Clingy

fashion killa ; masterlist

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 38,923 — read on ao3

summary:

Fashion Week was supposed to be simple-walk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.

Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japan's most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouse-and the worst part? You don't hate it.

tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, kirishima eijirou is a good friend, not beta read!

notes:

shoutout to iris van herpen and my palestinian queen bella hadid (and also the dsquared2 show that inspired this whole ordeal). also i have nothing and didn't know anything of the fashion industry, this is all my own research and the fact that one of my closest friends is a fashion designer, so she gave me lots of info as well lol.

this is just a small self indulgent idea which i’m really excited to share with you all. thank you for the support and for reading! enjoy! :D

ao3:

chapter one ; close my eyes

chapter two ; and fall into you

tumblr:

chapter one ; close my eyes

chapter two ; and fall into you

The songs you grow to like never stick at first (Chapter 3)

Chapter 1 ++ Chapter 2

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 Word Count: 5.5k Playlist: College AU Warnings: 18+, slow burn, a lot of cheesiness, pining, unrequited love in the beginning, alcohol, masturbation, sex dreams. All characters are of age. The story and my blog contain 18+ content. Minors don’t interact.

Chapter 3 This conversation's still dead on arrival. And there's no way to talk to you.

"Yuuji, are you ok?"

Yuuji blinks at you sleepily. You're sitting across from him in your usual booth in the coffee shop you always go to, stirring your coffee as you let your gaze travel over Yuuji's face. The concern in your eyes is making him feel warm. He wants to smile at you, but it turns into a hearty yawn. He sighs and stretches before rubbing his eyes, trying to chase the sleepiness away,

"Yeah, I'm fine!"

"I'm not so sure about that. You have some really dark circles under your eyes, Yuu. Maybe you're coming down with a cold."

"Nah, I... I was just staying up late playing video games."

He quickly takes a sip of his own coffee to hide his gradually blushing face as the memories of last night come back to him. He could never tell you the real reason for his loss of sleep: His dirty dreams starring you as his sexy girlfriend.

He sees the pictures so clearly in his head: The two of you tangled in bed, your fingernails digging into Yuuji's back, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, and his name on your lips as you writhe beneath him. He imagines he can even hear your voice, breathless and needy, moaning loudly with every snap of Yuuji's hips. "Yes, right there, Yuu!!"

He feels so guilty. How can he sit here and look into your eyes after having another dream like that?

You are so worried about him catching a cold or something! While the truth is that Yuuji didn't get enough sleep because he had to jerk off two times to the fantasy of fucking you until you screamed his name.

And it's not just the sex dreams that haunt him. He has other dreams too. Dreams where he holds you and kisses you sweetly. Dreams where you are on romantic dates, hold hands and whisper sweet love confessions to each other.

He can't even say which dreams are worse. The romantic ones or the dirty ones.

The romantic ones make him sad when he wakes up because the longing in his heart is even worse after hearing you say "I love you, Yuuji." in his dream. And the dirty ones turn him into a horny mess who has to shove a hand into his boxers and pump his throbbing cock frantically until he cums all over his hand and abs while moaning your name into his pillow.

Yuuji's cheeks are burning by now. He almost jumps when your cold hand presses against his forehead.

"Are you sure? You look a bit flushed too. Maybe you have a fever!"

Yuuji shakes his head vehemently.

"No, really, I'm fine!"

You sigh, your hand still resting against his forehead,

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"Of course...I... sorry (y/n), I'm really fine. You don't have to worry."

He manages to smile at you and puts a hand on top of yours before adding:

"But you know what? Your hand feels really cold. Are you sure you aren't coming down with a cold?"

He gently pries your hand away from his forehead and intertwines it with his. It really feels cold, and it's the perfect excuse to hold hands with you. An opportunity too tempting to let it pass. And so Yuuji reaches across the table to do the same with your other hand. He holds them both gently, keeping them enveloped in his larger hands, sharing some of his body heat with you.

You laugh softly, eyes crinkling happily.

"It's so convenient to always have my personal heater with me!"

Well, at least that's a little thing to make up for the wet dreams he has about you. Something to ease the guilt a little bit, at least. Yuuji smiles and rubs his thumbs gently over the back of your hands.

"Oi, what are the two of you doing? Did you start a palm-reading business now, Itadori?"

Yuuji yelps as Nobara's bag slams down on the bench next to him, only missing him by a few centimeters.

"Hey, be careful, Kugisaki!"

But you laugh, squeezing Yuuji's hands and looking at him with an amused expression on your face that makes him laugh too.

"You should totally do that, Yuu! Imagine all the middle-aged women flocking to you! "Did you hear about that new palm reader? Karen, I am telling you he is so attractive, um, I mean spiritual!" You could make a fortune! Maybe consider offering your services shirtless."

Yuuji's heart is doing that thing where it beats so fast that he's sure he'll get a nosebleed or something. Did you just call him attractive??

"I mean, I could do deeper readings in the backroom. That would probably get me some money."

His reply sends you into another fit of laughter, and Yuuji's heart is about to beat itself out of his ribcage. You look beautiful, shaking with laughter, eyes sparkling happily, and your hands grab his tightly.

It would be so natural for the two of you to be girlfriend and boyfriend, wouldn't it be? Yuuji's chest tightens. What he wouldn't give to be allowed to close the distance between you, lean over the table and press his lips onto yours, muffling your sweet laughter with his mouth and feeling you smile into the kiss.

Next to him, Nobara is laughing too while scrolling through the messages on her phone. Or more like one particular text conversation. The one between her and Maki. She turns to look at Yuuji with a grin on her face.

"Can you also do a reading for me? I wanna know if I'll get laid on the party tomorrow!"

"What do you want me to say? That I see a tall, dark-haired hottie in your near future? Most likely, it will just be Fushiguro who chides you for being embarrassingly drunk and drags you home before you can put dirt on his name. So I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Nobara rolls her eyes, and her elbow connects painfully with Yuuji's side. Yuuji thinks that she has no right to be so dramatic because everyone knows that her crush on Maki is requited. If anyone is allowed to mope, it's definitely him!

But you called him hot and talked about him being shirtless, so maybe not everything is hopeless. Yuuji likes to think of himself as an optimist, so he'll try to focus on the silver lining. Maybe the party is exactly what he needs to take things between you a step further.

One of the pros of living in a college town is that Yuuji gets invited to parties almost every weekend. He knows so many people, and there's always an occasion that calls for a get-together.

Yuuji likes going to parties. He can chat with people, get tipsy, be the star of the karaoke squad, and dance as much as he wants, having the time of his life.

Especially when you are next to him, sharing a mic with him, laughing and singing off-key with him, taking his hand to do some stupid dance, your carefree laughter filling up the room as Yuuji spins you around.

Maybe he enjoys it a bit too much, when a dirty song is playing, and he has his hands on your hips and you grind your ass against his crotch. Of course, he can't do this for more than one song, or he'll have another big problem in his pants. But it's so much fun, and he can unashamedly enjoy being close to you and touching you.

But there's a con too. Because those parties can quickly turn into an emotional rollercoaster for Yuuji when he sees other people flirt with you, and he gets reminded once again that he has no right to be jealous because you are just his friend, nothing more.

But that doesn't mean he can't glare at that blonde guy from the volleyball team who flexes his arms anytime you walk past him. Usually, Yuuji gets along with him, but if he decides to start hitting on you, he won't be on Yuuji's list of people he likes anymore!!

Yuuji knows that the real problem isn't the guys who try to hit on you, though. Of course, they do that. Because they see the same thing, he does. That you are amazing! Kind and sweet and funny and smart and so beautiful! Of course, they want you too. He cannot blame them. The only one to blame is himself. Because he's incapable of telling you how he feels. It has to change! No, it WILL change tonight!

Maybe it's the beer he has been drinking or that passive-aggressive emo song that's playing on the stereo at the moment. But suddenly, everything is so clear to Yuuji. He has to confess to you! He can do it! No more excuses! Tonight will be the night!

You told him he is hot. You said he'd make a fortune if he did palm readings shirtless! That has to mean something! Fuck it, he's gonna get his girl tonight!

You choose that moment to grin brightly at him and take his arm to pull him to the kitchen for a refill of your drinks. And Yuuji revels in the way your fingers tighten around his biceps. You feel perfect here by his side, touching him, being so close to him, showing everyone that you are here with him.

