euphie

Standing at the side of the stage away from the cameras, you watched the audience unconsciously mimic Todo’s action. It was like everyone was holding their breaths in unison, wide-eyed and secretly hoping whatever description Satoru gave would match up with them. 

Unlike the rest of Domain’s three other members, Satoru was sprawled on the velvet sofa like a lazy cat, as if he was lounging at home with a movie instead of making a guest appearance on the country’s most popular talk show, Boogie Woogie. 

“Easy,” he said without hesitation, but then brought a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret though.”

A collective protest resounded from the audience. Exactly the response you knew Satoru was aiming for. He’d always had a gift for playing the crowd—teasing out whatever reaction he wanted, whenever he wanted. Just another one of his many other talents that read longer than a grocery list.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Todo pressed. “There are seventy million fans all around the world dying to know Gojo Satoru’s ideal type. You gonna disappoint them?”

Satoru smiled, wisps of striking, pure white hair fluttering as he tilted his head at Todo, at the audience.

“You know what? Let’s make it a game,” he said, as if the idea had just come to him. You knew for a fact it hadn’t. “It’s called guess-what-kind-of-person-your-favourite-idol-Gojo-Satoru-likes! I’ll give you a hint—it’s one word.”

Nanami Kento, Domain’s main rapper, groaned. “We have precisely fifteen minutes left before the show ends. I’m not playing your stupid game when I already know the answer.”

A round of chuckles echoed through the audience. You nodded in silent approval. Trust Nanami to never stray from his stoic brand while making fans thirst harder by stating a time limit. 

Your gaze darted to Domain’s leader, Geto Suguru, calm as ever as he shook his head. A perfect mirror to Satoru’s chaos. “Listen, Satoru. Can’t you just tell everyone? Yu hasn’t gotten his chance to speak yet.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Satoru crossed his arms like a petulant child. If anyone else were to act that way, they’d only come off as a spoilt brat. Not Satoru. Somehow, for reasons that escaped you, people seemed to be drawn to his brash nature. He was still bratty, outright rude at times, but because it was Gojo Satoru, it was endearing.

You didn’t see the appeal.

“Oooh, can I go first?” Haibara Yu, the youngest member of Domain, raised his hand excitedly. “I kinda wanna know.”

“See, Yu wants to play.” Gojo extended a hand towards the audience. “How bout it, everyone? I’ll make it better. If anyone guesses correctly, I’ll give you a reward.”

He might as well have said he would strip naked right then and there. The audience went wild.

“A reward?” Todo said, feigning curiosity as he rehashed the script you’d approved before agreeing to have Domain appear on the show. “From the world’s most wanted man alive? Now you’ve at least got to tell us what it is.”

Right on cue, Satoru reached for his sunglasses and slid them off. The studio’s harsh light caught every line of his perfectly defined features, soft and sharp in all the right places. You had to admit, he was insanely handsome. You’d thought that the moment you first met him in person. It was why, in addition to being the main vocalist, Satoru was also the face of Domain.

But what made Satoru’s visual truly exceptional, what had stolen millions of hearts worldwide, were his eyes. 

It was as if the gods had held a conclave to discuss how they could sculpt the most perfect looking human being, and decided to make Gojo Satoru. And the cherry on top? They bestowed upon him the most impossible blue eyes that managed to look both intelligent and mischievous all at once. A recipe for devastation. Worst of all, Satoru knew how to wield them. 

You could see the audience practically melt into their seats.

“The reward—” Satoru’s smile turned feline. “Is a kiss from me.” 

He winked at the cameras.

The studio went nuts in the next second. That was when a girl in the audience passed out cold. 

But you were frowning. A nerve at your temple twitched as you glared at Satoru from where you stood.

This wasn’t part of the script. The idiot was improvising. Again. You’d specifically made sure to remind him that under no circumstances was he to do any ad-libbing.

But of course he hadn’t listened. Again.

“Just follow the damn script for once,” you’d repeated a hundred times throughout the day. “No running your mouth. And absolutely no promising your fans anything other than a hug. Understood?”

Satoru had merely replied the same thing each time. “Will you be jealous if I do, kacho-san?” Or some iteration of it, annoying you further.

The last time a fan uploaded a photo of Satoru kissing her on the cheek, the poor girl had received death threats for three months straight. In the end, you had to get Satoru to publicly announce, again, that he wasn’t dating anyone at the moment because he was focusing on his career, and was simply too busy to commit to a relationship.

And here he was, about to add another person to his body count for you to rescue.

Amidst the cacophony of breathless screams, you spotted Domain’s bodyguard, Toji, plucking up the unconscious fan and hauling her over his giant shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then stalking out of the studio.

“Hmmm… someone with a lot of patience?” Yu guessed innocently, launching the game off. 

Your phone buzzed then. It was a message from Shoko.

Press releases ready. Just say the word.

You sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens for having a publicist like Shoko. Five years working with Satoru had taught you to always be ready for damage control. You’d spent the whole of last night on video call with Shoko and Utahime, Domain’s social media manager, preparing various press releases and posts to counter any sort of situation should Satoru open his damn mouth and set his public image on flames like a pyromaniac. 

Gojo Satoru’s brand was built entirely on the idea of him being so perfect he was unattainable. He belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. The epitome of obsession that kept the heart of his vast fandom pounding on overdrive. Always peering down from a pedestal, always out of reach, yet close enough to dare anyone to try.

In short, he was the dream. 

He even had a nickname—The Honoured One.

For the life of you, you couldn’t understand it. What was so honourable about forcing you to drive him down to Sendai twice in a month to buy kikufuku mochi just because he wanted to eat them fresh?

But Domain was Jujutsu Entertainment’s cash cow, and Gojo Satoru was the king of empty bank accounts. He was also the reason you were paid a very, very generous salary.

As such, if there existed any hint that he was embroiled in a relationship with an individual, his whole image would go down the drain. It would become a PR nightmare. Jujutsu Entertainment’s stocks would plummet. Sponsorships would dwindle. Big brands would pull out. Yaga would lose his shit, and then you would be fired. 

All because Gojo Satoru kissed a girl. 

Short of storming up on stage and smacking him in the head—and subsequently getting murdered by fans for it—there was nothing you could do but watch the sea of raised hands, each fighting for a turn at the game, desperate for one measly minute of Satoru’s attention solely focused on them.

But to be fair, Satoru was handling the audience with deft grace. He’d taken over the whole talk show from Todo and had casually walked to the front of the set, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other twirled a finger in the air like a bloody magic wand, picking victim after victim to turn into puddles of mush.

Every time someone made a guess, his answer would satisfy them enough without confirming or denying anything. 

“Ah, that’s kinda cute too. Like you.”

“Nice one. I like what you’ve done with your hair by the way.”

“I never thought of that. I’ll remember what you said.”

“I wouldn’t mind it. Is that me on your keychain? Remember to take me everywhere, ‘kay?”

You checked the time on your watch. Five more minutes until the show ended, and he still hadn’t mentioned a word about Domain’s new single, which was the whole reason they were on Boogie Woogie in the first place.

You were about to signal for Suguru to say something that would cut the game short so they could make the announcement. But when your head snapped up, you found Satoru’s gaze fixed on you, a cheeky grin spread across his glossed-up lips. 

Satoru clapped his hands together. “Thanks for playing with me, everyone. I’ll give you the answer now.” 

His stupid finger swished about, drawing an arc in the air before coming to an abrupt halt in your direction.

And you realised he was pointing straight at you.

“It’s my manager!” he declared, proudly. “My bad, that’s three words and not one. Oh well.”

You froze as the entire studio zoomed in on the forgotten corner where you stood. Heat prickled up your neck, filling your cheeks as every head, every camera, angled towards you. 

“Your ideal type is… your manager?” Todo asked, confused. 

“I said my manager is the answer,” Satoru corrected. “Interpret it however you like.”

You were going to kill him. You were going to pulverise his pretty face the moment you went backstage. Was the moron trying to decimate his career? And yours? 

Think. You had to think. You had three seconds to recall all your media training and come up with a suitable reply that wouldn’t end with either the fans or Yaga roasting your head on a spit. Any longer and they’d be making up crazy theories because of your hesitation.

You forced a light-hearted laugh. “You shouldn’t tease your fans like that, Satoru.” Then you shifted your attention to focus on the cameras. “What Satoru means by me being the answer is because we have something exciting to announce. Domain will be releasing a new single, Limitless, in three weeks! The lyrics are written by none other than Satoru himself, and it’s about dreaming of someone you’ve not yet met. Please look forward to it!”

You bowed to the cameras as the audience squealed in delight, sighing in relief at having successfully spun the conversation away from Satoru’s asinine answer while promoting Domain’s single, effectively killing two birds with one stone. You’d pat yourself on the back later. 

Satoru’s eyes were still on you when you straightened. He tapped his chin. “Oh, right. The single… I forgot. But that wasn’t what I meant when—” 

“Aaaaaand that’s all the time we have left for today’s Boogie Woogie!” Todo’s voice boomed. “Please give a big round of applause to Domain!”

“And my lovely manager!” Satoru added loudly, waving out a hand towards you with a wink, and your chest twisted involuntarily.

You tried your best not to scowl at him on live television. The cameras finally panned away to all four members of Domain as they took their bows and went through the customary farewell motions. 

Your phone buzzed. It was a message from Shoko.

That’s the fifth public confession. Time to pay up, kacho-san.At this rate, you should have your own press release.

You didn’t reply. You were too busy wondering how it was a miracle you hadn’t yet died from a heart attack, courtesy of Gojo Satoru. 

After the show, the boys refused to let you go home, dragging you to their favourite upscale karaoke bar in Ginza where Suguru had a private room reserved. 

Dressed in baggy pants and hoodies, the four members of Domain were acting like a group of hyped up nepo babies with a vendetta to blow through their allowances in a single night. You, in contrast, were still in your pantsuit and looked like their grumpy, overworked nanny. 

Yu had successfully roped Nanami into belting out the female part of a duet while Suguru hogged the playlist, cueing song after song without bothering to consult anyone. You were glued to your phone, catching up on e-mails and going through Domain’s schedule for the upcoming week when you felt a pressure on the cushioned bench, and then someone sliding in next to you. 

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. 

“Come on, you’re not still mad at me are you?” Satoru’s arm pressed against yours as he leaned in, entirely ignorant to the concept of personal space.

It was…distracting, to say the least. You’d rather not think about how good he smelled.

Not so recently, Satoru had taken to always insisting he was placed next to you—in meetings, at restaurants, on plane rides, in the car, walking to the car. Even when it came to hotels, he would request for his room to be next to yours, with a connecting door so he could hang out in your room until you shooed him out to sleep.

“Don’t forget you have that underwear shoot in two days,” you replied, refusing to engage in any conversation with him other than work. “I’ve booked you a facial tomorrow, and a training session in the morning with Sukuna. Make sure you’re there on time.”

