about him. we’re supposed to be independent women, y’all need to stand the fuck up.”

“hime, please, you were literally just complaining to your close friends about your latest dry spell.”

“irrelevant!” she dismisses yuki, waving a hand absentmindedly. you don’t see how it’s irrelevant exactly, but you let her proceed. “we are sexy, successful and strong women. stop relying on the past and focus on the future. there are bitches that fought for their lives for the freedom we have! you could literally get dick anywhere— they actually have apps for it, if you didn’t know—”

“so tell us, o’mighty one,” shoko cuts her off, “are you suggesting we download tinder to relieve our stress?”

she remains quiet, and you can see the gears churning in her head. you’re about ninety nine percent positive shoko was fucking around, but the scrunch in your friend’s eyebrows tells you she’s seriously contemplating the idea, “. . yes actually.” she finally decides.

“hime. . .” shoko groans, but is effectively cut off when she springs up to her knees to grab at her phone.

“no, seriously, think about it!” she scrolls through her phone like a maniac, searching through the app store and typing the name in. you all watch her incredulously, her enthusiasm in the matter as if she hadn’t been preaching about feminism half a minute ago, “i’ve met some of my best lays in college through tinder. i haven’t been on this app in years though.”

you don’t see why not. you were pretty tipsy and would never have agreed to this under typical conditions, however it could be regarded as a bonding activity. you also haven’t been on tinder since before your last relationship, and the shit sukuna put you through this past year was enough to make you want to deal with literally anything else.

“i’m down.” you pull out your phone, and shoko may have gotten whiplash with how quick she snaps her head back to eye you. you shrug your shoulders, “we don’t have to take this shit seriously— god knows i’m not entertaining anybody on this app for real.”

“exactly!” utahime nods, walking up to scoot herself beside you. she nudges at shoko with her foot, who flicks at her toes to keep her away, “it’s just for shits and giggles.”

“i’m definitely not doing this shit,” yuki crawls to sit at the couch’s feet, right at shoko’s side, and grabs at the remote sitting uselessly on the table, “but i will be watching you both embarrass yourselves.”

“the only other bitch with common sense here.” shoko sprawls her legs onto yuki’s lap. she receives a slap at the back of her head by utahime, and naturally she slaps the hand right back. “can’t stand that little fucker sometimes.”

“aweee, love you too!” she blows a kiss at her to which she receives a middle finger. you snort, eyes glued on your screen as you redownload that forsaken app back into your phone.

you’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was something saturday you would have to deal with. as of right now, with white wine in your system, logic was not an option. you were learning to live more in the moment, and apparently that starts with the corniest dating app in the world.

it’s not like you’d magically stumble upon your ex on the platform. now wouldn’t that be something? ha!

there’s no fucking way.

this had to be one big, fat cosmic joke. a cruel prank, even. and if it was, then the universe had a twisted sense of humour. you still don’t believe it— were the girls in on this? this kind of shit didn’t just happen to anybody.

it took about a total of twenty minutes between logging back into your old account, updating your password and bio, and swiping left on passing profiles until you landed on it. on. . . him.

you blink slowly. your phone is shaky beneath your unstable hands, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your breath in far longer than recommended for the average human. it’s quiet as fuck in the room— despite the three girls huddled over your shoulders, sticking their noses in all directions to get a clearer view of your illuminating screen— almost as if to confirm if what they were seeing was truly was they were seeing, as if this was all too fucking ironic to be true.

there’s a knot of anxiousness that simmers in the pits of your stomach. you’re pretentiously aware that even the slightest movement— one wrong click or swipe, would ultimately change everything. there was too much at risk here. “oh there’s no fucking way. . .” shoko speaks up first.

utahime leans in impossibly closer, a few centimetres away from fully emerging with your iphone as her nose scrunches, “way too sexy? fuck around and find out? god, he’s still so corny, i swear.”

your eyes trail over his biography, curiously. that “way2sexy” had been an inside joke you both shared years ago— back when drake had dropped one of gojo’s favourite albums, certified loverboy. he overplayed the shit out of that song when it came out, so much that you received multiple complaints from your RA for “public disturbance”, but he swore it worked as daily affirmations for him in the same sense crystals and tarot cards worked for spiritual girlies. you called him corny for it, but before you knew it, it’d shown up in your spotify wrapped the following year.

rapid memories of morning rays of light peeking through blinds, a groggy yet mysteriously clear “alexa, play way 2 sexy” as you fixed your sheets and lit your candles, fighting over who gets to spit toothpaste residue first, hearty laughter to fumbled lyrics, shared minty kisses paired with one “gimme one more” too many.

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

“i would give him the benefit of the doubt in believing he hasn’t updated his account,” yuki draws out, eyes narrowing as a finger sticks out to point, “but his age matches. emoticons as a grown man. . . no shade though.”

his age did match. inside joke aside, none of it was adding up. if he already had his account set up years ago, had he willingly changed his bio to one of your most infamous gags after the breakup? if you were to swipe right right now, would it instantly match? you don’t think you want to figure it out— both possible outcomes scaring you shitless.

“should i swipe left?” you speak uncharacteristically softly, torn between the idea of tucking your tail inwards and running away from the opportunity or your typical it is what it is mentality.

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

“do you want to?” shoko, with a pillow stuffing an agitated utahime in the face, counters. between all the girls, she seemed to understand you the most, granted her own relationship with the man. you’re sure he had given her his own version of their breakup, how you’d opened the doors to endless opportunities for him, had given him the easy way out. you never bothered asking her, afraid of the illusion you’d created to shield yourself shattering, “only you have the answer to that.”

“i honestly don’t know,” you sigh, joints in your thumb aching from hovering over your screen for too long. swiping left meant completely abandoning any the possibility of the two of you as one. you don’t want that responsibility weighted on your shoulders again, “what if he’s moved on? the shit that’ll do to my ego if i swipe right and he passes on me?”

shoko finally grants her friend the permission of speech, freeing her off the couch decoration, though the look she gives her serves as a warning to tread lightly. with a heavy breath, utahime releases a puff, “i’d crashout, just sayin’.”

“but what if he hasn’t moved on?” yuki poses, and apparently that was all the confirmation you needed to swipe. fuck pride— pride wasn’t going to get your back blown out. pride wasn’t going to help you get the love of your life back. pride can go fuck itself.

“wait—”

utahime is cut off again, however, not by shoko but tinder itself. the notification pings loudly, resonating in depths of your ear cavity and shoots straight to your chest. you can feel your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. it’s so silent you can hear a pin drop, and the way your gut churns gives away the end result to your spontaneity.

it’s a match.

“well. . . shit.” shoko slumps back into the couch nonchalantly, and you don’t need to see her to know she’s sporting a smirk. you do feel her knee knock into yours. fake ass idgafer.

you’re no better, biting down your bottom in order to suppress the smile itching to spread. a year later and the sole idea that he’d already came across the same mindset as you, willing to give whatever it was that needed a second shot, had you beyond delusional. god, you need help.

“look at youuu, cheesin’ and shit!” yuki pokes at your cheek and you swat her hand away, ultimately caving into the smile. fuck yeah you were geeked— it’s hard carrying a nonchalant attitude when you were an honest to god, soft hearted lovergirl. if you played your cards right, with a few lash bats and glossy lips, you’d be getting dicked down in no time.

“i’m gonna be sick.” utahime deadpans.

“and i’m getting dickkk,” you sing, jumping to your feet as you stood on the couch. you turn around, hands clutching onto the headrest, giving your ass a cute shake as it rotates in circular motions. you feel shoko’s hand tapping it encouragingly, her phone illuminating as it records while she rests her head on your moving thighs. you hear yuki cackle, pulling out her phone to film as well. you giggle, “rip that pussy!”

“ayeeee!” they complete the lyrics, and the vibes are restored yet again, girly giggles filling the room. when your legs begin to feel wobbly, you stop your twerking to plop yourself right back down, leaning your head onto shoko’s shoulder.

you hear her click her tongue as the recording of your ass graces her screen, and she groans, “gojo is one lucky bastard— he can’t handle all that.”

he most definitely can, and has. you’ll opt with shrugging in the meantime.

“with that being said,” utahime jumps in, crossing her legs, “what’s the next move here? you reaching out first?”

your lips straighten as your mind reflects. if you still know him as well as you think you do, he’s definitely going to text you first as soon as he sees the green light. sure, you were anxious for a reply, desperate to check what his temperature was— but you’d already sacrificed a grand amount of dignity just swiping right. he could do take on the role of texting first.

“nah, i’m almost a hundred percent sure he’ll—”

ping!

you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. your phone. the screen shines as it undergoes facial recognition, and exposes the messenger. from tinder. gojo. sending you a message. just as you’d expected.

you can’t help the cocky smile, eyes trailing at their perplexed faces, “—text me first.”

naturally, the girls are impressed. even you are— that timing? would it be insane to genuinely be considering gojo might honest to god be your soulmate? yuki blows a puff of air, followed by a laugh, “your pussy has to be magical cause what the fuck?”

“ladies and gentlemen,” utahime stands to her feet, fisting her hand into an imaginary microphone, and addresses her fake crowd. in the hostiest voice she can muster, she curtsies as she continues in comedic fashion, “miss pussy fairy in thee flesh.”

“put a stamp on it.” shoko shakes her head in acknowledgment, laying her own phone in her lap as she claps. yuki places two fingers in her mouth and whistles at you, to which you rise to your own feet and dramatically place a hand over your chest in faux humility.

“oh please!” you flatter yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. you smile behind your palm, your improv classes in high school coming in clutch, “this is too much— thank you! thank you deeply.”

“girl, byeee,” utahime breaks character first, giggling as she sits back onto the abandoned bean bag. you mimic her motions, as she pops open a stray water bottle and swallows a big gulp, “open his text! i wanna see what he said!”

you’re in the same boat, thumbing at your phone to unlock it and open the app. naturally the girls hover over you yet again, just as eager to see how he finally broke the no contact phase. it took him less than three minutes to slide in your messages, as the option had finally been granted.

right as your thumb hovers the message, a hum draws out your throat, “how much y’all wanna bet it’s something corny?” you tease, something close to a hunch giving it away. seeing as your assumptions were deemed accurate just a few minutes ago, the only way he’d think of clearing the ice would be with something plausibly lame.

“open itttt!” utahime ushers you, hands clamping at your shoulders. you roll your eyes, letting her dramatics sway your body back and forth before she lets up. you let out a sigh, and open the unanswered message.

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

“oh brotherrrr,” the girls groan in sync, and even you can’t stop the cringe that stiffens your face. if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact he still doesn’t act his age. he needs to let those college days go.