When the two of you reach the kitchen, you step away from Yuuji to get another mixed drink while he opens the fridge and bends down to get more beer.

He grabs a bottle and straightens up again to look over where you are leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him with a happy smile. It looks like you were checking out his ass, but maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Surprisingly the two of you are the only ones in the kitchen at the moment. The party noises, the chatter, the music, everything is a bit muffled as Yuuji's attention zooms in on you.

His stomach makes a flip. Now would be the perfect moment to tell you how he feels!

Before he can think about it too much, he blurts out:

"(y/n), you're my favorite person!"

Your smile grows even wider, and your hand lands on his arm again, rubbing it lightly.

"Aww, Yuuji, you're so sweet! You're my fave too!"

Oh god!

Yuuji's eyes widen as he stares at you in complete bafflement. Is this really happening? His heart is beating so fast that he thinks it should make a loud thumping sound. He shifts closer to you, leaning in ever so slightly.

He is your favorite person too? You like him back? That's what it means, right? Oh god, oh god, oh god! His gaze slips down to your lips. Is it ok if he kisses you now? Maybe he should ask again just to make sure...

So he locks gazes with you, his honey eyes looking hopefully into yours.

"Really? I'm your favorite too?"

"Sure, you're my best friend after all! What would I do without you?"

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation and shove Yuuji playfully before hoisting yourself up on the kitchen counter, grabbing your drink, and holding it out for Yuuji to clink glasses.

Oh...ok...

Yuuji's reply gets stuck in his throat. It's better to just stay silent. The conversation's been dead on arrival anyway.

It's hopeless, isn't it? He means something completely different when he talks about the connection the two of you have. To you, he is a friend, but you don't see him like a guy you could imagine dating.

A lump is forming in Yuuji's throat. He feels so stupid.

He touches his beer bottle against the glass you are holding but doesn't take a sip and instead sets the bottle of beer down on the counter and mumbles something about going to look for Fushiguro, which you answer with a quick smile and wave.

Yuuji tries his best to smile back at you. That's what you need, right? You need him to be your best friend, your sunshine boy with the bright smile. And of course, he'll continue to give you this. Even though he feels like crying at the moment.

He has to get out of here before his emotions are written all over his face!

He pushes through the throngs of people until he reaches the door that leads to the backyard, stumbling out into the chilly night air.

He takes several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down and get his stupid feelings under control. Why is he like that? Why did he have to fall for his best friend? Why is he too dumb to tell you how he feels? Why can't he make you see him as someone you'd like to date?

He bites his lips hard and walks further away from the house. Then, in the very back of the garden, he lets himself slide down against the fence, sitting down on the grass, knees pulled up to his chest, hugging himself.

Loving you is often painful for him. But it's even worse tonight here at this celebration. Usually, Yuuji is the life of the party, one of those people who challenge others to karaoke battles and the first one on the makeshift living room dancefloor when one of his favorite songs starts playing.

But it's hard to be that guy when he feels so heartbroken.

Once again, he asks himself what he's doing wrong. Is he maybe too much of a clown? Clowns aren't hot. He's pretty sure about that. They aren't dating material, as Nobara would say.

Yuuji is the nice boy, the funny one, the joker, and the slightly dumb idiot who can be counted on to carry your books and bring you home safely but not the one who makes someone's panties wet. Once again, he wishes to be more like his brother Sukuna. It's not fun being the sunshine boy if it means you only get friend-zoned all the time.

"Oh fuck. Why can't I be enough?"

The night doesn't have an answer for him. And so Yuuji just sits there, resting his chin on his knees and listening to the distant sounds of the party. After a while, the urge to cry dissolves, and the desperation gets replaced by something else.

Anger.

He is angry at himself. Why is he making such a big deal out of this and wallowing in self-pity here?

This isn't fair towards you! He cannot blame you for not wanting him. He is supposed to be your friend and should love you in a platonic way, be there for you, be by your side through good and bad times.

But he's a rather shitty friend tonight, isn't he? Hiding away in the darkest corner of the garden like a coward. He should be in there with you and make sure you have fun.

He shouldn't be one of those guys who blame you for not loving them back in a certain way!

He sighs and gets up, brushing some leaves and grass off his jeans before strolling back to the porch. Enough of these emo thoughts! He will be by your side at this damn party if it's the last thing he does!

On the porch, he gets greeted loudly by some guys from the basketball team. They're holding up their bottles and chanting, "Tiger of Jujutsu University!" Yuuji cringes at the nickname, but it's nice that they are so happy to see him, and so he grins back at them and high fives all of them as he makes his way over to the door that leads to the kitchen.

It almost feels like walking towards an important game, and all his teammates are hyping him up. He definitely needs some hyping up, so this is great! Thank god for jocks!

He sees you immediately. You're still leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, but you aren't alone. A tall figure is standing in front of you now. Kamo.

Yuuji has no beef with the guy. He barely knows him, to be honest. He seems chill, a bit overambitious maybe, at least that's what Fushiguro has complained about several times. But he's an ok guy, Yuuji guesses. So he shouldn't feel so irritated by seeing him here talking to you.

This stupid jealousy has to stop! Yuuji wishes he wouldn't feel this way. It makes him feel guilty.

Get a grip, man! Be a good friend!

Your eyes catch Yuuji's gaze at that moment, and he waves at you, enthusiastic as always, big smile and sparkling eyes as he struts over to you and Kamo. He can do that! He can be normal and not ruin your fun evening!

"Heyyyy, what's up??"

He stops next to you, still smiling.

"Oh, Kamo's just telling me about his upcoming karate tournament."

Yuuji nods and leans against the counter, watching you and Kamo chat, and occasionally he contributes to the conversation. But he realizes quickly that Kamo doesn't reply to Yuuji's comments, that he glares at him anytime Yuuji tries to catch his eye.

Oh, so that's it, hm? Kamo doesn't want Yuuji here? He wants you all to himself.

It has Yuuji on edge. Uneasiness is simmering underneath his skin. He wants to reach out, put an arm around you or ruffle your hair. Just do something that lets Kamo know that he can't have you. That you already belong to Yuuji!

But Yuuji knows he can't do that. He has no claim on you. But it's so damn hard to hold back. He has to shove his hands deep into the front pocket of his hoodie to stop himself from making a fool of himself.

And then he notices something else, and it fills him with growing anger. Kamo is pretty drunk, which seems to make him a bit too bold for Yuuji's taste.

He keeps leaning closer to you, towering over you and talking into your ear, his lips almost touching your skin. His hand lands on your shoulder repeatedly, squeezing it and rubbing it. He keeps invading your personal space.

It makes Yuuji's hands ball into fists.

He turns his head to look at your reaction and what he sees makes his blood boil. You don't like Kamo's advances either. You turn your face to get away from Kamo's mouth on your ear, you shrug your shoulder to show him subtly that you don't want to be touched like that by him. Yuuji watches in growing alarm as Kamo ignores all the hints you are sending him and keeps on touching you.

And then it's enough! Before he can even think about what he's doing, Yuuji's hands are on Kamo's shoulders, and he shoves him off you, making him stumble back against the fridge.

Kamo exclaims hotly:

"What the fuck, Itadori?! Get your hands off me!"

But Yuuji doesn't back off. Instead, he grabs Kamo's shirt and twists his fingers angrily in it, and slams Kamo against the fridge.

"You better get your hands off (y/n)! You're making her uncomfortable! Get a fucking hint!"

He is so angry! His gaze is boring into Kamo's, and he tightens his hold on his shirt, pushing the other boy once more against the fridge. Kamo's eyes widen in fear. Yuuji knows he can be pretty impressive when he gets angry. No one expects it from the nice guy with the big smile.

But he is pissed off. He is frustrated with everything! This stupid party, his even stupider feelings, that stupid emo song that's stuck in his head, his stupid dick which will make him have wet dreams about you again tonight, this stupid fridge with the stupid motivational quotes stuck on it! And most of all, with fucking stupid Kamo who touches you against your will!

Yuuji shakes him, feeling a grim satisfaction upon hearing the soft thud of Kamo's head hitting the fridge.

But suddenly, your hand lands on Yuuji's shoulder, squeezing it gently and making him stop mid-move.