His finger touched the top of your phone, pushing it down and away from your face. 

“Do you ever stop working, kacho-san?” he chided, strobe lights glinting off his eyes. “Look at you. Your shoulders are so stiff they might turn to stone.” A corner of his lips curved up. “Want me to give you a massage?”

It was too dark for him to see the flush on your cheeks, but you knew he knew. The nerve at your temple twitched again. 

“Thanks but no thanks,” you said, trying your best to sound unaffected. 

“I assure you I’m very good with my hands. But you already know that.”

“You’re being extra annoying today. Stop it.”

“Really?” His face dipped, inches away from yours. “That’s not what you called me last night.”

Your nerve snapped. “Do. NOT. Speak about that.”

Satoru’s smile only widened. “About what, sweetheart?”

You wanted to dissolve into the bench. 

Throughout your life, you had always been the type of person who could spot a mistake from a mile away, allowing you to avoid it like the plague. You were a safe player. A perfectionist. The kind of person who planned your calendar down to the minute. Someone who loved routine, because adhering to a strict schedule meant less chances of coming across any unwanted surprises. Your inherent traits were what made you an excellent manager, and part of why Domain had skyrocketed to worldwide fame in less than three years since their debut. 

But what you hadn’t accounted for—the one mistake you overlooked that would go on to become the bane of your existence—was Gojo Satoru taking an interest in you, and that the damn thing inside your chest was unable to help itself but beat a little faster whenever he was around you.

It started with a cup of coffee. The free kind, dispensed into a paper cup from the staff machine at Jujutsu Entertainment, which he’d casually handed to you—black, no sugar—while he sipped his own heavily sweetened one. 

Next came the notes, a different one each time, scrawled with a felt tip on the side of the paper cups.

Blue suits you.

Wanna go to Sendai?

So cranky today. Still beautiful.

You know what tastes better than this coffee? Me.

You’d ignored them at first, thinking it was nothing but Satoru being Satoru. He’d always been a blatant flirt, spewing out his particular brand of nonsense to both fans and, really, anyone with a head and a set of lungs.

And it didn’t help that the world loved him for it, as evidence of the truckloads of fanmail flooding the company that they had to dedicate another mailroom solely for Domain.

On the days Satoru came into the company, it was like the air in the building charged up with barely contained excitement. The trainees would flock around him. Half the female office staff would take turns going to the bathroom in hopes of running into him, and the other half would be camped out at the coffee machine. Interns would fight over who got to serve water at his meetings. Someone once told you how lucky you were that you got to spend all day with him.

You almost threw your coffee in their face.

You? Lucky? Wasn’t it him who was lucky to have you as a manager? The guy was a walking PR hazard. He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with no regard to his image whatsoever, leaving you to run after him putting out anything he set on fire. On a daily basis.

Who did he think you were? The fucking fire brigade?

But it was your job, so you’d taken it all in stride. Managing a reckless brat with a fame level as high as Mount Everest took serious skill and planning, and you’d seen it as the ultimate challenge. In fact, you’d thrived on it. 

Then the idiot had to go and ruin it all by asking you out.

You’d rejected him, of course. But that hadn’t stopped him. In fact, it only made him try harder.

And last night…damn you to hell, he’d finally succeeded. Somewhat.

This was why you hated dinner meetings. But the client was one of Satoru’s biggest sponsors, and despite Satoru insisting he drink most of what they plied you with, your tolerance for alcohol was still abysmal. You’d woken up the next morning in his bed, wearing his t-shirt, with a massive headache, and the embarrassing memory of you lunging at him for a kiss before everything became a blank slate.

“Look,” you said firmly. “Last night was a mistake. I was drunk. I might’ve done some things I shouldn’t have. Let’s just forget it, alright?”

Satoru raised a brow. “But I can’t forget it.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” you snapped. “It’s never happening again.”

“I can’t because you made me promise not to.”

You gaped at him. “I did not!”

Satoru merely shrugged, then slipped out a pair of earbuds from his pocket and gently plugged them in your ears, the noise cancelling function muffling out the karaoke music. He unlocked his phone, swiped a few times, and then you heard it—your voice, whiny and breathless…

“Ngh—Toru—don’t stop…”

“I don’t want to. But I know you, kacho-san. You’ll regret this.”

“No I won’t—“

“I mean you’ll regret recording this. Not me, of course.”

“But I don’t want you forgetting what you said.”

“Trust me, I don’t need it to remember.”

“Say it to me again.”

“You know, you’re very demanding whenever you drink. It’s adorable.”

“Go on. Say it.”

A low chuckle. “I’ll tell as you many times as you want, sweetheart… I, Gojo Satoru, belong to my very hardworking, very beautiful manager.”

“Don’t you dare delete this.“

“If it makes you happy, I promise.”

“Good. Now come here…”

You stared at him, mortified, and yanked the earbuds out, chucking it back at him. You stood abruptly, and made a bee-line for the door. 

“Where are you going, kacho-san?” Suguru called out.

“I’m—ah…I’m not feeling well.”

He must have seen the expression on your face because his eyes narrowed at Satoru. “Did you do something again? I thought I told you to treat our precious manager better.”

Satoru snorted. “I treat her exactly how she likes it. Not that it’s any of your business, Suguru.”

“Satoru, we’ve gone through this a hundred times. If you don’t want a new manager, you should learn to control your mouth.”

You didn’t stay to hear Satoru’s reply, and was out the door before anyone could offer to take you home, practically running in front of the first available cab you saw. 

Your mind was reeling throughout the entire ride home, your palms sticky with sweat despite the air conditioner in the car turned on full blast. All you could think about was that recording. What he’d said. What you’d made him say.

And that you didn’t completely hate it.

“Yes! Just like that… hold that position, Satoru.“ A series of blinding flashes erupted as the photographer clicked away at his camera. “Love that expression, you’re a natural!”

You had your arms crossed like a protective shield as you stood with the rest of the crew, trying your best not to stare at Satoru’s perfectly sculpted abs. That lean, muscular torso. His broad shoulders, and that ridiculous jawline, angled in a way that could cut through glass. Or more importantly, someone’s wallet.

They had him shirtless for the photoshoot, wearing nothing but a simple, grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, the band of his black briefs peeking over the top. But it wasn’t men’s underwear Satoru was selling. 

It was women’s.

The brand had renewed their contract with him a second time at a sickeningly inflated rate compared to what they had paid initially. All so they could have the license to slap the words ‘Property of Gojo Satoru’ on their new lingerie line. Their first release had profited them a bajillion-fold, selling out instantly in every colour. They had to restock thrice to prevent customers from rioting in their stores after Satoru not-so-accidentally held one of their panties up during a livestream. 

The blue one, in particular, was on auction online for twenty times the retail price.

So it was no wonder they had practically thrown the cash at Jujutsu Entertainment when Satoru agreed to model for them again.

But you had to be present to make sure they didn’t over-sexualise him. That they wouldn’t ruin the image you’d meticulously constructed over five years with your blood, sweat and sheer grit. Satoru wasn’t a porn star, he was a fantasy. He was the fine line between charming prince and devastating sex god, and it was up to you to maintain that precarious balance. 

Which was why you absolutely, one thousand percent could not be involved in anything with him other than a business relationship. You, the curator and backbone and engine that kept Domain’s shiny image propelling forward, could not risk their careers and yours over a dumb fling with Gojo Satoru.

No matter how much you wanted to tear those sweatpants off him.

No matter that he had a pair of panties hanging from his mouth, eyes heavy-lidded as he ran a hand through his hair, the other crooking a finger at the camera. 

And then those eyes slid over to land on yours.

A tiny smirk formed on Satoru’s lips. Your throat dried out as he let the panties fall, gaze still fixed on you, and licked his bottom lip. 

Was he seriously thirst trapping you while posing as a thirst trap? How shameless could one man be?

“That’s the money shot right there!” The way the photographer was snapping away at the camera button, you’d think he was playing an FPS game and Satoru was the target. “It’s going to be hard choosing which ones make the cut. The camera’s in love with you, Satoru.”

Of course it was. 

Satoru smiled. “Since you have so many good shots, do you mind if I take a short break? There’s something I need to discuss with my manager.”

You stiffened.

“No, no, of course not. Go right ahead. I’ll send makeup to you for a touch up in twenty minutes.”

Satoru nodded and stalked off towards the dressing room, leaving you no choice but to follow.

You hadn’t spoken a word about that incriminating recording to him all day. Not when you picked him up from his home. Not during the car ride. Not while you ran through his schedule for the day, and certainly not when he purposely leaned across you to reach for a water bottle, knee brushing against yours.

And thankfully, he hadn’t brought it up.

“After you, sweetheart,” Satoru said as he opened the door to the dressing room, standing aside for you to pass through first, half-naked, the sweatpants they’d deliberately had him wear two sizes up slipping further down his hips.

“Stop calling me that,” you muttered.

“Why not? There’s no one listening. And you like it.”

You refused to take his bait. “So, what did you want to discuss?”

“Nothing much,” he said, locking the door behind him. “I just wanted to be alone with you.”

Heat fluttered low in your stomach. You made yourself focus on him from the neck up, though it didn’t help much when you saw how he was looking at you, like he was one accidental brush away from pinning you to the door.

Or maybe that was what you wanted.

You cleared your throat, stepping away to put some distance between the both of you… because you didn’t think you could handle being this close to him without losing it yourself. 

“Well, I just received an offer for you to play one of the leads in a movie,” you said, reverting to the familiar comfort of work talk. “It’s a good role, with a respectable director. I read the script last night.”

Satoru leaned against the door, studying you for a moment. “What kind movie?”

“Fantasy romance. It’s a popular genre. You’ll play the main love interest.”

“Nah. Not interested.”

“But you haven’t even read it yet,” you protested. “It’s a good fit for your brand, and we’ve been talking about you potentially breaking into acting.“

“Like I said, not interested.”

“You’re being difficult. At least read the script before you decide any—“

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

You frowned. “As if you’re not going to tell me anyway.”

Satoru pushed off the door and closed the gap between the both of you in a single stride. 

“I don’t want to play it,” he said, voice low and soft, “because I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.”

Your legs threatened to give out in that moment. You blinked up at him, not unaware that he hadn’t yet put on a shirt. “Satoru… please don’t say stuff like that.”

He was too close. His hand lifted to cup your cheek, and for the life of you, you couldn’t seem to pull away.

“Then should I say I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night? That I’ve thought about you for far longer than you can imagine?” His thumb grazed your lips. “That one night doesn’t even begin to cover all the things I’ve thought about doing to you.”

You forgot how to breathe. 

“I—we can’t…” you managed to say, but there was no resolve in your tone. “This isn’t right…”

But his arm was winding around your waist, pressing you against his bare chest. His head lowered. “Tell me to stop then,” he murmured, lips brushing ever so slightly against yours. A question. A dare.

