♡ Private College Au - Katsuki Bakugou X Reader

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

Literally me

Pspspspspsps

જ⁀♡⊹｡° he got that boyish look that i like in a man ;)

♡ a/n — first bsd post in a longggg while!!! enjoy this drabble!

♡ word count — 571

♡ content — ranpo edogawa x gn! reader, secret relationship, fluff, not much else to say tbh, not proofread

♡ synopsis — Wrapped in golden sunlight and the shared knowledge of something no one else in the world knows...this is how you and ranpo edogawa like to spend your time.

Ranpo has his head in your lap again.

The blinds in the agency office are tilted just enough to let the late afternoon sunlight spill across the floor, warm and honey-colored. Everyone else has gone — Atsushi and Kunikida wrapped up their case earlier, and even Dazai made his usual theatrical exit an hour ago. You’d stayed behind to finish reports, and Ranpo… 

Well, Ranpo had declared he was “on break from being brilliant.”

Which, in Ranpo terms, meant crawling into the couch, eating two lollipops, and then making himself comfortable with his head in your lap.

Your fingers move instinctively to his hair, brushing through the dark strands, careful not to dislodge his ever-present cap. He hums softly, not quite asleep, not quite awake, utterly content in that lazy, boyish way he always is when it's just the two of you.

“Someone’s going to walk in one day,” you say, voice low and amused. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Ranpo’s eyes stay closed, but his lips curl into a smirk. “They won’t. I locked the door.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You locked the—Ranpo.”

“Relax,” he mumbles, patting your knee like you’re the one that’s overreacting. “They all think I went home. Besides… it’s more fun this way, right?”

You exhale through a small laugh, shaking your head. “You and your secrets.”

He peeks up at you, one green eye glittering with mischief. “You like it.”

And he’s not wrong.

There’s no real reason your relationship is a secret. It isn’t forbidden, or complicated, or shameful. 

But there’s something intoxicating about having this quiet little world that belongs to only the two of you — something about the way his hand brushes yours in the hallway when no one’s looking, the way he’ll pass you notes folded into candy wrappers, or catch your eye in a meeting and wink like you’re sharing a joke no one else is in on.

It’s private. 

It’s safe. 

And it’s yours.

Ranpo stretches like a cat, limbs long and lazy. “You know, if I were anyone else, I’d get tired of hiding,” he muses. “But I’m the greatest detective in the world. I know how to cover my tracks.”

“Mm. Impressive.”

“And I know,” he adds, voice softening, “that you like keeping secrets.”

You glance down. He’s watching you now, gaze open and sharp despite how relaxed he looks. He’s infuriatingly perceptive sometimes, catching emotions you didn’t even realize you were feeling. 

You wonder if he knows how your heart stutters when he looks at you like that — like you’re not just someone he likes, but someone he chooses, again and again.

Your fingers brush along his cheek. “You make it hard not to.”

His grin widens. “Because I’m cute?”

You laugh under your breath. “Because you’re you.”

It’s a simple answer, but it’s the truth. 

You could list a thousand reasons: his genius, his ridiculous sweet tooth, the way he somehow always finds the softest parts of you without even trying. 

But in the end, it’s just… him. All of him. 

The boyish charm, the childlike laziness, the startling flashes of brilliance — you love it all.

Ranpo hums again, content. He pulls your hand into his, weaving your fingers together and resting them on his chest.

And for a little while, you both just stay like that. 

Quiet. 

Hidden. 

Safe. 

Wrapped in golden sunlight and the shared knowledge of something no one else in the world knows.

is the bsd fandom still alive?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

MILF

Satoru Gojo x reader, Megumi Fushiguro x reader(platonic), 

Summary- “Fushiguro, you didn’t tell me your mom is a total milf.”

Warnings- Yuji being a teenage boy Megumi is a mommas boy

Wc- 900+

-

Ever since Yuji heard the man he would come to know as Satoru Gojo said the words to Fushiguro at the school.