“now, what’d i tell y’all.” you tut, leaving out the part of nostalgia simmering deep and warmly in your bones at his predictability. ever the goofy he was, gojo satoru. jeez.

“i was really found myself rooting for him too,” shoko sighs, rising to her feet. she dusts at her lap then stretches her limbs lazily, “i’m gonna go pee— hime, i swear to god, don’t take my seat.” she doesn’t look back to flip her off when she hears utahime blow raspberries her way. to which, against shoko’s wishes, leaps over to snatch her seat.

both you and yuki give her a deadpanned look, but yuki voices out your thoughts, “she’s gonna get on your ass and i’m not helping you out.”

“girl, boo.” utahime rolls her eyes, “more importantly, what the fuck do you answer to that?” her nail taps at your phone screen, peering at you expectantly through lashes.

you consider your options. do you reciprocate the same energy or do you call him out on his corniness? matching his vibe would be like starting off a blank slate— a new start, new conversations, something almost superficial. like a fling you meet at the bars for one night of fuckery that you regret the next morning. but calling him out would induce in falling into familiar patterns— calling him a cornball while he attempts to sweet talk you, old conversations brought up, risking broken boundaries for the sake of reminiscing.

decisions, decisions, decisions.

“i’m thinking taking the easy way out.” you nod your head, readying your fingers as you type your response out.

you miss the exchanged glances between utahime and yuki, too busy trying to format how to come off playful but not forgetful. flirty but not desperate. come pull up on me but demurely. well you’ll be damned— in what world had you ever expected second guessing yourself for gojo?

“what’s the easy way out?” yuki asks, and you hit send. where this confidence comes from is beyond you, but any error you make you can blame on the wine (you’re hardly fazed but it’s nice to have something to pin the blame on instead of yourself) (old habits die hard).

you tilt your phone, holding it out as you watch the girls’ brows furrow, eyes scanning over the screen. when their faces contort into a look of amusement mixed with horror, a girly giggle escapes your throat.

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

“you didn’t!” utahime hollers, her laughter so intense she doubled over to clutch at her stomach. yuki sways her body back and forth as she finds herself in a hysterical fit as well. “goddd, i would kill to see the look on his face right now.”

“yooo, that’s evil.” the blonde swipes at a tear. “woulda had me deactivating the whole account.”

“who’s deactivating?” shoko pops back in, not without slapping utahime upside the head. she ignores the way utahime complains in favour to swipe a nearly emptied bottle to pour.

“it’s not even that bad,” you defend yourself, flashing her your screen as she installs herself in the bean bag utahime once occupied. her eyes squint as she reads the conversation, nearly bulging out their sockets when she catches your message, “nahhh, don’t give me that!”

“if he gives you the time of day after that,” shoko swirls the wine in her glass, snorting, “he must really still be in love with you.”

“he should know i’m playing. . .” you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince the girls, him or yourself. you really were just joking around— albeit a terrible joke, but one regardless! sukuna was officially removed from the roster, a financially irresponsible man never standing a chance against you, “right?”

“don’t ask us?” utahime chimes in, uselessly, to which you roll your eyes. well shit, maybe you should double text? let him know you were just fooling around, trying to check temperatures and establish the mood. your phone pings again, and all unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window.

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

as you’re about to let him know you’ve been had jokes, but never the goofy type, you see the bubbles pop up, a telltale that he’s got more to tell you. you let him have it, already having possibly fumbled the mission before even starting. it feels like an eternity and a half waiting on his text, the girls having huddled over you yet again, just as curious to see what he had to counter with.

@gsatoru: can’t be a joke if the guy had you outside on valentine’s day tho. stk steakhouse? really girl?

your jaw falls slack. you watch with burning eyes at your screen as your built up suspicions were ultimately confirmed. okay, so those two were still somehow connected. you didn’t like to question male friendships, the lack of loyalty not one you’d ever understand. god forbid you ever started fucking with utahime’s ex of many years.

“wait. .” said girl speaks up, drawing the word out as she processes his answer. her tongue rolls around in her mouth, face cringing as the next words follow, “i can’t lie, he kinda ate you up.”

“just sassy as fuck,” shoko laughs, and it’s one of those giggles reserved to shit she honestly finds hilarious, “really girl is crazy. all comfortably like he’s one of your homegirls.”

“now what’s wrong with stk’s?” yuki grumbles, picking at her nails with a childish pout on her lips, “everybody isn’t born with a silver spoon plugged up our asses. god, i can’t stand rich people.”

you don’t bother answering the girls, already aware he chewed with his response, that he’s as sassy as he was years ago and that he had found that particular steakhouse shabby despite it being a fucking steakhouse. these were things you already knew. your thumbs proceed before your mind can register,

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

“you don’t look too happy,” shoko pokes at your cheek. there’s an ache creasing in your forehead, and you relax the furrow of your brows. you’re not exactly upset, just a bit on edge with his approach— you can’t tell whether he’s on tens or not. whether he’s genuinely joking around or not.

“i’m fine.” you poke back, and she nods. she ushers the other girls to pick a new movie to play, and you clock this is her way of allowing you some privacy between exes. you shoot her a grateful look, and she offers a sly wink. you’ll make sure to update her on whatever happens as soon as it’s over.

you switch your ringer off, and open his new message.

@gsatoru: hard not to when he posts you like he has smth to prove

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

you knew it was you. you knew he knew it was you. but still, you wanted to hear it from him yourself, wanted to know if he really was keeping tabs on you ever since the breakup. it’d help ease your mind with unanswered questions.

@gsatoru: you mean besides the bags and jewelry i got you?

@gsatoru: your build was a dead giveaway. could recognize you blindfolded in a room full of women

you bit your lip. you could work with this text, play around with it and see if shit flips. would he fall for the bait? you’ll start off slow, create an opening and see if he decides to indulge.

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

@gsatoru: you’re as a beautiful as the day you left me

is that how he saw it? you assume you did leave him in a practical sense, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it coming miles away. you had both been caught up in your lives, the additional stress of romance an unwanted factor in the rise of your careers. so yeah, you’d given him the opportunity to leave. it’s not as if he fought it anyway, so did you really leave him if he’d closed the door on his merry way out?

this was starting to get personal. toeing between the line of uncharted territory and familiarity. everything you didn’t want— debriefing the logic behind the underwhelming breakup on tinder of all places was out of the fucking question.

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

@gsatoru: he’s slimey as fuck for sliding on you tho

you figured as much. you couldn’t imagine a world where gojo wouldn’t feel some type of way at his friend going after his ex girlfriend a couple months fresh off a breakup. he probably felt the same way towards you, the difference being one owes him more loyalty than the other.

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

he didn’t. you think of the importance of somebody meaning something to you— the fear of losing that person larger than life itself. the joy of waking up in that person’s arms on a rainy morning. the vulnerability in bonding souls with that person. the relief your body undergoes as it melts in that person’s embrace.

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

@gsatoru: then that makes you someone who made a choice

neutral and impassive. you wondered if he truly meant that. in a sense, you assume he really did mature.

@yourstrulyname: so he’s in the wrong but i’m not?

@gsatoru: who am i to assign right from wrong? you’re both adults at the end of the day

you don’t know what to answer to that. there was a lot of truth to his words— you were both consenting adults with choices made. jeez, just what had gojo gone through all these months that made him none the wiser? you’re considering leaving him on opened for a while, at least until you come up with an answer to that philosophical ass message, when he double texts you.

@gsatoru: this is so backwards lmaoo. what’s good with you? how’ve you been?

so he realized it too. thank fuck— skipping small talk and diving into the nitty gritty this late at night was not how you expected your night to go. the girls had completely forgotten your predicament, invested in the latest reality tv show flashing on your flat screen.

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

@gsatoru: life’s been blessed, could be better tho. too much to explain over text

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

@gsatoru: not getting at anything. ball’s in your court, yn

so it was. you contemplate it for a second— should you invite him over tonight? the girls won’t be upset about kicking them out, and if anything they’d encourage you to call them as soon as it’s over. you suppose your doubts lie within the idea of having your ex boyfriend back into your territory. in the comfort of your home, a home he’d once already graced.

as scary as it sounded, you also desperately craved seeing him. it’d been a solid eighteen months since you’ve broken up, and thirteen since you’ve last seen him entirely. ironically, around the time you started getting involved with sukuna. you weren’t sure if it was your heart or pussy talking, but laying up in bed with this man was not something you were against.

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

“yo. . .” you speak up, for the first time in a few minutes. the girls turn their heads, acknowledging you, as you shut your phone close and chuck it across the sofa. “i love y’all but y’all gotta go, like now.”

shoko shakes her head, but there’s a smirk on her lips. utahime, as lost as ever, gives you a frown. yuki has most likely caught on, rising to her feet, dusting her lap, “say no more.”

the girls do you an immense favour as they excuse themselves. they pick at empty bottles and containers, throw dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange the throw pillows and even light up your candles. you feel bad for kicking them out so late, so you pitch in some money for gas as well as the inconvenience.

as they cleaned out your living room and kitchen, you’d rushed to your shower for a mini cleanse. pulling out your bests, you wash over intimate parts thoroughly, lathering your limbs in scented soap, before rinsing, brushing your teeth and stepping out. you stare at your reflection through the haze of steam, the foggy mirror reminding you of the missing messages he used to leave on mornings you had to get to work.

no point in dwelling on the past when he was on his way over this moment. you swap your silk robe for the skimpiest loungewear you own— matching camisole and shorts, and let your hair cascade back down. you’re about your fifth spritz of body spray when the doorbell rings, and your stomach flutters.

you halt in your step when you notice how fast you’re going. yikes! the last thing he needs is his ego inflating, knowing you were rushing to get him inside, nevermind the fact you washed, pulled out your sexiest pyjamas and even wore a brand new pair of panties. you know. . . just for preparations. better safe than sorry.

after the third mindless lap around your kitchen, you make your way towards the door. you inhale sharply, clenching at your shaky fingers, easing your nerves. you quickly snap out of your daze, pulling the door open.

his eyes, momentarily distracted by the number engraved in the wall next to your door, glaze over your figure curiously. his hands are tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. he lets out a breath, a sound borderlining a chuckle as it shoots straight to both heartbeats, shoulders drop from its hunch,

“hey.”

he’s thick.

no perverted shit. you’ve noticed he’s put on weight in the right places— not to say he’d been anything less than nicely built in the past, but his biceps are significantly fuller and the material of his compression tee stretched over bulging muscles in a telltale pattern.