Your heart betrayed you in that moment. All common sense left you as your mouth collided with his, parting instantly like it had been starving for him this whole time and couldn’t bear another second of waiting. 

Satoru’s tongue swept in, tangling with yours, and you lost your mind to the taste of him. Your hands were sliding up his back, his neck, diving into his hair, feeling him over and over again as if trying to grasp that this was really happening. That you weren’t drunk this time, that you felt everything, and this wasn’t just another one of the many wet dreams you’ve had of him after touching yourself on lonelier nights.

The way he moved inside you was as if he was memorising every part of your mouth. His hands were clutching your ass, pressing your hips tighter against his, and you felt him—the hard, straining length of him—digging into your aching centre through the fabric of both your clothes.

It undid something in you.

Before you knew it, you were backing him up against the wall, the kisses growing frantic and messier and breathless the more both you and him couldn’t stop touching each other. 

A sudden knocking jolted your senses. You broke away from him, head snapping towards the door.

“Gojo-san,” a muffled voice called from outside the dressing room. “Are you ready for your touch up?”

“Ignore it,” said Satoru, catching your chin between his fingers and pulling your attention back to him. “Five more minutes. I’ll say I fell asleep.”

But the spell had broken, reality crashing back around you in full force. Dread filled you as you realised what you’d just done with him. Again. 

Fuck. 

You pushed away from him, stumbling a little as you tried to compose yourself. Your blazer was falling off your shoulders, your blouse untucked, your lips still stinging. And Satoru—

His mouth was covered with pale red smudges from your lipstick. His hair was a mess. That damn sweatpants had ridden down all the way to expose the insanely large bulge crammed underneath his tight, fitted briefs. 

“I—“ you rasped, voice hoarse. “They know I’m in here—”

“So I’ll say I was hugging you and you couldn’t move.“

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Go out with me, kacho-san.”

You stared at him. “The hell, Satoru. Now’s not the time for this.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is just—we are not—“

“Come over to my place then,” he said. He hadn’t bothered coming off the wall you’d pinned him against. “Tonight. You can show me the movie script.”

Unbelievable. He was unbelievable.

Another series of knocks on the door. “Gojo-san? Are you there?”

“Fine. Whatever.” You gave up and hurried to make yourself presentable. “Just go wipe your face already.”

Satoru grinned. “But I think I look great like this.”

“God, just shut up. And pull up your pants.”

A heavenly aroma smacked you in the face as the elevator doors opened to the private foyer of Satoru’s penthouse. You removed your sneakers and let your nose guide you to the source that was making your mouth water. 

It wasn’t your first time in Satoru’s home. It wasn’t even your second time. In fact, you’d been here so many times you knew where he kept his car keys, though he never drove, preferring to be chauffeured around by the company driver, or Toji, or you. Like a spoilt little princess.

Mostly, you’d come here to haul his tardy ass out of bed.

Satoru always had a problem with time management. Sick of making excuses for him being late to appointments, you took it upon yourself to arrive at his place an hour before anything important to rush him out the door. You did it so often that a couple of years back, Satoru had given you a keycard to his apartment, stating that he was tired of hearing some angry woman shout at him through the intercom, and that the least you could do is let yourself in and berate him in person.

It didn’t make much sense. Then again, most things didn’t make sense when it came to Satoru.

But no matter how late you stayed at his, whether it was a song writing session with the group or discussing contracts with him alone, you’d always gone home after you were done.

Until that night. 

That one stupid night you couldn’t fully remember, and apparently, was stupid enough to record. And from what you’d heard, it certainly sounded like you did a lot more than kiss him.

“There’s my gorgeous manager.” Satoru’s eyes lit up when you walked into the sprawling, open-plan living space. He was behind the kitchen island, the marble as glossy as his stark white hair. “I can’t decide if you’re more stunning in work clothes or like this, so I’m gonna go with both.”

You were in a ratty old sweater and jeans. Next to him, immaculately casual in a crisp white tee and loose slacks, you looked like you had crawled out of a dumpster. But at least he was fully clothed. For some unknown reason, you were half convinced he was going to greet you in his underwear. 

“Is that—“ You glanced at the collection of mixing bowls cluttered alongside bags of flour and sugar. An electric mixer stood at one side, globs of dark brown batter dripping from its whisks. “You’re baking a cake?”

“Not just any cake,” he said. “It’s Gojo Satoru’s super special delicious chocolate cake for his super special delicious manager! Once you’ve had it, you’ll never want any other.”

“I didn’t know you like to bake.”

“Well, I’ve never tried until now.”

“Then don’t say it like you’ve made it a hundred times.”

He shrugged. “I know you like chocolate, and I know you like cake. And I know you’ll like this one, because you’ll think of me while eating it.”

“I will if it tastes like bullshit.”

“Oh, we both know I taste far better than any dessert. And so do you, by the way.” Satoru smiled “In fact, I think you’ve ruined my tongue for anything else.”

There was a streak of chocolate batter across his left cheek, and the effect was… you were suddenly glad there was three feet of marble separating you from him.

You crossed your arms. “Must you say stuff like that? If you spent half your brain space focused on actual work instead of constantly spouting nonsense at me, you’d have twice as many sponsors and be twice as famous right now.”

Satoru waved a hand flippantly. “I’m famous enough. I don’t need more.”

“You’re an idol, Satoru,” you pointed out. “How many more years do you think your name will last in the spotlight? Another five? Ten if you’re lucky? Someone younger, fresher—better maybe—will eventually take your place. If you don’t start branching out into other industries, you’ll be left behind. Then what?”

“Then maybe you’ll finally go on that date with me.”

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re right,” he said, swiping up some batter with his finger, and then licking it. Your gaze couldn’t help but drop to his mouth. To the way his tongue lapped up the chocolate as his eyes stayed on you. “I don’t really want to wait ten years for you to say yes. I don’t even want to wait one more second.”

“Satoru, I’m your manager.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of hard to miss. Also, I heard there’s this popular cafe in Daikanyama that has really good parfaits—”

“I am not going to a cafe with you in broad daylight.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. In fact, some might say I’m quite the arm candy.“

“Your face is plastered on half the billboards in Tokyo. Do you want a scandal?”

Satoru grinned. “So you do want to go out with me.”

Your patience frayed. “The answer’s no, Satoru.”

“No as in not right now, or no as in you want to go out with me but don’t want the waitress poisoning your parfait?”

“Look, if you want to have a fling, there are a million people waiting in line who will happily jump into bed with you. Just pick one of them and be quiet about it. Preferably another idol or actress who won’t immediately sell you out to the gossip rags.”

You caught the slight falter in his smile, there and gone in half a beat before he was rounding the island over to where you stood. 

“Oh, I know exactly who I want in my bed, sweetheart,” he said, stopping just shy of his broad frame towering over you. “And once I get her in my bed again, I can promise you this time I plan on doing everything I can so she’ll want to stay there.”

Your voice caught in your throat. You should walk away. Get the hell out before your heart stopped beating altogether. Before you did something you knew you’d regret. But your legs couldn’t remember how to move. 

Ding! The oven’s timer rang. 

“Ah, cake’s ready,” he said, so casually as if he hadn’t detonated a nuclear bomb in your chest. “It’ll need some time to cool down though.” A knowing glint danced in his sky blue eyes. “You brought that script, right? I’ll read it while we wait. Then I’ll put the icing on top and blow your mind away.”

The cake was divine. Rich and smooth and moist. Pure indulgence with every bite, just like the smile playing on Satoru’s lips as he watched you scarf your slice down in five minutes, then helped yourself to another. 

“Told you, didn’t I?” He was propped at the edge of the bar stool next to you, half standing half leaning as his gaze tracked each movement of your fork to your mouth. He slid a mixing bowl with leftover frosting towards you. “Have the rest. It’s your favourite part, right?”

You mumbled back something unintelligent. He knew you too well. 

Trust Satoru to make a professional level cake on his first try. What couldn’t he do? And it was more annoying how effortless he made it seem. As an idol, he was the whole package—jaw-droppingly handsome, with a voice that was unique to him yet appealed to the masses, a great dancer, and oozing charisma out of every single non-existent pore that all he had to do was smize those pretty eyes for a whole stadium to start salivating. 

Anything Satoru touched was guaranteed to be an instant success, which was why there was a never-ending line of sponsors banging down his door for a chance to work with him. It was also why Yaga, Jujutsu Entertainment’s CEO, let him do whatever he pleased, from writing his own songs to picking his own contracts. Satoru was the company’s pride and joy, its bread and butter, its stock broker, its reputation, all wrapped up in one stupidly good looking man. 

And it was your job to ensure nothing, absolutely nothing, tarnished his pristine image. No big deal. Except that Satoru was hell bent on making you the very threat to Jujutsu Entertainment’s most valuable asset.

“What do you think of the script?” you asked, steering the conversation back to work. “The character they want you to play has a lot of depth. You won’t be some simpering fool chasing after the heroine. You’ll have just as many scenes as her. It’s a perfect role for you to break into the big screens, and I heard the actress they’re after for the heroine specifically requested for you to be her co-star. Said she’ll sign the contract immediately if you agree to do the movie.”

“Mmm… the story isn’t bad.” Satoru flipped through the pages. He’d spent the last hour skimming through the script while he assembled the cake. Apparently, the gods thought it best to cram a photographic memory into the already abundant arsenal of gifts bestowed upon him. “But there are a few problems with some of the scenes.”

“Really? Where?”

He tapped at the page he’d stopped at, and leaned in as he brought the script closer for you to read. You tried not to think of how good he smelled, his warmth radiating on your skin, and channeled all your concentration on the tiny black words. 

You read the part he flagged. Then read it again. “I can’t see anything wrong with it.” 

“Can’t or don’t?”

“I don’t understand—“

“The line,” said Satoru. “Specifically this line. There’s a problem with it.”

“Reads fine to me. I’m sure you can pull off the emotions. Rehearsing it with your co-star will help.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t want to say it.”

“What do you mean you—”

“I’m not going to tell some random girl I’ll die for her when I obviously won’t.”

“She’s your love interest.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Are we reading the same script here? Or are you just being dense?”

Satoru thumbed through the pages to another scene. “And here. This shower scene—it’s shit. As if I’m going to let anyone but you touch me like that.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stupefied. “Are you kidding me? It’s called acting for a reason.”

“I don’t feel like getting wet with a stranger.”

“Stop calling your co-star a stranger. It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“Nah. Not gonna do it. Tell them to switch me with another character.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Then they can scratch the whole scene. Plus all those sappy lines.”

“The fuck, Satoru. It’s not even real!”

“Exactly. I don’t want to pretend.” Satoru tilted his head slightly, leaning closer to you. His gaze softened. “I don’t want to do those things with someone else and pretend it’s you.”

The fork you were holding slipped, clattering on the porcelain plate. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. You’d heard him, loud and clear, and though your insides were twisted into knots, your brain couldn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the words that slid so easily out of his mouth. 