“I got an earful from the higher-ups ‘cause the special grade cursed object’s still missing, then your mother found out and I got an earful from her.” 

Then when he was tied up Gojo kept mentioning his wife and how she helped him suspend his execution for the time being. 

Yuji was even more interested in this woman who was Fushiguros mom and Satoru Gojo’s wife. I mean that would mean Fushiguro is Gojo’s son but he looks nothing like Gojo(besides maybe the hairstyle) and he doesn’t call him Dad. Hmm, maybe he looked more like his mom? 

He walked onto the school grounds with Satoru next to him. Sukuna made an appearance on his cheek then his hand. But as Satoru explained Sukuna, Yuji’s eyes landed on a woman at the top of the stairs. She was talking on the phone and staring at her nails. She wore dark expensive-looking sunglasses, a pair of jeans, sandals, and a tank top. He could also tell she was foreign.

“WIFEY!” Satoru yelled out beside him and ran towards the woman. The woman hung up her phone and opened her arms out for Satoru. He spun her around in the air and then smashed their lips together. He placed her on the ground and she pushed against his chest gently to pull away. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be back for another day.” 

She scoffed and crossed her arms and Yuji watched the sorcerer in front of her pout.

“My son got sent on a mission to retrieve the finger of Ryomen Sukuna and got badly hurt in the process. Of course, I had to come.”

So this is his mom. She looks nothing like him either but I gotta say, she is one hot piece-

“So this is Sukunas vessel?” They had turned their attention to him and Yuji was staring directly at Gojo’s wife.

“Before we start talking, Yuji, this is my wife Y/n L/n. She's a special-grade sorcerer just like me!”

Whatever that means, nobody’s explained this grading stuff to me yet

“Yuji Itadori. A pleasure to meet you.” She gave him a bow and he did the same back. “How do you feel?” Her face softened and she took two steps down to inspect him. 

“Um fine, I guess, considering everything.” 

“Good, good. And you can control Sukuna at will?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She’s so hot

“I'm flattered Itadori.” She says with amusement and the boy looks at her horrified.

“Huh!?” He blushed heavily and shook his head. “I'm so sorry! Wait, how did you know that!?” 

“Oh yeah, Y/n’s technique is telepathy. So my girl can read your mind, control your mind, mess with your mind, and destroy it.” He said and kissed her cheek. 

“Cool! Sorry about that though.” He scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly. 

“It's okay, Itadori.” Yuji’s blush hadn’t gone away and just burnt harder. “Well I'm going to go check on Megumi, I’ll see you two later.” Both guys watched her go. 

“Whoah,” Yuji says and Satoru nods.

“I know right.”

-

“Megumi?” You knocked on his door and received no answer. You opened the door and saw him curled up in deep sleep. You smiled softly and approached his bed. You leaned over him and kissed his cheek, making him twitch but he relaxed. You sat in the chair in the corner and brought your feet up. 

Megumi slept for another solid 10 minutes before waking up. You set your phone down and smiled.

“Hey Gumi, how are you feeling?” You sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his shoulder.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” He asks, sounding extremely tired. 

“I had to come check on you.” 

“Mmph.” He sat up and groaned. 

“You should keep resting.”

“My head hurts.” 

“All the more reason to.”

The loud voices of Yuji and Satoru cut you off. Megumi's face hardened and he threw the sheets off his body. He opened the door and at the same time, Yuji and Satoru walked out of Yuji's new room. 

“You’re next door?” 

“Hey, Fushiguro!” You slipped past Megumi and walked to stand by Satoru. “Wow. You look all better now!”

“There are lots of other rooms, you know?” Megumi says with a scowl.

“Don’t be like that Gumi’, this can be good for you.” You say trying to convince him but he crosses his arms. Yuji walked up to Megumi and leaned towards him.