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

“you good with this?” he mumbles, hand running across the smooth skin of your calf. with every stroke of his palm are fleeting memories of the past, burning deep into your limb. you hate the way your stomach sinks st the thought, “me being here and shit.”

“wouldn’t have let you in if i wasn’t.” you answer honestly, back pressed into the arm of the couch. you don’t understand how fast he’d gotten comfortable with being in your personal space just like that— you don’t understand how you’d allowed him in your personal space just like that.

he nods, and the air is eerily quiet. you watch with furrowed brows as he traces shapes into your skin with his fingertip, a frenzy of emotions resembling those of turbulence all in cerulean eyes. he’s torn— you can see it in the way his nose scrunches, as if he’s debating on whether he should voice out his thoughts or not. whether it’s worth debriefing— if this is his last shot or not.

with all this time passed, he’s still so easy to read.

“what is it?” you sigh, albeit irritated. the last thing you’d planned when you got rid of your friends in favour of having your ex over was this weird ass tension roaming. crazy sentence to speak— you know, but you were really hoping it’d be less talking involved and more sexing. it wasn’t that you were against conversing with him, but the way he was choosing to go about it was just so. . . awkward .

he senses the irritation laced in your question and immediately chuckles. his laugh sounds breathless, almost dry, but he shakes his head. his free hand swipes at his nose, a tic of his you noticed years ago whenever he’s feeling bashful or caught, and clears his throat.

“how’d you and sukuna happen?” he rips off the bandaid, and asks you the last question you wanted to hear. the tracing on your leg slows down, and your arms tighten a bit around your torso.

you let out a puff of air. if gojo notices your discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. in fact, he doesn’t pull the question back at all— he stares at you intensely, as if baring into your soul, as if the answer to his question will determine whether the boulder weighted on his shoulders will free him of restraint or not.

as if he still stood a chance or not.

“not much to say,” you shrug, as dismissive as possible. he doesn’t budge, the same intensity in his gaze and you roll your eyes, “honest to god. we broke up, he was there at the right time and shit happened.”

the words simmer into the stillness of the night, and he swipes his tongue over his lips pensively, “were y’all ever official?” he pushes, and you click your tongue against your teeth, offering him a deadpanned look. seriously, as if he didn’t know his own friend— in what world was sukuna anything worthy of official?

“god, no.” you shudder, and he nods again. “you know your friend.”

“i don’t,” gojo counters, momentarily wrapping his hand around your ankle. it fits as perfectly as it did all those years ago, where thumbs at your anklet— another prized possession he’d gotten you. your face heats in embarrassment, and he flicks his eyes to glance at you, a fleeting smirk on his lips, before staring back at the jewelry, “going after my ex girlfriend is not something i expected. i don’t know him at all.”

fair enough, you think to yourself. there has to be some lingering resentment towards you for the same reason. had the tables been turned and he’d gone after one of your closest friends, you would’ve cut him off from your life completely. you were being truthful— it wasn’t anything remotely serious with sukuna, not even close to how it’d been with gojo, but you could see it as a matter of principle. you’d already taken the initiative to break up with him first, and going after his homeboy?

god, you had questionable morals.

“it’s different with you,” he feeds in, as if he could read your thoughts. it was probably written all over your face, the scrunch in your brows never letting up. his index finger slides beneath the band of your anklet, the contrast of the silver shade lining perfectly against his complexion, “‘s hard to explain, but you broke up with me so you technically owe me no loyalty— besides, i get why you ended things. never blamed you.”

now that peaks your interest. he gets why you ended things with him? he never blamed you? you clear your throat, forcing the question out, “you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs naturally, as if it hadn’t taken you eons to conclude. as if it hadn’t broke you apart when you’d realized how unneeded you were, “i honestly expected it. you deserved better than what i was giving. you must’ve been lonely— work had always taken a big part of my time, and that left you behind in the dust.”

you’re waiting for the punchline. he continues, “i can’t lie to you— i was wishing you’d resort to cheating over breaking up. that way you’d still be mine, even if it was temporarily,” he chuckles, a soft shade of pink dusting over his cheekbones, as he sniffs, “corny, i know. but you didn’t deserve putting up with my bullshit, so you left. time is of the essence, and that was the one thing i never seemed to give you. you fell out of it— out of love, so. . . i’m sorry.”

words cannot seem to leave you. you’re left utterly speechless— that had been so far from the reason, the realization sitting bitterly at the pit of your stomach. anything, literally anything, would’ve been better than hearing him lie to you again.

“that. . .” you inhale a sharp breath, steadying yourself, “is nowhere near the reason why we broke up.”

he stops in his caress. you think he got whiplash from how fast his neck snaps, eyeing you incredulously. he genuinely seems so confused, and you hate it. to think he’d show up with some lame ass excuse, so far stretched from the truth of the matter, and expected you to believe that. to believe him.

he blinks slowly, “i don’t understand.”

you try to pull your leg away from his lap, feeling like he was stripping you bare of the last bit of dignity you had left, wanting to rip you open. he presses the weight of his hand lightly, urging you to stay near while simultaneously giving you the option to pull away. the ball was in your court yet again.

“wait— help me understand,” the pad of his thumb rolls over your ankle bone gently— far too intimately. your feet curl away, protectively, and his fingers stroke at the ball of your heel, “please. what drove you away? what was it i did?”

there’s a pang in your chest. does he really plan on keeping this up? right in your face? it was one thing wishing him well despite the obvious, but dragging it out even a year later was a bit much. inviting him over was starting to seem like a terrible idea.

“i fell out of love?” you parrot, unbelieving. “gojo— i’m not the one who fell out of anything. i gave you a way out, and you happily took it,” his face contorts into a deeper state of confusion. you huff, “i’m not blaming you for it or anything, but shit, don’t get up in here with lies to cover your ass.”

“lies?” he whispers, to himself, running his free fingers through tousled white locks. he stares at your anklet hardly, like the gift has all the answers he’s looking for. you don’t think he’s avoiding eye contact, but he seems so distraught, so out of the loop, that broadway ought to sign him to a new movie deal. what an actor.

“time is of the essence and you failed to give it?” you continue regardless, throat restricting as it burns in an emotion you’re far too familiar with. suddenly, you feel like you’re twenty five again, left to your own devices and thoughts in the emptiness of his apartment, dressed in your prettiest outfit and another failed date night. “i never gave a shit about that, i knew how much of a hardworking man you were. i took it to the chest— anything to keep you from leaving. you stopped loving me, gojo.”

his jaw falls slack, mouth gaping and you blink your lashes furiously to prevent tears from appearing. god, this was so humiliating, bearing your heart raw in front of your ex boyfriend, “y/n, i never—”

“spare me,” you scoff, mortified by the rush of emotions coursing through you. you take a deep breath in, calming yourself to avoid further explosive feelings, “this isn’t me saying i was the perfect girlfriend. i know i wasn’t— you know i wasn’t, and piling a spiralling partner on top of all the shit you were dealing with wasn’t an option. that’s fine,” it was fine. it didn’t matter, “doesn’t matter anymore. i broke up with you, you didn’t fight to stay, and we both moved on. shit happens.”

it hurt a lot. the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the crack splitting in your chest. the run towards your bathroom, emptying your contents from both your stomach and heart. you were undeniably a mess, that period of time it took for you to recover. you would never voice it out loud, but you’d been praying he’d tell you just how wrong you were. how he needed you in his life. how you weren’t a burden to him. how he loved you enough to fight through it all.

he hadn’t.

there’s a soft hum in the silence. the sound of your clock ticking near the entrance door. the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. seconds turn into minutes of quietness, and it does no good to your mind. you’re focusing your gaze on the inanimate objects in your apartment, anything to dismiss the reality of the situation. your leg feels cold as his hand pulls away suddenly.

he rolls his tongue against his cheek. another tic of his— he’s formulating his word choice, carefully. you’d seen a ton of this before, though it usually followed a deep sigh and a you’re good baby, trust me. the more you’d see it, the more anxious you became. and christ, if that anxiety wasn’t forming right back.

it takes a while for him to speak, and every passing breath had your chest tightening. he runs his hand across his face, tiredly. when he pulls it away, there’s a melancholic smile on his face, “i think there’s a lot that needs to be addressed. jesus, i always knew you sucked at communicating but this is something else.”

you glare at him. he doesn’t mind it, continuing, “no, you weren’t the perfect girlfriend. but you were my girlfriend, and that’s all that mattered to me. you wanna talk about spiralling? nothing i’m not familiar with— you’re the only reason i didn’t let myself fall into that rabbit hole. you kept me going after graduation. i worked as hard as i did to make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger around me. that was the end goal— you were end goal.”

gagged is what you felt. nothing else pure shock. he doesn’t stop there. he isn’t merciful anymore.

“i know i didn’t go about it the right way,” a regretful puff of air is released, “i canceled on you often. our phone calls were shorter, our texts were vaguer and at some point i’d forgotten what you tasted like. but i never loved you any less. not once, even after we argued. not to say i’ve converted into those spiritual people, but you’re the closest thing to a soulmate i’ve experienced.”

shit, you weren’t tripping. he felt it too. fuck. the weight of his words made it impossible to steer him away. you want to intercept, to call him a liar and turn a blind ear at his confession, to shield yourself but how could you when every word he spoke broke the bricks you’d built down?

“i’m not an asshole— i could feel you slipping away. i did try my damned hardest to reel you back in, as you’d done with me. clearly that hadn’t worked how i was hoping it would,” a bitter laugh, or maybe a resentful one. towards you or himself? you wouldn’t know, “it’s because i loved you so much, i let you go. i knew i was losing you, and when you finally came to me, the right thing to do was agree. why keep you from reaching your fullest potential? you weren’t happy with me, trying to fight the inevitable was cruel.”

the inevitable. letting you go was the right choice to make because fighting the inevitable was cruel. he loved you so much he had to let you go because you deserved more than what he had to offer. you call bullshit— in what right did he have to make that choice for you? what right did you have to make that choice for him?

it’s too much at once. your eyes burn with a remorseful feeling, your heart aches in agony and your mind is clouded with thoughts. there your ex boyfriend sat, wide eyes still as blue as when he’d once been yours, presenting you his heart raw in cupped hands— and you still couldn’t find it in you to believe him fully. everything yet nothing made sense. vulnerability was a scary thing, and you weren’t ready to face it.

so, you kiss him.

his breath is taken out of his chest as you lean forward, sealing his mouth shut. you can’t take any more of his merciless words, and the only way to get your mind off it is by getting on it. he feels stiff against you, pupils dilating as you mould lips with his own. your hand travels to the back of his neck, sitting on your knees as you hold him still.

and with a faint lip smack, he pulls away ever so slightly, hands hovering awkwardly over your waist, his breath warm and fanning your cupid’s bow, “wait—”

“don’t wanna talk,” you interrupt, placing another chaste kiss on his lips. he tastes as good as the day you left him. and with another soft smack, your voice lowers, reduced to a whisper, “you gonna fuck me or not?”

he blinks and you stare back at him, full of conviction. a simple yes or no question— and he could gladly see himself out if his answer didn’t satisfy you. his hands finally rest on your waist, and you take it as an invitation to straddle over his hips. he eases your movements by aiding, lifting you just barely to sit on him. his hands fit just as they did all those times ago. a sour, bittersweet feeling— fingertips caressing the nakedness of your torso beneath your camisole.

your back arches as he finds your sensitive spots with quickness. he’d always been great at that, leaving trails of goosebumps past his teasing touches.