“I—please, Satoru… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Don’t make what harder, sweetheart?” He reached for you, hand sliding up your neck to cup the back of your head. His thumb traced your jaw with feather light strokes. “That I want you and only you? That you might possibly want me too?”

“We work together. We can’t—“

“We already are.”

“It’s a bad idea.” But your reply only came out hollow.

“I’ll show you why it isn’t.” 

His lips were inches away from yours. Endless blue eyes fixed on you, unwavering. It was impossible to think.

“One chance,” he said. “Let me show you exactly how I want us to be. All the ways I want to have you. How you’ve imagined having me.”

You felt your resolve melt along with the rest of you as Satoru pulled you off the bar stool and into him. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t have even let it go this far, because now it was too late.

Because instead of pushing away, your hands were sliding up his chest, hooking around his broad shoulders.

“No one can know,” you heard yourself saying. “They can’t find out or else—“

“Is that a yes?”

“I—yes… but we have to be—“

Satoru’s mouth was on yours before you could finish the sentence. Your gasp turned into a sigh that quickly disintegrated as he deepened the kiss, stealing whatever air was left in your lungs.

Satoru devoured you like he was starving, his tongue destroying your mouth and your mind with each possessive flick. Like he wanted to sear the way he tasted into your memory… the heat of him… you didn’t know how you’d survived this long without him. 

You grabbed his shirt, clawing it off his back, needing to feel more of him. He shifted just enough to let you pull it off him. For you to slide your hands up his perfectly toned abs to his chest, feeling his smooth pale skin, every taut ridge of muscle, before he lifted you up and propped you on the edge of the kitchen island. 

“Your turn.” A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. His hands slipped underneath your sweater, dragging up and up and up until your sweater peeled right off. 

Your bra went next. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “I take it back. You look the best without any clothes on, which is why those jeans will have to go… eventually.”

Heat pooled between your thighs at the thought of it.

“But I think I’ll start here first.” Satoru lifted a finger, and a soft whimper escaped you as he idly circled one of your breasts, then the other. Teasing you as each ring he drew closed in tighter and tighter around your swelling nipple. 

“Ngh—Satoru...” you cried, breathless, when he flicked it. 

“Like that? Maybe you’ll like it better if I just…” He swiped up a dollop of frosting from the mixing bowl beside you, and smeared it over each peak of your hardened nipples, the sudden coldness sharp against your aching need. He lowered his mouth, and sucked on one of them. 

Your back arched forward, the heat of his tongue slowly licking, nipping, like he’d found the most delicious meal and wanted to take his time savouring every bit of it. 

He scooped more frosting and drew a thick, gooey line down the middle of your torso. Down and down before stopping right above the band of your jeans. 

Satoru licked his lips, his smile growing devious. “So you don’t forget where this ends.” 

“You’re terrible.” But you couldn’t help smiling back.

“Oh, I promise you I’m very, very good. The best.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Is that a challenge?” He clicked his tongue, playfully admonishing. “Because if it is, I won’t hold back. I’ll have you screaming my name before I’m done, then begging to scream it again after.”

The region below your belly squirmed. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pressing your aching centre against that thick, solid length straining beneath his pants. 

“Try me,” you breathed, and ground against him. 

Satoru groaned, eyes darkening into something feral. Then he was pushing you down flat against the kitchen island, among the clutter of bowls and flour and batter he’d not yet cleaned up.

“Consider yourself warned, sweetheart,” he said.

He yanked off your jeans in one smooth motion, and with your legs still up in the air, he spread them apart.

You suddenly wished you had opted for a nicer pair of underwear instead of the faded cotton one you usually wore at home. Cheeks flushed, you peered up at Satoru, thinking he might laugh at your granny panties, but you only found him staring.

“God…you’re soaked.” His voice came out hoarse, almost in disbelief. “Is it all for me?”

The look on his face, his question, somehow made you a little braver. You bucked your hips up in answer. “Take it off and see for yourself.”

But instead, Satoru pressed a thumb into the damp cotton, right at the centre of your aching nerves, and began stroking. You moaned from the sudden pressure, the friction of fabric burning against your clit. 

“I’ve had a long, long time to think about how I want to have you, kacho-san,” said Satoru as his thumb worked in slow, steady circles, both relieving and maddening you at once. “So you’ll forgive me for not rushing this.”

In the next stroke, his thumb stretched the fabric aside and slid underneath. The heat of his skin finally met all of your wetness, and rubbed right up the centre of your clit. You moaned louder, eyes shuttering from the sheer elation of his bare touch. 

Satoru swore. “You’re killing me with that face. It’s too pretty. Now I don’t want you showing it to anyone else but me.”

“Satoru, please… any more and I’m going to—“

“Not yet, baby.” He plunged his finger into you, and your mind went numb. “Can’t have you coming so soon. Not when there’s so much more for you to enjoy.”

The world ceased to exist save the feel of him rocking inside you. It was torment. It was rapture. It was everything, yet not nearly enough.

You were panting so hard you didn’t realise him bending over you until he caught your mouth with his, swallowing up every wretched sound you released. And just as you were about to give in and beg for more, he tore away, pulling back, and ripped your panties off.

“Finally,” Satoru breathed, and it sounded like awe. Then he was on his knees, clutching your thighs as he splayed you wide open. 

The first lick of his tongue, hot and slick up your clit, completely decimated your mind. You forgot your name. Your very being. Your legs hooked around his shoulders, fingers diving into his hair, pressing him further into you. Needing more, more, more…

Your cries filled the kitchen as Satoru worked you with his mouth in broad, sweeping strokes—flicking, kissing, teeth grazing lightly in a way that drove you insane that each time he did it you thought you might tip right over the edge.

“I was right,” Satoru murmured. “I can never get enough of this.”

His tongue slipped inside you, and you lost it. Lost yourself fully, absolutely, to the feel of him, crying out as release surged up your spine, wracking through your entire body. Your toes curled. Seized. Your hips writhing as Satoru continued fucking you with his tongue to the last throes of your climax. Until you were nothing but a limp heap of flesh beneath him.

You were still heaving as Satoru kissed his way up your body, up the column of your neck. His breaths, warm against your skin, his lips caressing that sensitive spot behind your ear—it only undid you further. 

You reached for him, arms winding round his back, and turned your head to look at him. 

And the moment you met those sky blue eyes, the truth you’d been so stubbornly ignoring for years hit you like a punch to the gut—

That you were so gone for him. You always were. 

“Satoru,” you whispered. “I want more… I want you.”

He stilled, just for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you’d said. Then those perfect lips curved into a devastating smile. 

“I never said we were stopping, sweetheart.”

It was like the leash controlling whatever Satoru held back had snapped. He’d picked you up as if you weighed nothing, slung you over his shoulder—your bare ass facing upwards, which he smacked playfully when you tried to kick him—and carried you up the stairs straight to his bedroom.

“It’s too bright,” you said, when he flicked on more lights.

“All the better for you to see me,” was his reply before he threw you on the bed, and wasted no time climbing on top of you.

He’d made you come three more times with his mouth alone, each climax topping the one before until you could no longer feel your legs. Until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. 

Still, you wanted more. More of him. More than this.

Now he had you on his lap, facing forward, spread apart as he made you watch him pump three fingers into you at a relentless pace.

“Ahn—Toru! Please…” you moaned, head tipping back, helpless to the pressure that was building up in you again.

“Please what, baby?” Satoru dragged his mouth along the curve of your neck. “Is it too much? Should I add one more?”

“No—ahn! I want—I want you inside me…”

“But I already am, and you’re taking it so, so well.”

“Stop—hngh—teasing…”

“I’d hardly call it teasing when you’re about to come for me again. Look at you—so damn tight. You’re practically eating up my fingers.” 

“Toru—I can’t…”

Satoru only plunged deeper, filling you up to his knuckles. Mini explosions went off in your head as he wrecked that sensitive spot inside you over and over again. All coherent thoughts left you as another brutal climax shattered you apart.

You sagged against him, your body trembling as Satoru’s fingers slipped out and began gently stroking your clit, preparing you for another round.

Bloody hell, what kind of depraved beast was he? You’d never come this hard, this many times, before in your life. You’d never thought such a thing was even possible. Then again, it wasn’t as if you had a prolific sex life. Or a proper relationship for the matter. The longest you’d dated someone was a grand total of three months, and even then you’d been so consumed with work that you spent more time texting the guy than actually going out with him. As expected, he’d grown bored fairly quick. You’d stuck to one night stands after that.

And of course—of course Satoru had to be the best you’d ever had. No one came close. It was infuriating and addictive and utterly irresistible. 

It ruined you for anyone else but him. 

Sick of him having his way with you, you shifted to face him, pressing your chest against his. You wedged a hand between your body and his, and slid it down his ridiculously sculpted abdomen. Down until you found what you were searching for. 

Satoru groaned as you palmed his granite hard cock through his pants. “Fuck, baby—“

You were already unfastening his pants, yanking them down. 

The full length of him sprang free, and your mouth went dry at the sight of it. 

Fuuuuuuuck… what the fuck? What didn’t the gods bless him with? That wasn’t a dick. It was an unholy weapon of mass destruction. You weren’t sure if a quarter would even fit—

“Oh, it will. I’ll make sure it does.” Satoru smirked, reading your mind. Then he was flipping you onto the sheets, his hips between your thighs as he brought your legs up and over his shoulders. “You know, I was going to prep you some more so you could take me easier. But since you insist on being so impatient…”

The tip of his cock rubbed into your dripping wet folds, and you couldn’t help but make a pathetic sound at how good it felt. 

“Keep those eyes open, sweetheart.” Satoru’s lips formed a wicked curve as he continued grazing up and down your clit. “I want to see them when I do this—”

He slid into you, and you cried out from the sheer intensity. It was only the tip, yet he was so thick you were already stretched thin trying to accommodate him. 

“God, Satoru, you’re—“

“Amazing?” He grinned. “Absolutely everything you imagined?”

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

He laughed as he eased out slightly, then immediately pushed back in deeper. You couldn’t hear your own moans, all your focus narrowing around the feel of him as he repeated the motion again and again until every inch of him was buried inside you. 

You were struggling to breathe, legs stiffening as you dug your fingers into his back, but each twitch of his impossibly hard cock had you whimpering. And he had yet to move.

“It’s too big,” you bit out. 

Another smirk. “You’re welcome.” Satoru planted a gentle kiss on your thigh. “Try and relax, beautiful. I’ll get you used to me soon enough.”

He gave you all of two seconds before pulling out halfway and slamming the full length of him into you again. Your mind went blank, back arching off the bed. But he gave you no reprieve, pulling out slowly only to thrust in hard and fast. Again and again. 

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well.” His pace increased to merciless, pounding into you until you could no longer close your mouth. Couldn’t care less about whatever lewd sounds you were making. “God, you feel so good I’m going crazy.”

“Ahn—ahn! Toru—“

“Say my name again.”

“S—Satoru…”

“Again.”

