“by what? what even happened?”

“nothing,” he says, but his tone is colder now. his eyes flick back to the comment, still highlighted on his screen.

he clicks his tongue and lets out a humorless laugh. “funny how some of you think you can talk about her like that,” he says, finally addressing chat. his voice is still calm, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it — the kind that makes the whole stream go silent for a second.

“newsflash,” he adds, leaning closer to the mic, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “she’s not some random fantasy for you to jerk off to. i don’t give a shit if you thirst over me, or call me daddy, or whatever the fuck y’all do here. but talk about her like that?” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “nah. not happening.”

the chat’s still blowing up, but satoru’s jaw is tight, and his hands haven’t moved back to the keyboard. yuuji’s still talking in his ear, oblivious.

“bro, queue us again. come on, that death was embarrassing as fuck—”

“nah,” satoru cuts him off, voice clipped. “i’m done.”

“what—“

then the stream ended.

satoru rips his headset off and tosses it onto the desk. his reflection glares back at him from the dark monitor — jaw still clenched, pulse still thrumming.

you look up from your laptop when you hear the door click open, the soft creak of it swinging inward pulling your attention. satoru’s standing there, taller than the frame, the faint glow from your screen catching the sharp lines of his face.

“oh?” you ask, brows knitting slightly. “you’re done?”

he doesn’t answer right away — just gives a short nod and crosses the room with heavy, deliberate steps. his movements are quieter than usual, though, too controlled, too calm. he heads straight for the closet, pulling the door open and rifling through hangers like he’s done it a thousand times before.

you watch as he strips off his black shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to his skin from the heat of the room and the hours under the streaming lights. it lands in a careless heap on the floor. he pulls another one over his head, white cotton stretching over broad shoulders and inked skin.

“you ended early,” you say after a beat, careful, testing the waters. “that’s not like you.”

he exhales through his nose, still facing the closet, still not looking at you. “wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

he sits down next to you but doesn’t really look at you, just scrolls on his phone for a second, jaw tight. it’s so unlike him that you shift uncomfortably, closing the laptop.

“toru…” you murmur softly. “did something happen?”

he doesn’t answer — instead, he suddenly reaches out, grabs the back of your neck, and pulls you into a kiss. it’s rough, all teeth and heat, catching you completely off guard. you squeak against his mouth, trying to push at his chest a little but he only deepens it, tongue sliding against yours, his grip firm but not hurting.

“satoru—” you gasp when he pulls back for a second, your head falling onto the pillow behind you. you’re breathless, eyes wide, trying to process. “what’s wrong?”

he leans over you now, eyes dark and wild. “some random fuck,” he growls, voice low and raw, “thinks they could ever have you like this?”

you blink, confused, heart hammering. “what do you mean—”

he doesn’t even let you finish, his mouth crashes back onto yours, harder this time. his hands slide down to your hips as he shifts, his weight pressing you into the mattress, caging you there. his knee slides between your thighs as he positions himself over you, the heat of his body practically overwhelming.

you gasp again, your fingers curling around his shirt. “satoru…”

he just kisses you again, cutting you off, his frustration and jealousy pouring into every movement. there’s no mistaking it now — he’s in full possessive mode, the kind of mood where he’s not just touching you, he’s claiming you.

he reaches for the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, his eyes locking with yours. even through the jealousy and frustration on his face, there’s a pause — a silent question.

you swallow hard, your breath shaky, then you nod.

satoru pulls your shirt up slowly, dragging the fabric over your head and tossing it aside. a small shiver runs through you as the cool air hits your chest, your nipples hardening instantly. his eyes drop down, and for a heartbeat he just stares. there’s hunger there, sharp and possessive, but there’s also something else flickering in his gaze, something that looks a little like pride, like he’s savoring the fact that this side of you is for him alone.

he lowers himself without a word, mouth warm against your skin as he starts sucking at your breast, teeth grazing, tongue circling your nipple while his other hand kneads the other. his palm is rough, his touch firm, the contrast making you arch into him.

“satoru…” you whimper, voice breaking into a soft moan as his lips close tighter around you. “nggghhh…”

he groans low in his throat at the sound of his name on your lips, sucking harder, thumb rolling your nipple while his teeth scrape lightly, making your back arch off the bed.

your breath catches as sukuna’s mouth works over your skin, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks hard enough to leave a faint mark. the weight of his body between your thighs is dizzying, and almost without thinking, your hand drifts down. you slide it past his waistband and palm the hard outline of his cock through his sweats.

he jerks slightly at the contact, a low groan vibrating in his chest. the shift in his energy is immediate — his lips curl into a crooked, cocky smirk, and when he lifts his head, that familiar gleam is back in his eyes.

“what’s this?” he drawls, voice thick with teasing. “you’re like those thirsty girls on my stream.”

you roll your eyes, squeezing him a little harder through the fabric, thumb brushing slow circles over the tip. “‘m more than just a fan,” you mutter, looking straight at him.

his smirk deepens, teeth flashing. “oh, i know,” he says, voice low and rough. “trust me, i know.”

he shifts his hips subtly into your hand, cock twitching under your palm. leaning closer, his breath brushes your ear. “the difference is,” he murmurs, “they only get to watch. you… you get to touch.”

“and that goes for me too,” satoru growls, voice low and possessive, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he leans down. “that stupid fuck? could only dream of fucking you.”

you gasp, barely processing the words, when you realize — too late — that he’s already slid your underwear down, tossing it somewhere across the floor.

before you can even react, he thrusts into you in one hard motion, cock buried all the way in, stretching you completely. every inch of him presses into you, filling you perfectly.

“toru!” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders, back arching instinctively.

he doesn’t slow down. he starts moving in and out, each thrust deliberate, precise, and deep, claiming you fully. his hands wander, one gripping your hip, the other roaming over your tits, kneading, tugging, teasing — making sure nothing is left untouched.

“fuck… so good,” he groans, head dropping to the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he drives into you harder.

the intensity is overwhelming, and you both just started. gojo’s every movement radiates possessiveness and hunger, a fire that has you melting beneath him, moaning, writhing, utterly lost in the force of him.

he pulls out, and the sudden emptiness has you gasping, whining, fingers gripping the sheets as your body aches for him.

“put it back in,” you whimper, voice shaky, pleading.

his smirk is wicked, dark, and loaded with that dangerous cockiness you know too well. “on your knees,” he commands, voice low and rough.

you obey immediately, scrambling onto the bed, knees hitting the mattress, fingers pressing into the soft sheets. you almost slam your head into the headboard, but his strong hands catch you, steadying you against him.

“easy, babe,” he growls, pressing his chest against your back, one hand sliding down to grip your hip while the other brushes over your ass. “you’re fucking greedy.”

you flush, heat pooling deeper as his thumb grazes over your clit through your slickness. “y-yes… toru… need you,” you moan, voice breaking, your back arched perfectly for him. you glance back over your shoulder, waiting for the familiar stretch of him sliding inside you again.

but nothing happens.

instead, you feel his gaze burning into your skin — heavy, hot, predatory. you shift a little, wiggling your hips just to tease him, but still he doesn’t move.

“toru…” you murmur, voice soft, needy. “what are you doing...?”

you reach back with one hand, trying to grab his cock, desperate for him to fill you again, but his reflexes are faster. his hand shoots out, catching your wrists and yanking them both behind your back.

“uh-uh,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “be fucking patient.”

before you can protest, his big hands lock your wrists together at the small of your back, pinning them easily with one hand. you’re completely at his mercy, chest pressing down against the bed, ass still in the air, exposed and dripping.

“satoru…” you whimper, your voice trembling. “please…”

he leans down, his breath hot against your ear, lips brushing your skin. “look at you,” he mutters, a dark laugh rumbling from his chest. “so desperate for my cock you’re reaching for it? me fucking you nearly every time after my stream is not enough, baby?”

his free hand slides up the back of your thigh, thumb pressing circles into your skin as he teases the slick entrance of your pussy with the tip of his cock, rubbing it up and down but never pushing inside.

“satoru…” you gasp, pushing back into him, trying to get more friction. “just fuck me please…”

he clicks his tongue, pressing your wrists tighter. “nah, baby. you don’t get to tell me what to do. you’re gonna stay like this… arms locked behind you, ass up. you’re going to wait. you hear me?”

he grinds his cock against your folds, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him without giving you the relief of being filled. “feel that? that’s mine. you don’t get it until i say so.“

“please…” you whisper, hips moving on instinct, slick dripping down your thighs.

he chuckles darkly, dragging his cock across your clit one more time before leaning down, voice a low growl in your ear. “you’re gonna beg properly. say it.”

“please, toru… please, fuck me…”

“that’s better,” he mutters, and with one sharp, hard thrust, he finally pushes into you all the way, your breath breaking into a loud cry as he fills you, stretching you deep while your hands remain pinned behind your back.

“fuck, that’s it,” he snarls, hips snapping forward again. “stay right there. take it. let me fuck you how i want.”

each thrust is rough, possessive, making your body jolt with every snap of his hips as you moan and squirm beneath him.

“fuck… what if i fucked you while i’m streaming, huh?” he growls, voice low and vicious against your ear. “bet you’d like that, yeah? let that stupid fuck see exactly what they’ll never have.”

you can only moan in response, your voice breaking into soft, desperate sounds with every snap of his hips. your hands are still pinned behind your back, his grip iron-tight as he keeps you where he wants you, his cock driving into you over and over, deeper each time.

“yeah, that’s it,” satoru growls, his voice rough and low, words brushing hot against your ear. “let me fucking hear you, baby.”

your back arches instinctively, your body trembling, slick dripping down your thighs as he pounds into you harder, his pace relentless. his free hand slides up your side to your chest, grabbing a fistful of your breast and squeezing until you gasp.

“so fucking tight around me. you think anyone else could handle you like this?” his thumb circles your clit once, sharp and rough, making you cry out louder.

“toru—ahh—!” you moan, the sound breaking into a whimper as your walls start to flutter around him.

he chuckles low, his thrusts becoming heavier, faster, his cock stretching you with every snap of his hips. “fuck, you’re clenching—about to cum all over my cock?”

your body trembles violently as the coil in your stomach tightens, his dirty words tipping you over the edge. you gasp out his name as you cum, walls spasming around him, slick coating him as you shudder beneath him.