“you’re doing it again,” he mumbles against your lips, ever the hypocrite, fingers gripping at your waist like a vice. he rolls your hips over his own, reeling in the softness of your palms cupping at his face. you ignore him when he continues, still nibbling on his bottom lip the way he loves, “you can’t— mmh, avoid this forever.”

maybe not, but you sure as hell could right now. the tip of your noses bump into one another as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. you want to rid your mind of these plaguing thoughts, ones that made you doubt everything you thought you knew. losing control was out of the question, so naturally you needed it back into your grasp.

sex was an easy way to do that.

“yes or no, gojo.” you give him one last chance, grinding your hips down on his awakening dick. you feel his bulge through his pair of sweats, the print so evident you wondered why he was trying to fight it. the sight alone had your panties dampening in your arousal, uncomfortably sticky against your loungewear.

he hums in between kisses, a false pretend of debating his options. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and past your panties, fondling at the flesh that sat beneath. he could fake it all he wants, but fuck chivalry— he was turning to mush the more you sucked at his tongue, licking at the crevice of the roof of his mouth.

it’s when you sink your teeth into the flesh of pink lips, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw a moan from him, he comes to a conclusion. he nods his head, snaking his arms to wrap at your waist tighter as finally kisses you back.

“it’s always a yes.” for you. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to, but you hear it and dismiss it. no more lovey doveyness and time to get to the nitty gritty of shit— getting your back blown out. the very thought alone is enough to put a smile on your lips.

bingo.

your bedroom door hardly shuts before he pins you against it. he’s annoyingly big— tall in height and wide in weight. he towers over you comically, hands roaming at every inch of your body as he drinks you up. his lips seek yours desperately, sliding over your glossy ones with practice that suggests hints of comfort.

your arms loop at his neck, and his at your waist. his mouth hardly lets up of yours, mumbling a little jump, as you comply with ease. thighs trapping him in your hold, you then find yourself face to face with him as he lifts you, large palms cupping at your ass. you fit just as perfectly in his hands as you did years ago, flesh so fat he gropes it tenderly.

the walk from the door to your bed passes in the blink of an eye, a timeframe you find pointless to recall as you indulge in the taste of him through his tongue. his presence is so overwhelmingly powerful— every touch and caress at your body reducing your limbs to mush. you cling to him, either out of safety reasons or desire, tilting your head from side to side to deepen the lip-to-lip action.

when he gets to the edge of your bed, he lowers you until your toes reach the floor. due to the difference in height, your lips part, a thin string of saliva connecting from both your mouths as proof of your unison. the blue shade of his orbs darken with desire, eyelids lowering as he drinks up the sight of you— lips plump and swollen, slick in saliva, chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

he raises a hand from your waist to cup at your face, and you detest the way your lean into his touch. your cheek fits in his large palm, and he swipes a thumb at your bottom lip, collecting your shared spit onto the pad of his digit. as he smears the fluid further across your mouth, he prods his thumb a little further— testing out the waters, wanting to see if you’d cave into old habits.

naturally, you allow it, his thumb swallowed by your puckered lips. you roll your tongue over his finger and your eyes never leave his— hoping to convey the rush of emotions you feel through your sultry gaze. your core throbs in want, your stomach erupting in butterflies and your heart pounding unnecessarily. unspoken words you’re positive he understood, if the way he groans when your teeth sink lightly into his digit said anything.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, popping his finger back out. it’s coated in saliva, and like the freak he is, pops it into his own mouth. once he’s had his fill, he removes his hand from his mouth, and lowers it to your fleshy waist, slipping past the waistband of your panties, “take these off— ‘m hungry, need a taste of that pussy.”

your cheeks nearly split from your excitement, and you comply to his order, gripping at the hem of your shorts to pull them down to your ankle. he assists you despite the previous demand, his own hands atop of yours, a warmth and sense of security so familiar. when your shorts reach past your mid thigh, you allow him to meet you halfway.

he pulls your shorts down to your ankles, lowering himself to a knee. his movements are agonizingly slow, basking in the sight of your thighs in contrast of the shade of your loungewear. he steadies a hand onto your calf, patting it lightly, and you lift your leg just barely, permitting him to slide the shorts off your ankle and tossing it aside.

when the item is discarded, he redirects his focus back to you. he pampers your skin in kisses— delicate but hungry, trails of moisture crawling back up at your inner thighs and shooting right to your core. he looked unexplainably sexy on his knees, littering your body in hushed praises, the tip of his nose nudging at your soft skin. you bit your lip in attempts to cease it from wobbling at the intimacy he was providing.

“god, you smell so good,” he speaks into you, hands snaking to the back of your thighs, pressing you forward into him. your panty covered cunt presents itself right before him, and he plants his nose right into your intimates, your body shuddering as his nose bumps into your clit deliciously. a shaky breath escapes you, and his hands travel upwards to play with your ass. “turn around, wanna eat it from the back.”

the words are taken from you when his hand slaps your ass encouragingly, releasing a mini squeal, “you’re still too freaked out.”

“mhm, something like that,” you don’t see it, as you’re occupied on spinning on your feet to plant your hands on your matters for stability, but you’re positive he’s smirking. your arch your back for him, wanting to properly present the meal he plans on devouring. your cunt oozes slick against your thong just thinking about how he’s going to do you in, “there’s that arch,” a hand slides in the curve of your lower back, before snapping the band of your thong. it recoils against your cheek and you jerk forward at the sting.

“oh? did that hurt?” he taunts, and as you’re about to protest, he does it yet again. the snap is intense but never painful, but the nerve he had to play around like your pussy wasn’t a few centimetres away from his face. you don’t acknowledge how your panties cling even tighter to your folds.

“fuck off,” you curse through gritted teeth, but your hips wiggle backwards in attempt to get him to hurry it up. as if now was any time to tease— you couldn’t stand it when he did it all those years ago, and your feelings haven’t changed since, “get on with it. . . the fuck?”

you hear him sigh, almost disappointedly, and it only aggravates you further. your brows furrow in annoyance and you think you feel a vein tick at your temple.

“still so disrespectful,” gojo tuts, rubbing at your booty tenderly. so he wasn’t exactly wrong, but how was he expecting you to react when he’d just said he was going to eat you out, and proceeds to do anything but that? of course there’s going to be a little pout on your lips, “we gotta work on that attitude of yours.”

your face twists into a look of further aggravation, and you tilt your head back, readying whatever other bratty objections you had— though you’re ultimately interrupted by a sharp sting that spreads across your ass.

the strike of his palm against your cheek sprawls into an intense heat, the pain oddly pleasurable, and the moan that rips out of your chest is impossible to suppress. your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the audacity, and right as you’re about to complain, he does it again. and again.

“o-okay, shit!” you attempt to voice out, but he’s relentless, delivering blow after blow onto the same ground. there’s a curve in his palm, and it amplified the sound across the room. despite your protests, you can’t deny every jolt of pain rushes to your clit. you’re positive he knows you’re enjoying this, “gojo— fuck, okayyy!”

to your pleasure, he eases the slaps, opting to smoothen his hand flat across the reddened flesh. he hums pensively, the heat of your skin radiating against his palm in a way that forces a smile on his lips, “ ‘okay?’ what do you mean by that, baby?”

you clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. you know exactly what he wants from you, and you’re not sure if you’re able to give it to him as you are. an apology— he wants you to apologize, that bastard. your left cheek stings like a bitch, even with his now gentle touches, and your core is begging you to cooperate with him, in order for that attention it was neglected of. he is such a dickhead— putting you in a predicament like this one.

you swallow the last bit of dignity you hold, a constant reminder in the back of your mind that this was for the greater good— for the sake of your pussy. with a pained sigh, you tilt your head backwards to meet his playful gaze that stares back at you, right below the plump of your ass, and you muster the cutest look you can give.

doe eyes paired with a little pout, “‘m sorry. . . for the attitude,” you’re not sorry at all, but you desperately want your cunt in his mouth, so you do what you have to do, “can you eat it now? please?”

he flashes you a million dollar smile, all thirty twos on full display, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you not to roll your eyes right then and there. he was so full of shit, his eyes might as well brown. but still, you knew he got off on this kind of thing, and when he presses a quick kiss at the print of your lips, he replies, “of course, sweet girl— only because you asked so nicely.”

there’s no further need to speak, as you feel your thong being pushed to the side, followed by a cold breeze hitting your bare cunt, meshed with warm breathe as he feasts .

gojo eats you out like he has something to prove, and you know what— maybe he does. to prevent you from straying from him, he grounds you with two firm hands gripping at your ass. he spreads the flesh apart, his tongue lapping at your slick greedily. you can’t tell who’s moans are louder— yours or his, the man so engaged in sucking at your clit, nibbling on the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. you hold onto the sheets on your bed with dear life, thighs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, pushing your hips further back, your mind overcame with utter greediness for more of that insatiable pleasure. you might as well have swallowed him whole into you, just as he’s swallowing you whole into him, his tongue diving deep past your hole and into your folds. he flicks his tongue expertly, licking at every crevice and nook of your cave, his jaw working overtime as his bottom lip never lets up at your clit.

your entire pussy is consumed by him, no area going neglected— drool slips past his mouth and spills onto your floor. a familiar heat licks at the pit of your stomach, a telltale that your dam is bound to burst anytime soon. he remedies your ache with another painful spank at your ass, groaning into your pussy when you clamp down on his tongue.

he was so fucking nasty— fucking into you with his tongue like he needed this more than you did. he makes out with your cunt, like he was a starving man on death row. at a particular cruel angle of his tongue fucking, your body would react with an all consuming tremble, fingers clawing at your duvets, your lungs releasing pathetic mewls. and the further you pushed back into his merciless mouth, the closer his nose nudged at your puckered forbidden hole.

he pulls away with a gasp, subbing his mouth out for his fingers, the pads of three fingers rubbing messily at your sloppy lips. the sound it creates is downright filthy, so painfully loud that it damn near drowns out your own moans.

“pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he spits a wad of saliva at your already soaked cunt, further amplifying the squelching sounds. he drags his fingers down to your clit, pinching at the bud with enough pressure to have your knees buckling, before sliding back upwards to your clenching hole. he slides into your entrance, index and middle fingers twisting in with ease, “bet she missed me, hm?”

“y-yes!” you nod mindlessly, your high creeping up on you as he works himself into you. taking six inches of fingers twice was a task in itself— the average length of a man’s dick serving purpose as fingering was just downright disrespectful. his knuckles poke at your silky walls, stretching you out to the best of his abilities, “shit— oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

to your statement, he latches his lips back to your neglected clit, sucking on the bud as if he were intentionally trying to milk you dry. he hums at your taste, the vibrations shooting right up your alley and into the knot tightening in your guts— and when he curls his fingers upwards, at that spot that has stars dancing beneath your eyelids, the dam breaks. that knot stood no chance.

“oh goddd,” you cry out, spraying your release all over. it dribbles out your pussy and past the lower half of his face, to which his jaw widens as his mouth gapes— greedily aiming to slurp at your juices while simultaneously flicking your bean. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, as you fall flat onto your bed, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth and staining your sheets damp.

he lets you ride out the euphoric bliss, the movements of his fingers and the lapping of his tongue slowing down the more your body reacted to the overstimulation. when he deems you well spent, he lets up, slipping his fingers out and popping them back in his mouth, swirling your taste across his pallets, “as sweet as ever,” rising back to his full height.

you haven’t came that hard in a while, limbs reduced to nothing as you merge into one with your bed. your legs are still trembling, and your chest heaves as you exhale deep breaths. letting your eyelids close shut, you take the time to regroup yourself from that mind shattering orgasm. who the fuck had he been fucking that forced him to keep this skill? granted, you had no right to complain but holy shit, he was no fucking noob.

you feel the weight of his body press on top of you, a well-built chest meeting your moist back. it doesn’t take much to realize he’s hovering over you. his lips litter kisses at the column of your neck, moving up to the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps after each embrace, “you tappin’ out already?” gojo snickers at your shell of a body, and you kiss your teeth at his typical mockery, “what happened to my champ while i was gone?”

“fuck off,” you pout, a little embarrassed by the fact that you really were retired from the game. sure, you were getting dicked down real good by your previous partner (question mark), but it never had you as exhausted as you currently were. there was absolutely nothing gojo satoru couldn’t do, and that ticked you off to no end, “nobody said shit about tappin’ out.”

“hm. . .” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your jugular, his hips grinding into the cleft of your ass. it’s impossible to ignore the bulge poking into you, and you doubt he was trying to hide it regardless, his hips rolling against the plushness of your behind, “guess sukuna didn’t do as good of job as he should’ve.”

that has your eyelids opening right back up. talk about an awkward situation— bringing up you and your ex’s (question mark) sex life while having sex with your other ex was a double edged predicament in itself. had you agreed, which lowkey wasn’t entirely wrong, you’d be stroking the fuck out of gojo’s ego and be disrespecting sukuna. but had you disagreed, you could end up on gojo’s wrong side and fumble an entire night worth of dicking.

so, once more, you take the easy way out, at the expense of inflating the white haired man’s ego, much to your dismay, “think you can do better?”

he stays silent for a while. in what you assume is him coming up with an answer to your question, his kisses travel to the dead centre of your shoulder blades, wet and open mouthed, as they crawl lower down your spine. with every kiss, your body caves into a state of relaxation, as if he was undoing every stress clouding at your hazed mind with his mouth alone.

he lands at the middle of your back, before he pulls away abruptly. and just as soon as he started, he was finished— removing himself off your body entirely. panic settles quickly in your stomach, as you turn your head around to see what he was up to. had you unintentionally hurt his feelings? damn, and here you were enjoying the body worship.

“what are you—” your words are cut off as his hands cup at your waist. he slides you back towards the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the floor once more. you feel some residue of your previous orgasm beneath your heels, eugh. you don’t have much time to spend thinking about how gross it feels when a hand holds your shoulders, and lifts you right back up.

your brows jump to your hairline in surprise at the sudden manhandling, though you can’t deny you found just a bit sexy. with his chest pressed into your back once more, you can feel his heartbeat thudding at the blade of your left shoulder, the organ withholding a steady rhythm— the tempo of a lullaby you’d once been accustomed to. and then big arms wrap around your frame, and holds you.

you hate the way your body folds so easily to his touch. it’s been an entire year, and despite your mind shouting at you for the intimacy you’re allowing to gallop right back into your life, your heart craves it. the sense of security his embrace offers you alone makes the least of sense, but you blindly lean into him, allowing yourself to be deluded for the time being. he won’t be yours as soon as this is over, so you might as well take the most advantage of the situation.

it takes a minute for either of you to speak. here you stood— half naked and legs sore, but still happily in his arms. his cologne is still as rich and dominating as it’d been all those times ago. he breaks the silence first, his chin resting above your shoulder, as he mumbles, “you really hurt my feelings, you know.”

to some degree, you know you did. about what exactly? you weren’t sure, but still, you offer him what you believe he wants, the realization leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“‘s all good,” he kisses your cheek so tenderly that your neck cranes to the side to meet his gaze. gojo had always been so readable when it came to emotions, as he always wore his heart on his sleeve, but even with all the knowledge you knew about, you weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes. raw, unfiltered emotions. you only notice the close proximity between you both when your noses bump into one another. he shoots you a warm smile, “could never be upset with you. you hold that power over me.”

it’s you who kisses him first, and he returns the favour with more intensity. it’s an awkward positioning for your neck, but you don’t let up regardless of the ache in your joints. his mouth stays on yours as if you were his lifeline, tongues sloshing one over the other, brushing your lips together so gingerly.

in the midst of his tongue down your throat, he slips a hand in between your thighs, cupping at your abandoned pussy. the casual brush of his fingers at your core sent a breathy whine from your throat right into his mouth, and it only motivated him to work harder, rubbing slow patterns into your throbbing clit. your hips chase the feeling, riding the wave of his fingers.

he pulls away from your mouth, just barely, mumbling against your kiss bitten lips, “one of these days you’re gonna let me finish speaking,” followed by a knowing smile. sure, it could be seen as a flaw, but it was the only way you could protect yourself while keeping him within arm’s reach. never ready to have him but never prepared to let him go, “we can do that later— gotta blow your back out first.”

you couldn’t agree more.

it all happens so quickly— he retrieves his hand from between your thighs, having collected your juices at his fingertips, before lubricating his dick. he pumps at the length leisurely, his bottom lip tugged by his top row of teeth, and the groans he lets out are enough to have you squeezing your thighs eagerly, your cunt aching and ready to go. in the midst of your eagerness, you slip your hand behind you and catch his twitching cock, working your wrist right above his own, jerking him off.

a deep groan grumbles from his chest, and he instantly stops your hand from moving any further. you frown at his ceasing, but when you tilt your head to voice out your confusion, he offers a sheepish smile, “don’t wanna cum too soon,” ever the minute man, he was.

though, you soon find yourself regretting your own thoughts the very instant you feel the tip of his dick pushing past your entrance.

there’s a blended harmony of both your moans that bounces off the walls. his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, holding onto you so tightly you’re positive you’ll bruise, and you clamp down on his intruding dick so tightly you’re positive you never want to let him go. the initial stretch is a feeling you’ll never get used to, but the sensation is all but unwanted.

“fuckkk, y/n,” he moans right into your ear, his voice so full of want, you can’t help but understand exactly where he’s coming from. he pulls his hips back, almost entirely, though his tip stays inside. it takes him a second to regroup, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, before he plunges back into your cunt.

and from that point on, it’s wraps. he fucks into you like a madman— as if he’d been punishing you for your crimes. punishing you for sleeping with another man. punishing you for leaving him a year and a half ago. punishing you for punishing him. his pace is ruthless— hips meeting your ass as fast as he’d pull out, pounding into your little hole to mould it into the shape of him.

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

you’re so painfully full of him, and despite your arms stretched outwards to grip at the sheets that had suffered more than enough of your abuse on them, your walls never let go of him. you don’t want him to pull out ever, utterly obsessed with the rough pace he set from the jump. it feels impossible keeping the curve of your back when the tip of his length repetitively attacks at your golden spots.

“ohmygoddd,” you words come out slurry, head lolling forward uselessly. if he kept fucking you like this, you weren’t going to let him leave again. stuck in an endless loop of bliss, with every thrust into your folds, his balls would slap at your clit and drive you insane, “y’re d-doing me s’gooddd,”

“yeah?” he eggs on, his voice as breathless as you’d been, though his pacing would never suggest so. there’s a hypnotic recoil of your ass bouncing back onto his pelvis that indulges him into disrupting it, delivering a new spank at your cheeks. you cry out at the feeling, and he strikes again, hips never letting up, “tell me more baby.”

you rise at your tip toes when you feel yourself sinking, legs giving out yet again. you hold yourself up at your elbows, a newfound confidence pushing your hips back to match his pace. when he heaves out a loud moan, you’re encouraged to keep going. the melody of your skins slapping against each other echoes into the stillness of the night, arching your back the further he plunges into your guts. you’re so turned on, the evidence creaming around the perimeter of his cock, easing the slides of his dick inside of you.

“toruuu,” you whine, too fucked out to notice your first mistake— calling him by his favorite nickname. at that given moment, you couldn’t care any less, the intense heat in your guts growing once more. the curve of his dick reaches spots you don’t think anybody could reach, almost as if he was made entirely for you, “you’re so big— can feel you, nghhh, everywhere!”