“Satoru,” you cried out. “Gojo Satoru!”

“Good girl.” His hand splayed out on your stomach, pinning you down as he fucked you to oblivion. Until nothing existed but the feel of his cock inside you.

You could die. You could die right now and you wouldn’t care. A hot surge prickled up your spine, up and up to fill your head, but as you were about to tip over the edge, Satoru pulled out. 

The sudden emptiness hit you like a brick wall. Your chin snapped down, just as you saw him grab your hips, dragging you forward to the edge of the bed. Satoru stood, half kneeling on the bed, and brought your hips up to meet him before sheathing himself inside you again. 

“And now for your reward, sweetheart,” he said. His thumb found your clit, and he flicked it—

Flicked it as he ground inside you.

“Fuck…” you moaned, eyes rolling back. “Toru…”

“Want me to stop?” he teased. 

“D-don’t—more… don’t stop…”

The increased pressure on your clit was his reply, stroking hard and fast as Satoru continued fucking you at the same time. Feral. Ruthless. Each pound against your ass filling you up to the hilt, the friction of his thumb never ceasing.

You couldn’t tell where one climax began and ended from the other. Nothing could compare to this. To him. To the way you were coming over and over again, crying out his name while he drove into you, letting you ride out your pleasure to the end before he finally gave in to his own release—a deep, guttural groan as he spent himself inside you.

You were still trying to catch your breath when he gently shifted you back to the middle of the bed, then fell beside you, an arm slung over your stomach to pull you closer. He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then trailed more along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbone while his fingers drew light circles on your skin. 

“Wanna go again?” he asked.

“You can’t be serious.”

Those blue eyes met yours. “I am if you are. Always.”

Despite having been utterly ravaged, your cheeks flushed. “Don’t assume this will be a regular occurrence.”

“Can’t it be?” His fingers traced the underside of your breasts. “From what I saw, you were enjoying yourself as much as me, and that’s only the beginning of what I plan to show you.”

“We work together, Satoru. It’ll only… complicate things.”

“I should think it’ll be easier. Like you said, we work together. We see each other almost every day. No one will suspect a thing.”

“You know all it takes is one photo. One.”

“I promise I’ll behave. At least in public.” 

You hesitated. “It’s—it’s too risky. That recording—“

“I deleted it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. What if next time it’s not me who’s recording? They’ll have proof of me coercing you into—“

“Just so you know, we didn’t do anything.”

You blinked, confused. “Huh?” 

“That night… Toji was going to send you home first, but you were one red light away from hurling all over the car. My place was nearer. But when we got here, you just complained your back was sore, and then demanded I give you a massage for all the stress I’ve caused you.”

You gaped at him. “But—but all the things I said—“

“You mean the part when I said I belong to you?” His smile turned playful. “Partly my fault. I may have said I wouldn’t mind switching managers if it means you’ll go out with me.”

“You what?”

“Hey, it was a joke. A bad one, come to think of it. But it got you all worked up, which was why you did the recording. Though your exact words were for me to promise I wouldn’t work with anyone else. I just paraphrased it.”

“So… nothing happened?”

Satoru chuckled. “No, sweetheart. Tonight is the first.” He caught your chin, and brushed his lips against yours. “Come on, say yes,” he murmured. “Say I’ll get to have you like this again.”

“I—“ You opened your mouth to reject him, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not while he was looking at you like that. Hopeful. Almost… pleading. Not when you knew, without a doubt, that no one could compare to the way he made you feel. He was the forbidden fruit you’d been circling around for years, and now that you’d had a taste, it was impossible not to want more. 

“Fine,” you said at last, before you could regret it. “But we have to be careful. If there’s even the tiniest rumour, we’re stopping this. I’m not going to ruin both our careers over a dumb fling.”

Satoru raised a brow. “A fling?”

“And,” you continued. “You’re going to do that movie.”

“Are you bribing me?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Satoru laughed softly, then he was pulling you tighter against him. His mouth caught yours, and you knew his answer. You reached for his face, and with your walls finally down, you did the very thing that had been nagging at you the whole night.

“You have a little bit of…” You swiped at the errant streak of batter on his cheek, then brought  your finger to your lips and licked it clean.

Satoru’s eyes darkened, at odds with the indulgent smile he gave you.

“You shouldn’t tempt me like that,” he said, and you felt him hardening against your thigh. “Now the only way you’re going to sleep is if you pass out with me inside you.”

“Satoru, it’s late,” you began to protest. “We have a meeting in the morning to discuss Domain’s tour dates.”

But he was already moving on top of you, arms on either side of your head, caging you in. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead, then nudged that god-tier cock at your entrance. “I’ll make sure there’s time to properly fuck you in the morning too.”

As promised, Satoru fucked you that morning, then again in the evening. He would have fucked you in that meeting if he could. He’d spent the entirety of it playing footsie with you under the table while you repeatedly swatted away his hand each time he tried slipping it under the hem of your skirt. By the end of it, you couldn’t remember a thing Yaga or the other members had said.

It went on like this for the next three months. Satoru would find any opportunity to be alone with you, and when he wasn’t, he’d find any opportunity to steal a touch, a stroke, a brush, or to simply be next to you.

“Stop being so obvious,” you’d scold him when he’d lean his head on your shoulder and pretend to sleep after another gruelling session at the recording studio. He’d fake a snore and then peck you on the cheek when the others weren’t looking.

He’d also interpreted your warnings to be careful out in public very loosely, often catching up or slowing down so he could walk beside you at events. His face would be arranged in a neutral expression as he bent close to your ear, and to everyone watching, it looked like he was merely discussing something with his manager. But the filthy things he’d whisper in your ear would make your knees go weak, and at the same time paranoid that someone would finally realise you were blushing red as a bloody tomato.

Not only was Satoru inept at being inconspicuous, he had zero filter when he spoke to you, especially while describing what he was going to do to you. And when you did stay over at his, which honestly, was most nights, the sex…

Sex with Gojo Satoru was a league of its own. 

“Who’s the best?” he’d demand while pounding you stupid against the panoramic glass window in his living room.

“Ahn! Hngh—you, Satoru…”

“Who’s cock do you want?”

“Yours—I want yours…”

“Say it properly.”

“Gojo Satoru’s cock is the best—ahn!”

In the short span of time since you’d both become more than manager and idol, Satoru had taken you on every possible surface in his penthouse, including the private elevator. His favourite was in the shower. He’d make you use the shower head on yourself while he watched, then lifted you, legs straddling him, and impaled you over and over again. 

But it wasn’t his insatiable appetite that you were starting to find a problem.

It was the quiet nights when you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off. When you were plain exhausted from the week. Satoru would clock it immediately when you trudged into his home, about to tell him you weren’t feeling it tonight, or at least to make it quick. 

“Bath. Pyjamas,” he’d say, pointing you up the stairs. “Food will be here when you come down.”

If it was early, he’d cook simple, hearty meals. If it was late, he ordered takeaway. He’d bundle you up in blankets on the couch, put on a movie, and snuggle next to you while you ate off a tray. He’d comment on the scenes, the characters, the lines, an arm slung over the couch as he mindlessly stroked the back of your neck. And when you inevitably dozed off, you’d always find yourself tucked in his bed when you woke. 

It was the mornings when he’d hug you from behind as you sat at the kitchen island scrolling through your e-mails, his chin resting on top of your head. The way his eyes lit up every time you walked into the room, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. 

You couldn’t explain the flutters in your stomach, the skipped beat in your chest. Why it was that you found yourself wanting to be around him more and more, and not just for work or sex. Maybe you didn’t want to make sense of it, because doing so would mean facing what you suspected was a truth you weren’t prepared for. 

Still, like the gradual yet inevitable shift in seasons, you found yourself in Satoru’s home more and more. Nights became days, and before you knew it, your toothbrush had it’s own cup beside his; your clothes were hanging in his wardrobe; the snacks you liked were in his pantry; you had a favourite chair; the left side of the bed belonged to you. 

Conversations with Satoru became a mixture of shameless teasing and inconsequential chatter. You’d share random opinions, he’d tell you about something funny Suguru had said, you’d both bicker over the best way to piece a jigsaw puzzle. Satoru’s text messages volleyed between flirtation, obscenity, and ‘what time r u coming home’, and ‘will be late, pizza in fridge’.

And you couldn’t help but sink deeper and deeper into this new rhythm. This comfort.

Of being with him.

“Sure, keep doing that. You don’t look suspicious at all,” said Satoru as your head snapped around yet again. 

“But that lady is staring at us.”

“Because you’re staring at her.”

“We should’ve asked Toji to drive.”

“It’s one block, sweetheart. You’ll survive the walk. There’s no parking there anyway, and no one normal takes a bodyguard to get ice cream.”

You grumbled a little and tugged your cap down further. Satoru chuckled behind his mask, his eyes and stark white hair completely hidden under dark sunglasses and an oversized beanie. You’d made him wear the baggiest clothes he could find so as not to draw any attention to his physique, but his height was still an issue. At six foot three, he towered over every passerby on the sidewalk. 

That, and he’d refused to let go of your hand, his fingers locked and intertwined with yours. You could only pray the after lunch hour crowd were too busy rushing back to their offices to stop and really take notice. You’d already passed by two advertisements with his face on them. 

“Let’s go out,” he’d said, yet again. It had been six months since… whatever this was between the both of you, and every week or so, Satoru never failed to try and convince you to let him take you on a date. 

“What’s the point?” you’d made the same excuse. “It’s not like we don’t see each other every day. It’s too risky. You’re too easy to recognise—”

“No restaurants, no cafes. I know a place,” he’d pressed. “Come on, baby. I’ll be away at the filming site tomorrow. I’m gonna need something to hold on to so I won’t miss my pretty girl too much. Also, heads up, I’m going to fuck you really well tonight.”

“I’m sure you can manage two months on your own, Satoru.”

He’d whined and pestered and low-key threatened to not show up for filming, and out of annoyance, you’d reluctantly agreed to let him drag you to the quaint, little ice cream parlour you were now approaching, tucked away in a forgotten laneway amidst the city’s towering skyscrapers and glitzier establishments. 

The bell jingled as Satoru held the door open for you, then flipped the welcome sign around to ’Sorry, We’re Closed’ and turned the lock. 

You raised a brow. “You can’t just do that.”

“Not like anyone comes here, and it’s kind of my shop.”

“You own an ice cream shop?”

“Kind of,” Satoru emphasised, while he proceeded to shed the disguises covering up his face and hair. “I bought it for someone. My name’s on the papers, but I don’t run it. I'm really just a customer.”

In that moment, the door to the backroom opened, and out stepped a young boy who looked to be around high school age. He was pretty, with long, spiky black hair and an expression too serious for the baby blue apron he was wearing. 

“Oh,” he said, deadpanned. Perhaps slightly annoyed. “It’s you again.”

Satoru swept out his arms, dramatically. “Megumi-channnn! Did you miss me? You did, didn’t you? I can tell.”