“yeah, that’s it,” he grits out, fucking you through your release, each thrust still deep and rough. “cum for me. squeeze me just like that.”

he groans, low and guttural, his hips snapping forward a few more times before he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you with a hard, deep thrust.

“fuuuuuck…” he snarls through gritted teeth, holding you there as he pulses inside you, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck.

his grip loosens on your wrists, his palm sliding over your stomach, pulling you back against his chest as his cock still twitches inside you. “all mine, none for that asshole.”

you cleaned yourself up slowly, got dressed, and left like he asked. the click of the lock behind you felt heavier than it should have.

for the next three days, nothing.

usually he was the one sending the messages: casual “come over?” at random hours, sometimes just a location and a time when he wanted to fuck or chill. sometimes no words at all, just an emoji or a photo of his bed.

but this time? radio silence.

no texts. no calls. no “i’m bored, get here.”

you told yourself it was fine. that it was better this way. that whatever this thing between you was, it was never supposed to last anyway. but every night when your phone stayed quiet, the ache in your chest got a little louder.

on the fourth night, after another long shift where you smiled through gritted teeth and poured drinks like a robot, you finally caved. sitting on the edge of your bed in the dark, still in your work dress, you typed the message with shaking fingers.

“are we okay?”

you hit send before you could overthink it.

it was delivered instantly.

you stared at the screen for almost twenty minutes, refreshing like it would change anything. nothing. just “delivered” mocking you in the quiet of your room.

that was when the spiral really started.

you told yourself you wouldn’t check again, but you did. every hour. every break at work. every time your phone vibrated, you snatched it like a lifeline, only to feel your stomach drop when it wasn’t him.

work became a mess.

you showed up late the next night. your makeup was a little off, your usual bright smile cracked at the edges. when a regular client tried to flirt and grab your waist like always, you flinched hard enough that he noticed. you laughed it off, but the damage was done. your manager pulled you aside after, asking if everything was fine. you lied through your teeth.

you started drinking more during shifts. not enough for anyone to call you out, but enough that the edges blurred. enough that when men said disgusting things, it didn’t sting as sharply. enough that you didn’t care if your laugh sounded fake.

one night you even let a customer tip you extra just to sit in the vip room and stare at your phone under the table, hoping satoru would finally reply. he didn’t.

suguru’s messages kept coming. sweet ones. the kind he used when he wanted something.

“missed you lately.” “where’ve you been?” “let me take you out this weekend.”

you read every single one.

and left them all on delivered.

you couldn’t bring yourself to reply. not when your head was so full of white hair and blue eyes and the way satoru had looked at you like you’d disappointed him. not when the ache in your chest felt bigger than anything suguru had ever made you feel.

every night you came home, took off the tight dress, washed the smell of smoke and cologne off your skin, and crawled into bed wondering why satoru’s silence hurt worse than suguru technically cheating on you.

you felt pathetic.

you felt addicted.

and worst of all — you missed him. not just the sex. you missed the way he used to look at you like he was trying to figure you out. even when it was cruel, at least he was paying attention.

now there was just… nothing.

you kept telling yourself it was temporary. that satoru was just busy — college life and all that shit you only ever heard about in passing. the kind of life that had schedules and deadlines and futures attached to it. a life you didn’t live.

maybe juggling classes really was harder than working nights. maybe he was buried in lectures and caffeine and barely had time to breathe, let alone text the girl he was just fucking. you tried to convince yourself of that on the good hours. it made the ache feel a little less personal.

on the bad hours, the thoughts turned sharper.

what if he was laughing about it with suguru?

the image wouldn’t leave your head. the two of them at some apartment, drinks in hand, satoru leaning back with that lazy smirk saying, “you won’t believe how fast she folded. still checking her phone for you though.” suguru chuckling like it was just another story. like you were the punchline they both saw coming.

you hated how easily your brain supplied the scene.

work stayed steady, but you moved through it like you were underwater. you smiled when you had to. laughed at the right moments. poured drinks with steady hands. but your mind kept drifting. during quiet stretches between tables, you’d slip your phone out just to stare at the delivered message. still no reply. still blue ticks that never came.

at home, you’d lie in bed replaying every second of that last night. the way he’d tossed the towel. the flat tone when he told you to lock the door. the way he didn’t even look back before disappearing into the shower.

you started doing small things to fill the quiet. cleaning your already-clean apartment. scrolling through old photos you had no business keeping. rereading suguru’s unread messages and feeling nothing but guilt for ignoring them. you didn’t reply to him either. not because you were strong, but because even the idea of talking to him felt like betrayal to whatever fragile thing you had with satoru.

pathetic, really.

you caught yourself wondering what satoru was doing at 2 a.m. while you were still in your work heels. was he asleep? studying? out with friends? with someone else?

the thought of him with another girl made your stomach twist, but you forced it down. you had no right to that jealousy. you never did.

by the end of the week, the spiral had settled into something quieter. heavier. a constant low hum under your skin. you still went to work. you still paid your bills. you still smiled when customers called you pretty.

but at night, when the apartment was too quiet and your phone stayed dark, you let yourself feel it fully — the missing, the shame, the fear that satoru had finally seen you clearly and decided you weren’t worth the trouble.

you wondered if he ever thought about you at all.

the next night, the club was the usual haze of dim lights, loud music, and expensive perfume. you were halfway through your shift, moving on autopilot, when you passed by the small staff corner near the bar. two of your co-hostesses were whispering, heads close together, giggling.

“the white haired guy’s in the vip again,” one of them said, fanning herself dramatically. “fuck, he’s so hot. like model hot. those eyes? deadly.”

“right? i saw him last time too. loaded as hell. tipped crazy. i’m fighting for that table tonight.”

your stomach flipped so hard you almost dropped the tray you were holding.

white haired guy.

vip.

there was only one person that could be.

satoru.

you stood there frozen for a second, heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. all the spiraling from the past week crashed into you at once — the unread “are we okay?”, the silence, the nights you spent convincing yourself he was just busy with college. and now he was here. in your club. in the vip room.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you walked over.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual even though your voice felt thin. “can i bring his drinks instead?”

your co-hostess blinked at you, confused. “wait, you know him?”

you forced a small smile. “kinda. we… have mutual friends.”

she narrowed her eyes for a second, like she was trying to read between the lines, but eventually shrugged. “sure, whatever. he’s in the big private room, table 9. order’s already going up — whiskey, the expensive one.”

you nodded quickly, heart racing as you grabbed the tray with his bottle and glass. your hands were shaking just a little. you smoothed down your dress, checked your reflection in one of the mirrored pillars, and headed upstairs.

the walk to the vip room felt longer than usual. every step made your chest tighter. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if he ignored you completely? what if he was here with someone else?

you paused right outside the door, took a deep breath, then pushed it open with your usual professional smile.

satoru was sitting on the leather couch, legs spread lazily, one arm draped over the backrest. his white hair was a little messy like he’d run his hand through it too many times. he looked good. unfairly good. the moment you stepped inside, his blue eyes lifted and locked onto you.

for a second, neither of you said anything.

you set the tray down carefully on the low table in front of him, pouring his drink with practiced movements even though your pulse was loud in your ears.

“good evening, mr. gojo,” you said softly. “your usual.”

he didn’t answer right away. just watched you. that same intense, unreadable stare that always made you feel stripped bare.

you straightened up, fingers gripping the edge of the tray a little too tightly.

“…hi,” you added, quieter this time. almost hesitant.

satoru leaned back deeper into the couch, eyes flicking over you once before settling on the glass you’d just poured. his expression stayed flat. no smirk. no sharp comment. no familiar spark of cruel amusement. just cold indifference.

he reached forward and took the glass without looking at you again.

“didn’t ask for you,” he said. voice low, casual, like he was commenting on the weather.

the words landed heavy in your chest.

you swallowed, forcing your professional smile to stay in place even as it felt like it was cracking.

“i know. i… offered.”

he took a slow sip, eyes drifting somewhere past your shoulder. the silence stretched. the low hum of the club music vibrated through the floor, but inside the private room it felt suffocatingly quiet.

“you can go,” he finally said, still not meeting your eyes. “tell the other girl to come back if she wants the tip.”

your throat tightened. heat rushed up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and hurt that made your eyes sting.

he was dismissing you. cleanly. coldly. like you were just another hostess. like the past month — the nights in his bed, the way he’d held you after, the way he’d looked at you like he actually saw you — had never happened.

you stood there for another second, hoping he’d say something else. anything. a jab. a mocking laugh. even anger would’ve been better than this nothing.

but satoru just swirled the whiskey in his glass, jaw set, like your presence was barely registering.

“…okay,” you whispered.

you turned to leave, tray clutched against your stomach like a shield. your legs felt unsteady as you walked toward the door.

just before you reached it, his voice cut through the quiet again. flat. detached.

“and close the door properly on your way out.”

no nickname. no teasing. no “baby.”

just that.

you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. you stepped out and let the heavy door click shut behind you, the sound echoing louder in your head than it should have.

you stood in the hallway for what felt like forever, back pressed against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. your eyes were burning but you refused to let the tears fall here. not at work.

then your phone buzzed in your pocket — a message from your co-hostess.

“hey, table 9 still needs someone. the other girls are all tied up with big groups downstairs. can u handle it? sorry.”

you stared at the text. of course. everyone else was busy.

you had no choice.

you wiped under your eyes quickly, fixed your expression into something that almost passed for calm, and pushed the door open again.

satoru was still in the same position — legs spread, glass in hand, staring at nothing in particular. when the door clicked shut behind you, his eyes flicked up. for a split second something crossed his face (annoyance, maybe), but it disappeared just as fast.

“the hell are you still doing here?” he asked. voice cold. flat.

you swallowed hard and stepped closer, tray still in your hands even though it was empty now.

“the other girls are all busy downstairs,” you said quietly. “big groups. i’m… the only one free right now.”

he let out a low breath through his nose, almost a scoff, and looked away again. he took another sip of whiskey, then set the glass down harder than necessary.

“great,” he muttered. “just what i needed.”

the words stung, but you stayed standing there, unsure what to do with yourself. you moved automatically — refilling his glass even though it barely needed it, adjusting the ice with the tongs, anything to keep your hands busy so they wouldn’t shake.

the silence was worse than anything he could’ve said.

you could feel him watching you now, but not in the old way. not with that sharp, curious intensity. this was colder. more distant. like he was looking at a stranger who was mildly inconveniencing him.

after a minute, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“satoru…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t,” he cut you off immediately. his tone left no room for argument. “just do your job if you have to be here.”

he leaned back, eyes fixed on the wall instead of you.