"Let him go, Yuuji. I think he gets it now. It's ok, I'm fine."

Yuuji looks at you, and he sees the worry in your eyes. The last thing he wants is to give you a reason to be concerned. And so he lets go of Kamo's shirt and takes a step back. But he still glares at the other boy.

"You're too drunk, man. Go home and drink some water. I don't want to see you around here anymore."

Kamo straightens up and smoothes down his shirt, looking nervously from Yuuji to you.

"I'm sorry! Listen, I didn't mean anything bad...sorry."

The anger is still running hotly through Yuuji's veins, and his patience is wearing thin. His voice comes out in a growl:

"Just go. I can't guarantee for anything if you don't walk out that door right now."

Kamo finally gets the hint, turns on his heel, and flees. Yuuji exhales and turns around to face you.

"Are you ok?"

You smile at him, looking as if you are close to bursting out laughing.

"Yeah, I'm fine! Thank you, Yuuji. Sometimes I wonder what I would do without you. Did you see his face? He was so scared of you!"

Yuuji shrugs,

"I hope he was! I saw his hands all over you and saw red! Are you really ok?"

"Yeah, don't worry. I'll be fine with you as my knight in shining armor, right?"

Yuuji knows you don't mean to sound flirty, but your words still give him butterflies. Yes, he wants that! He wants to be your knight. The one who protects you and takes care of you. He wants to be the one who sweeps you off your feet, the one who holds you in his strong arms and lays the world at your feet.

He smiles and takes a step closer to pull you into one of your usual friendly hugs. You gravitate towards him automatically, your arms wrapping around him like they did so many times before. One arm over his shoulder, the other beneath his arm. It makes your face press against his collarbone, and he can't help but sigh happily at the feeling. His chin rests on the top of your head, and it feels perfect.

Like you are exactly where you are meant to be. In Yuuji's arms.

But the thing with hugs among friends is that they are over too quickly, and before Yuuji can really enjoy it, you already let go again and take a step back.

"It's pretty late anyways, and I have economics with Mr. Nanami in a few hours, so we better get going."

Yuuji nods, he isn't in a party mood anyways after his little breakdown, so it's a relief that you want to leave. Sleep will be good for him too.

"Yeah, let's go!"

Reader's POV:

Yuuji follows you through the hallway, which is still inhabited by a rather tipsy crowd, and so the two of you have to make some funny dance moves to shimmy through the group of people. All the while, Yuuji is handing out high fives and receiving back-claps from all the jocks.

But Yuuji's other hand stays on your back all the time, steering you safely through the crowd. He's reaching out sometimes to clap a shoulder and signal some other guy to make room. Your best friend is like that, always so caring.

A fond smile spreads over your face as you remember how you met Yuuji.

You were anxious about moving away from home and attending college here, where you knew no one. Living alone for the first time in your life. It was scary, and your parents back home were worried too, calling you every day, making sure you were ok and safe.

Then you met Yuuji, and suddenly you had someone by your side who always looked out for you.

Your dad is more relaxed now that he knows there is this strong boy who can protect you. You smile at the memory of being on a video call with your parents and Yuuji bursting into the room, but instead of leaving, you waved him over, and he happily sat down next to you, not annoyed at all by the prospect of meeting your parents.

Yuuji waved at them with his big sunshine boy grin and greeted them and talked to them so politely and kind that afterwards your mom was high-key in love with him ("Such a handsome and kind young man! Tell him I said hello!") and your dad had adopted Yuuji as his son ("He's a good one! Keep him around!").

Yuuji who told your dad not to worry about all the parties that were taking place here because Yuuji would make sure to always bring you back home safely. "She never has to walk home alone, sir, I promise!"

And he sticks to that promise.

No matter how short the walk to your dorm is, Yuuji always accompanies you.

He once had a meltdown because you told him you had to ride on the train alone in the middle of the night because your other friend went home with some guy she had met at a bar.

Yuuji's tan face had gone an unusually pale shade, and he had insisted vehemently that you should have called him so he could have picked you up. You had laughed and told him it was literally 1:00 am, and he had been fast asleep. But Yuuji didn't laugh. It was one of those rare moments where he had a very serious look on his face and told you that he didn't care what time it was. "You call me next time, promise me, ok?"

You chuckle softly at the memory as you finally make it out of the house, and you and Yuuji start walking down the street that leads to your dorm.

It's only a short way from here, and it lies in the opposite direction from Yuuji's apartment, but of course, Yuuji will bring you safely to your door, waiting there until you are inside and give him a little wave from the kitchen window that faces the street.

A warm feeling washes over you. You are truly blessed to have a person like Yuuji in your life. Sometimes you wonder how things would be if you were more than friends. You never told anyone about it, but you had a big crush on Yuuji back when the two of you had just met. Actually, it started on the very frist day you met. Yuuji was funny and sweet and really sexy too, and after a long look into his honey eyes, you already felt your heart racing and the butterflies doing the Macarena in your belly.

But you shoved those thoughts into the farthest corner of your mind because you didn't want to mess things up by having romantic feelings and risk losing your safe space and personal sunshine. Yuuji was too important to you.

And he seems so far out of your league. Yuuji is this popular and perfect heartthrob everyone has a crush on. He could have anyone he wants. But he never dated anyone since you met him, which convinces you even more that Yuuji has very high standards, and you could never be someone he likes romantically. So the wise thing to do was to ignore those stupid feelings and distract yourself with other guys.

You are ok with it by now. Yuuji is your best friend, and that has to be enough.

Lately, he keeps sending you those cheesy pickup lines, and sometimes they make your heart beat suspiciously fast, but you always tell yourself to calm down because you know Yuuji doesn't mean it like that. He probably just read those somewhere and thinks they are hilarious, and now he sends them to all his friends.

No, Yuuji will never be your boyfriend. But he is your best friend, and that's the most beautiful thing in the world, and you'll do anything to keep this special connection the two of you have.

You'll be ok as long as he is your best friend.

Your thoughts get interrupted by said best friend cursing loudly and then yelling heatedly:

"Hey, Kamo! I told you to fuck off! Are you really gonna be a creep who follows us?? Oh, um, sorry! I didn't mean you! Sorry, I thought you were someone else! Have a good night, man!"

You turn around to see Yuuji scratching his neck and giving some obscure figure in the distance an apologetic wave. He turns to you with a cute embarrassed expression on his face, making you burst out laughing.

"Wow, you're really out here fighting dragons, huh, Yuuji? Please bring this helpless princess home, oh my brave knight!"

He laughs and rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, huffing dramatically as he lets his gaze travel over you and raises his eyebrows.

"Can't be much of a princess who's still out at an ungodly hour like this, smelling of alcohol and showing that much skin. Probably more of a tavern wench. But I'll escort you home safely nonetheless."

"I hate you so much!"

"I hate you more."

You both laugh at your exchange, and Yuuji reaches out to elbow you affectionately. You bump into his side, chuckling and leaning against him when you feel his body heat.

You shiver slightly because unfortunately, you decided earlier tonight to go without a jacket, but now it's pretty chilly outside.

Only a moment later, Yuuji shrugs out of his red hoodie and pushes it into your hands.

"Here, put that on. I can see you're shivering from the cold."

"But what about you?"

"I'm fine! You need the hoodie more than I do. You know, I naturally run hot."

"Such a hottie!"

"Hey! I am really hot!"

"Yes, you are! Did you hear me say anything different??"

You chuckle loudly and reach up to ruffle Yuuji's hair, and in turn, he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you along down the street towards your dorm, safely escorting you like the real-life knight in shining armor, or more like in a red shirt and washed-out jeans, that he is.

Yuuji's POV:

Yuuji closes the door of the dorm he shares with Fushiguro carefully behind himself but realizes a second later that he wouldn't have had to bother being silent because he can hear the sounds of the tv coming from the living area.

He kicks his sneakers off before strolling over to the couch where Fushiguro is lying comfortably under a big blanket and watching some nature documentary about wolves.

Yuuji plops down next to him, barely missing Fushiguro's legs, making his friend sigh exasperatedly, but he sits up straight to make room for Yuuji.

"Why are you still up, Fushiguro? Were you waiting up for me?"

"Of course not. How was the party?"

Before he can stop himself, Yuuji blurts out:

"She doesn't want me, Fushiguro. She'll never want me!"

