Chapter Text
A loud guttural moan rings through the house that should be silent at this time of the night, the sound moving through dark floors and clinging to ceilings, its vibrations spilling down the stairs and into the kitchen. There’s an orange glow painted on the walls, soft light brushing over the naked skin of your arms where you’re slumped over the kitchen table, eyes half-closed and hazy with the wish for sleep.
Another moan breaking the silence, this one high-pitched and much too loud for half past three in the fucking morning. It’s pitch-black outside, dark clouds hiding the moon and you should be asleep because you have the opening shift in the record store you work at and –
“There – right there – ngh – Suguru –”
You sigh, your head landing on the wooden table top with a dull thump while you send a prayer up to heaven wishing for a swift death. You’re so fucking tired. Exhausted down to your bones, absolutely done with the shit one of your roommates puts you through. Fucking Suguru. Fucking Satoru and his annoyingly loud ass voice.
Maybe you should look into finding a new living arrangement because this one’s definitely becoming unbearable. Somewhere above you a door opens, closes with a bang, heavy footsteps stomping over wooden floorboards, fists all but knocking down what you assume is Suguru’s door.
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU TWO FINALLY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Sukuna’s deep voice claps through the house like rolling thunder, filling up every small corner and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself. A bit hysterically. Maybe you’re losing it, but this isn’t the first night this is happening and Sukuna can scream and yell all he likes– Suguru and Satoru won’t stop anytime soon and they haven’t for the last five nights.
There’s silence for all of twenty seconds, you’re counting, and then–
Yeah, who’d have guessed, another moan, this one toeing the line of becoming a whimper and you listen to Sukuna’s footsteps coming down the stairs. When Sukuna enters the kitchen he’s still fuming, pink hair tousled from tossing and turning in his bed, a heavy scowl sitting on his still, handsome face. He’s muttering death threats under his breath, and with a raised eyebrow you notice how they definitely become more bloodthirsty the more nights y’all spent sleepless like this. Without saying a word you push a chair out from under the table with your foot.
Sukuna grunts, lets himself fall down onto the chair which creaks under the sudden weight and he meets your sleepy gaze with red-rimmed eyes.
“You look like shit,” he says non-chalantly. You want to show him your middle finger because he isn’t looking any better, but moving sounds like too much of a hassle, so you settle with sticking out your tongue at him.
The corners of Sukuna’s mouth twitch and you can’t help but stare, a bit fascinated by the fact that he’s still looking this handsome with maybe six hours of sleep during the last five days. Another moan breaks you from your thoughts, a whimper, a groan rolling through the house and Sukuna stares at the ceiling as if he’s hoping to burn down your home with his fiery anger-filled stare alone. At this point you wouldn’t even be mad, not when it means that you no longer have to endure the shitshow that’s the pornhub worthy sex life of your friends.
“How long are you up already?”
You’re meeting Sukuna’s gaze again and you shrug, not an easy feat with lying halfway over the table. “Dunno,” you mumble around a yawn. “Woke up somewhere between Suguru commanding Satoru to take him just a little deeper and the usual gagging, half retching sounds.”
Sukuna huffs a small laugh at your imitation of Suguru’s voice, and he stretches on the chair, back arching and arms in the air, giving you the perfect view of his tattooed, naked, muscled chest. You really want to strangle your friends for starting their porn-career and keeping you up the fifth night in a row, making you so fucking tired that you can’t even really enjoy the sight Sukuna’s blessing you with.
What a shame.
Above you, Suguru’s bedframe hammers against the wall in a steady rhythm. Another door opens, closes, footsteps coming down the stairs. Neither you nor Sukuna bother looking up when Choso joins you two in the kitchen. His fingers softly card through your hair in greeting, the chair closest to you scratching over the tiles.
“Right there – yes, yes, oh god –”
“Think they’ll be finally done after that?” Choso’s voice sounds as tired as you feel, a raspy edge highlighting the slurred syllables. His head comes down to rest on your shoulder, strands of his hair tickling your face, making you scrunch up your nose.
“Two nights ago I’d have been naive enough to say yes,” Sukuna answers while he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “But there are at least two more rounds waiting for us.”
Choso groans, almost sounding like he’s short of crying and you’re definitely inclined to join him should he start. Thump, thump, thump. Choso hides his face in your neck, you let out another exhausted sigh and Sukuna looks ready to go on a murder spree.