“pour the drink. smile. pretend you’re happy to see me like you do with every other guy who walks in here. that’s what you’re good at, right?”

the casual cruelty in his voice made your chest cave in. it was the old satoru — the one who used to tear you down in front of everyone — but colder now. more exhausted. like he didn’t even have the energy to enjoy hurting you anymore.

you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, forcing that practiced hostess smile back on your face even though it felt like glass.

“yes, mr. gojo.”

you poured his drink slowly, the amber liquid catching the low lights. inside, the spiral was loud again — louder than before.

he really didn’t want you here.

he didn’t even want to look at you.

and yet you were stuck in this room with him, heart pounding, wondering how much more of this you could take before you broke in front of him.

then satoru let out a short, bitter breath. he finally looked at you — really looked — and his eyes were colder than you’d ever seen them.

“you know what’s fucking pathetic?” he said, voice low and sharp. “you’re still waiting for him. even now, i’m guessing.”

your fingers tightened around the bottle.

he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

“suguru treats you like disposable shit. fucks someone else right in front of you basically, sends you sweet little texts when he feels like it, and you still can’t let go.”

his voice rose just a little.

“meanwhile i—” he cut himself off mid-sentence, jaw clenching hard. for a split second his expression fractured, the cold mask slipped and you caught a glimpse of raw frustration, almost pain, flashing in his eyes. his throat bobbed like he was swallowing back whatever else he wanted to say.

he looked away quickly, running a hand through his white hair.

“i gave you the out,” he continued, quieter now, but the edge was still there. “i let you stay in my bed. i fucked you like you mattered. and the second i pull back, you’re back here looking at me with those sad fucking eyes like i’m the one who broke you.”

the tiny crack lingered for another heartbeat — his shoulders tensed like he was fighting himself — before he forced the cold mask back on.

“you really think he’s gonna choose you one day?” he added, voice flatter again. “that’s what you’re holding out for, right? while you let me do you and pretend it was some kind of revenge.”

he reached for the glass, knuckles white.

“just… stop looking at me like that,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “it’s annoying.”

you couldn’t stay quiet anymore. the words spilled out before you could stop them.

“i stopped replying to him,” you said softly, almost pleading. “to suguru. i haven’t answered any of his messages since… since that night.”

satoru stared at you for a long moment. then he let out a low, humorless laugh that sent a chill down your spine.

“for what? a few days?” he said, voice dripping with disbelief and sarcasm. “then what? the next time you’re in my bed again, you’ll be back to talking to him?”

he shook his head, leaning back against the couch with that cold, distant look returning full force.

“don’t bullshit me. we both know how this goes.”

you stood there, tray still clutched in your hands, chest aching. the confusion hit you harder than the sting of his words.

“i don’t understand why you’re acting like this,” you whispered, voice cracking slightly. “you were the one who told me to leave that night. you haven’t texted in days. and now you’re mad at me like i did something wrong?”

satoru didn’t reply. he just stared at the glass in his hand.

you took a shaky breath and stepped closer.

“tell me,” you said softly. “please. just tell me what’s going on.”

he stayed quiet for a long moment. the music from downstairs felt distant. the only sound in the room was the faint clink of ice against glass as he swirled it slowly.

then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“if i was sleeping with you…” his voice was low, almost detached. “and you found out i was still fucking with some other girl… would you like that?”

the words hit you like cold water.

you froze.

he finally lifted his eyes to meet yours. that tiny crack was back — wider this time — a mix of frustration, jealousy, and something vulnerable he was clearly trying to bury.

“would you be okay with it?” he continued, voice quieter but sharper. “knowing i was texting her sweet shit behind your back? letting you think you were the only one while i kept her around?”

“satoru…” you breathed, voice barely audible.

he looked away again, jaw tight, like saying it out loud had cost him something.

“doesn’t feel good, does it?” he muttered.

you stood there, the weight of his words sinking deeper with every second. the realization hit you in quiet waves — how you had kept one foot with suguru even while you were in satoru’s bed. the guilt settled heavy in your throat.

you went silent. completely silent. eyes burning, lips pressed tight as you tried to hold it together.

satoru noticed immediately.

his gaze sharpened on your face, and for a moment the cold mask slipped again. he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“don’t fucking cry,” he said, voice rough, almost annoyed. but there was no real bite behind it this time. it sounded more like a plea than a command. like he couldn’t handle seeing you break right now.

you blinked hard, looking down at the tray in your hands instead of at him. the tears were already threatening anyway.

satoru was quiet for a few seconds. then he leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

“what time does your shift end?” he asked, tone flatter but no longer completely detached.

you looked up, surprised.

“…two,” you answered softly.

he nodded once, eyes flicking away again.

“i’ll wait. i’ll drive you home after.”

he said it like it was nothing. like it didn’t cost him anything. but the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the glass told you otherwise.

you swallowed, heart twisting in a dozen confusing directions.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he cut you off, voice low. “just… finish your shift. i’ll be here.”

the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before, but it was still loaded. something had shifted. he was still keeping his walls up, still cold in places, but he wasn’t pushing you away completely anymore.

you gave a small nod and quietly left the room to continue your shift, legs unsteady the whole way.

the rest of the night dragged. every minute felt longer knowing he was upstairs waiting.

the rest of your shift passed in a blur. you moved through the motions, smiling when required, but your mind stayed upstairs in that vip room. when two o’clock finally came, you changed out of your work dress as fast as you could and went back up.

satoru was already waiting by the entrance of the club, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. he didn’t say anything when he saw you. just pushed off the wall and started walking toward the parking lot. you followed quietly.

the car ride was silent at first.

he drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road. the city lights dragged across his face in streaks of neon. you sat in the passenger seat, hands clasped tight in your lap, stealing glances at him every few seconds. the tension from earlier still lingered, thick and heavy between you.

neither of you spoke for most of the drive.

only the low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic filled the space. you wanted to say something — anything — but the words kept getting stuck in your throat.

then, as he slowed down and started to turn toward your usual street, you felt it hit you all at once. the thought of going back to your quiet, empty apartment. the same bed where you’d spent nights staring at your phone waiting for him. the loneliness that had been chewing at you for days.

your voice came out before you could stop it.

“satoru… wait.”

he glanced at you, eyebrows slightly raised, but didn’t turn the wheel yet.

“i don’t wanna stay at my apartment tonight,” you said quietly, almost embarrassed. your fingers twisted together. “i feel… lonely.”

the words hung in the air.

satoru didn’t answer right away. he kept driving straight for a few more seconds, jaw tight, like he was fighting with himself. the car slowed at the intersection.

you kept your eyes on your lap.

“you can just drop me off somewhere else if you want,” you added quickly. “or… nevermind. it’s stupid. i just—”

“stop,” he cut you off, voice low.

he didn’t turn toward your street.

instead, he drove past it, continuing straight. his grip on the steering wheel tightened for a moment before loosening again.

“you’re coming to mine,” he said flatly. no question. no warmth. just a simple statement.

you looked at him, surprised. his face stayed mostly blank, but you caught the way his throat moved when he swallowed. another tiny crack.

the rest of the ride stayed quiet, but it felt different now. heavier. like both of you knew something was about to shift again once you got to his apartment.

the drive ended too quietly. satoru parked in his usual spot under the building, killed the engine, and got out without a word. you followed him up to his apartment, the familiar hallway lights feeling strangely heavier tonight.

he unlocked the door and held it open for you. no teasing. no smirk. just a simple gesture.

“you can stay in my room,” he said flatly as he kicked off his shoes. “i’ll take the couch if you want.”

you shook your head quickly.

“no… i want to stay with you. in your room.”

he paused for a second, then gave a small nod. “fine.”

the apartment was dark and quiet, only the city glow coming through the tall windows. you both moved around silently — you going to the bathroom to wash your face, him grabbing water from the kitchen. when you finally stepped into his bedroom, he was already there, pulling an extra shirt from his drawer and tossing it onto the bed for you.

you changed into it while he turned his back, giving you privacy. then both of you climbed into his bed.

silence.

thick, heavy silence.

you lay on your side facing him. he lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. the space between your bodies felt like a canyon even though it was only a few inches. neither of you spoke for what felt like forever. you could hear his breathing, steady but not relaxed.

minutes passed.

you watched the way the city lights moved across his sharp jawline, the way his white lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. the ache in your chest from the whole week — from his silence, from his coldness, from missing him — became too much.

slowly, carefully, you shifted closer.

you leaned in first and kissed him.

soft. hesitant. just lips brushing against his.

satoru went completely still.

for a few seconds he didn’t kiss you back. his body tensed like he was fighting it. then he pulled away slightly, turning his head.

“you need to rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “it’s late.”

you didn’t move away. your hand came up to rest lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart.

“i want you…” you whispered against his mouth, voice barely audible. “please, satoru.”

another beat of silence.

you could feel him struggling — the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you but was holding back. the way his breathing changed.

“you’re tired,” he said again, weaker this time. “and i’m still… fuck, i’m still pissed at you.”

but even as he said it, his hand slowly moved to your waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt you were wearing. not pushing you away. just holding.

you kissed him again, a little deeper this time. a little more desperate.

this time, he didn’t pull back.

his lips finally moved against yours — slow, almost reluctant at first, like he was still trying to convince himself this was a bad idea. but the longer you kissed him, the more the hesitation melted. his hand slid under the shirt, palm warm against your bare skin, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together.

the slow burn built between you. no rush. just heavy breathing, quiet sighs, hands exploring like it was the first time again. his kisses grew hungrier, but still controlled. like he was scared of giving in too fast.

“tell me to stop,” he breathed against your neck, lips dragging over your skin. “if you’re just doing this because you’re lonely… tell me to stop.”

you shook your head, fingers threading through his soft white hair.

“i don’t want you to,” you whispered.

you kissed him again, deeper this time, and satoru finally gave in.

his hand gripped your waist tighter, pulling you on top of him. the kiss turned intense fast — hungry, messy, almost desperate. he sucked on your bottom lip, tongue sliding against yours as his hands roamed under the shirt, squeezing your ass and pulling you down against his growing hardness.