He was ok on the way home! It was nice to walk with you, his arm around you, joking around with you and teasing each other. He really thought he'd be ok! He'd marveled at the sight of you in his hoodie, feeling his heart doing somersaults because he really really liked seeing you in his clothes.

He'd been fine when you hugged him and kissed his cheek before saying good night and disappearing into your dorm.

But then Yuuji had walked down the moonlit streets on his own, and the feeling of loneliness and longing had come back to haunt him.

Fushiguro turns his head to look at him.

"You're drunk, Itadori, aren't you?"

"Just a little. But were you listening to me?! She doesn't want me! I almost kissed her! For fucks' sake, I almost kissed my best friend and messed up everything! Oh god, I was so close to fucking everything up! I'm so dumb!"

Suddenly he's spiraling down as the whole implication of what he almost did and how he could have ruined your friendship forever comes crashing over him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have misinterpreted the situation so severely?

"No, you aren't dumb."

That gets Yuuji's attention. He pulls away enough to look at his friend with surprised big eyes. He knows that he and Fushiguro love each other in a friends-for-life way, but usually, Fushiguro is pretty mean to him. So hearing him claim Yuuji isn't dumb for once is new.

"I'm not?"

"No, not in that way, at least. You're a good person, Yuuji. You have a good heart, and you love people so much and make them feel special with your kind words and your whole being. You aren't dumb for loving someone and wanting them to love you back."

Yuuji sighs and slumps against Fushiguro, leaning heavily against his roommate, head resting on his shoulder. He sighs unhappily.

"I feel so bad for wanting more. Being friends with her should be enough. I tried so hard to suppress it. I swear I really did! But I just can't stop feeling this way."

Fushiguro reaches out, long slender fingers awkwardly patting Yuuji's hair.

"She loves you too. Maybe not in a romantic way. But she loves you. And maybe one day she will wake up and realize that you are everything she ever wanted."

"The songs you grow to like never stick at first."

"What?"

"That song was playing at the party, and I kinda related to it."

"Yeah, I guess that's quite fitting. Just don't give up, Itadori."

Fushiguro's calm deep voice is so soothing, and his fingers in Yuuji's hair feel very comforting too, so Yuuji sighs and leans on him gratefully, trying to focus on the tv. Maybe Fushiguro is right, and things will fall into place one day.

He spends the next hour learning that wolves are mad cool and almost falls asleep on Fushiguro's shoulder while thinking about the way you looked in his hoodie and how your smile put the stars to shame.

Before he can drift off to sleep and another round of dirty dreams, he pulls out his phone to send you one last Inumaki-approved message:

"I'm always tired but never of you. uwu. Good night!"

Yayyy, finally a new chapter! (And finally, we see reader's POV too). I am so sorry that it took so long, but thank you so much if you are still here to read more about College!Yuuji's adventures! Please let me know what you think about the chapter! The song Yuuji and reader were dancing to at the party is 679 by Fetty Wap feat. Remy Boyz. And yes, he was singing it into her ear. I would have fucked him right there on the dancefloor lmaoo. The next chapter will have more sleepless nights, a new man in reader's life, a scene in the rain, and lots of emo(tions) lol! Comments and reblogs make me happy :)

Chapter 4

Childhood best friend! Yuji who met you after he tried to do a cartwheel when he was six and fell flat on his face and you laughed at him.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who somehow thought that you were the coolest person ever just because you found everything funny.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who made you watch the dumbest movies ever basically every single day.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who didn’t understand how you lived right next to him and didn’t go to the same school as him.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who thought that your family was weird.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who didn’t expect you to vanish without a trace when high school started.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who started to think he was schizophrenic when he went to your house to check on you and your parents acted like you had never existed in the first place. (He asked his dad if he knew who you were just to be sure)

Childhood best friend! Yuji who was pissed off that you never texted him back.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who ate a finger and met some weird dude and was now a jujutsu sorcerer?

Childhood best friend! Yuji who got taken to some new school and saw you there wearing the uniform??

Childhood best friend! Yuji who was actively crashing out for weeks trying to figure out the math behind it.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who after several months still didn’t know how he had never noticed that you had cursed energy. But at least you were back!

Childhood best friend! Yuji who didn’t leave you alone for exactly 182 days. Megumi and Nobara were both getting annoyed.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who decided that you were hotter than Jennifer Lawrence when you protected him from a curse on a mission.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who asked Gojo for advice on how to impress you.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who asked Nanami for advice on how to impress you after Gojo gave him absolutely nothing useful.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who should have expected a workaholic to not know what to do about a fifteen year old girl??

Childhood best friend! Yuji who kissed you and ran away randomly one day. Nobara made fun of him. (She ended up being the only person to give him good advice)

Childhood best friend! Yuji who somehow got the girl despite his repeated fumbling.

@graciescott27

Nerd Gojo is the best thing to be created and I love him with all my heart🩵

(Feel free to comment Nerdjo fic-recs or fan art, and plug your own work!)

All Mine｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ

is it normal for a tinder hookup to invite you to his birthday party? only one way to find out.

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Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : happy birthday Katsuki!! you guys voted for this on the poll (Sorry if you were expecting smut... but I cringe at myself attempting to write it so suggestive is all you get), enjoy!

Warnings : VERY SUGGESTIVNESS so minors beware (nothing explict but still), Female!Reader, modernAU, aged-up, drinking, mention of drugs, classic Bakugou warnings

W/C : 3k

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[10:37 PM] B: you got plans tmrw

B is Bakugou Katsuki. The guy you've been enjoying lately. To say the least.

You met in the classic way—late-night Tinder, you feeling lonely and a little reckless. He had only one picture—a sharp jawline, messy blond hair, and not much else to go off. But he looked good. Really good. So, feeling lucky, you swiped right.

Match. Instantly.

He messaged first. You messaged back. Five minutes later, you were making plans to meet at a bar downtown. All you could hope for was that he wasn’t a catfish, and that getting dressed up wouldn’t be for nothing.

It definitely wasn’t.

You barely spent time at the bar. Most of the night was spent tangled up at your place. And that’s kind of how it went from there—he’d text, you’d text back. He’d come over, he’d leave. That was the thing. Sometimes you’d text first—on the nights you were feeling extra needy, craving hot hands and hungry lips.

You didn’t even know much about him. Just his name, his major, and the sounds he makes when he’s close. You didn’t think of him as much else. Didn’t let your mind drift into soft little daydreams about who he might be outside of your bedroom. What he was like with friends, what music he listened to, what kind of kid he was in high school.

Because Bakugou Katsuki didn’t seem like that kinda guy. There was nothing lovey-dovey about him. Just low curses and hard thrusts. 

So this message? Felt different.

For one—you never made plans. That wasn’t how this thing worked.Just heat-of-the-moment, spur-of-the-night kind of energy.

And two—it wasn’t even his usual type of text. He didn’t ask. He told. Normally, it was a blunt little “im comin over”—not a question, but something close to a courtesy. A way of saying: I’m giving you the out, if you want it.

You scroll back at your texts these past few months and see the same pattern over and over, this one sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest. 

[10:40 PM] You : idk. 

[10:40 PM] You : why

Does he notice the difference, too? The pause in your rhythm. The hesitation. Why does it matter if he does?

[10:42 PM] B : im having a party tmrw

[10:42 PM] B : or my flatmate is 

[10:42 PM] B : u should come

You stare at the screen for a second, not sure if you’re more confused or just… surprised. Not that it matters.

The read receipt doesn’t faze him. He doesn’t even wait for a response. Just sends the address, followed by a quick “starts at 7. let me know if ur coming and il order an uber.”

You don’t reply.