“Never thought missing Mariah Carey’s on my bingo card this year,” you grumble and that actually startles a laugh out of both men sitting with you at the kitchen table. Sukuna leans back on his chair and you stare at his chest, not even caring if he notices.
“The good ol’ times,” he sighs and Choso hums in agreement, his hot breath brushing over your ear and making you shiver. And hell, it actually has been a good time, even if you wouldn’t have guessed it back then.
Suguru and Satoru have been pining for each other ever since you moved here five years ago. Shoko, who you have to thank for finding this more than affordable room for you, even told you that the two of them always kind of loved each other but both were too hung up with their fear of ruining their friendship if things go south. Every single one of their friends has tried intervening at one point– with no success. Until last week. Five days ago. Doomsday as you, Sukuna, Choso and Toji came to call it.
A simple movie night with friends on a Friday, two bottles of tequila and a disgustingly romantic movie scene has finally shoved them off the cliff, made them snap and make out right there on the living room carpet. All of you cheered, happy with the thought of Suguru finally stopping with his self-loathing Mariah Carey tribute nights every two weeks.
And then you realised that it’s now so much worse.
Satoru has always been a loud person. He’s an energetic goofball, who loves attention of all kinds, who likes to laugh loudly and has absolutely no brain to mouth filter. And sadly it transfers into the bedroom and what’s even more tragic is the fact that you had to find that out. Now you all have unwanted front row seats to your friends sex life and becoming a murderer rapidly climbs its way up your bucket list.
You just want an hour of uninterrupted sleep, just one measly fucking hour. God doesn’t seem to hear your prayers or maybe he doesn’t care. The thumping sounds upstairs grow faster and Suguru’s deep groans join Satoru’s high-squealed whimpers. Next to you, Sukuna takes the biggest kitchen knife out of its drawer while Choso’s still trying to nap on your shoulder.
The front door opens right in time with Satoru’s grand finale: “-- yes, yes, right there – fuck, fuck oh, i love you, i love you –”.
Toji stumbles into the kitchen, one eyebrow raised while he pushes Sukuna, who just started making his way in the general direction of the stairs to finally put an end to your misery with the kitchen knife held high, back into his chair.
“No one here has the money to bail you out of jail,” Toji grunts, ruffling yours and Choso’s hair in greeting before he digs out an already opened bottle of vodka out of the fridge and sits down across from you. You watch him take a swig, his Adam's apple bobbing in a way you shouldn’t find this attractive, and he puts his feet on the table, shoulders slumped. The bottle of vodka finds its way into Sukuna’s hand that isn’t currently busy holding on to his chosen murder weapon and the pink-haired man takes one gulp, two, another one until the bottle’s half empty and he’s shoving it in front of you.
“What round are we on right now?” Toji asks without a care in the world, as if he’s asking hey, how’s the weather today, and he lights himself a cigarette, smoke curling up into the air when he blows it out his nose. There’s a twitch, a pulse between your legs, because yeah, Toji’s one hot motherfucker and fuck, you can’t do this right now.
“Third if we start counting from when you went to work,” Choso mumbles sleepily, his left arm sneaking, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer until he’s all but draped over you like a blanket. He’s warm against you, a grounding weight on your back and for a few seconds you allow yourself to think that this has to mean something.
That this is more than friends sharing space, friends searching for comfort with each other. You remind yourself that it isn’t more, and it never fucking will be. Because well– you’re you and Choso’s way out of your league. Fuck, but you really have to let go of these dumb, nothing-good-for crushes.
Ever since you moved in, only Suguru, Sukuna and Choso being your roommates back then, you have to fight against your own hormones. But there are Sukuna and Choso, tattooed, muscled and way too hot for every woman’s sanity, prancing around half-naked all the time, sweatpants sitting dangerously low on their hips. Needless to say, your hormones didn’t get a break and it only grew worse when you actually got to know them, when you learned all the small details about their daily life’s, their ridiculous ticks and antics.
You became just as pathetic as Suguru pre doomsday and there’s nothing you can do about it. Because of course Toji moved in three years after you, newly divorced and taking his new role as a DILF very seriously. And now, you’re in love with three men and are doomed to listen to your other roommate having the time of his life every night while your own bed stays tragically empty.