“fuck,” he muttered against your mouth. “you’re really not gonna let me be mad at you tonight, huh?”

you ground against him, already wet and aching. he groaned low in his throat and flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. he didn’t tease for long. he pushed his shirt up your body, mouth latching onto your neck, then your tits, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks while two fingers slid inside you, curling roughly.

you moaned, back arching. he added a third finger, fucking you with them fast and deep, thumb pressing on your clit until your thighs were shaking.

“satoru—”

“yeah?” he breathed, voice rough. “this what you wanted?”

he pulled his fingers out, replaced them with his cock in one smooth thrust. you gasped at the stretch. he didn’t give you time to adjust — he started fucking you hard, deep, hips snapping against yours with wet, obscene sounds. every thrust pushed a broken moan out of you.

it was intense. almost punishing. like he was still angry but couldn’t stop himself from wanting you.

after a while he pulled out, breathing heavy.

“turn around,” he ordered, voice low.

you got on all fours, face pressed into the pillow. satoru knelt behind you, gripping your hips hard as he pushed back in. the new angle made you cry out. he fucked you deeper like this, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass once, twice, before holding you in place.

your phone was lying on the bed near the headboard. it started ringing.

the screen lit up.

suguru.

satoru saw the name immediately. his thrusts slowed down, turning into deep, lazy grinds, dragging his cock against your walls teasingly. he didn’t say a word. just kept moving slowly while staring at the screen.

you reached for the phone with a shaky hand, declined the call, then quickly went to his contact and blocked the number. you even deleted the chat.

when you looked back at satoru over your shoulder, he was smiling — that sharp, satisfied, dangerous little smile.

he snapped his hips forward hard and started fucking you faster. rougher. pounding into you mercilessly, the sound of skin slapping loud in the room. his grip on your hips turned bruising as he pulled you back onto his cock with every brutal thrust.

“for how long is he blocked?” he asked, voice low and mocking, still smiling as he railed you. “five hours? twelve?”

you shook your head quickly, moaning with every hard thrust.

“no… no—”

“when you’re back at your place,” he continued, panting slightly but still teasing, still arrogant, “you gonna talk to him again?”

you kept shaking your head desperately, tears of pleasure stinging your eyes.

“no— i won’t— i promise—”

he fucked you faster. rougher. pounding into you with renewed force, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. his grip on your hips was bruising as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust.

“fuck yes,” he groaned, voice rough with pleasure. “that better be true. fuck…”

you could barely think. every hard thrust made your eyes roll back, moans spilling out uncontrollably. satoru leaned over you, one hand sliding between your legs to rub your clit fast while he kept fucking you mercilessly from behind.

“mine now,” he whispered against your ear, biting your shoulder. “say it.”

“yours— satoru, nggggh— ‘m yours,” you cried out, clenching hard around him.

he groaned loudly, pace turning erratic as he chased his release. you came first, shaking and moaning into the pillow. satoru followed right after, burying himself deep and filling you up with hot, thick pulses, hips stuttering against your ass as he rode it out.

both of you collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard.

he stayed inside you for a while, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed against the back of your neck.

your boyfriend hums and goes back to reading his papers, completely oblivious. “well, he’s expensive as hell, but with the case blowing up like this, i need someone who can actually fight it.”

the case against him had exploded two weeks ago. corporate fraud and embezzlement charges. your boyfriend, a mid-level executive at a prominent tech firm, stands accused of diverting millions in company funds into private offshore accounts. the media has already started circling, painting him as another greedy corporate crook.

he swears he’s innocent — says he was framed or caught in someone else’s mess. you want to believe him. but now the man defending him is your ex, and the discomfort sits like rot in your chest.

you try suggesting other lawyers later that evening, but he waves you off. “this guy wins big cases. i’m not switching.” so higuruma is officially on the case, and the unease eats you alive.

that same night you send the email from your personal account, trying to stay polite and professional even though your hands are shaking.

subject: regarding []’s case hi higuruma, i heard you’ve taken on []’s case. i’m reaching out because i’d like to ask if you’d consider withdrawing as counsel and referring him to another attorney instead. i understand this is an unusual request, and i know it’s not really my place to interfere in your work. still, given our history, i hope you can understand why this situation is uncomfortable for me. i apologize for contacting you about something unrelated to your representation, but i felt it would be better to address it directly. thank you for your time.

you check your inbox obsessively the next day. nothing. no reply. the silence gnaws at you.

by the following evening, frustration starts to creep in. you type the second email, trying to keep your tone measured.

subject: follow-up higuruma, i know you’ve seen my email. i’m not asking because i doubt your ability as a lawyer. if anything, that’s part of the problem. i’m asking because i don’t think either of us needs this complication. please let me know if you’ve at least considered it.

another full day passes with nothing but radio silence. the knot in your stomach tightens. you feel desperate now, but you still try to hold onto some dignity when you send the third email.

subject: hiromi hiromi, you don’t have to agree with me, but the least you could do is answer. i’m trying to be respectful about this. i’m not asking you to abandon a client without options. he can find another attorney. there are hundreds of lawyers in tokyo. so why are you ignoring me?

the anger simmers as another twenty-four hours slip by with zero response. your patience finally snaps that night. you send the last email, fingers flying over the keys.

subject: fine. i’ve emailed you three times. you haven’t replied once. at this point, i’m assuming you’re ignoring me on purpose. if you aren’t going to answer my emails, then tell me directly that you’re refusing to withdraw from the case. one sentence. that’s all i’m asking for. because right now it feels like you’re doing this just to prove a point.

still nothing.

the silence pushes you over the edge. two days after that final email, you find yourself standing outside higuruma’s condo door, heart hammering against your ribs. the hallway lights buzz softly overhead. you knock three times, sharper than you intend.

the door opens. higuruma stands there, tall and composed in a loose black shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it while reviewing files. his expression stays calm, almost bored, as he steps aside to let you in.

“didn’t expect you here,” he says quietly, closing the door behind you.

you step inside but don’t sit. the familiar minimalism of his place closes in on you. for a long moment you just stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, saying nothing. the discomfort of the entire situation — your boyfriend, the case, higuruma defending him — sits thick in your throat.

“i emailed you four times asking you to drop the case, hiromi,” you finally start, voice tight but cracking at the edges. “you ignored every single one.”

he leans against the wall, arms crossed. “i saw.”

silence stretches again. you stare at the floor, jaw clenched, unsure how to voice the mess inside your chest.

“then why ignore me?” you manage.

“because there’s nothing to discuss.” his dark eyes meet yours, steady and unreadable. “your boyfriend hired me. if he’s innocent, why should i withdraw?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, but your voice lacks heat. another long pause fills the room. you feel exposed, uncomfortable, the weight of knowing your boyfriend is in deep trouble and the only man who might save him is the one who once broke your heart.

“then tell me what the point is.”

you swallow hard. “i… i can’t sit through this knowing you’re the one defending him. i’ll find him another lawyer. just back out.”

higuruma pushes off the wall and walks closer, but not too close. the argument drags on for what feels like twenty minutes — you repeating variations of the same plea, him calmly countering with logic about professional duty, client rights, and the strength of the case. you fall silent often, staring at the couch, at the window, anywhere but at him, the discomfort making your words die in your throat.

finally you snap.

“you always do this.”

higuruma’s eyes narrow slightly. “do what?”

the case vanishes. the words tumble out before you can stop them.

“this. you shut me out when it gets messy. you decide what matters and what doesn’t. you did the exact same thing when we broke up. you buried yourself in work and acted like our relationship was just another case file you could close when it stopped being convenient.”

the air shifts. suddenly you’re not arguing about corporate fraud or embezzlement anymore. the real fight spills out, years old and still raw.

“you left because i couldn’t give you the version of stability you wanted,” he says, voice still low but now edged. “you said i was emotionally unavailable, that i cared more about winning cases than us. and now you show up here demanding i drop a client because it inconveniences you?”

“it’s not just inconvenience,” you fire back, voice rising. “he’s my boyfriend. and you’re… you. you think i can watch you fight to keep him out of prison like none of it happened? like we didn’t tear each other apart?”

“you’re the one who moved on,” he replies, calm cracking just enough to show teeth. “you’re the one who replaced me. so why does this bother you so much?”

the question hangs heavy. you have no clean answer. silence falls again, thicker this time. your breathing is shaky. his gaze darkens as he studies you, the space between you shrinking.

higuruma closes the distance in one step and cups your face with both hands. before you can pull away, he kisses you — hard, frustrated, full of everything you’ve both been avoiding. for a second you kiss him back, fingers curling into his shirt, but then reality crashes in.

you break the kiss, breathing hard, forehead still pressed against his.

“you know i have a boyfriend,” you whisper, voice unsteady.

higuruma doesn’t pull back. his thumb brushes your bottom lip slowly, dark eyes locked on yours with that signature calm intensity.

“then why are you here?” he murmurs, low and rough. “why drive all the way to my place at night, after four ignored emails, if you’re so committed to him? why are you letting me kiss you like this?”

you open your mouth but nothing comes out. his breath fans across your lips as he continues, voice dropping even lower.

“if you really wanted me to withdraw, you could’ve sent one more email and walked away. but you’re standing in my living room with your hands still on me.” his fingers slide down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. “be honest. you didn’t come here just for the case.”

the truth burns in your chest. you pull him back in instead of answering, kissing him harder, desperate and conflicted. that’s all the permission he needs.

he backs you toward the couch without breaking the kiss, hands sliding under your shirt, palms hot and possessive against your skin. clothes come off in a heated rush — your top yanked over your head, his shirt tossed aside, pants shoved down just enough. he pushes you onto the couch, spreading your thighs wide as he settles between them.

his cock is already hard and heavy, pressing against your entrance. he strokes himself once, teasing the head along your slick folds.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “already so wet for me while you still have a boyfriend waiting at home. can he make you wet like this… or is he too busy committing fraud?”

the mocking edge in his voice makes your cheeks burn. you glare up at him, equal parts furious and turned on.

“fuck you, hiromi,” you hiss.

a slow, smug smirk tugs at his lips. “you’re doing it now, baby.”

he pushes in deep with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt. you moan sharply at the stretch, back arching as he fills you completely.