You don’t reply, because this isn’t part of the unspoken deal that you are familiar with. And maybe he just wants a pretty girl to stand near the drinks, someone to make the party pictures look good. Because Bakugou Katsuki is probably nothing more than an asshole. Probably. 

~~~

Maybe curiosity really does kill the cat. Because somehow, you decide to go.

You never reply to him, leave him to conclude that the silence means no, you idiot, I only want you for one thing. But against your better judgement, you pull something skimpy on and brace yourself for what's to come, because you are curious.

You want to see where he lives. Who he likes. What he looks like when he’s out of his element. You want to see if it all matches the version you've been playing in your head. The version you’ve carefully constructed while you’ve kept things simple, kept it just about the physical.

But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking you’re actually going to show up. So, you leave him hanging, go radio silent, and step out at 10 PM. Plus a glass of wine or two before you leave—just enough to make the shyness a little easier to ignore.

The alcohol burns nice in your veins… for a bit, until you’re standing outside the apartment door and the cold air cuts right through you, sobering you up fast.

At least you know it’s the right address, because you can hear the light thumping of bass and loud voices from out here (Not Bakugou’s though, but what would he even sound like loud, all you know is the low rough murmurs as he-). No turning back now. Not because you feel good about this decision, but because it’s freezing and your dress is doing absolutely nothing. So, you knock. Lightly.

And no one answers. Obviously. It’s a party, and half the people inside are probably too drunk or too distracted to notice. And none of them know who the hell you are anyway, so it’s not like anyone’s waiting at the door.

You check the handle. It turns. It’s open.

So, you step inside.

And it hits—hard. Like sensory overload dialed to ten. The place is decked out top to bottom, barely recognizable as a regular apartment. Streamers, lights, drinks in every corner. And before you can even take it all in, your eyes land on the handmade banner slapped across the wall: Happy Birthday Katsuki!

You don’t even need to ask. A quick glance around says it all—loud and clear.

There are old photos strung up along the walls, clipped to fairy lights that flicker unevenly. Most of the pictures are clearly from childhood—blond hair, scowling even as a toddler, surrounded by messy frosting and crooked party hats. One’s shows him mid-scream, cake all over his face. It’s kind of cute. Kind of surreal. Because this is his party.

It’s Bakugou’s birthday.

And he invited you to his birthday party?

You scan the room again, sharper this time. The place is crowded, but not enough to lose someone like him. And he’s not here. That heavy, sinking feeling creeps into your chest.

Maybe he invited someone else.

Maybe when you didn’t text back, he moved on, picked another warm body to fill the space. It wouldn’t be crazy. It wouldn’t be wrong. You don’t owe each other anything, and that’s the whole point of this thing—or at least it was. But still, the thought lands heavy, makes something sour churn low in your gut. Makes your throat go tight in that way you hate.

You swallow it down, hard.

You’re already halfway through turning around, ready to slip back out before you embarrass yourself any further, when a voice cuts through the noise. One you don’t recognize, but it says your name like it knows you.

It’s coming from a big, beefy redhead, cheeks flushed pink from alcohol, smile wide and boyish like he’s genuinely thrilled to see you. There’s this urgent sparkle in his eyes, and for a second you’re stuck wondering how the hell does he know your name.

“You’re here! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he laughs, loud and booming and way too happy.

Before you can say anything, he’s placing a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder, “Hey, let me take your jacket. I’m Kirishima, by the way! Don’t think we’ve met yet.”

And you just… let him. Because honestly, you can’t think of anything else to do. You shrug your jacket off, hand it over, and he somehow manages to wedge it onto an already overflowing coat rack like it’s no big deal.

“Katsuki is…” he glances around, squinting into the crowd, “—well, I think he already snuck off somewhere. Classic. Gets sick of his own birthday halfway through every year.”

He laughs again, easy and fond, like that’s something everyone should know. Like you’re part of the group that gets Bakugou Katsuki.

And when it’s clear you’re not going to laugh with him—that you’re not in on the joke—he shifts, scratching the back of his neck, the flush on his cheeks deepening.

“Let’s get you a drink, yeah? Before Katsuki finds out you’re here and steals you away.”

Then he’s already turning, guiding you through the tangle of bodies toward the kitchen. You follow, trying not to overthink that last part. Steals you away. Like you’re some prize Bakugou might casually claim.

Does everyone think you’re just a body to him? And would that really be so bad… if it meant he’d picked you?

Fuck you need that drink. You toss the first one back the second it’s in your hand—barely tastes like anything, just cold and sharp. Kirishima lets out a loud laugh, already reaching to pour you another like it’s a challenge. As he talks, he’s all bright chatter—rambling about how annoying the setup was, how they almost didn’t get enough booze. He asks when your birthday is like it’s just part of the conversation, like none of this is weird.

He’s mid-sentence when someone interrupts—a blond, all pretty eyes and glazed-over smile, leaning in over Kirishima’s shoulder like he’s got zero sense of personal space. Drunk, maybe high. Definitely nosy, not that Kirishima seems to mind anyway. 

“Who’s the pretty girl, Ei?” he slurs, trying for a smirk that doesn’t quite land.

Kirishima just laughs, easily wrapping an arm around the guy to steady him. “This is Bakugou’s girl, bro. Back off.”

The blond seems as thrown by that as you are. Bakugou’s girl? Since when?

“Wait… I thought she wasn’t coming,” he frowns, looking a little too disappointed. “That’s why Bakubro was being extra mean to me today…”

You expect Kirishima to jump in with something. But instead, he just gives you this look—his brows raised slightly, an expectant glint in his eyes, like he's silently nudging you to explain yourself too. 

“Oh, um…” You twist uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling the weight of the attention. “I didn’t think I’d be able to, but… I am here now, so…” You shrug, the words feeling clumsy even to you.

Kirishima just watches you, his expression blank, and you get the sense that he’s not exactly thrilled with your answer—or with your whole last-minute appearance. Blondie, on the other hand, pouts deeper, his voice laced with a hint of teasing frustration. “Well, I would’ve preferred if you came before the beer pong… He was so aggressive with it…”. Kirishima gives the guy a playful pat on the head in response, a silent gesture that seems to acknowledge the comment without words.

This whole interaction has you itching to find Bakugou, to see why everyone’s been expecting you, why his flatmate seems annoyed by your absence. And, of course, to catch a glimpse of his handsome face too. “Where’s the birthday boy? I haven’t been here before, so…”

At the mention of Bakugou, Kirishima’s energy shifts, his enthusiasm returning like flipping a switch. “Let me show you,” he says, peeling Denki off his shoulder with a gentle but firm hand. “Denks, drink some water, okay?” Kirishima adds, his tone casual but with a hint of concern, before turning back to you to lead you back through the crowd. 

Eventually, Kirishima stops in front of a hallway door, turning back to give you a quick grin. “He’s probably hiding out in there,” he says, giving the door a casual knock. “Don’t be too shocked, though. He’s a little… cranky tonight.” He flashes you one last smile before turning and walking away, leaving you standing there at the door.

You push the door open, silently wishing you will either find him inside alone, or not at all. 

The room is dimly lit, the faint glow of string lights hanging lazily in the corners, old posters covering the walls. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the faint buzz of the party from down the hall. Your eyes scan the room, searching for him, and that's when you see him: Bakugou, slouched in a chair by the window, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, too caught up in his own world. You can’t help but watch him for a moment, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens slightly as he breathes in. You hesitate for a moment, but before you can second-guess yourself, his voice breaks the silence.

"Didn't think you'd actually show," he mutters, his gaze still locked on the window, his tone rougher than usual.

"You didn’t tell me it was your birthday," you say, unmoving from your place at the door.

He doesn’t respond right away, his silence thick in the air between you. The seconds stretch on, but then, slowly, he turns to face you. His brow furrows, lips curling into something between a frown and a smirk, but it’s his eyes that catch you off guard. They’re wide, not shy, but hungry, tracing your frame with an intensity that makes the space between you feel smaller than it is.

"Come closer," he demands, voice low, almost challenging. "I want a better look at you."

You hate how easily you obey, the words pulling you forward like a magnet. Until finally, you’re close enough that the air between you feels thick, charged. His legs caging your own as you stand between them. 

He doesn't move, not yet, but you feel the weight of his gaze, steady and intense. And when his hands finally find your waist, it’s almost a relief. Almost. They tug you forward, pulling you down onto his lap with a quiet but unmistakable force.

You try to steady yourself, to regain control, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you who’s in charge here. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at the feel of his body so close to yours.

"Is this how you like it?" His voice is rougher now, darker, a question more than anything else.

“You know how I like it.” 

He lets out a dry chuckle, the sound rough. "Damn right," he mutters, his hands sliding through your hair, fingers pulling roughly at your scalp, forcing your eyes to meet his. You hold in the quiet noise already threatening to come out from the treatment. 