“that’s cause i am everywhere,” you think you can hear him smirking behind you. though, he has every right to feel entitled, with how much of a mess he’s reduced you to. he rolls his hips deep, a firm bulge forming into your tummy. as if he’s got a sixth sense or eye, he leans forward to rest his chest against your back— your eyes rolling back from the new angle. he slides a hand beneath your stomach and presses at the bulge hard. you can’t help the squeal you let out, “that’s me right there.”

you nod your head feverishly, the applied pressure on your stomach pushing his cock right at your cervix. oh god, he was going to kill you. what a wonderful way to go— all judgements clouded in favour of an eight inched dick penetrating your walls, “‘s all yours— mmh, always been.”

and that’d been your final mistake.

because the chuckle he lets out right into your ear is dark. the sounds shoot right up to your spine, shivers crawling up your back deliciously. he might as well be back stabbing you with how his cock plunged so sloppily out of your gaping cunt, “you always knew how to, fuck, pillowtalk,” he pants into your neck, his additional weight onto your shaking frame nothing short on welcoming. the hand pressing into your stomach lowers to your clit, and pinches meanly at the bud, “you know i’d, mmh, give you the world if you asked— my smart girl, shit.”

he’s so cruel, talking to you so lovingly despite it all. you tighten your eyes, in poor attempts to ignore the tenderness of the words fleeting his lips and focus instead on the stretch of your cunt down his dick. you feel yourself creaming on him, further proof of both your unison through his diabolical thrusts. he pinned you into place like this— unable to do anything but take what he gave you gratefully.

at a particular stroke at your abused golden spot, your body releases another tremor of shudders. it overtakes you from head to toe, a moan so ripe escaping your lips as you claw at ruined sheets. gojo works into aiming at that spot over and over again, each thrust more intense than the previous one. the change of his pace, slowing for a minute, draws you near the end of the line quicker than you’d anticipated.

“oh?” he grunts playfully, swaying his hips back and forth into your poor pussy. mercy is nowhere to be found, however, “you like it when i fuck you like this?” another agonizingly beautiful thrust at the same place, you can’t help but reward him with a cry. he’s fucking you into the damn mattress, and he has the balls to ask this question knowing the answer. still, you nod your head mutely, tears collecting at your lash line, and he nips at the skin on your jaw, “yeahhh you do.”

god, you do.

and suddenly, you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that would have you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

in the midst of your delusions, he pulls you both back up from the bed, standing once again. at this new position, he reaches impossibly further into you, the difference in your heights making up for the inches he’s dug into you. his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

or was it you were feigning you don’t? because as he works himself back into you, at a pace so tender yet cruel, the line of boundaries you’d once set has been entirely deterred. a force so overwhelming, just like his entire being, bringing you right back to him as if you’d never left— nevermind the fact your thighs could barely support themselves, quaking pathetically. it was getting too much— everything was a lot.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. you were a trooper, but there was only so much pleasurable torture you could handle. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, he coos, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

oh right. . . tinder. you had a bone to pick with the ceo of that app right after you come back to your senses.

“i— i can’t,” you fumble at your words, the lack of oxygen catching up to you. you’re bound to his mercy— hands tied, breath nearly restricted, pussy obliterated, and yet, there’s nowhere else you’d want to be. the pressure on your throat lolls your head backwards, chin facing the ceiling as your eyes fall onto snowy lashes, “gonna cum again— oh fuckfuckfuck,”

and despite his brutality, he shoots you a sweet smile, the contrast in his words versus his actions grand, “right behind you, baby.”

you cum, and hard . much harder than you had before. you gush your fluids down his piercing cock, your folds squeezing him tight as you release. you think your mind blanks for a minute, an orgasm so powerful, you fear your eyes would stay stuck at the back of your skull. you shiver in his embrace, the insatiable desire racking your body from top to bottom.

when he pulls out, you fall flat yet again onto your stomach, face first. you assume you look like a puddle of nothingness, your limbs spent from the overexhaustion. but still, you find yourself in a similar position to prior, as gojo leans over your body, a hand holding him up as the other works on his jerking him cum out. smart move, not finishing inside, though a weird feeling of disappointment sits in your stomach, swapping the fiery heat from your orgasm.

he sinks his teeth into your shoulders as you wince, emptying himself right onto your lower back. it runs hot and smooth into the dimples of your back, that you can’t help but stretch your limp arm towards the mess to collect the residue on your fingers. you pop them into your mouth, his taste still so familiar as he plops right at your side, face up.

there’s a thick silence that fills the sex scented room. you wonder what is going through his brain now that the lust demon that was half his ego had been taken care of. was he on the same page as you were? had he realized just how messy this could turn out? he’s too quiet for a man of his nature— and that terrified you shitless. no matter the outcome, you’re ready to kick him out. post nut clarity was a scary thing— it revealed the violent truth of how tempting the flesh could be, even with consequences on the line.

you want to beat him to it. the last thing you need on your consciousness is your ex boyfriend who’d you invited into your home a year after you broke up with him, leaving you. he seemed petty enough to do the eye for an eye shtick— it wasn’t too out of character for him.

with a heavy heart and sigh, you turn your head to the side where he lays comfortably. the words want to die in your throat, but your urge them out, the sooner the better, “you should—”

“no.” he interrupts, followed by a yawn.

you frown at that, brows scrunching as you insist that yet again, “you need to—”

“nah.” gojo cuts you off yet again, rolling onto his side. his dick falls limp onto your bed, and you don’t think about the mess it’s making. to be fair, you’d done far worse. and it was proven difficult to care about that mess when he brought a finger to play with your loose hairs, cerulean eyes zeroing in on them, “i’m tired. let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed.”

“you’re not listening to me.” you click your tongue, a little desperate to have him hear you. you’re scared to keep him around longer, because you know you’ll grow attached again and that already ended terribly once, and took you forever and a half to get over. he has to leave and right now, “you have to go.”

gojo hums at that. he stops the twirling of your hair, rather reluctantly, and finally meets your sharp gaze. he still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “why?”

you narrow your eyes, “you know why,” you shouldn’t have to explain why two exes cozying up after indulging into each other was a bad idea. common sense, you figured, but was it common sense to have him over in the first place? a flurry of various emotions coursing over you laced with exhaustion had you overthinking like a motherfucker, “this was a bad idea.”

he trails his finger along the slope of your clenched jaw, and you don’t think about the fact it immediately relaxed at his touch. the longer he traced your skin, the longer he kept looking at you like that, you were wavering in your own logic. you’d both gotten what you wanted in the first place, so why was it he was still here? the rational decision would be to pretend this never happened and part ways again, but why was the thought of him locking the door behind him once again at your expense making you feel sick to your stomach?

when his finger lands at your pouty lips, he taps his index finger twice against the flesh. naturally, your pout deepens. his eyes flick from your mouth to your shying gaze, and his index swaps for his thumb. he runs the pad of his finger across the reddened surface, and his voice falls a few octaves lower, hushed for nobody else but you to hear, “you don’t want me to leave.”

you don’t.

he takes your silence as acceptance, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. it’s enough to rid your mind of its plaguing doubts in the meanwhile. and when his hand slides to cup at the back of your neck, ultimately deepening it, you can’t find it in you to care about the consequences for the time being. not when he was swallowing you whole like he was the one terrified to feel you slip from his fingers. you melt into him far too easily.

well. . . that was something you’d deal with in the morning.

tinder: 1, you: 0.

now can y’all stop calling me a deadbeat 🙎‍♂️

nostalgia

The songs you grow to like never stick at first

Falling for your best friend is a blessing and a curse at the same time, especially when it's painfully obvious that your friend doesn't feel the same. So what is Yuuji supposed to do? He doesn't want to lose you but also can't help wanting to get out of the friendzone. Maybe his other friends can help him. Or he just has to wait because sometimes the songs that become our all-time favorites are the ones that don't stick at first.

Pairing: Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, fluff, my attempt at humor, friends to lovers Playlist: College AU Word Count: 4.6 k Warnings: A lot of cheesiness, pining, unrequited love in the beginning, slow burn. Yuuji has smutty fantasies, so it's 18+. Smut in later chapters. All characters are of age. The story and my blog contain 18+ content, so minors don't interact.

This is my entry for the Fall Out Boy collab. My prompt is from the song Dead on Arrival:

The songs you grow to like never stick at first. So, I'm writing you a chorus, and here is your verse

I got very inspired, and so this turned into a multi-chaptered fic. I'm planning to post a new chapter every week! Here is an overview of the chapters you can expect:

Chapter 1: This is side one, flip me over. I know I'm not your favorite record. Chapter 2: The songs you grow to like never stick at first. So, I'm writing you a chorus, and here is your verse. Chapter 3: This conversation's still dead on arrival. And there's no way to talk to you. Chapter 4: A rivalry goes so deep between me and this loss of sleep over you (Part 1) Chapter 5: A rivalry goes so deep between me and this loss of sleep over you (Part 2) Chapter 6: Hope this is the last time, 'cause I'd never say no to you

Chapter 1

This is side one, flip me over. I know I'm not your favorite record.

Yuuji can't say when it started exactly. There isn't one big moment that changed everything. It happened gradually, sneaked up on him until he was in too deep. You have been best friends for almost three years now. Ever since Yuuji started college and got paired with you for a group project. You were both new to the city, and it was nice to have someone to meet up with and discover the busy streets with. Soon the two of you were inseparable. Of course, people kept commenting on how close you were. Raised eyebrows, knowing smiles, cheeky winks. But they all got it wrong. You were just friends!

At least, that's what Yuuji had been telling himself all this time. Until now. Maybe everyone else was right after all. They saw it sooner than Yuuji did. But they only got half of it right. Because this is strictly one-sided. Only one of you fell in love. And that idiot is Yuuji.

Being in love with your best friend is a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing because you know the other person loves you too. Not in a romantic way. But still. They don't hate you. They want you in their life and care about you. And you spend lots of time with them. You are allowed to touch them, hug them, ruffle their hair, shove them playfully, kiss them on the cheek for a greeting. You can do sleepovers and share clothes, go out together. It's nice and warm and feels like home. It is home.

But it's also a curse. No, it's mostly a curse. Because all of those things are suddenly not enough anymore. It's like a meal with all the best ingredients, but there's one little spice missing, and without it, the whole meal doesn't taste quite right.

Yuuji feels guilty about it. He appreciates your friendship beyond anything else. He doesn't want to be one of those guys who complain about being friend-zoned. He likes being friends with you! But he can't stop his heart from aching for more.

It's not like he didn't try to suppress those feelings when he first became aware of them. He probably looked like an idiot when you rested your head on his shoulder one day during lunch, something you'd done lots of times before, but, all of a sudden, there had been a weird feeling in his stomach. So Yuuji drained a whole bottle of ice-cold water because he thought the butterflies in his stomach would stop fluttering so much if he just put enough cold water on them.

And he definitely made a fool out of himself when he tripped over a bag because he was busy trying to count the clouds so he would distract himself from the feeling of your warm weight on his lap five minutes ago when there hadn't been a spare seat left on the park bench.

So yes, Yuuji tried to fight it, but nothing worked.

And that leaves him there he is now. He just has to accept it: he's hopelessly in love with his best friend. His best friend who doesn't want him that way.

But Yuuji will be damned if he lets this affect your friendship! He loves you, as a friend and as more. So he will make sure you are happy. He will be there for you and take care of you. Do anything a best friend does.