“fuck—still so tight,” higuruma groans against your ear, hips snapping forward hard. he sets a punishing rhythm immediately, fucking you with deep, relentless strokes. “this pussy always remembers me, doesn’t it? gripping me like it missed my cock.”

every thrust drags against that sensitive spot inside you, making your back arch. the wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin fills the room along with your broken moans.

he grips your hips hard, fingers digging in as he drives into you faster. “yeah... take every inch like the desperate little thing you are. coming here behind his back just to get fucked properly.”

you claw at his back, legs wrapping around him. he leans down, biting at your neck and sucking dark marks into your skin while pounding into you.

“look at me,” he demands, voice strained but commanding.

your eyes lock. the orgasm crashes over you hard — your pussy clenching tight around his thick cock, pulsing and soaking him as you come with a loud, desperate cry. higuruma curses under his breath, thrusts turning erratic and brutal before he buries himself deep and comes hard, groaning as he fills you with hot, thick spurts of cum.

you stay locked together, breathing ragged, bodies slick with sweat. after a long moment he pulls out slowly, watching his cum leak from your swollen, used pussy with dark satisfaction.

higuruma shifts, pulling you gently against his chest. his hand runs slowly down your back in a rare moment of softness — slight aftercare, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin as your breathing evens out. he presses a quiet kiss to your temple, saying nothing.

you stay quiet, guilt already creeping in heavy and thick. the reality of what you just did settles over you like a weight. you don’t pull away, but you don’t speak either, just lying there with your cheek against his chest, staring at the wall.

after several long minutes of silence, higuruma’s low voice breaks it.

“why haven’t you left him yet?”

the question surprises you. you lift your head slightly, eyes widening as you meet his gaze. even after all this time, even after the messy breakup, he still knows you. he can read the quiet dissatisfaction you’ve been carrying for months, the way you’ve been emotionally checked out long before this case ever started.

“i’m not planning to,” you said softly. the answer sounded pathetic. because it was.

higuruma didn’t say anything. didn’t tell you you were wrong. didn’t tell you you were right. he simply watched. and somehow that was worse.

your eyes burned. not enough to cry. just enough to hurt.

“not planning to,” you repeated. quieter this time. the words barely above a whisper.

higuruma was silent for a long moment. then his gaze lowered. not to your face. to your hands resting between you on the blanket. close. but not touching.

“you are.”

your breath caught.

satoru never said don’t sit with us.

he didn’t have to.

it would happen in small ways. ways that were easy to dismiss if anyone called him out on it.

whenever everyone met up at a pub, there would always be just enough seats for the group. you’d arrive a little later than everyone else, usually straight from work, still tired from sleeping only a few hours after your shift.

and somehow, the last empty seat would always disappear the moment you got there.

you’d watch satoru casually toss his jacket over it.

or his backpack.

or stretch his legs onto the chair beside him.

the first few times, you thought it was an accident. then you noticed he only ever did it when you showed up.

“scoot over,” suguru would say sometimes.

and before you could even feel relieved, satoru would click his tongue.

“she’s fine.”

as if standing wasn’t a problem.

as if you weren’t part of the group anyway.

nobody argued.

nobody wanted to deal with him when he got like that.

so you’d end up leaning against a wall while everyone else sat around the table.

listening.

smiling when appropriate. pretending it didn’t bother you.

he never raised his voice. never started a fight. never said anything cruel enough for people to call him out.

just little comments.

little actions.

tiny cuts that added up over time.

and every time satoru noticed, he’d lean back in his seat with that infuriating look on his face.

like he’d won something.

like making you feel unwanted was exactly the point.

the conversations weren’t any better. they’d talk about professors they hated. midterms. group projects. people getting suspended. parties on campus. things that happened in lecture halls. things that happened in dorms.

entire memories built around a life you weren’t living.

you worked nights.

while they were sitting in classrooms, you were sleeping.

while they were studying for exams, you were getting ready for another shift.

it never started with anything obvious.

just small conversations that drifted into things you couldn’t fully relate to — classes you didn’t take, professors you didn’t know, places on campus you’d only ever passed by.

you usually stayed quiet during those parts.

not because you didn’t want to join in.

but because it was easier than being reminded, over and over, that your life didn’t quite line up with theirs.

tonight was no different.

they were crowded around a low table, half-lounging on mismatched chairs and cushions in someone’s apartment, the air warm with cheap alcohol and the kind of laughter that came from people who didn’t have to be anywhere else in the morning.

you sat slightly to the side, glass in hand, listening more than speaking.

suguru was in the middle of it all like he always was — relaxed, easy, occasionally glancing your way like you belonged there when he felt like acknowledging you.

and satoru was there too.

which meant you were already waiting for something you couldn’t name.

because with him, it was never random.

it was timing.

it was attention.

it was the way his eyes would land on you just long enough to make you aware that he was watching, even when he wasn’t speaking.

and tonight, he had been quiet for too long.

someone had been talking about a party the night before. loud music, cheap alcohol, strangers crowding the living room like it meant something.

you weren’t really listening until someone turned to you and asked if you went to things like that too.

you opened your mouth to answer.

you didn’t even get the chance. satoru beat you to it.

“why wouldn’t she?” he said, leaning back in his chair like he was bored. “she works in a club. she’s basically already at a party every night.”

a few soft laughs followed. not mean enough to stop him. not kind enough to help you.

you forced a small smile.

“it’s not really the same thing,” you said quietly.

satoru tilted his head, like he was considering you.

then he shrugged.

“sure it is.”

he looked around the table, addressing everyone now, not just you.

“guys buy her drinks. guys pay for her attention. she knows how to act interested when she has to.”

your stomach dropped at the casualness of it. the way he said it like it was fact. like it was just… obvious.

nobody stopped him.

you tried to speak again, but your voice came out thinner than you wanted.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

satoru smiled a little at that. not warm. not amused. just sharp.

“i know enough,” he said. “don’t i?”

the silence after that wasn’t loud.

it was worse.

because it meant everyone had heard him. and everyone had chosen not to argue.

you sat there, fingers tightening around your glass, feeling the heat crawl up your neck while satoru went back to his drink like he hadn’t just reduced you into something bite-sized for the room to swallow.

the room stayed quiet for a second after satoru’s words settled.

not the kind of silence that felt like shock.

the kind that felt like hesitation.

like everyone was waiting to see whether it was going to be a joke they were allowed to laugh at.

you didn’t look at satoru anymore.

you couldn’t.

your grip on your glass tightened instead, nails pressing into the cool surface like it could anchor you back into something normal.

“that’s enough,” someone muttered under their breath.

too soft to matter.

satoru didn’t even acknowledge it.

he just took a sip of his drink like he hadn’t said anything at all. like he hadn’t just stripped the conversation bare.

your eyes flicked, almost unwillingly, to suguru.

he was leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

didn’t move.

just watched the table like he was deciding whether this was worth interrupting his evening for.

then he sighed.

not loud.

not angry.

just tired.

“satoru,” he said finally.

that was it.

no sharpness. no correction. no defense.

satoru hummed in response, not even looking up.

“what?”

suguru glanced at you briefly — quick, unreadable — and then back to him.

“drop it.”

two words. flat. unbothered.

satoru’s mouth twitched like he found that amusing.

“or what?”

suguru didn’t answer right away.

and in that pause, something inside your chest tightened in a way you were used to now.

not surprise. not even disappointment.

just confirmation.

he wasn’t going to defend you.

not really.

he never did.

suguru reached for his drink again.

“just stop making it weird,” he said.

like the problem wasn’t what was said. like the problem was the attention it brought.

satoru leaned forward slightly then, resting his elbow on his knee.

his eyes flicked to you again. still sharp. still fixed.

“see?” he said lightly. “he’s not even mad.”

no one laughed.

but no one disagreed either.

and suguru…

suguru didn’t look at you again after that.

the thing with suguru geto had never been complicated.

at least, not for him.

he’d text you late at night asking where you were, and somehow you’d always end up at his apartment. sometimes he’d order food afterward. sometimes he’d let you stay until morning. sometimes he’d brush your hair behind your ear and ask about your shift like he actually cared about the answer.

those moments were what kept you around.

not because they meant anything.

but because they felt like they did.

you met suguru at the club where you worked, on a night that ran too long and felt too loud.

he came in with friends, but kept looking at you instead of the table. when you introduced yourself, he said your name like he’d been waiting to hear it.

after closing, he was still there. he offered you a ride, you took it, and somewhere between the quiet streets and his apartment lights, the night stopped feeling like something you could walk away from.

you told yourself it was just one night.

but you still ended up in his bed anyway.

suguru never called you his girlfriend. never introduced you as anything more than a friend. never promised you a future, exclusivity, or even consistency.

and yet he’d sling an arm over your shoulders in public when he was in a good mood, save a seat for you when satoru wasn’t around, and look at you with enough warmth to make you forget where you stood.

for a few hours, you could pretend.

pretend you weren’t just someone he called when he was lonely.

pretend you weren’t waiting for scraps of affection from a man who had never once asked you to stay.

which was exactly why satoru’s comments hurt so much.

because unlike everyone else, satoru saw right through the fantasy.

the conversation moved on eventually.

it always did.

maybe that was the worst part.

nobody lingered on what satoru had said. nobody looked uncomfortable for very long. within minutes, someone was complaining about a professor, someone else was arguing over a grade, and the room slipped back into its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened at all.

you tried to follow along. you really did.

you smiled when everyone else laughed and nodded when it seemed appropriate, but the longer the night dragged on, the more disconnected you felt from the people around you. every laugh sounded distant. every conversation felt like it was happening through a wall.

across the room, suguru looked perfectly at ease.

he sat sprawled against the couch with a drink balanced loosely in one hand, listening to shoko tell some story about a classmate she’d nearly gotten into a fight with. every so often he laughed, the sound low and warm, and for a moment you found yourself staring.

waiting.

hoping.

for what, exactly, you weren’t sure.

an apology, maybe.

an explanation.

some sign that he’d noticed the way your smile had faltered earlier. some sign that he cared enough to bring it up once everyone else had stopped paying attention.

but he never looked your way.

and every minute that passed made it harder to ignore the truth.

suguru wasn’t going to say anything.

he never did.

that realization shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. after all, this wasn’t the first time satoru had made a joke at your expense. it wasn’t the first time he’d found a way to remind everyone exactly what you did for a living. and it certainly wasn’t the first time suguru had chosen silence over confrontation.

still, something about tonight felt different.

maybe because you were tired.

maybe because satoru had looked directly at you while he said it.