“Fushiguro, you didn’t tell me your mom is a total milf.” Yuji whispers to him. Megumi's eyes widened and left eye twitched.

“Huh!? Wh-Why would you say something like that!” Megumi whacked Yuji on the back. 

“Ow! I mean it's true, and that ass though. She could put Jennifer Lawernce to shame.” 

“STOP IT!” 

“Boys, everything okay?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Gojo!” Itadori says with a bright smile. While Megumi looked like he was going to blow a fuse. You look at them in confusion but turn back to Satoru. 

“That's my mom Itadori.”

“Hey, Mrs. Gojo. Are you a teacher here?” Yuji asks you and you shake your head. 

“No, but I'll be sticking around.” 

“Great!” Yuji thumbs up’s you. 

“Hmph.” Megumi grunts and glares. 

Sorry J Law but my type is Fushiguros mom now

-

More on the reader technique by risingblackstar 

This is canon

Zayne trying to be the voice of reason 😭

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 🙎‍♂️

it’s him

christmas eve

the perfect pair ⟢ ch. 1 broken cd

satoru gojo x reader ꒰18+꒱ smut, angst, fluff

⟡ pairing . college au soccer player! gojo x alt! reader

› summary . in which opposites actually attract. you're not the kind of girl who seeks validation from anyone as your world is surrounded by indie films, music, and clothing. meanwhile, satoru lives in a completely different world from you. the campus soccer star who practically radiates confidence and popularity. but that doesn't stop satoru from attempting to throw himself at you, with his playful grins and teasing but loving comments. but before you can accept his advances, a certain party exposes who he truly is and now he is left determined to change himself for you.

› warnings ⓘ tags . 18+, fem! reader, smut, angst, fluff, college au (have syracuse university in mind), friends to lovers (reader hates him, he thinks otherwise), slow burn, jealousy, some suguru x reader because he doesn't respect bro code or wtv.

› wc . 1.1k

⟡ taglist . @unreleasedlana11

cd's are actually expensive.

well at least for you actually, only because you happen to listen to artists that are no longer active and have to buy discontinued cd's through sketchy websites that definitely overcharge. you couldn't judge though, easy money for the seller. your bank account disagrees.

you promise yourself that this will be the last cd you buy - till you're financially stable again. the disc nearly cost you 60 bucks plus taxes and shipping, 80.99. that greedy seller. regardless you were happy especially when you got the notification from the app telling you that your order has arrived.

at your college you had to walk all the way towards the front where the school mailboxes were located. the second you stepped foot outside your dorm, which, thankfully you had all to yourself because for some reason you weren't assigned a roommate, you are hit with the sound of cheering. the soccer team has just returned from a tournament.

including satoru gojo.

you knew of the boy. you knew he was the most known player in the school. and i'm not just talking about soccer. in each frat party he has to get in at least two bodies. he has a whole line of girls patiently waiting for their turn to warm up the white haired boys bed.

he's everything.. you hated in a guy.

how do girls go crazy over him? he's deadass the most basic boy you are sure each college in the state has. but you couldn't help but stay a bit to watch as all the boys make their way through the applauding crowd. a new face emerged from the bus, all looking proud. they must've won.

you were pulled away from your thoughts when his face appeared. suguru. he was best friends with gojo. you can't help but stare. his piercings, long hair, style that was different from the rest, just like you. it's hard to not notice him.

you almost don't realize who's looking at you instead. your eyes meet with satoru for a brief moment before you continue making your way to the central mail room, not allowing your brain to even process the eye contact.

as he made his way out the busy, satoru is met with a crowd of students cheering. he smirks as he kept the conversation going with his friends. he knows how attractive he is. not every one is 'blessed' to have a body count of half the schools girl population.

he knows how good he is. so why is it that when his eyes land on you, his heart skips a beat. he's never seen you before, why now? why does he like the way your hair frames your face so beautifully and the way your outfit compliments your body so well?