Megumi ignored him, his keen gaze settling on you. “So this is the manager you can’t shut up about.”

“The one and only.” Satoru grinned, winding an arm around you. “Sweetheart, meet Megumi-chan, my precious little street urchin that Toji dumped on me to babysit.”

Megumi scowled. “Oi, if you’re going to introduce me to your girlfriend, do it properly.”

You flinched. Did he just call you…  your eyes snapped up at Satoru. 

“Ahh… I can explain that.” For the first time, Satoru seemed nervous. “The thing is—I may or may not have told Megumi we’re dating.”

“You what?” Your eyes widened.

“Well, we kind of are. We see each other more than anyone else. It’s just not official yet, but I’m going to change that. Which is why we’re here. I wanted to take you out before asking.”

“She doesn’t know?” Megumi snorted. “You know what, I’m not even surprised anymore.” He took off his apron. “I’m going out for lunch. Use the cups this time—don’t dip your spoon in the tubs and mess up all the flavours.”

With that, Megumi gave you a small nod you couldn’t fully understand, and left without another word. 

“Satoru, I…” you began, but your words trailed off, at lost of what to say.

But Satoru was steering you gently behind the counter. He pulled open a drawer and took out two spoons, handing you one, then slid open the glass of the ice cream display.

“Megumi makes them himself,” he said. “They’re pretty good. Go on, try them all.”

“But he said not to—“

“I’m going to tell you a story,” he continued. “When I’m done, you can tell me if you liked the ice cream. Or not.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew what he was asking—to hear him out. To listen to what he had to say, to everything he hadn’t yet said.

And at the end, for you to make a choice. About him.

Your hand dipped into the cooler to scoop a spoonful from the chocolate tub. “Alright,” you said. “Tell me.”

Satoru sucked in a quiet breath, his gaze fixed entirely on you. Then in a tone so tender, he began. “There’s this girl I met eight years ago. When I wasn’t an idol. When I wasn’t a trainee. When I was just…me. She probably doesn’t remember this—at least I don’t think so. But I do. Every second of it.”

Your spoon froze mid-bite.

“Suguru was the one who wanted to be an idol,” Satoru went on. “He was always going on about us forming a group together and changing the world. I wasn’t interested. I’d just gotten the acceptance letter from Harvard, and all I wanted to do then was bum around before my parents shipped me off to med school. Suguru convinced me to accompany him to audition at Jujutsu Entertainment—said I’d be there for moral support. I knew he was hoping I’d change my mind at the last minute, but as his best friend, I couldn’t say no.”

As if on cue, Domain’s chart-topping single, Limitless, came on the speakers then. Satoru’s magnetic voice, crooning the first verse of the song he wrote, filled the tiny shop.

I was fine just running blind,

Living fast, leaving things behind

“I told him I’d wait outside the building until he was done. I knew he’d pass the audition and was thinking if I should finally buy him a meal. That’s when I see this girl, all sweaty and red-faced as if she’s about to drop dead at any moment from the heat. I’ve never seen someone run so fast while balancing six trays of coffee… it was hilarious.”

Vaguely, you felt the world slipping out from under your feet as a memory, thin and distant, jogged into your mind.

The song had progressed into the pre-chorus. 

No map, no end, it’s by design,

My eyes see only clear blue skies

“She was so focused on those coffees she ran right into me before I could stop her. Made a mess on the both us. She panicked, of course. Didn’t even look at me as she apologised and was already about to rush back the other way, all drenched… I assume to buy more coffee. She was mumbling something about not keeping the trainees waiting…”

The chorus played.

I’m limitless, no boundaries,

Gravity bends so easily

“So me being me, I told her that the trainees were assholes for making her carry so many coffees by herself. You know what she said?” Satoru chuckled, fondly. “She scolded me. Quite loudly, I might add. Said I had no right to talk about them like that—that their lives are hard enough as it is. That they never asked her to do this for them, and I was the real asshole for assuming so. That I wouldn’t be thinking this way when I became a trainee myself. Guess she thought I was there for auditions. Don’t blame her though, I am very handsome after all.”

Nanami’s rap for the second verse had ended. Chocolate ice cream was dripping down your spoon, melting on your tongue. But all you could do was stare at Satoru as the memory became clearer and clearer. 

“Seriously, I thought, who does this girl think she is? Telling me off when I’m just trying to be nice for once. I got offended. So I told her that if I do become an idol, I was going to make her run errands for me every hour whether she liked it or not until she takes back what she said. I’ll never forget what she told me then.”

The second chorus flowed out the speakers. Satoru reached for you, lifting the cap off your head. His hand cupped your face, warm and steady. 

“She told me if I did become an idol, and if she was my manager, that she’ll make sure she’s always on my side. That I will never, ever, have to feel like I’m alone.”

Lives one voice, so right, my guide,

Saying I’ll never stand alone, it’s become my home

Every song I write, it’s you I find

You’re the heart in every line

Ever so softly, Satoru stroked your cheek. “You weren’t the only one who fell that day, kacho-san.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past everything he’d said. The way he was looking at you, the way he held you, as if you were going to disappear the moment he blinked. As if he was afraid this was nothing but a dream. 

He’d written that song for you. Every song Satoru had ever written for Domain… they were about you. And you never once realised it. 

Through the speakers, Satoru sang his final solo.

If forever’s taking time,

I will still be here for you to find

“So,” Satoru’s voice was quiet, but his eyes stayed on you, unwavering. “How’s the ice cream?”

You didn’t need to think for your answer.

“It’s good,” you whispered. “But it’s not my favourite.”

He winced a little. His hand retreated. “Oh, I see… sure. We’ll just… go home then, I guess…”

“It’s not my favourite because you are, Satoru.”

You watched his eyes widen, stunned. For a long moment, Satoru just stared at you. 

“Wait… say that again.”

You couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Gojo Satoru, I’ll go out with you.”

“Thank God.” He was lifting you up in his arms in the next second. Your spoon clattered onto the floor as Satoru’s lips found yours. 

His kiss was tender. Deep. Unhurried. Like a long held sigh finally let loose. Like you were a desperate wish coming true at last.

When you broke apart, out of breath, Satoru was grinning from ear to ear. So bright. So beautiful.

“Damn, I’m really, really going to miss my girlfriend tomorrow,” he said, before pulling you back in for another kiss. 

You forgot all about ice cream after that.

You’d gone and done it now. You were officially dating Gojo Satoru. The world’s number one idol was now your boyfriend, at least in secret.

And Satoru couldn’t help milking it. In fact, he’d taken it upon himself to call you his girlfriend every chance he got. 

“What would my lovely girlfriend like to have for dinner? I’m the dessert, of course.”

“Come and take a shower with me, my beautiful girlfriend.”

“God, my girlfriend’s tight, little pussy is the best.”

You’d continued staying at his place while he was away filming. Most of your stuff were here anyway, and it was closer to work and the rest of Domain’s members. Suguru lived in the penthouse two doors down, while Kento and Yu were in the same building around the block. 

You’d thought it odd at first that they would choose to live so close to each other, but you’d quickly learned that the bond between them was as unbreakable as steel. It had been that way since their trainee days, and you had no doubt it played a role in their meteoric rise to fame, and why they worked so well as an idol group.

Satoru had wanted to tell them about you immediately, and somehow, you couldn’t deny him. They were his friends. His only real friends. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of a risk. You’d suspected Satoru was already keeping them updated to some extent. 

It would definitely explain why, like Megumi, they had showed no surprise when he’d video called the group the moment you got home from the ice cream parlour.

“Congratulations you two!” Yu had cheered, as if Satoru had popped the question.

“Hmm, didn’t think you’d stay professional for this long,” remarked Kento.

“Finally,” Suguru said, calmly. “Now we won’t have to watch you mope around for days whenever she rejects you.”

Besides Megumi, perhaps the only other non-group members who had some idea were Shoko and Toji. You’d never explicitly mentioned anything to Shoko, and she’d never asked, but a shirtless Satoru walking around in the background whenever you had late night video meetings was proof enough. And Toji—

Well, Toji would have to had lost both his ears to not hear all the lewd sounds coming from behind the car’s privacy screen as Satoru ate you out on the way to the airport. Either that, or he simply didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know you’d been staying at Satoru’s for awhile now. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Satoru was away at filming, giving you time to catch up with work and the rest of Domain. But something had shifted within you. Each time your phone rang or buzzed with a new text, you found yourself hoping it was him, and when it was, you couldn’t help smiling. At nights, the bed felt awfully cold and empty. Your days, your activities, your work, your thoughts, Satoru became the first person you wanted to tell.

No matter how late it was, Satoru would always make sure to call you, even if it was just to say goodnight, and it was no different tonight.

“Baby, are you free to talk?”

You were in your pyjamas with the blanket pulled up to your neck. “Don’t you have to be up at four in the morning? You should get some sleep, Toru.”

“But I can’t sleep without you hugging me.”

“You just finished a ten hour shoot. I’m sure you’re tired enough.”

“I hate it here. I miss you too much. That dumb actress is always trying to worm her way into my trailer to go through lines together. It’s annoying. Can’t I just tell her I have a girlfriend? The prettiest, most gorgeous, irresistible girlfriend I happen to be crazy in love with.”

Your breath hitched. “You—you love me?”

“Hopelessly. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

You didn’t expect your heart to melt the way it did. For the warmth in which he said those words to make you feel so…safe. So complete. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally fitting into place. 

You didn’t expect him to feel like home. 

“Satoru,” you found yourself saying. “I—I think I—“

Your phone flashed with another incoming call. It was Shoko, and if she was calling this late instead of texting, then it had to be something urgent. 

“Call you back,” you told Satoru, and switched lines immediately before he could protest.

“Have you seen it?” Shoko said without preamble. “The netizens are going nuts, and Yaga’s lost his shit.”

“Seen what?” But a cold had started to creep up your spine.

“The text I sent you five minutes ago. Check it.”

Your phone flashed again. It was Satoru. But you ended his call and tapped into Shoko’s message. She’d forwarded a link.

Nothing could prepare you for what you saw the moment the post loaded. Ice bled into your veins, and all you could do was stare at your screen…

The photo was grainy, snapped hastily through a glass window. But there was no mistaking the white-haired man behind the counter of a familiar ice cream parlour, his lips locked with a woman whose back was facing the camera. 

Below was another photo, of you and Satoru at the airport. At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. You were just his manager sending him off. But then you spotted it—the glaring evidence like a slap to your face.

You were wearing the exact same cap you had on at the ice cream parlour.

The comment from the original poster only confirmed it:

’Coincidence? I think not. Thought of deleting, but it isn’t fair to y’all.’

They’d posted it barely an hour ago, but the comments section had already blown out of proportion.

All the blood drained from your face. Your phone flashed again. It was the fifth time Satoru was calling. You just stared at his name until the call ended itself.