or maybe because some stupid part of you had spent so long convincing itself that suguru saw you differently that hearing nobody disagree had finally cracked something open.

as the night wore on, people began leaving one by one.

the apartment slowly emptied around you. jackets were pulled on, goodbyes were exchanged, and the front door opened and closed often enough that cool air occasionally drifted through the room.

normally, you would have left too. instead, you found yourself lingering.

partly because going home sounded unbearable, and partly because leaving would mean sitting alone with thoughts you didn’t want to examine too closely.

so when someone started gathering empty bottles from the coffee table, you offered to help.

it gave your hands something to do.

you collected abandoned glasses, stacked empty cans, wiped rings of condensation from the table with a napkin. none of it actually needed to be done, but the small tasks kept your mind occupied.

or at least they were supposed to.

because no matter what you focused on, your thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.

satoru’s voice.

the look on suguru’s face.

the silence that followed.

eventually you carried an armful of glasses into the kitchen and set them beside the sink.

the apartment had grown noticeably quieter by then.

you could still hear voices somewhere near the front door, but they sounded distant now, muffled beneath the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of water as you turned on the faucet.

you stared down at the glass in your hands and watched soap bubbles slide across the surface.

for the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to stop pretending.

your chest ached.

it was ridiculous, really.

you weren’t dating suguru.

he hadn’t promised you anything.

you had no right to expect him to defend you.

and yet the hurt remained anyway, stubborn and humiliating.

you were so lost in thought that you didn’t immediately notice the apartment had gone completely silent.

it wasn’t until several seconds passed without hearing another voice that something in your stomach tightened.

the front door had stopped opening.

the conversations had disappeared.

even the music seemed quieter somehow.

you frowned slightly and glanced toward the kitchen entrance.

nothing.

just an empty hallway.

for a brief moment, you wondered if everyone had already left.

then a familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind you.

“you know what’s funny?”

your entire body went still.

because you would have recognized that voice anywhere.

and because somehow, before you even turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing there.

your entire body went still.

for a second, neither of you moved.

the faucet continued running between you, water splashing softly against the bottom of the sink, filling the silence neither of you seemed interested in breaking.

you stared at the glass in your hands.

then slowly set it down.

only then did you turn.

satoru was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

his jacket hung loosely over one shoulder, one hand shoved into his pocket. he looked completely relaxed, like he’d wandered in by accident. like he hadn’t spent the better part of the evening making sure you felt unwelcome.

for a brief moment, you wondered where everyone else had gone.

whether suguru was still here.

whether someone would walk back in.

but the apartment was quiet.

too quiet.

and judging by the look on satoru’s face, he knew it too.

“what?” you asked.

your voice came out flatter than intended.

tired.

he studied you for a moment.

his gaze lingered just long enough to make your skin crawl.

“nothing.”

you almost laughed.

“right.”

his mouth twitched.

not quite a smile. more like amusement.

“you’re easy to read, you know that?”

you looked away first.

you hated that.

hated that he always seemed to notice things you worked hard to hide.

“horrible night?” he asked lightly.

you reached for another glass.

“don’t start.”

“start what?”

you didn’t answer.

because there was no point.

because somehow every conversation with him ended the same way.

you frustrated.

him entertained.

the silence stretched.

you focused on washing dishes.

he stayed exactly where he was.

for a moment, you thought maybe that would be the end of it.

that maybe he was finally leaving.

then he spoke again.

“you cried once.”

your hands froze.

the words were so unexpected that for a second you weren’t even sure you’d heard him correctly.

slowly, you looked up.

satoru hadn’t moved. his eyes remained fixed on you.

calm. observant. annoyingly attentive.

“what?”

“after that party last semester.”

your stomach dropped.

immediately.

because you remembered.

god. you remembered.

it had been months ago.

some stupid gathering at their friend’s apartment. too many people packed into too small a space. too much alcohol. too much noise.

someone had made a joke.

another person had laughed.

then another.

and somehow the conversation had shifted toward hostesses.

toward women who worked in clubs.

toward women like you.

you’d excused yourself shortly afterward.

locked yourself in the bathroom.

and cried for exactly five minutes before pulling yourself together.

nobody was supposed to know.

your face tightened.

“satoru—”

“bathroom near the hallway.”

he shrugged.

“you forgot the walls were thin.”

humiliation flooded through you so quickly it made your stomach hurt.

“why are you telling me this?”

“because i remember thinking it was weird.”

you stared at him.

he continued before you could respond.

“you spend every night around men who say worse things than anything i do.”

the words landed heavily.

because they weren’t entirely wrong.

customers could be cruel. drunk. entitled.

you’d heard every insult imaginable at work.

every assumption.

every degrading comment.

satoru tilted his head.

“so i’ve always wondered why mine bother you so much.”

your chest tightened.

you looked away.

because suddenly you didn’t want him seeing your face.

didn’t want him seeing how easily he’d landed on the truth.

because his words hurt precisely because they came from him. because somewhere along the way, you’d started caring what he thought.

and maybe that was the most embarrassing thing of all.

“they don’t.”

his laugh was immediate.

quiet.

disbelieving.

“okay.”

you gripped the edge of the sink.

“satoru, what do you want?”

finally.

there it was.

the question hanging between you.

because he hadn’t stayed behind for no reason. he hadn’t followed you into the kitchen because he was bored.

satoru’s expression shifted slightly, becoming harder to read.

for a moment he simply looked at you, taking his time. like he was deciding how honest he felt like being.

“i don’t get you.”

you blinked.

“what?”

“you keep showing up.”

his gaze narrowed.

“every single time.”

you frowned.

“because i’m friends with everyone.”

“are you?”

the question was so immediate it almost felt rehearsed.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

and suddenly the kitchen felt too small.

too warm.

too quiet.

“suguru invites me.”

the moment his name left your mouth, something flickered across satoru’s face.

gone so quickly you almost missed it.

“yeah.”

his voice was flat.

“that’s kind of my point.”

confusion twisted through you.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

satoru looked away briefly before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

like he was already annoyed with the conversation.

annoyed with you.

“you really think that’s why?”

“why what?”

“why he keeps you around.”

you stared at him.

your heartbeat beginning to quicken.

slowly.

uncomfortably.

because suddenly you didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

and judging by the look on his face — neither did he.

but he continued anyway.

“you think suguru actually likes you.”

it wasn’t a question.

it was a statement.

a realization.

and the second he said it aloud, the room seemed to tilt slightly beneath your feet.

you felt exposed.

like he’d reached into your chest and dragged something private into the light.

your expression hardened immediately.

“fuck off.”

his eyes widened slightly.

not because you’d denied it.

because you hadn’t.

and he knew it.

“wow.”

the word left him softly. almost incredulously.

“you do.”

heat rushed into your face.

“i said fuck off.”

but your voice lacked conviction.

and that only made it worse. because now he was looking at you differently.

not with amusement.

not with irritation.

something closer to disbelief. as though he’d finally solved a puzzle.

and hated the answer.

“that’s actually insane.”

humiliation crawled beneath your skin.

“satoru—”

“no, seriously.”

he laughed once.

running a hand through his hair.

“you think this is going somewhere?”

every word felt sharper than the last.

you wanted him to stop.

wanted to walk away.

wanted the conversation to end.

instead, you remained rooted to the floor.

because some awful part of you needed to hear what he was going to say next.

“suguru isn’t your boyfriend.”

you looked away.

“i know.”

"then why are you acting like one?"

your throat tightened.

silence.

satoru watched your reaction carefully.

too carefully.

the realization seemed to settle deeper the longer he looked at you.

and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

crueler.

because now he wasn’t guessing anymore. now he knew exactly where to aim.

“you really don’t get it.”

your stomach dropped.

“satoru.”

“he fucks you because you’re there.”

the words hit so hard they barely registered at first. for a moment, all you could do was stare.

he continued anyway.

merciless.

“because you’re convenient.”

your chest tightened painfully.

“because you make it easy.”

“satoru, stop.”

but he didn’t.

“you think you’re special because he calls you afterward?”

his eyes locked onto yours.

“because he invites you to hang out?”

you felt sick.

genuinely sick.

the kind that settled somewhere deep in your stomach.

because every sentence sounded like something he’d been thinking for a long time.

“do you know how many girls would say yes to suguru?”

he laughed softly.

without humor.

“the difference is they have enough self-respect not to build fantasies around it.”

you flinched.

and he saw it.

god.

he saw it.

for the first time all evening, something uncertain flickered across his expression.

a split second.

gone immediately.

but not before you noticed.

not before you realized he hadn’t expected that reaction. he hadn’t expected to actually hurt you.

which would have mattered more if he hadn’t kept going.

“you’re not stupid.”

his voice was quieter now. lower. somehow worse.

“so stop acting like you don’t know what this is.”

your eyes burned, and you hated yourself for it.

hated that tears were even threatening.

especially in front of him.

especially now.

satoru looked at you for a long moment.

then let out a slow breath.

and when he spoke again, his voice was almost tired.

“he doesn’t choose you.”

the words landed with terrifying precision. because they struck directly at the fear you’d spent months avoiding.

“he just sleeps with you ‘cause you’re free & easy.”

and suddenly the kitchen felt impossibly small.

the air too heavy to breathe.

the silence afterward deafening.

because for the first time since he’d entered the room — you had nothing left to say.

your manager caught you just as you were stepping off the main floor to grab another tray. there was a particular look on her face that immediately told you this wasn’t a normal client request. she held a reservation slip between two fingers and glanced toward the staircase leading to the vip section.

“table 9,” she said. “private room.”

you nodded automatically, already reaching for the slip.