"I was pissed when you didn’t reply," he says, his gaze burning into yours. “Told everyone my girl was coming, even helped Shitty hair with putting the decks up, got the good drinks too. But you didn’t show.”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you in just a little closer, the light scent of alcohol on his breath. "Do you always keep people waiting?" he asks, his voice rougher now, low and almost a growl. "Or was this just for me?"

You hate how his words vibrate through you, how you have to resist the temptation to press your legs together while spread out on his lap, refusing to let him feel the impact of his own words. “But what is it you want from me, Katsuki?” You breathe out, close enough now to see his eyes flash at the name change. “I thought this was just sex, and now you’re inviting me to your birthday party and getting pissy when I don’t show... Is meeting your friends part of the deal now, too?”

“You think this is just sex?” he says, voice rougher now, like he’s testing the words himself. “You think I don’t hate walking away every time? That I haven’t thought about just… staying? Not leaving for once. Keeping you.” A beat. “Keeping you as mine?”

Your breath catches.

“Katsuki… then why didn’t you just ask?” you whisper. “Instead of always running off.”

“Never the right fuckin’ time,” he mutters, his fingers brushing the side of your face, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “You were always either sleeping or too fucked out to hold a conversation. And you... you sure know how to make a guy nervous Angel.”

You blink. “I make you nervous?”

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his grip tightening just enough to pull you closer, “You think I do this often?” His laugh is low, a little dry, but there’s a sincerity to it that catches you off guard. “I downloaded Tinder as a fuckin’ joke. But when I saw your face... couldn’t resist. And the second I had you? Casual was never gonna work for me.”

The weight of his words settles in your chest. You can’t look away, not when he’s watching you like that, like he’s been starving for this moment.

“But hey,” he says, voice dipping low, almost a murmur now. “If you don’t want more, that’s fine. I’ll still give you what you need.” His thumb traces your lower lip, a delicate contrast to everything else about him. “But I want all of it, Angel. I want everything you’ll give me.”

You stare at him, your voice steady despite the heat flooding your veins. “You think I’d be here if you hadn’t caught me too?” you say quietly. “I don’t get this pretty for just anyone.”

His expression shifts. The hunger softens into something warmer, heavier. Something like possession. “You better not,” he says, almost reverently. “You’re mine now.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

Your lips crash together, like they have a million times before, and then he’s picking you up and caging you on the bed underneath you. He dives into your neck, his lips trailing fire across your skin, a low, satisfied groan vibrating from his chest as he kisses you like a man starved. You gasp, trying to hold onto the moment, but you can barely keep your thoughts straight.

You laugh, a little tipsy on him more than the alcohol now. “Katsuki, wait—” You reach up to gently tug at his hair, trying to pull him back. “There’s like a million people in your apartment.”

He barely registers the comment, his hands already at your waist, pulling you closer. “Don’t care,” he mutters, ripping off his shirt with frustration, exposing his toned chest as he leans down to kiss you again.

“I care,” you protest weakly, though the excitement burning in you is undeniable. “I just met them… I want to leave a good impression.”

His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at his lips as he stares down at you. “Fuck that,” he growls, his hands tracing the curves of your body possessively. “The only person you need to be good for is me.”

You roll your eyes, trying to bite back a grin. “Yeah, sure, but I’d prefer not to be that girl at your party—”

“Angel,” he interrupts, voice full of mischief, “I’m the birthday boy.”

His breath ghosts over your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“Now…” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin, “let me open my present.”

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

general taglist 🏷️ : @cristy-101 @cielito--lindo @waterfal-ling

SATORU AS LEON AND SUGURU AS ADAAA??????

💳💥💳💥💳💥💥💥 take my money

art credit to: @ruu_sugu —-> twitter

like it

megumi fushiguro x reader, smut

megumi couldn’t wrap his mind around why.

why you were here, in his dorm room, in his bed, on his lap.

he never would’ve imagined the night turning out like this. you, the girl from his intro to psych class, walking back with him after a house party.

and now, you were on him—fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. his hands gripped your waist, guiding your body against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he swore he was dreaming.

but he could feel every soft inch of you and that’s how he knew he wasn’t.

your parted lips released soft breaths as his brushed your neck, just below your jaw. you made the prettiest sounds and he never wanted them to stop. but it was hard to focus when your fingers tightened in his hair like you needed him closer, like the space between you wasn’t small enough.

megumi’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. he wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to wanting like this. every shift of your hips made it harder to think, and thinking was already near impossible with the way you were looking at him, like he was the only thing that mattered.

was this really happening?

were you, the girl he’d been obsessed with since freshman year, really staring at him like he was the only guy in the world?

he couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

but one thing was crystal clear—he couldn’t fuck this up.

and if this was all he’d get—just tonight, with you—he was going to give you everything.

his mouth met yours in a heated kiss, all urgency and need, like he’d been holding back for years—and maybe he had. his hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every inch, every curve, every tremble you gave him in return.

your legs were straddling his waist, thighs snug against his hips, so when he shifted—spreading his legs slightly for better balance—yours parted with them, effortlessly, instinctively. the motion was subtle, but the tension it created crackled in the air between you.

he paused for a second, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look. your lips were kiss-swollen, parted just slightly, chest rising and falling a little too fast. but it was your eyes that got him—pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the color of your irises. hungry. dazed. needy.

yea, that told him everything.

you were probably soaked already, and the thought alone had his fingers twitching at your waist, craving more contact, more of you.

then he kissed you again, deeper this time—like he was trying to say what his heart had been screaming for years, every quiet feeling that had built up, all poured into the press of his mouth against yours.

and while you were caught in it—lost in the heat of him, in the way his lips moved with yours—his hands drifted lower. slow, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. until finally, they slipped between your thighs.

your breath hitched—you gasped, body tensing for a split second.

but megumi didn’t let you pull away. he swallowed the sound, kissed you through it, deepening the moment with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. like if he kissed you hard enough, maybe he could keep you a little longer. maybe you’d stay.

his hands gripped you beneath your short black skirt, fingers splayed wide as if trying to hold on to every inch of you. his palms were warm, grounding, almost completely covering your waist like he was made to fit you there. one thumb rested just above your pubic bone, teasingly close—close enough to make your breath catch.

just the smallest shift of his hand, the faintest pressure of his thumb, and you were unraveling in his lap. your body trembled, heartbeat thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. your fingers, still tangled in his hair, began to shake, struggling to hold on—not just to him, but to the moment, to your own slipping composure.

megumi felt it—all of it. the way your body responded, the way you melted into his touch like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“sensitive, huh?” he whispered against your lips, the corner of his mouth twitching with something between awe and smug satisfaction. “I barely touched you.”

“shut up,” you huffed, pushing him away playfully. but despite your teasing demeanor, the way you looked—eyes half-lidded, breath coming in soft, shallow gasps—it was driving him insane. he wanted more. needed more. and judging by the way you rolled your hips against him in response, so did you.

and if you wanted something, he’d give it to you. he’d give you everything.

his eyes never left your face, locked onto every shift in your expression as his thumb drifted lower—slow, deliberate—until it was pressing gentle, teasing circles over the fabric covering that sensitive spot between your legs.

he watched, completely entranced, as your eyes fluttered shut and your teeth sank into your lower lip, trying—and failing—to hold back a moan.

megumi refused to blink. he wasn’t about to miss a second of this—of you—your gorgeous face twisting in pure, unfiltered pleasure, all because of him.

his thumb moved in slow, steady circles, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane but not enough to give you relief. he could feel the way your thighs trembled, the way your hips shifted instinctively toward his hand, chasing more.

“you like that,” he murmured, almost to himself, voice low and reverent. “I can feel it.”

“megumi,” you whined, your voice thick with need, every syllable soaked in desire.

“please,” you breathed out, barely more than a whisper—but it was enough. enough to make his control slip, to make his pulse spike, to make him ache.

hearing you beg—for him—nearly undid him.

his jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to just take. you had no idea what you were doing to him—how your voice alone had him harder than he’d ever been, straining against the fabric of his sweats like it physically hurt.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, hand flexing at your waist. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

but the look in your eyes told him maybe you did. maybe you knew everything. everything he felt about you.