Why did you ever think things were going to be okay? Somehow, along the way, you’d lost the plot in favour of your feelings. You’d let yourself be lulled into a false sense of security. You’d become too soft. Convinced yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could be happy with Satoru.

That he could be yours.

But the bubble you’d created with him had always been made of glass, and now the glass had shattered.

Text messages upon text messages were flooding your phone. From Shoko, from Yaga, from the Domain members. From Satoru. 

Fifteen minutes. That was all the time you gave yourself to ignore everything and spiral. To wallow in your panic.

You took a deep breath, then hauled your feet out of bed and went to grab your laptop before calling Shoko. There would be no sleep for you tonight. 

You were going to fix this. Even if Yaga fired you tomorrow, you were going to make sure you did everything you could so Satoru wouldn’t be dragged through the mud along with you. You were going to save his reputation, and if it meant setting yours on fire, so be it. 

One and a half months later...

“Kacho-san, are you watching this?” Shoko said as soon as you answered.

Of course you were, and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. As you watched the livestream of the press conference play out on your laptop, the camera zooming in on Satoru, your heart fell out your throat as he gave a dazzling smile and repeated what he’d said, as if for emphasis.

“She won’t let me be her boyfriend anymore, but she’s still my girlfriend. Does that answer your question?”

Chaos erupted among the reporters. Cameras were flashing non-stop. A million questions were thrown at Satoru all at once. 

“Wow, he’s really driving it home, huh?” said Shoko.

“We have to cut the livestream” you said, panicking.

“Too late. There are ten thousand fans watching this. It’ll only piss them off more.”

“Fuck. Why can’t he just stick to the damn script?”

“I don’t think he’s ever known what the word means.”

Throughout the media frenzy, Satoru remained calm, waiting until the questions died down before speaking again. 

“I apologise if this has disappointed my fans. Hiding a relationship was never my intention. If I’m being honest, I never wanted to hide her. Not before. Not now. Not ever. But for her sake, I did.” Satoru laughed. “Oh, she’s going kill me for this.”

His gaze shifted to look directly into the camera. At you.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry okay? I’m going to tell them everything. Forgive me?”

Your hands clapped over your mouth as Satoru proceeded to tell them exactly what he’d told you at the ice cream parlour—the day he met you, and how you got mad about what he’d said. That if he were to become an idol, you would make sure he was never truly alone. That he hadn’t realised he’d already fallen for you until you became his manager. 

“So you see, this isn’t a fling to me. I’ve waited years for her, and I’ll continue waiting if that’s what she wants.”

Satoru loosened a breath, camera flashes bouncing off his handsome face. When he looked up again, there was only determination in his sky blue eyes, as if he was daring the viewers. Challenging them.

“I wouldn’t be who I am today without my fans, and I love them for everything they’ve given me. And I also love her. Badly. Immeasurably. She’s my guide. The reason I’m an idol. The reason I’m able to give myself so freely. So… can’t we all just get along and share me?” He winked. “That’s all I have to say. Suguru will share the details about the tour.”

And with that, Satoru stood up, so casually as if he hadn’t just broke headlines for the weeks to come, and walked out of the conference hall. 

The press was going wild, and so were the comments underneath the livestream. 

“Uhh, kacho-san? You still alive?” Shoko’s voice pulled you out of your trance. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“Shoko, can I call you back?”

“Sure, take your time. I think I might have to call that ambulance anyway. Utahime looks like her soul has left her body.”

You mumbled a quick goodbye, your feet already moving out your office, then running out the entrance of Jujutsu Entertainment to hail the first taxi you saw. 

You knew his schedule by heart. He had a meeting with Yaga after the press conference, but you also knew Satoru well enough that there was no chance he’d bother turning up. Not after the media storm he’d unleashed. 

The taxi had barely braked in front of Satoru’s apartment before you were out, flinging a wad of cash at the driver. You didn’t care if it was rude. You didn’t care to greet the doorman. Didn’t care as you fumbled for your keycard while slamming a hand repeatedly on the elevator button. 

You didn’t know why you were rushing. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere. All you knew was that you had to see him. To tell him. 

You didn’t want him to wait anymore. 

When the doors pinged open, you found him. Pacing about the foyer in the same clothes he’d worn at the press conference. Satoru halted, eyes finding yours as you stepped out, heart pounding. 

“You came home,” he said, almost in disbelief. 

This time, you didn’t hesitate, and closed the gap between the both of you.

“Yes,” you said, reaching to cup your hands around his beautiful face. “I also came to tell you that I love you too.”

For awhile, Satoru didn’t speak. He simply… stared, a flurry of emotions fleeting through those infinite blue eyes, unguarded. 

His throat bobbed. “Say it again. Please.”

You kissed him then. Softly. Gently.

“I love you, Gojo Satoru,” you whispered against his lips. “Shall I say it one mo—“

His mouth was on yours again. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you tight against him, like he never wanted to let go. A tender, desperate kiss. Deep and slow. Devastating and warm. The kind of kiss that only told truth. Of days and months and years chasing the finish line. An endless wait finally seeing light. 

“You taste like heaven,” he said when you finally tore apart, the silence of the foyer filling back around you.

You laughed at his cheesiness, but you liked it all the same. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Satoru was smiling. “An idiot you love.”

“Yes,” you said, pulling him back in for another kiss. “And for quite some time now.”

After successfully spinning the narrative with his super sincere public declaration in the way only Gojo Satoru could pull off, it didn’t take long for the public’s sentiment to switch from outrage to undying support.

Once again, Satoru had wielded his magic and it had worked. His gamble had paid off, sealing his image and reputation in a whole new stratosphere. The name Gojo Satoru was now untouchable, his influence undeniable. His value in the entertainment industry skyrocketed to boundary breaking heights overnight, and so had Domain’s. 

It was the kind of viral whirlwind every idol company dreamed of inciting. You’d prepared for the backlash. For the call from Yaga to fire you. You’d predicted bedlam, and had Shoko and Utahime prepare every possible kind of press release and social media post to hopefully assuage the onslaught. 

But you’d made your choice, and this time, you had no regrets. 

What you didn’t expect was to end up in hair and makeup, about to do your fifth magazine photoshoot with Satoru this month alone. Six page spread. Multiple outfits. Theme: Devotion.

And no one was enjoying it more than Satoru himself. Now that he had free reign to flaunt your relationship in public, flaunt he did. Boldly. Shamelessly. 

“If you keep blushing like that, sweetheart, you’re going to look like a tomato in the photos,” he teased as he held you in pose under the heat of the glaring studio lights, his lips pressed up against the column of your neck as the photographer clicked away at the camera. “A very adorable, very delicious tomato.”

It was no different at interviews. You’d be talking about the tour when he’d suddenly throw out lines like “Your dedication is so sexy, kacho-san,” and “Anyone thinks my manager looks especially beautiful today?”, and completely derail the entire conversation. 

Jujutsu Entertainment, for its part, wasted no time in capitalising your relationship with Satoru, marketing the both of you as the ideal, fantasy couple. That the public was aware nothing about you and Satoru was fabricated only sold your new image harder. Not like Jujutsu Entertainment had a choice unless they wanted an angry mob of fans out for their blood, and though the brand pivot was Yaga’s idea, it didn’t stop him from grumbling about the power Satoru now held over the industry. 

“Justice for Satoru my ass,” he’d complain. “You know what deserves justice? My damn headache for the last eight years.”

Privacy became a luxury for you, but it was a small price to pay if it meant holding Satoru’s hand whenever you wanted. And it made the days and nights when you and Satoru were finally, truly alone, tucked away from the rest of the world, that much more precious.  

“There’s a mistake with the order,” you said, as you stood in the sparsely furnished room Satoru had cleared out to turn into your home office. Since his place was bigger and closer to work, you both had decided you’d rent out your apartment and move in with him. “They sent two chairs instead of one.”

“Nah, it’s correct,” Satoru replied with a boyish grin. “Unless you’d prefer to work sitting on my lap, that is.”

“I thought you said you’d give me a space of my own.”

“Baby, this whole house belongs to you. Do whatever you want—change the furniture, throw out anything you don’t like, paint all the walls pink if it makes you happy. I don’t care. Everything here is yours, including me.”

How could you not melt to that? You let him pick you up and set you on the edge of the large study desk, your legs wrapping around his hips.

Satoru hooked a finger around the necklace you wore, tugging your face inches from his. “Nice piece of jewellery you got here.”

You laughed. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”

“Boyfriend?” His lips grazed yours. “Well, if he managed to get someone like you, he must be very handsome, and very lucky. And very, very good in bed.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about the bed part.”

“Oh? Would you like a reminder?”

And as he worshipped your body like a prayer answered, the half unpacked boxes with all your stuff temporarily forgotten, home no longer felt like a place to you.

Because the home you kept coming back to was always him.

It was the last concert of Domain’s eight month long world tour, and though a little unorthodox, Satoru and the rest had made a last minute request to add one more performance in Tokyo as the finale. In appreciation of their fans, they then went the extra mile and gave up a portion of their concert earnings for the ticket prices to be slashed in half. 

As expected, the website crashed. Tickets sold out in less than five minutes. 

“Toru…” you panted as he buried his face in your neck, kissing and nipping hungrily. “You’re going to—ngh—ruin your makeup…”

He had you on the dressing table in the green room. Your sleek, tailored pants were unbuttoned and pulled low, panties stretched aside as his hand worked between your thighs, two fingers pumping inside you at a pace he knew you couldn’t resist unravelling to.

“They’ll fix it up,” he murmured against your heated skin. “Besides, I need a little motivation to get me through the next three hours on stage.”

He slipped another finger inside, and you bit back your moan as he stretched you out. 

“You’re on in—hahh—thirty minutes… ahn—we should stop—“

“I promise we’ll be done in less than ten, my love.”

“God, Toru…I’m—I’m—“

“That’s it, baby.” His thumb pressed down on your clit while he hooked his fingers inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over again. “Show me that face I love.”

Release surged up your spine, and your mind went blank from pure bliss. You whimpered as he continued stroking you through the waves of pleasure, showering you with soft kisses at the same time. 

Breaths hot, he licked up the curve of your ear. “Want more?” 

Your hand moved to yank down his zip. “Just… be quick, okay?”

It was all the confirmation he needed to flip you around and shove down your panties. His first thrust was deep, filling you completely. You stifled a gasp, clenching around thickness of him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, slamming back into you again. “You’re so perfect, baby. I’ll never get enough.”

“T-Toru—ahn! Not so loud—“

He only fucked you harder. Exactly the way he knew you liked it. Rough. Mind-numbing. It didn’t take long for your second climax to come exploding, his following soon after. 

Satoru’s arms wound around you, hugging you from behind until your breaths evened. Then he was gently turning you to face him, brushing the hair from your face.

He kissed you on the forehead. “Round two when we get home?”

“Seriously, where do you find all that energy?”

“Don’t you know?” He grinned. “You’re my fuel, sweetheart.”