Currently, he's strolling towards where you are leaning against the wall in front of the economics lecture hall. The big boyish grin on his face gets even wider when you catch sight of him. Yuuji stops in front of you and shoves a cup of iced coffee into your hand. Two shots of vanilla syrup, one teaspoon of sugar, oat milk. He knows every order of yours by heart. This is your favorite, so he always gets you this when he stops at the coffee shop before classes.

"Good morning!"

"Ooh, thanks, Yuu! You're an angel. I wouldn't know how to get through my economics course with Mr. Nanami without this. That man is so exhausting!"

"Shut up. I think he's nice!"

Yuuji elbows you playfully, which you return by ruffling his hair, making him lean into the touch like a puppy eager for affection. You pull your hand away too soon and chuckle lightly.

"He is! And hot! But he's so...serious all the time."

Yuuji pulls a face. He knows it's stupid, but somehow it stings that you so openly announce your professor is hot in your opinion, but you never once said anything close to that about Yuuji. Sure, you call Yuuji cute sometimes, but hot? Never.

Five minutes later, the two of you part ways so you can attend your course with hot Mr. Nanami, and Yuuji can head down the hallway towards his film analysis course.

But before he walks into the classroom, he takes a detour to the bathroom just to stand in front of the sink and stare critically at his reflection in the mirror.

Why do you think your professor is hot, but Yuuji isn't? Is it his pink hair? Do you think it's childish that he dyes his hair in pastel colors? Or is he not tall enough? Mr. Nanami is really tall. But on the other hand, Yuuji is tall too, right? He sighs and frowns at his reflection. What is he lacking?

Mr. Nanami has really broad shoulders. He looks like he's working out. So is Yuuji, though! But maybe he's not as fit as you like? He grabs the hem of his yellow hoodie and lifts it to inspect his exposed upper body in the mirror. Yuuji actually gets a lot of compliments from his gym bros for his immaculate biceps. And Fushiguro told him just yesterday that he would kill for pecs like Yuuji has. So this can't be the problem, right?

Just to be sure, he flexes his muscles, watches the way they become even more accentuated before putting a hand on his abs and tracing the taut muscles with his fingers. What would you think if this were your fingers? Would you like the way Yuuji's muscles feel beneath your fingertips? He closes his eyes, tries to imagine how it would be for you. Feels nice...

He jumps when the door opens and turns around to see Junpei stopping in his tracks, hand still on the door handle, staring at Yuuji with big eyes.

"Um.. good morning, Yuuji?"

Yuuji stares back at him with a matching shocked expression, quickly letting the hem of his hoodie drop, covering himself up again.

"Shit! Um..I...um..hey Junpei. I was...I am...I'll just leave! See you in class! Can't wait to hear your thoughts about the movie!"

He grabs his backpack hurriedly, rushing past his friend with a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

Great, just great! He absolutely had to make a fool of himself, right? Maybe that's part of the problem, he realizes. He's the type of guy who's good for a laugh but not the type to date. No wonder you don't want him!

But how can he change that? How can he become someone you look at and think, "Woahh, I want him to be mine!"?

He's still deep in thought when he enters his classroom and plops down on the chair next to Fushiguro's, sighing deeply and slamming his battered backpack onto the table, which earns him a glare from his friend.

Yuuji smiles apologetically and shrugs,

"Sorry, miscalculated my strength, I guess."

Fushiguro just fixes him with one of his stern, deep gazes that always unsettle Yuuji because it feels like his friend can see right into his brain. And sure as hell, the dark-haired boy leans a bit closer and lowers his voice to a confidential tone:

"Are you ok? Did someone upset you?"

"Aww, no, it's ok!"

He grins brightly and scratches his hair, but Fushiguro's gaze still bores into him unrelentingly, and of course, Junpei chooses that moment to sit down behind them and doesn't hesitate to inform Fushiguro:

"He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror checking himself out. Shirtless."

Fushiguro's eyebrows almost disappear in his hair. And Yuuji feels the need to explain.

"Hey, I wasn't shirtless! And I just did a little once-over. On my looks..."

Both of his friends still stare at him as if he's crazy, and so he adds:

"Guys, do you think I'm hot?"

The response is immediate.

"Where is that coming from, Itadori? But yeah, you are."

"Absolutely, Yuuji! You look gorgeous!"

The praise makes him relax for a moment before his face scrunches up in worry again.

"But I mean...can you even judge that? Maybe I should ask a girl? I'll text Nobara!"

He's already pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, ready to send an embarrassing text, but is stopped by Fushiguro's hand on his arm.

"Don't make a fool of yourself. Also, I am literally pansexual. I like men too, so I'm a good judge. You don't need a second opinion on this. Get a grip, Itadori, seriously! I didn't have enough coffee for this kind of shit."

Yuuji looks at him and nods, setting the phone down on the table,

"Yeah, ok, right! Thank you! You too, Junpei!"

Junpei smiles happily at him while Fushiguro sighs exasperatedly and rubs his temples as if he has a headache. But Yuuji feels a bit better. He has to trust his friends. Maybe he just needs to be a bit more self-aware and confident in himself. It will be ok!

His enthusiasm gradually fades again during the film analysis course, though. By the end of the lecture, he's almost gnawed through his pencil, and before his friends can escape, he asks in a miserable voice:

"What can I do to be more dateable?"

Junpei is quick to pat Yuuji's back,

"You already are dateable! Did you forget about all the girls who constantly ask you for your phone number no matter where I go with you? You just never text them back, but I think they'd all be very willing to date you!"

Yuuji blinks at him in honest confusion.

"Wait a moment...you think they would go on dates with me? I thought they just wanted my number for the movie discussions, or that one girl yesterday was just interested in where I got my shirt from. Junpei, I think you got it wrong."

He gets interrupted by a pained groan coming from Fushiguro.

"Just stop! You are hot. You are dateable. Why can't you just get it into that thick head of yours? I'm so done."

"Oi, bro!"

Yuuji smacks his arm but then looks at him with a thoughtful expression.

"Ok, thanks. But like, for real. Am I someone who people meet and think, wow, I want him!? Like, as in rip my clothes off and break a bed? Am I just the nice guy, or the sexy one?"

Junpei makes a squealing noise, and Yuuji wonders why his face is so red. Maybe he shouldn't drink that much coke. Fushiguro, on the other hand, is glaring at him, looking as if he's seconds away from punching Yuuji.

His voice is calm and controlled though when he answers, but it's clear that it takes everything in him to stay so cool:

"I have to go to my literature class now. But you are a fucking catch, man. You're a good guy, ok? That's what's most important anyway. You don't have to change."

"But.. but..."

Before Yuuji can finish, Fushiguro is already gone, practically fleeing from the classroom. He's already halfway out the door when Yuuji yells after him:

"But would you FUCK me, Fushiguro??? Answer me!!!"

Yuuji doesn't even hear the snickers and roars which start around him because his attention zooms in on the doorway, where you are standing, peeking into the classroom and looking at him with a curious and amused expression on your face.

Oh god, no! He wants the floor to swallow him. Your timing is really the worst. He slings his backpack over one shoulder and strides towards you, hoping that he isn't blushing.

But you just laugh when he catches up to you, and Yuuji forgets about feeling embarrassed when you wrap your hand around his arm and fall in step next to him, perfectly in sync, because the two of you are practically attached at the hips anyway. Your head rests against his shoulder, the scent of your perfume and hairspray making his heart twist.

"Hey, do you want to go shopping with me this afternoon? I need a strong guy like you to carry all my shopping bags."

"Count me in. I'm a professional shopping bag carrier!"

Your lighthearted laughter and the way your fingers tighten around his biceps send butterflies flying in Yuuji's stomach.

It's during the shopping trip when the two of you are taking a short break and sit in a coffee shop slurping iced coffee when you grin cheekily at Yuuji and finally ask:

"So what was that earlier, when you yelled after Fushiguro if he would fuck you? Is there something going on between you?"

Yuuji almost chokes on his drink, coughing and messing up his hoodie as some of the drink he had in his mouth spills out over his chin. He taps his fist against his chest and splutters:

"That was nothing! We were just being stupid."

"Oh really?" You raise an eyebrow and lean closer conspiratorially with a devilish gleam in your eyes. Gossip mode activated, apparently. "Or is it that someone's desperate for some action? So you're planning to get laid at the party this weekend?"

"What? No!!"

"Why are you so sensitive about it? Come on, Yuu, it's ok to admit you are horny!"

He is trying so hard to fight his blush. But there's a pounding in his ears, and his breath is coming out in short gasps. To hear you say the word "fuck" and talking about Yuuji getting laid is too much for him. He has to dig his nails into his knees to stop his body from reacting in a totally inappropriate way.

But you aren't finished yet. You bump Yuuji's side with your elbow and chuckle good-naturedly before adding:

"Now that I think about it, you've been a bit on edge lately. Maybe you should really take someone home. Would be good for you. Why did you stop doing that anyway? I haven't heard you talking about your bedroom adventures in what seems forever."

He wants to die. It's true. Right after starting college, he was rather active in the sex department. He wouldn't call it sleeping around, but he had maybe three or four encounters that ended in the bedroom, a swimming pool, or on a bathroom floor. And of course, he told you all about it! You are his best friend!

But that was before! Now he is in love! In love with you! How could he fuck someone else?? He couldn't do that! And he doesn't even want to! He doesn't want anyone else, only you!

Inwardly he's screaming but tries to shrug it off and grins and shoves you playfully too.

"Oh, shut up. I just don't want to fool around with strangers at the moment."

"Just not with strangers? What about people you know, huh?"

"Are you volunteering?"

His eyes widen when he realizes what he said in the heat of the moment. He hopes you will just see it as part of your usual banter. But a small part of him wants you to take it for what it really is. At least the secret would be out then. And in an ideal world, you would smile and put a hand on his thigh while you lean closer and whisper in Yuuji's ear that you've wanted him for a long time too.

But unfortunately, this isn't the pastel pink world of a rom-com. And instead of a love confession, you snort and burst out laughing loudly as if Yuuji made the best joke ever. Your hand does indeed land on his thigh, but only to slap it as you shake with laughter.

"You're so funny, Yuu! That's why you're my best friend! We can talk such dumb stuff and laugh so much with each other!"

Yuuji's heart clenches painfully at your words. Not for the first time, he wishes he could flip himself over like a mixtape because maybe side two would have what side one lacks. Maybe you would see side two as someone who can be more than a friend. Someone who would be able to make you get flustered when he makes a suggestive comment. Maybe the Yuuji on side two would be someone you desire and would like to take to your own bed and have him over and over again every night for the rest of your life.