but before he could get caught up in his own thoughts, your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. that desperate little sound you made—it was doing something to him, unraveling every thread of restraint he had left.

megumi’s gaze darkened, something primal flickering in his eyes.

“let me show you,” he said, voice low and rough, like a promise.

he shifted beneath you, one hand moving to grip the back of your thigh as he leaned in to kiss you again—slow this time, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you. his other hand kept working slow circles against you, pressure building, teasing you right at the edge.

you whimpered into his mouth, the sound so soft, so wrecked, it made his hips buck up into yours before he could stop himself.

“feel that?” he murmured against your lips, breathing ragged. you nodded, eyes glazed, mouth parted as you struggled to catch a breath. your whole body was trembling, caught somewhere between desperation and disbelief. he knew exactly where to touch you—how much pressure to apply, how slow to move. and it was maddening.

you were already so close, too close, and all he’d used was one hand.

“megumi,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hips bucked into his palm, chasing friction, chasing that release he was expertly keeping just out of reach.

his eyes were locked on your face like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. his thumb circled tighter, lower, and your back arched. a sharp cry left your throat, muffled as he caught your lips in another searing kiss, swallowing every sound you made.

“let go,” he murmured against your mouth, thumb never faltering. “come on, baby. i’ve got you.”

your fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his shoulders as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you, ready to snap. his voice—low, coaxing, almost reverent—pushed you closer to the edge with every word.

and then it hit you all at once—a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over your body so hard it stole the breath from your lungs. you gasped, cried out his name, your whole body going rigid before melting into him. your thighs trembled around his waist, your grip in his hair loosening as your head dropped to his shoulder, overwhelmed.

megumi held you through it, his hand gentling but never fully stopping, dragging out every last ripple of your high. he pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“atta girl,” he murmured, voice thick, almost in awe.

you could barely respond—your body still twitching with aftershocks, chest heaving against his. but still, you lifted your head, eyes meeting his, and leaned in.

the kiss you gave him was soft—unrushed and tender. a quiet confession. your lips moved with his in a way that felt intimate, like you were letting him in deeper than before.

you hadn’t meant for it to turn him on.

but oh it did.

the moment your mouth brushed his, megumi’s blood surged, pulse roaring back to life. your kiss might have been sweet, but to him, it was addictive. dangerous. the kind of kiss that made him want to lose himself in you all over again.

his hands gripped your hips tighter, thumbs digging in slightly as he shifted beneath you, the pressure between you both undeniable now.

he surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the last. this one was hungry, urgent, all sharp edges and raw need. he pushed until he was above you now. his hands slid up your back, under your shirt, desperate to feel your skin again—like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you.

you gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips into yours, the friction sparking heat straight through your core, even after everything he’d already given you. it made your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs tightening around his waist.

“take this off,” he said against your mouth, tugging gently at the hem of your shirt. his voice was low, wrecked, filled with a kind of reverence that made your heart stutter.

you nodded, breathless, pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it aside without a second thought. the second it was gone, his hands were on you again, roaming your sides, your back, cupping your chest like he was trying to memorize the feel of you.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, each word pressed into your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, then lower. every kiss burned. each one a silent confession—I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you.

and he didn’t stop there.

his mouth moved lower, slow and intentional—over your collarbones, across the swell of your chest, down the soft curve of your stomach—leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“wait,” you panted, fingers gripping his shirt in an attempt to stop him, but he intertwined your fingers and pinned your hands to the bed instead.

then he continued his path downward, until he was there, kneeling between your thighs, his hands letting yours go to grip gently but firmly, spreading you open for him.

his eyes flicked up, meeting yours—dark, focused, filled with something close to worship.

“still with me?” he asked, voice husky, thumb brushing circles into your inner thigh.

you nodded, lips parted, breath coming quick and shallow. “yes.”

“good,” he said, more to himself than to you, and then he lowered his head, mouth meeting you over your soaked underwear.

the groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated against you, and you gasped, back arching slightly.

“taste even better than I imagined,” he muttered, and before you could even process the words, he was pulling the fabric to the side, tongue sliding over you slow and sure—like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

and to him, he did. he would worship you for the rest of his life if you let him.

the first slow drag of his tongue had your breath catching in your throat, hips twitching beneath his grip. megumi held you steady, thumbs pressing gently into your thighs, grounding you as he worked—patient, precise, like he was learning you by taste alone.

he groaned again, deeper this time, like he couldn’t believe this was real. like you were real.

“fuck,” he breathed against you, lips brushing your skin. “you’re so wet for me.”

you whimpered, fingers threading through his hair, tugging instinctively. he took it as encouragement, diving back in with more pressure, more purpose. his tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, circling your clit before flicking lightly, then repeating the motion, building you up piece by piece.

your thighs threatened to close around his head, but he just tightened his grip, keeping you open for him, keeping you his.

he glanced up at you, eyes hooded, mouth glistening. “you gonna come for me again, pretty girl?”

you couldn’t even form words—just a shaky nod and a breathless moan as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling over it like he was already addicted to the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

and he didn’t let up. not even as your body started to tremble, your moans getting higher, breath getting shorter.

“come on,” he murmured, voice dark and low, lips brushing your soaked skin. “fall apart for me. I need to feel you lose it again.”

and with the next swirl of his tongue, you did—your whole body arching, a cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you, raw and consuming.

your back arched off the bed, fingers clutching at megumi’s hair like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. his name spilled from your lips in broken gasps, over and over, as your body shook beneath the weight of it all.

and megumi didn’t stop.

even as you trembled, even as your legs tried to close around him again, he held you open—his mouth relentless, greedy, pulling every last wave of pleasure from you like he couldn’t get enough. like the sound of you falling apart was his new favorite song.

only when your body sagged back into the mattress, chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, did he finally lift his head. his lips were slick, chin glistening, eyes dark and half-lidded as he looked up at you.

“look at you,” he whispered, breathless. “still so fucking beautiful when you come.”

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a quiet, shaky laugh—completely wrecked, completely blissed out.

megumi crawled back up your body, kissing his way up your stomach, your chest, your neck. he hovered over you now, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. almost like he was turning shy again.

“i’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he murmured, voice raw. “not like I want you.”

oh.

his confession made you finally find your voice. soft and hoarse, you whispered back, “then have me.”

that pulled his gaze back to you, eyes locking with yours as a bright, almost boyish smile tugged at his lips. your cheeks flushed under the intensity of it, warmth blooming across your face as his eyes drank you in like you were the most stunning thing he’d ever seen.

which you were.

your blush deepened under the weight of it, and megumi couldn’t tear his eyes away.

he couldn’t believe this—you. you, lying in his bed, looking at him like he was something special. like he was wanted. chosen. it didn’t make sense in his mind. you were out of his league in every way—so far out he’d never even let himself fantasize about this, not really.

you were the kind of girl people noticed when you walked into a room. confident. gorgeous. charismatic. funny. the kind of girl who had options—so many options—and somehow, you were here, looking at him like he was the only one that existed.

“quit looking at me like that.” you whispered, voice soft, playful.

he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours, lips ghosting over your own but not connecting. “I like looking at you.”

you scoffed, giving his chest a playful shove.

“yeah, you look,” you said with a teasing smirk, “but you never say anything.”

his brows shot up, clearly caught off guard. he blinked, lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

you noticed?

had he really been that obvious?

sure, maybe he stared a little too long in class, maybe his eyes found you at every party, maybe he lingered in conversation just to hear your laugh—but he didn’t think it showed.

but apparently , it did.

megumi ran a hand through his hair, suddenly a little flustered.

“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” he muttered, half to himself.

you laughed softly, the sound making his heart stutter. he groaned, hiding his face in your neck for a moment, his cheeks burning.