he felt his world stop for just a second when your eyes finally met his. a split second.

you unlocked your assigned mailbox after reaching the central. other students were there as well looking at letters from their family back at home or the same reason as you, a package. your eyes lit up as you took out the perfectly wrapped cd. .

not wasting one more second, you carefully unwrap it. here it is, finally in your hands after a month of waiting and two days worth of hard labor. the light reflected like heaven itself shining upon you from the glossy surface. you flipped it over, reading through the track list as you locked your mailbox once again not even bothering to check if there's any other letters in your box.

right as you turned, you bumped into something hard, causing your cd to slip from your hands, the sound of it hitting the floor haunting you.

it broke.

and so did your heart.

no. no way.

a month of waiting. money wasted. just for the cd to slip right out your hands.

okay you're being dramatic, it obviously didn't break. but the impact caused the case to open once it fell on the floor. the cd might just have a few scratches. one scratch is one scratch too many though.

"shit, sorry about that."

you lifted up your head to look at the one responsible for this.

satoru.

the satoru himself was in front of you giving you another reason to dislike him. he looked at you with his eyes widening a bit. its you. the girl he saw from earlier. he crouched down, placing his bag on the ground next to his feet to pick up your disc, carefully placing it back in the case. definitely not a band he was familiar with.

he handed it back to you, his hand touching yours slightly.

"here pretty, am sorry again."

your eyes narrowed. "It’s fine," you said, trying to keep your cool. "Not like you can fix it."

his eyes watched you push past him and they trailed past you until you were out of his view.

he finally got the chance to talk to you which he's been wanting to do since he's know you which was only like 20 minutes.

he couldn't help but smile to himself as he opened up his own mailbox, stuffed with fan mail.

a few scratches as you suspected. it shouldn't affect your listening experience.

you placed the now damaged disc in your cd player which was gifted to you by your parents on your sixteenth birthday. the music filled up your room in a nice and warm space.

you sank down on your mattress closing your eyes to enjoy the listening experience. no amount of scratched could ruin this.

they did.

your eyes shot open as the cd started to tweak out not even three minutes into the track list. guess the damage really was done. its all his fault. satoru gojo.

"no..please.." you begged taking out the cd to look at it again seeing that you missed a crack running right through it.

it was all his fault. you barely knew him but now that you had your first ever encounter you had all the reason to despise him. there's no way you will be able to listen to your 80.99 worth cd with there being glitching every other song.

you couldn’t shake the image of satoru standing there, his awkward attempt at helping, the way his gaze had softened for a brief moment. you'd make him buy you a new one, that being if the discontinued cd was even out there anymore.

what if you bought the last one ever?

you groaned into your pillow.

that's it you're throwing a bf.

a bitch fit.

♡NERDJO♡

Gojo pushes up his glasses, his big, round lenses slipping down his nose as he nervously adjusts them. His cheeks are flushed, his fingers twitching on the desk as he fumbles with his pen, avoiding your gaze like he’s never spoken to a human before.

"I-I can, um, help you study. If you want, I mean. It’s—it’s whatever."

He stutters, shifts in his seat, tugs at the sleeves of his oversized sweater like he’s seconds away from short-circuiting.

You think he’s adorable.

Sweet, shy, awkward. A little nerd who probably only ever thinks about textbooks and equations.

But you don’t realize—underneath all that nervous energy, he’s thinking about fucking you stupid.

He acts innocent, but he’s not.

Not when his brain is already playing out scenarios—bending you over the desk, pushing your thighs apart, fucking you so slow and deep you’d forget how to spell your own name.

Not when he imagines you on top of him, gripping his shoulders, moaning his name, leaving scratches down his back while he holds you close.

Not when he goes home after every interaction, locks himself in his room, and fucks his fist while thinking about the way you smiled at him.

And you? You still think he’s just your cute, harmless little nerd.

If only you knew.

Art credits! Leimiruu on twitter/X