“requested you specifically.”

that made you pause.

for a brief second, you considered asking who it was. then you saw the spending limit attached to the reservation and didn’t need to. there were very few people who could casually spend that much money in a single evening, and even fewer who would specifically ask for you.

the realization settled heavily in your stomach.

gojo satoru.

of course.

you thanked your manager, fixed your dress, and headed upstairs.

the walk to the vip rooms gave you too much time to think.

two days ago, you had walked into suguru’s apartment with a spare key and found another woman in his bed. you hadn’t screamed. hadn’t cried. hadn’t even made a scene.

you’d simply stood there long enough for the reality to settle over you before turning around and leaving.

maybe that was why it hurt so much. there had been no dramatic ending. no fight. no closure. just confirmation of something you'd already known for months.

and now somehow satoru knew too.

the room was dim when you entered.

soft amber lights reflected off dark wood and expensive liquor bottles. the music from downstairs was barely audible from here, reduced to a distant pulse beneath the floorboards.

satoru sat alone on the leather couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a glass of whiskey balanced loosely between his fingers. at first glance he looked relaxed. comfortable. bored, even.

then he looked up.

his eyes immediately found yours.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

you were used to being looked at. men spent entire evenings staring at you for a living. you knew the difference between attraction, curiosity, desire, and drunken fascination.

satoru’s stare had never been any of those things.

it always felt more invasive.

as if he were trying to figure out something you hadn’t told him.

as if every interaction between the two of you was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

and tonight, for whatever reason, he seemed especially focused.

his gaze lingered on your face longer than usual. not your body. not what you’re wearing. your face. his eyes moved carefully over every detail, and before he even opened his mouth, you had the unpleasant feeling that he was cataloguing things you wished nobody would notice.

the exhaustion.

the lack of sleep.

the fact that your smile wasn’t reaching your eyes.

something flickered across his expression.

then it disappeared.

“well,” he said finally, leaning back against the couch, “if it isn’t suguru’s favorite side piece.”

there he was.

you almost felt relieved.

cruel satoru was familiar.

cruel satoru made sense.

you slipped easily into your professional smile and approached the table.

“good evening, mr. gojo. i’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

instead of answering immediately, he watched you reach for the bottle. watched you prepare a clean glass. watched you perform every practiced movement with the precision of someone who had spent years learning how to be pleasant no matter what kind of person sat in front of them.

when you finally looked up again, you found him still staring.

“mr. gojo?” he repeated.

his mouth curved slightly.

“that’s cute.”

you ignored it and poured his drink.

“would you like ice?”

“would you like to stop pretending?”

the question landed between you.

most people wouldn’t have noticed how quickly it came. how little time he spent dancing around the topic. satoru had never been subtle when it came to hurting you.

you continued pouring as though he hadn’t spoken.

“one cube or two?”

he laughed.

not because anything was funny.

because he was frustrated.

and somehow that realization unsettled you more than his insults usually did.

“you walked in on him balls deep in someone else two nights ago.”

there it was.

direct.

blunt.

inevitable.

you set the bottle down carefully before answering.

“i’m here to work.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

“and i’m choosing not to answer.”

for a second, the room fell quiet.

satoru stared at you.

you stared at the whiskey bottle.

somewhere downstairs, the bass from the club vibrated faintly through the walls.

“you know what’s amazing?” he said after a while.

his voice had changed.

it was softer now.

less mocking.

which somehow made it worse.

“i spent months telling you exactly who suguru was.”

you didn’t respond.

“months.”

his fingers tightened around the glass.

“and every single time you looked at me like i was the asshole.”

only then did you glance up.

because that sounded strangely personal.

strangely bitter.

more bitter than someone should have been about a situation that technically had nothing to do with him.

“you were being an asshole,” you said quietly.

for the first time all evening, a genuine smile appeared on his face.

small.

brief.

real.

“fair.”

then it vanished.

and his eyes returned to studying you.

not mocking.

not teasing.

studying.

as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.

because you weren’t angry. you weren’t crying. you weren’t defending suguru. you just looked tired.

painfully, unbelievably tired.

and somehow that seemed to bother him.

a lot.

more than finding out suguru had cheated.

more than proving himself right.

more than the satisfaction of winning an argument he’d been having for months.

satoru looked at you for a long moment before exhaling sharply and reaching into his wallet.

the stack of bills landed on the table with a heavy thud.

you frowned.

“what are you doing?”

“buying your time.”

“you’re already doing that.”

“not this time.”

his gaze lifted to yours.

steady.

serious.

“this time i’m buying the rest of your shift.”

you looked from the money back to him.

confused. suspicious. tired.

and for the first time that night, satoru seemed to lose patience entirely.

“go home,” he said.

when you didn’t answer, he shook his head and laughed once under his breath.

“seriously. go home.”

his eyes drifted over your face again.

taking in every detail you had been desperately trying to hide from everyone around you.

and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“i’ve spent months making fun of you,” he said. “i know exactly what you look like when you’re trying too hard.”

his gaze didn’t leave yours.

a month had passed since that night in the vip lounge.

you still didn’t know what had possessed you to take the money and let him drive you home. you didn’t know why you hadn’t told him to fuck off when he kissed you against the door of his apartment instead. and you definitely didn’t know why you kept coming back.

but you did.

three, sometimes four times a week, you found yourself here — in satoru’s apartment, letting him peel your clothes off like he had every right to.

tonight was no different.

the lights of the city bled softly through the tall windows, painting his bedroom in cool blues and warm golds.

you were underneath him, skin flushed and warm, legs parted wide as he took his time with you.

satoru kissed you slowly, almost lazily, like he had all night to ruin you. his hand slid down your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist before slipping between your thighs.

he groaned quietly against your mouth when he felt how wet you already were, slick coating his fingers.

“always so ready for me,” he murmured, voice low and rough. two fingers teased your entrance before pushing in deep, curling slowly against your walls. “this pussy misses me even when you pretend you don’t.”

you gasped softly, hips twitching against his hand. he smiled against your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching you patiently, thrusting them in and out with wet, obscene sounds.

“look at me,” he said.

when you met his eyes, he added a third finger, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face as he pumped them steadily.

“that’s it,” he whispered. “just feel me. don’t think about anything else.”

he kept that slow rhythm until your breathing turned ragged and your thighs trembled around his wrist. only then did he pull his fingers out, slick with your arousal, and settle between your legs.

he rubbed the thick head of his cock against your soaked folds, teasing your clit before finally pushing in — slow, thick, and steady, stretching you open inch by inch.

a quiet moan slipped from your lips as he filled you completely. satoru let out a long breath, forehead dropping to yours.

“fuck… still so tight,” he breathed. “every single time.”

his forehead rested against yours, white hair messy and damp with sweat. one of his hands gripped your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other braced beside your head.

“look at me,” he murmured, voice low.

you did.

his eyes were too blue, too sharp, even in the dark. they always saw too much.

“you’ve been so fucking quiet lately,” he said, rolling his hips deeper, pressing you further into the mattress. “still thinking about him?”

you shook your head, but the way your breath hitched gave you away.

satoru let out a soft, mocking laugh that didn’t quite hide the edge in it. he dipped his head, lips brushing your ear.

“liar,” he whispered. “you still get that sad little look in your eyes sometimes. like you’re waiting for him to text you again.”

he thrust a little harder, just enough to make you gasp, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

“but you’re here instead. letting me fuck you raw every time i want.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders. not pushing him away. just holding on.

“satoru…”

“yeah?” his voice dropped, rougher now. “say it. tell me whose bed you’re in.”

“yours,” you breathed.

he hummed in approval, slowing down again, dragging it out until you felt every inch of him sliding in and out.

“good girl. at least you know that much.”

he kissed the side of your neck, almost gentle. almost.

“you’re tighter when you’re like this,” he murmured against your skin. “all soft and needy. makes me wonder how long you’re gonna keep pretending this is just revenge.”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not when he was moving like that — deep, steady strokes that made your toes curl and your mind go fuzzy. not rough. not frantic. just overwhelming in its intensity, his cock filling you perfectly with every thrust.

satoru shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot that always made your back arch. a quiet moan slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“there she is,” he breathed, sounding almost fond. “been thinking about this pussy all day, you know that?”

he rocked into you again, slower this time, savoring the way your walls clenched around him.

“thought about canceling my last class just so i could drag you here and fuck you properly. been hard since lunch, baby..”

your face burned. you turned your head slightly, but he caught your chin and brought your gaze back to his.

“don’t you dare look away.”

he kissed you then — deep, possessive, a little messy. when he pulled back, his voice was quieter.

he kept his pace steady, grinding against you with every thrust, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles against your swollen clit. the pleasure built gradually, thick and consuming, until your thighs started trembling around him.

“that’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “come for me, baby. let me feel you.”

and you did — quietly, breathlessly, clenching hard around his cock as the orgasm rolled through you in long, slow waves. satoru groaned low in his throat, burying his face in your neck as he followed right after, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you, filling you with warm pulses.

for a long minute, the only sound was both of you breathing.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, heavy and warm on top of you, lips occasionally pressing lazy kisses against your collarbone like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

eventually, he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest without a word. his fingers traced slow patterns on your bare back.

you hummed, eyes already heavy.

your phone lay on the nightstand beside his bed. it had been on silent, but the screen suddenly lit up with a new message notification. then another. and another.

satoru noticed immediately.

he reached over and turned the phone slightly toward him before you could stop him. the screen showed multiple unread messages from suguru.

satoru’s body went still.

“you’re still talking to him?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

you froze.

he let out a short, amused scoff — surprised, almost disbelieving, but with that familiar sharp edge underneath.

“really?” he sat up a little, one eyebrow raised, staring down at you. “after he fucked someone else in front of you basically… you’re still replying to his messages?”

you looked away, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.

“…because he’s nice sometimes,” you said quietly. “he can be sweet when he wants to.”

the silence that followed felt heavier than anything he’d said all night.

satoru stared at you for a long moment. something shifted behind his eyes — a slow, bitter realization settling in. his usual smirk was gone. in its place was something colder. disappointed, almost.

he let out a low, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “you’re still looking for him.”

he said it like he was stating a fact he’d been trying to ignore for weeks. like the truth had finally hit him square in the chest.

even after a month of fucking him, of letting him hold you, fuck you raw, keep you in his bed — you were still waiting for scraps from suguru.

satoru leaned back against the headboard, jaw tight, blue eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of you.

“jesus! you scared me,” you breathe out, rolling your eyes to hide how hard your heart is pounding. “if this is about the joke, relax. everyone’s already forgotten about it, gojo.”

“everyone?” he echoes, pushing himself off the frame and sauntering closer, each step deliberate, heavy. “funny. i haven’t.”

you open your mouth, some weak attempt at a defense already forming, but he cuts you off with a quiet laugh — low, dark, and dripping with something that makes your stomach flip.

“you think i’m sensitive? that i can’t take a joke?” he murmurs, now close enough for you to feel the heat of his body. “nah, i’m not mad. i’m just wondering how confident you’ll sound with my dick in your mouth.”

your breath hitches. your back presses against the wall before you even realize you’ve moved, and his hand lands beside your head, caging you in. the lazy grin that spreads across his face is infuriatingly confident.