you grinned, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “no. it was kind of cute, actually.”

that made him lift his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “cute?”

“mhm,” you said with a smirk. “like you were crushing. hard.”

he rolled his eyes, but the small smile on his face gave him away. “yea, well… maybe I was.”

“was?” you echoed, arching a brow.

his smile turned softer, more serious. “still am.”

and something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—hit you right in the chest.

suddenly, all the teasing faded, replaced by something warmer. something foreign to you.

sure, you’d had plenty of guys confess their feelings before—sweet words, nervous smiles, hopeful eyes. And you’d always let them down gently, kindly, because it never felt right.

but megumi… this was different.

this feeling was new—deeper, quieter, heavier in your chest. Like it had been building for a while, waiting for the right moment to make itself known.

And now that it was here, you weren’t sure you ever wanted it to leave.

he wasn’t just a fling. not just a night. he felt like more.

you didn’t say anything right away—just looked at him, really looked at him, and let the weight of his words settle between you.

still am.

your fingers traced a slow line down his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. it was calm now, no longer frantic, but steady—strong. just like him.

you leaned in and kissed him gently. it was sweet, passionate. no longer fueled by lust.

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until there was no space left to fill. and as sleep crept in, your bodies tangled together under the sheets, he let himself believe—maybe just for tonight—that this was the start of something real. that you’d still be here in the morning.

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 🙎‍♂️

a/n. it's been a hot minute, y'all. this is inspired by a reel i saw on instagram (@dagirlythang), although i believe this is one of those notorious accounts that reposts content from other creators without proper citation :\ still, credit is due where it's (partially) due. anywho, i haven't written in a WHILE, but i hope this still scratches the itch for some of you. enjoy! (0.6k)

“here, kats.”

from where he’s just put the car in park, bakugou looks at you—first, instinctively—then carefully, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the sight of what you’re holding.

his normally crimson eyes that are seeming darker under the dim light of his brand new porsche dart up to meet yours. “the fuck is that?”

you frown at his unexpectedly hostile reaction, although it’s quick to morph into a look of realization when it hits you belatedly.

“shit, sorry,” you half-laugh, half-sputter, hurriedly returning it to your bag before reaching into its depths for your phone. you thumb in your password in almost less than a second, gaze trained on the app as you click it, “i forgot you preferred cashless transactions.”

you’re in the middle of typing in bakugou’s phone number—you’re embarrassed to admit you already have it memorized just two weeks into dating him—when your device is unceremoniously yanked out of your grip—so fast that you could barely squeak in surprise. you whip to face the pro-hero—about to reprimand his ear off for ripping it away from your hands like that—when you catch a glimpse of his features and all the words suddenly die in your throat.

uh oh.

“tell me,” he starts, voice low, and you find yourself gulping despite yourself. “did i buy this car so i can quit hero work and be a driver?”

“…no?”

a scowl. “then why are you treating me like i’m you’re fucking uber?”

you blanch. “i’m not! i just figured i give you some gas money.”

“why the fuck would you send me gas money?”

you know better than to answer that, so you shake your head and ignore the way he’s practically glowering at you, before pulling out the wad of cash from earlier, “is this much okay—”

“you ain’t sending me shit,” bakugou essentially spits—cutting you off—just as he reaches over the console and thrusts your hand back into your wallet.

he’s still gripping onto your phone.

you toss him an exasperated expression.

that earns you an eye roll. “don’t.”

you pout. “why won’t you let me help?”

“this isn’t about help, dumbass,” bakugou drawls, mirroring your irritation. “i won’t be caught dead asking my girlfriend for money.”

you try to breeze past the way he just referred to you as his girlfriend, masking your fluster with a scoff. “so it’s a pride thing now?”

the ash-blonde sneers. “more like the bare fucking minimum.”

to that, you snort, although you can’t fight the smile that tugs at your lips. “easy for you to say, rich guy.”

“watch it,” he warns, and you break into a laugh, then laugh harder when his mouth wobbles in a sorry attempt to keep a stern face.

that grants you a playful punch to the shoulder, which you take in stride, still chuckling. soon enough, the air falls into a quiet lull with neither of you making a move to get out and into your apartment’s parking lot. this goes on for a few beats, before bakugou finally breaks the silence.

“p-promise me.”

bewildered, you glance at the pro-hero, who’s looking straight ahead onto the wall beyond the car. “promise you what?”

he swallows, as if nervous. “that you’ll get used to this.”

your eyes widen, suddenly speechless. the urge to ask him what he means by ‘this’ quickly surfaces—something tells you it’s more than just him spending on you—albeit dies down just as swiftly. the last thing you want is to ruin the moment.

instead, you settle with peering at him curiously for another minute, before: “…do i have a choice?”

at that, bakugou turns to you, grinning. “nah.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr

thinking abt unofficialbf!katsuki

unofficialbf!katsuki who's abrasive and rude and loud until you're near him. he almost instantly sizzles down

unofficialbf!katsuki who proudly declared you as "his" when you were 4 after you accepted his bouquet of dandelions and its kind of just stuck since then

unofficialbf!katsuki who, after that, began proudly holding your hand and marching around with you. at some point, it just became a habit for him to reach for your hand, continuing even as you got older

unofficialbf!katsuki who still apologizes to you the same way as when you two were kids. he holds your hand and looks away as he mutters "'m sorry.." with rosy cheeks. when he really messes up, he'll bury his nose into your neck and hold you close and whisper a genuine apology into your ear. he'll struggle for the right words and get super flustered, but you know hes trying!!

unofficialbf!katsuki who, for as long as izuku could remember, has been a package deal with you

unofficialbf!katsuki who is practically inseparable from you. like youre not hugging in class or anything but theres just this unnecessary proximity with you guys? you're always just unexplainably close for no reason

unofficialbf!katsuki who carries your bag everywhere. he complains that you "can't even carry your own damn bags!!" but would never let you carry them

unofficialbf!katsuki! who beats his friends up for being stupid when they don’t understand something he’s teaching them, but is so gentle when teaching you. he gets real close and talks in this low rumbly voice that’s just SO HOT

unofficialbf!katsuki whos an asshole to everyone but you

unofficialbf!katsuki who, despite being unnaturally nice to you and finds it hard to be/stay mad at you, gets really genuinely angry when you get reckless when fighting. the only times hes ever really yelled at you for real were when you put yourself in danger

unofficialbf!katsuki who doesnt care if mineta and kaminari ogle the other girls but would blow them up if they so much as laid an eye on you

unofficialbf!katsuki who tries to hide the way his eyes soften whenever you talk

unofficialbf!katsuki who, due to your childhood marriage/relationship/idk-its-complicated, is really comfortable with touching you. he would never let any of those other extras touch him, but he never hesitates to grasp your hand when you're scared, grab your waist to pull you in when he just wants you closer, or even pull you into his lap (in private) to cuddle. he has no problem manhandling you and throwing you over his shoulder or even carrying you bride-style when he's reaaally feeling confident. when you sit next to each other, his hands easily find your thigh almost subconsciously to rub his thumb over it soothingly

unofficialbf!katsuki who you've been having tickle fights with since you were little! he would never DARE hit you like he would those other losers, so he tickles you when he thinks you're being annoying. he knows all of your ticklish spots and still uses it against you when he thinks you're being bratty (or when he just wants to hear you laugh, but he'd die before he admits it)

unofficialbf!katsuki who LOVES cuddling with you! (would never admit it) you get all loud and fussy sometimes (no one is allowed to sass him other than you) so he just pulls you close to his chest and drags his fingertips up and down your back in the way he knows you like. he loves how it gets you all quiet and sleepy and clingy in a matter of minutes. he wonders if you notice the way that after just a couple minutes, your speech starts to slur and you bury your face into his chest or neck. (he does. he notices.)

unofficialbf!katsuki who you've been cuddling since you were kids so it just sort of continued as you two got older? you've known him for forever, so it never felt weird or anything. its just oddly natural? mitsuki has photos of you two cuddling from ages like 4-now.

speaking of mitsuki!! she absolutely ADORES you and unofficialbf!katsuki HATES it! he always mutters about how she likes you more than him whenever you come over, which is like everyday, which she always affirms happily. calls you "my sweet y/n-chan," "sweetheart," "dear," "lovely," and of course "my future daughter-in-law." (katsuki always tells her to "SHUT UP, OLD HAG" with bright red cheeks)

unofficialbf!katsuki whose grumpy moods and grumbles are easily halted by you running your hands through his blond spikes, which always turns him into putty in your hands

unofficialbf!katsuki who always has you in his dorm. he has this thing about nobody, not sero or denki or even kirishima being allowed in his bed when they hangout, but he lets you with no problem. in fact, he's the one who drags you into his bed with him.

unofficialbf!katsuki whose classmates have literally placed bets on when his balls will drop and he'll make you his official girlfriend (he cursed them out and blew stuff up when he found out)

can you tell im a sucker for the just friends/unofficial bf trope...