What a joy. You straighten up in your seat carefully, trying not to dislodge Choso from his chosen napping spot, not for his sake but because you’re greedy and want to bask in the closeness a little longer, and take a big swig of vodka. The alcohol doesn’t help in feeling less pathetic but the burn at least distracts you enough from the suspicious silence one floor up.
Choso’s breathing evens out while you other three slowly empty the bottle of vodka, every one of you seemingly enjoying the silence you’re finally getting blessed with. There’s hope blooming in your chest that maybe, they’re finished for tonight and you can finally sleep but –
Laughter rings down the stairs, followed by another guttural moan. Choso’s startling awake, almost falling out of his chair if it weren’t for Toji and his sharp reflexes, and Sukuna throws the kitchen knife in the direction of the stairs with a furious scream. The blade sinks into the living room wall, another one of your prayers gets ignored and Choso lets out a sound that sounds like a suppressed sob.
“It hasn’t even been ten fucking minutes, what the actual fuck, you can’t tell me these fuckers aren’t dying of dehydration by now and by the fucking gods, do I hope that they’ll just kill each other–”
“I’m not paying for that,” Toji interrupts Sukuna’s ranting, his finger pointing at the knife that’s now deeply lodged into the wall. Sukuna throws him a look that’d have half of the city cowering in fear but Toji doesn’t even blink.
“Fuck this,” Toji mutters, his words almost getting lost under the new onslaught of moans echoing down into the kitchen. “C’mon you two.” Toji pulls Choso out of the chair by the arm, steadying him and making sure he’s able to walk before he just– lifts you up and throws you over his shoulder.
What the actual fuck? You’re not sure if this isn’t some kind of hallucination, the exhaustion and lack of sleep finally catching up to you. But you’re still hanging over Toji’s shoulder after pinching yourself, your gaze stuck on Toji’s back muscles moving. He carries you into the living room, Choso and a disgruntled looking Sukuna following you two, and above you the steady thump thump thump of a bedframe hitting the wall starts up again.
The four of you settle down on the couch that’s still pulled out since last friday, your body going lax, limbs heavy. You’re sandwiched between Sukuna and Toji, Choso’s head already resting on Sukuna’s other shoulder. A blanket gets thrown over your lap and warmth envelops you from all sides, the lights of the TV flickering over the walls, its reflections shimmering in dark windows. Toji turns up the volume until none of you is able to hear Satoru’s moans anymore, and even the ear-piercing sounds of some trashy 90’s action movie feel like a much needed reprieve.
*
The sudden silence filling the living room is what wakes you up in the morning. You need a few moments for your brain to catch up and when it finally does– well, your face goes up in flames, cheeks flushing with heat. Last night comes flooding back in broken images: Choso slumped all over you, his warmth, Sukuna’s naked chest glistening under the soft glow of the kitchen lamp, Toji carrying you into the living room, his back muscles moving under your hands.
Well, it seems like that happened.
Okay, just don’t panic.
A deep breath and you open your eyes, the whole she-bang with your internal screaming starting anew. Because your current pillow, which you of course drooled on because doing embarrassing things is kind of your thing, is actually one of Sukuna’s pecs. You’re resting on Sukuna’s chest. There’s one of his dust-peach pink nipples right in front of your mouth and to make matters even worse, or better it all depends on perspective really, one of your legs is thrown over his.
So, yeah. You woke up and are basically lying on top of one the men occupying all of your wet dreams, and something inside your head makes some kind of ringing noise, as if you’re a kettle almost finished with boiling water. There’s something heavy and warm draped over your back too, preventing you from moving and getting some much needed space between your mouth and Sukuna’s nipple before you do something ridiculous like biting it. Or licking over it, you aren’t really picky in that regard.
There’s also hot air brushing over your neck in a steady rhythm, someone breathing right next to your ear and making you shiver. Another deep breath, eyes going wide when you finally realise that something hard is pressed against your thigh, a hair's breadth away from your ass, and needless to say, your brain stops functioning again when you imagine what part of Toji fucking Fushiguro is currently not so innocently resting there.
(He’s big, so fucking big, holy shit.)
There’s no time to dwell on any of it though.
“Good morning, my lovely sunshine’s!”
Satoru’s voice, raspy for once – courtesy of the whole moaning, whimpering, squealing thing from last night you’re sure, rings through the room like a really annoying alarm clock. It startles the hell out of you, your heart all but jumping straight out of your chest. You sit up abruptly, dislodging Toji in the process who lands face first on the couch with a dull thump and a groan. Sukuna lets out what almost sounds like a yelp and Choso’s all flailing limbs, the poor guy trying not to roll off the couch in the sudden chaos.