It hurts knowing that this isn't going to happen. But Yuuji tries his best to act like everything's fine and joins in on your laughter.

You finish your drinks and the cupcakes before proceeding with your little shopping trip.

This basically means that Yuuji spends most of the time sitting on chairs and benches waiting for you to come out of the changing booth to present to him several shirts and jeans and some dresses.

The tight-fitting jeans and the short dresses are particularly bad for his mental stability. Your ass looks too juicy in those jeans, and why do you have to turn your back to him and wiggle your ass in front of his face? It's too much. Yuuji's hand finds the collar of his hoodie unconsciously and stretches it to get a bit of air.

His mind runs crazy about what he would like to do to you. How good it would feel to slip his hands into the back pockets of those tight jeans, pull you against him, and kiss you while his hands knead your cute ass.

Or how sexy it would be to let you sit on his lap while you're wearing one of those short dresses. His mind short-circuits at the thought of feeling the warmth of your naked thighs seeping through his sweatpants, letting his hands slip under that dress and explore what's waiting for him there. Feel your heat through your cute panties before he pulls them to the side to caress you where he wants to the most, feeling you get wet for him, grinding eagerly against his fingers, coating them in your arousal, moaning his name needily, wanting him...

Fuck.

Yuuji squints his eyes shut for a moment as if that could get rid of the imaginary pictures running through his mind. He hopes he can distract himself before this becomes a bigger problem, literally. He shifts around uncomfortably on the pink plush couch he's currently sitting on, silently begging his dick to please be nice and not do anything embarrassing. He curses himself for his poor fashion choices because the grey sweatpants he's changed into for the shopping spree do nothing to hide his growing boner.

"Earth to Yuuji! Did you hear a single word I said?"

He looks at you with big startled eyes, hastily putting his hands in his lap, hoping that you won't see that he is half-hard.

"What?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest and roll your eyes.

"I guess I took too long trying on clothes. You're already zoning out. I said I'd either take the yellow dress or the pink shirt with the black print. What do you think?"

"The dress!"

Maybe his answer was a bit too enthusiastic because you burst out laughing, but you look so pleased, so Yuuji doesn't have it in him to feel bad about it. Instead, he spends the next minutes making a mental list of the worst movies he's ever seen to distract himself from his dirty thoughts and will the problem in his pants away, so he'll be able to get up from this fucking pink couch and carry your shopping bags.

The next thing on your list is makeup and Yuuji tags along, happily carrying your shopping bags now that he feels normal again, and voicing his opinion anytime you ask for it.

He actually enjoys your shopping trips. It's nice to spend time with you, and he likes the feeling of pleasing you and being needed by you, even if that just means that he's your personal bag carrier and advice giver. That's an excellent job in his eyes. He gets paid in warm smiles and happy laughter, and he can't see anything wrong with that.

And luckily, you are so busy searching the stores for things you like that you stop pestering Yuuji about finding someone for him to get laid.

He's following you through long pastel-colored aisles lined by mirrors and bright lights. Stops to swoon over different nail polish shades with you and even lets you paint his nails at one of those tester things. Anything to see that happy smile on your face!

You look so cute when you stick the tip of your tongue out in concentration while applying the nail polish. Yuuji can't stop looking at you.

Two girls are passing by, and Yuuji overhears them talking about how they wish they had a boyfriend who went shopping with them too.

Yuuji smiles at them gratefully. Hearing someone call him your boyfriend makes his heart beat faster. It's a bittersweet sensation, though, since you aren't really dating, and Yuuji will probably never be your boyfriend for real. But the fact that they saw the two of you and assumed you are a couple makes him feel exhilarated.

You don't bother correcting them, or maybe you didn't hear. But you laugh and admire Yuuji's black nails.

"Just like your brother. You should send him a picture!"

Yuuji joins in on your laughter and really snaps a picture that he sends to Sukuna, his edgy big brother who has too many tattoos and is never seen without black nail polish. Come to think of it, though, he never complains about pining for someone he can't have. Usually, Sukuna is the one who gets chased by everyone.

Yuuji blinks at his phone. Maybe he should try to be a bit more like his brother. Does he have to change his style? Should he get a tattoo? Or is it the rude arrogance that makes Sukuna so attractive to everyone? Yuuji doesn't think he's capable of being rude.

His phone beeps with a new message and Yuuji looks down to see his lovely big brother replied to the picture:

"Aww, is my wittle baby brother trying to be a bad boy now? You are so pathetic, brat."

"Fuck you."

Yuuji shoves his phone angrily back into his pocket while looking for you and sees you standing in front of a display of a limited lipgloss launch.

"What do you think, Yuu? Cherry or strawberry?"

The innocent question makes his head spin because now he's imagining kissing your glossed lips to get a taste of the different fruit flavors. Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated because of how much he likes you!?

"Take strawberry. Or both. I have money left. I could buy one for you if you want both."

That's technically not true. Money is always sparse, especially towards the end of the month. But for you, Yuuji would give his last penny.

You smile at him, and your hand lands on his arm, squeezing it lightly.

"Trying to become my sugar daddy? Nah, for real, that's really nice, I appreciate it, but I won't let you spend your lunch money on an overpriced lipgloss. I'll just take the strawberry one, and that's enough."

You grab the light-pink tube of lipgloss and head towards the checkout as Yuuji quickly takes the cherry-flavored lipgloss once your back is turned. He will give it to you for your birthday. He smiles to himself, thinking about the look of surprise and the happy glint in your eyes you'll have when you get his gift. He makes sure to go to the checkout furthest away from yours, so you won't see what he's buying, making sure to grab some hair wax on his way, so he has an excuse for what took so long.

Once he catches up to you in front of the store, you smile brightly at him and point at your lips:

"Look! I love the color! And it tastes nice."

Yuuji's eyes widen as he is forced to look at your lips. Oh god. They look so delicious, wet and juicy, glistening from the thin layer of lipgloss, and he can smell the strawberry flavor from here. He wants to kiss you so bad. Close the distance between you, press his lips against yours and kiss the lipgloss off them. Trace your sweet lips with his tongue, sucking on them, licking all the sticky strawberry flavor off them, and letting it fill his mouth.

He hopes his voice doesn't sound too strangled when he answers you:

"It looks pretty!"

He isn't able to tear his gaze away from your lips. But he'll make such a fool of himself if he doesn't stop! He gulps hard and shoves his hands deep into the front pocket of his yellow hoodie to keep himself from reaching out to you.

But you take a step closer to him now with a wide grin on your face.

"Thank you for being my shopping companion! I can always rely on you for these things."

You lean closer until you can press a quick kiss on Yuuji's cheek.

This shouldn't be a big thing, because this is your usual way of greeting or saying goodbye. But lately, it makes Yuuji's heart skip a beat anytime you do it. And right now, you are wearing that damn lipgloss, and the smell of strawberries is overwhelming and turns Yuuji into a complete mess.

His self-control is gone, and before he can stop himself, his arms encircle your waist, hands sprawled over the small of your back possessively as he kisses your cheek too.

He is aware that the kiss lasts too long, his lips pressing against your soft skin tenderly, eyes closed and breathing in your scent deeply as he savors the little moment where he has you in his arms, where he can pretend for a little while that you are his, that you are more than friends.

But of course, the moment is over too soon, and he has to let his arms drop to the side again, letting go of you before it becomes awkward and he gives himself away. You are still smiling at him, and Yuuji answers your smile with one of his own while his heart is hammering in his chest and his fingertips tingle with the urge to touch you again.

Yes, being in love with your best friend while they don't love you back is really a curse.

The two of you make your way home. Yuuji insists on carrying all your shopping bags for you, making you laugh and tell him he's such a gentleman. And once again, the annoying butterflies are back in his stomach.

Your lipgloss left a sticky stain on Yuuji's cheek, but he doesn't wipe it off all the way home. Even lets it stay there during dinner and only reluctantly lets the warm water wash it off when he's taking a shower before bed. He's got it bad, and he knows it.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it! When I saw a Fall Out Boy collab, I HAD to join because I really love their songs and lyrics, and I knew it would be super fun to think of a story that fits the overall feeling I get from listening to their music. I hope you enjoyed Yuuji's college adventures and his pining. There will be more soon! In chapter 2, Yuuji tries to flirt and ask Reader on a date. Let's see how that will go! I would be super happy if you left some comments and reblogged this story! Let me know how you like it so far! Thank you!

The amazing @brautschnitzel made some super hot fanart of Yuuji in his grey sweatpants 😍 Thank youuu! I love it so much!

Tag-list: @babe-im-bi @peach-memoirs @yuujiskitten @christalcake

@eva-gates @lawfulrhi @manjiken @brautschnitzel @cyancherub

@ambrodias

If you enjoyed reading this, here's chapter 2

~ Protective!Megumi who notices someone getting a little too close to you during a mission briefing. It’s subtle, really—just a lingering look, a too-friendly comment—but it makes something coil tightly in his chest.

~ Protective!Megumi who doesn’t say anything at first. He just steps closer to you, standing slightly in front of you, his arm brushing yours like a silent barrier. You glance up at him and catch the smallest crease between his brows.

~ Protective!Megumi who stays quiet during the whole exchange, eyes sharp, always watching. Not jealous—totally not jealous. If someone’s making you uncomfortable, even a little, he’s already two steps ahead, calculating what to do if it escalates.

~ Protective!Megumi who gently pulls you aside once you’re alone, voice low and controlled. “Was he bothering you?” he asks, eyes meeting yours with quiet concern. You shake your head, smiling a little at his intensity. “No, but… you noticed, huh?”

~ Protective!Megumi who just exhales, not angry—just focused. “I always notice.”

~ Protective!Megumi who walks with you the entire rest of the mission, always staying close, always aware. If danger shows itself, he’s in front of you before you can blink, his shikigami flaring to life like they were just waiting for a reason.

~ Protective!Megumi who doesn’t speak unless he has to during battle, but if you so much as stumble, he’s there in a flash—catching your arm, shielding you with his own body, eyes scanning for any threat before checking if you’re okay.

~ Protective!Megumi who, after everything, cups your face gently, his fingers a little rough but touch so, so careful. “You scared me for a second,” he murmurs, voice strained just slightly. “Don’t do that again.”

~ Protective!Megumi who doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s holding you until you shift and nuzzle against his shoulder, whispering, “I’m okay, Megumi. You’re always watching out for me.”

~ Protective!Megumi who presses his forehead to yours, eyes closing. “Always.”

Satoru "he's cute, but Idk him, where is MY baby" Gojo grandpas visiting a newborn itafushi baby