“small, huh?” he tilts his head, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before locking with yours again. “then open that pretty mouth and let me ruin that little opinion.”

“what the hell, gojo—”

“ah, ah,” he hums, the edge in his voice sharp enough to slice through your words. “you had no problem running it in front of everyone. let’s see if you can still do that when i’m shoving every inch of what you mocked down your throat.”

he tugs your head back with a firm grip, a thin strand of spit still connecting your swollen lips to his thick, aching cock — and fuck, the sight of you like that only makes him throb harder.

you suck in a shaky breath, voice barely steady as you whisper, “gojo—”

“no, no,” he interrupts, a low, dangerous edge curling around every word. “don’t call me that. it’s satoru when you’re like this.”

he motions for you to keep going, that cocky look on his face practically saying, did i say you were done?

you bite your lip, glancing up at him through your lashes before dragging your tongue slowly from the base of his cock all the way up. then you start bobbing your head, easing him deeper into your mouth.

but gojo is not patient tonight.

a low groan rumbles from his chest as he begins thrusting upward, slow at first — letting you adjust, forcing you to feel every thick inch stretching your mouth open.

it doesn’t stay slow for long. his pace picks up, the slick, obscene sounds filling the room with every thrust. “what’s wrong? can’t talk now?” he taunts, his voice rough and dripping with mockery. “i thought it was small? if it really was, you’d still be able to get out at least three syllables, yeah?”

you can’t answer — your mouth is too full, stuffed past what you think you can handle. your jaw aches as you try to relax it, stubbornly determined to prove you can take him, that you won’t back down.

he loosens his grip on your hair for just a second — and you take that tiny window as a chance to sink lower, taking more of him into your mouth.

“fuuuuck…” he groans, head tipping back slightly as he watches you, his breath hitching at the sight of you struggling to take him deeper, eyes watering just a little but refusing to pull away.

when you finally do, a wet pop echoes in the air. a thin strand of saliva still clings to your lips as you wrap your hand around him, stroking his cock slowly. your lips are flushed and swollen, glossy from the mix of spit and precum.

“satoru…” you breathe out, voice trembling but needy.

“fuck, baby—what the fuck…” he rasps, the sound of his voice wrecked and breathless. he leans down before you can even respond, crashing his mouth against yours. the kiss is deep and filthy, all tongue and teeth, and when he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, he tugs just hard enough to make you gasp before pulling away.

he laughs softly, the sound low and dangerous, as his thumb wipes the mess from the corner of your mouth. “don’t ever say shit like that again, ‘kay? we both know it’s not true…” his lips ghost over yours again, “but i don’t like being humiliated.”

all you can do is nod, nod, and nod again, your hand still working him slowly — twisting a little at the tip, dragging a moan out of him that sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

“utahime—” you start, but she’s already covering her mouth.

“oh my god, i thought he knew—”

“it was one time,” you blurt out. too loud, too fast. “one time. and it was years ago. way before suguru and i—”

“HUH?!” yuuji’s voice cracks. “YOU AND GOJO?!”

“please stop saying it like that,” you groan, facepalming. “it was nothing. we were drunk.”

“ancient history,” gojo mutters. “seriously. it meant nothing.”

but suguru doesn’t say a word still.

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t touch you. doesn’t even react when nobara starts teasing or when utahime keeps apologizing. just sits there with that faint, unreadable smile, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek — the one small tell that gives him away.

he’s trying not to react. trying not to show anything. and somehow, that’s worse than if he’d gotten mad.

the ride home is silent.

the city lights blur past the windows, and the rain starts spitting softly against the windshield. suguru keeps both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, and you feel like you’re suffocating in the space between you.

“suguru…” you say, barely above a whisper.

“hm.”

“are you mad?”

“no.”

it’s flat. automatic. not convincing in the slightest.

“you’re lying.”

“i’m fine.”

you sigh, shifting in your seat to face him. “you’ve barely looked at me since we left.”

“just tired,” he mutters.

“you always say that when you don’t want to talk.”

he exhales through his nose, tongue pressing harder into his cheek. “maybe i really am just tired.”

“it was one time,” you whisper. “it didn’t mean anything.”

“i know.”

“then why are you acting like this?”

“acting like what?” he says softly. too softly. like he’s trying to stay calm. “like someone i care about just casually reminded me she slept with my best friend?”

you go quiet. because yeah. that’s exactly what this is.

“i didn’t mean to hide it,” you say. “it never felt important. it was before us, and i didn’t think it mattered.”

he doesn’t answer.

it doesn’t get better at home.

he takes off his shoes, shrugs out of his jacket, and disappears into the kitchen without a glance your way. you follow him, frustration and guilt tangling in your chest.

“can you please talk to me?” you say quietly.

“there’s nothing to talk about.”

“that’s bullshit.”

he looks up at that. just for a second. there’s a flicker of something sharp in his eyes — jealousy, hurt, something he’s been swallowing down all night.

“suguru—”

“i said i’m fine.”

“then why won’t you even look at me?”

“because if i do,” he says, voice low and shaking just slightly, “i’m going to start thinking about things i shouldn’t.”

the words hang heavy between you. you step closer anyway. “like what?”

“like how he’s seen you naked.” his voice is rough now, like he’s trying to keep control and failing. “how he’s touched you. how he—”

“stop,” you whisper. “it was one time. it didn’t mean anything.”

his jaw tightens. “but he knows.”

“knows what?”

his eyes finally meet yours — dark, intense, burning in a way that makes your breath catch.

“how good you are.”

the words hit you like a spark.

and before you can react, before you can say anything else, he’s on you — hands gripping your face, mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that’s nothing like his usual softness. it’s heated, messy, almost desperate. like he’s been holding back all night and just snapped.

you gasp against his lips, hands curling into his shirt as he presses you back against the wall, kissing you deeper, harder. his tongue slides against yours, tasting faintly of beer and jealousy and something that feels dangerously close to need.

“he knows,” he murmurs against your mouth, breath hot, lips brushing yours with every word. “and now i can’t stop thinking about it.”

“suguru—”

“i hate that he knows,” he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. “but i’m going to make sure i’m the only one who remembers.”

your knees go weak when his hands trail down to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. the tension that’s been building since utahime opened her mouth is finally burning itself out — not in words, but in touch. in heat. in the quiet, hungry way his mouth keeps finding yours again and again.

and when he finally pulls back, breathless, eyes blown dark, the anger’s gone. what’s left is want.

“tell me again,” he says, thumb brushing over your lower lip. “one time?”

“just one,” you breathe. “just one.”

“good.” he leans in, lips ghosting over yours. “i’m not stopping at one tonight.”

he doesn’t waste any time when you reach your bed. he pulls down his pants and frees his already hard cock. then he lifts your legs and rests them on his shoulders.

the moment he pushes in, you almost scream. “fuck… suguru—too big—ngggh…”

“yeah? take it—fuck, how the fuck are you still so tight?” he slams into you again and again, merciless, every thrust dripping with jealousy and lust.

“did satoru think he’d ever see you like this again? legs spread, getting ruined?” he growls, sweat dripping down his forehead, one hand gripping your throat as he fucks you. “in his fucking dreams, baby. in his fucking dreams.”

“s-suguru—ahhh—f-fuck—feels good!” you’re almost losing your mind at how fast he’s moving, his hands groping your breasts, squeezing them so hard it almost hurts.

“you want more? huh? want me to make it even rougher?” he spits on your cleavage, massages your breasts again, and sucks your nipple until it turns red.

“please—please don’t stop—” you’re practically writhing on the bed, struggling to catch your breath.

“don’t worry, baby… i fucking got you.”

and he goes all in — every thrust powerful enough to break your hips, your moans blending with the rhythmic creaking of the bed. until you both come together, your body trembling, his cock still buried deep inside you, both of you sweaty and breathless, but now there’s a small smile on his lips.

your body almost gives out from exhaustion. your knees are still shaking, sweat and tears mixing on your cheeks — but suguru? he only gets more turned on as he stares at you.

“suguru…” you whisper weakly, almost pleading. “please… just a minute.”

but he only lets out a low laugh, like your begging amuses him. his hand slides up to your neck, gripping you just enough — enough to remind you that he’s in control, that you can’t escape.

“what? tired already?” he murmurs against your ear, every word brushing hot against your skin. “don’t sleep yet, babe.”

he sinks back into you deep, brutal in his rhythm. every thrust hits just right, making you whimper and scream his name.

“suguru! shit! please—ahhh—” your voice is almost gone, and that only turns him on more, hearing you break like that.

“look at you,” he grunts, hips snapping harder, his hand grabbing your breast and kneading it roughly.

he smirks, thrusting even deeper, like he wants to bury himself inside you until there’s nothing left. “that’s right. i’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this. satoru? he’ll never—fuck—see you like this again. in his fucking dreams.”

you’re on the verge of collapsing, but he lifts your legs back onto his shoulders, still fucking you to the hilt. “stay awake, baby,” he growls, pressing his forehead against yours as he keeps moving. “want you to feel everything. want every step you take tomorrow to remind you that i’m the one who ruined you.”

he doesn’t stop talking even as he pounds into you harder, jealousy dripping from every word that leaves his mouth.

“tell me, baby,” he growls against your ear, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder. “did he ever fuck you like this? did satoru ever make you scream like this?”

you can’t even answer — your words break into moans, and that just makes him chuckle darkly. his hand tightens a little on your throat, enough to make your breath hitch. he pulls out halfway, just to slam back in, harder than before, making you cry out.

“does he even know how to touch you?” he continues, voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “does he know you go wild when i suck on your tits like this? hmm?” he bites down gently on your nipple, then licks it, watching you fall apart.

“he’ll never see you like this again,” suguru hisses, thrusting harder, deeper, until you’re arching off the bed. “he’ll never get to hear you beg like this. never get to feel how tight this perfect pussy gets when it’s wrapped around me.”

you whimper his name, and he grins — sharp, dangerous.

“he’ll never know,” he adds, thrusts growing rougher again, his voice trembling with possessive hunger. “he’ll never know how you scream for me. how you shake when i fuck you this deep. how you need me.”

and when you come apart again around him, crying his name, suguru loses control too — groaning against your neck, his words still a growl against your skin.