Next to you, Toji’s slowly sitting up, rolling his broad shoulders before he’s sending a very dangerous looking death glare Satoru’s way. You can basically feel the anger radiating off of the man and you really don’t want to swap places with Satoru right now.
“Run.”
It’s one word, but it’s heavy with meaning, Toji’s voice rolling through the room like clapping thunder and crashing waves. Behind his sunglasses, Satoru’s eyes widen and for once in his life, or well, at least since you know him, his survival instinct seems to outweigh his continuous desire to be contrary for the hell of it.
He lets out a manic cackle, blows all of you a kiss and then he’s out the front door in a blur of flurry movements. You roll your eyes at his antics and let yourself fall back down on the couch with a tired groan, rubbing your sleep-crusted eyes.
“How late is it?” You ask no one in particular, heart skipping another few beats when Toji’s lying down next to you again. He wraps his beefy arms around you, pulls you close and against his chest, his nose hidden in the crook where your shoulder meets your neck. And if you, maybe, melt right into his embrace, it’s no one’s business but your own.
“Seven,” Sukuna groans next to you in answer, sounding as exhausted as you feel. And fuck, you will kill Satoru Gojo for this. First, you have to listen to his annoying moans all night and then he doesn’t even have the decency to let you sleep until your real alarm clock goes off.
A chuckle interrupts you from your plans for murder and through half-closed eyes you spot Suguru standing in front of the couch, a mug of coffee in his hand, a shit eating grin sitting on his face. To your absolute amazement, or maybe horror, the guy actually looks awake, as well rested as if he slept for ten hours straight and didn’t fuck the last two braincell’s out of his boyfriends head the whole fucking night.
Maybe you’re still dreaming.
Someone throws a pillow into Suguru’s grinning face and for a moment you bewail the fact that it wasn’t the kitchen knife that’s still stuck in the wall next to the stairs. Surprised, Suguru lets go of his mug, coffee seeping into the carpet and, to your absolute satisfaction, into his shirt.
“Hey!” He yells and he actually has the gall to look annoyed. “What was that for?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s Sukuna who answers, his voice filled with disbelief and something that sounds like a lot of accumulated anger. Internally, you applaud Choso for having the foresight of throwing himself over the man’s lap before he can get up to strangle Suguru, who still looks as if he’s got no idea what they’re talking about.
“I’m not? What the fuck’s wrong with you, man?”
Toji chuckles against your neck, a deep sound that vibrates down into your bones (and pussy, but that’s neither here nor there), and his arm tightens around your waist.
“You really tryin’ to tell us that your boyfriend’s moans are so fucking loud that ya didn’t hear us screaming through the door to shut the fuck up?”
Suguru’s following silence is answer enough.
“Oh my god, Satoru’s idiocy is actually contagious,” Toji cackles, hiding his face in your neck. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to stop yourself from laughing with him, Choso sighing into Sukuna’s lap as if he’s absolutely done with this shit while Sukuna’s red eyes scream bloody murder.
“I didn’t think it’d annoy you this much?” Suguru shrugs, putting his mug on the couch table.
“We have actual jobs you absolute fuckwit,” Sukuna growls. “And no one in this fucking house has slept more than six fucking hours in the last five days.” Suguru still looks totally unimpressed and you ask yourself if you should already start with writing invitations for his funeral.
“What do you want me to say?” Suguru says, another grin creeping onto his face. “I’m sorry for all of you not getting some?”
You groan at his answer, Toji pulling Choso on top of you in one swift motion, rescuing him from getting thrown onto the floor when Sukuna, of course, jumps up with a battlecry, his fists flying in the general direction of Suguru’s face. You don’t even bother watching the wrestling match happening in the middle of the living room, trusting Toji to interfere should things go out of hand. (If someone gets the glorious idea of pulling the kitchen knife out of the wall, for example.)
“I hate my life,” Choso groans, slumping all over you like he did last night, your legs tangling together. You hum in agreement while you start carding your fingers through his hair, Suguru’s and Sukuna’s pained grunts and yelled curses nothing more than background noise.
“I feel that,” you sigh tiredly before you close your eyes and hope for another few minutes of some much needed sleep.