“So I’m your guide, and your heart, and your soul, and now I’m petrol?”

He laughed, pulling you closer. “I’ll make it simple for you,” he said, low and tender. “You’re my everything.”

Of course you had to kiss him then. Almost a year of official dating and he still managed to make your heart race and stutter and flip and fall for him all over again. 

You gave in to another minute in his arms before the both of you reluctantly tore away to right your clothes and return to work. You had a hundred things to tick off before Domain went on stage. Fitting your earpiece in, you radioed for makeup to come in and was halfway to the door when you realised you forgot the most important thing.

You turned around and went to take Satoru’s hands in yours. 

“Good luck out there.”

He beamed, and lifted your hands to his lips. “Thank you, my love. I’m going to need it, especially tonight.”

You didn’t fully grasp his meaning until much, much later, as you stood off the stage’s right wing, out of sight from the roaring arena, attention shifting between the stage and a small screen set up at the side.

It was Domain’s second last song, an all-time favourite—fast, upbeat, with a hint of rock. A behemoth, mirrored staircase towered against the ever-shifting LCD backdrop. Kento was rapping out the second verse at the edge of the runway among a sea of screaming fans and dancing light sticks. And just as he hit the last beat, the spotlight on him cut off.

Darkness swallowed the entire arena for three seconds. 

Then millions of tiny stars blinked to life in the backdrop. Two cylinders of light beamed down from above, revealing Suguru and Yu at the top of the staircase, the crystals embedded in their jackets twinkling like they were made of the very stars surrounding them. 

Their voices soared out through the arena, delivering the bridge in perfect sync and harmony, the staircase’s mirrored construction making it seem like they were floating in midair.

You waited for the part you dreaded and loved. The safety measures were air tight, the cords and rigging checked, double checked, triple checked, then checked again. But still, you mumbled a prayer under your breath. The same prayer you’d repeated for the last eight months every single time it came to this part of the performance.

The endless stars began spinning. Faster. Faster. Merging into a silver flurry. A great vortex that seemed to suck all the light away into an infinite void. And as sudden as it began, it dispersed. Imploded. A cataclysmic supernova saturating every pixel of the LCD backdrop in brilliant colours.

Suspended alone high above the stage was Satoru, magnificent silver wings sprouting out his back and spread wide, like a bedazzled angel descending from another universe.

His voice filled the vastness of the arena, calm and beguiling, clear and imploring, as he spoke the words to his most iconic line.

“Throughout the heavens and the earth, I alone am the honoured one.”

The music peaked to a crescendo. The arena went wild, going crazy from the spectacle. It was outrageous. Devastating. Overwhelmingly stunning. A fever dream conjured by the single figure being slowly lowered onto the top of the staircase as he serenaded the audience with his solo.

“Don’t fucking fall,” you muttered, and when the soles of his boots finally flattened on solid surface, you breathed a sigh of relief.

Through some kind of stage magic, the wings broke off from Satoru, falling away and disappearing from sight. The staircase began receding, folding down on itself like a paper fan. Kento was moving to join the rest, and together, they powered through the last chorus. Silver glitter rained down on the stage, on them, like a shower of stardust, ending the song with all four members in a striking group pose.

The cheers and roars threatened to split your ears open. It was time for the last song, and the entire Tokyo Dome knew what it would be, and had started chanting. 

‘Limitless! Limitless! Limitless!…”

Mei Mei, Domain’s head makeup artist, slid up beside you. 

“Kacho-san, your lipstick is smudged,” she said it like an announcement. “Let me fix you up.”

“Oh, um, it’s okay,” you said, but her brush was already halfway to your face, a palette in her other hand. “You don’t need to—“

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been compensated for this. Now hold still.” Her smile alluded you further. She snapped her fingers. “Ui Ui. Five minutes.”

Her understudy, Ui Ui, appeared with more assistants. Before you could protest, they had you in a plastic chair and were attacking your face with six brushes and powder puffs, blocking your view of the stage as the opening melody to Limitless began playing.  

Then you heard Satoru’s voice, but he wasn’t singing. 

“Ahh… hold on, hold on. Can we pause for a minute, please?”

The music cut short abruptly. 

“Done,” Mei Mei declared just as you swatted away the makeup brushes and jolted up from your chair. 

Alarm bells pealed in your head as you stared out at the stage.

What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t part of the performance. 

A wave of confusion had overtaken the arena as the faces of Domain’s members were blown up on the LCD backdrops. 

Satoru shook his head. “Something’s missing.”

“Missing?” Suguru raised a brow, but you caught the slight smile playing on his lips. “What do you mean missing? Did you lose something?”

Your head whipped to the crew around you, but none of them were scurrying about in panic. In fact, they were all smiling. At you. 

“Ohhhhh, I know!” Yu exclaimed, excitedly. “You forgot your lucky charm.”

Satoru grinned. “Exactly. Doesn’t seem right to end the tour without it by my side.” He turned to address the arena. “What do you all say? Want to see my lucky charm?”

Cheers filled the air.

Kento cleared his throat. “It’s not appropriate for us to leave and search for it. We’ll have to get someone to bring your charm here. Where did you leave it?”

Your frown turned into wide-eyed shock as Satoru turned and extended an arm towards the right wing, pointing.

At you.

“She’s right there.” His grin widened. “Come on out, sweetheart.”

You froze, the air emptying out your lungs. You felt a hand clap down on your shoulder, and found Shoko beside you. 

“You’re up, kacho-san,” she said, giving you a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry. It’s all scripted this time. Well, most of it anyway.”

Then she was steering you out into the lights and noise. To Satoru, who was running over to meet you. To take your hand in his and lead you to the centre of the stage where the rest of Domain were waiting.

The arena was going wild, but you were stuck in your stupor. A deer caught in the headlights. 

Satoru pushed his mouth piece away and leaned in next to your ear. 

“Breathe, baby,” he said, and squeezed your hand tightly. “Eyes on me. Let me show the world who I belong to.”

He didn’t let go as he addressed the arena. “Found her! Everyone say hello to my lucky charm. Isn’t she beautiful tonight?”

Delighted screams and cheers drowned the entire Tokyo Dome. Chanting followed, but this time, it was a different kind of chant.

“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!…”

You gaped at the sea of light sticks. At Satoru as his head tipped back in laughter, overjoyed with the reaction. 

“Oh, I really want to,” he said. “But first, there’s something I need to get off my chest. Something I’m going to need your support for. You see, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Your heart stopped beating altogether. You couldn’t feel your legs, your body. You stared up at Satoru, and if it weren’t for the utter hysteria that descended upon the arena—the shrieks, the cries, the complete meltdown of the entire audience. If it weren’t for the tears streaming down your cheeks for the world to see, you would’ve believed you’d died right then and there.

Paralysed, speechless, you could only watch Satoru slowly lower down on one knee. 

“Baby. Sweetheart. Darling.” His gaze was fixed solely on you, those impossible blue eyes bright and filled with hope. The eyes you realised you hadn’t stopped searching for since the day you met him all those years ago. “My love. My home. Please stay with me. Your days, your nights, all the years to come, I want to see them with you. This one life I have, I want to live it with you. Please let me be yours. Marry me?”

It was cheesy, and it was everything. You choked out a sob. Then you were flinging your arms around him, nodding your head furiously.

“Yes.” You forgot your tears. The stage. The cheers soaring throughout the arena. Nothing existed but him. “Yes, you stupid, crazy idiot. I’ll marry you.”

Then he was kissing you. Satoru lifted you up, spinning you around in his arms, your lips meeting his once more as you came back down. 

In the next moment, the rest of Domain—Suguru, Kento, Yu—had surrounded you both, and you were swept up in a massive group hug. 

“Good luck. You’re stuck with him for good now. And us,” Suguru said as Kento clapped Satoru on the back and Yu announced to the audience, “She said yes!” as if it wasn’t already obvious. 

The opening to Limitless replayed. Throughout various parts of the stage, confetti was shooting out of professional grade blasters, raining all over the stage and the celebrating audience. The backdrops switched from yours and Satoru’s faces to shifting clouds. Then—

Clear blue skies.

The boys were taking their places for the final song. Satoru stole another peck on your cheek, and winked. “Now enjoy the show, sweetheart. This song’s for you, after all.”

You stood centerstage, watching Domain bring the tour to an end with their latest single. Watching the group you had grown together with, who had somehow become your family. Watching Satoru, singing his heart out. Laughed as he circled you, twirled you around, held your hand and raised it high in the air. 

And all the while, his eyes stayed only on you.

Satoru asked you again that night, quietly, while you were both alone and tangled up in the sheets, exhausted from the tour and from devouring each other once you got home. No spectacle here, no crowds, the only light a dim glow from the bedside lamp.

“Will you marry me?”

Nuzzled against his chest, you peered up at him. “I think the whole world knows the answer to that.”

He was smiling. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the concert. “I want it to be just us this time. And I want only you to hear this—“

He placed a kiss your forehead, and whispered, “You’re the dream I fell in love with that came true. I still can’t quite believe it. I don’t think I ever will.”

You held him tighter. “Yes. The answer is always yes.”

Of course, Satoru being Satoru, didn’t stop there. He asked again the next morning, then the next day, then everyday for the next three months. He asked when your custom-made ring arrived at your home from the jeweller—a humongous, glittering rock that blinded you the moment he opened the box and got down on one knee for the second time.

Your answer was always the same, and he knew it, but he merely told you he loved hearing your voice when you said it.

Another year passed like this. Of you and Satoru juggling work and the media and the public and your private lives. You both had talked about a wedding. Satoru, no surprise, wanted a castle and an orchestra and swans, and only twenty guests.

But both your schedules were so packed you never could agree on a date. Domain was recording a new album, Suguru found a new passion for motivational talks and put you in charge of managing his events, while Kento and Yu had launched a new clothing line and wanted you involved in it. 

Meanwhile, the movie Satoru had starred in was a box office hit. Offers for more movies came flooding in, and though hesitant at first because it meant he’d have to be apart from you while he filmed, Satoru eventually signed on to play the lead role in a highly anticipated action movie. 

You were worked to the bone, but you’d never been happier.

And finally, when your schedules did align and you both found a free week to spend together, Satoru dragged you straight to the city’s municipal office.

It was there that you officially became husband and wife. 

“Forget the wedding,” said Satoru. “I’m taking you somewhere no one can bother you but me.”

Now you were in the passenger seat of his sports car, driving up the winding mountain pass to the private onsen retreat he’d booked out so you both could be the only guests for the week. 

Sunglasses balanced on top of his head, Satoru had one hand on the steering wheel as he sang to a juvenile tune he’d just made up.

“My honey bunny, so sweet and yummy, divine and messy, I’ll lick her very—”

“Please don’t put that in the album.”

“Why not? I think it’ll be very popular.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed, warm sunlight drawing golden lines on his face. “So another love song for my beautiful wife, then? About how every day I think I can’t fall any more in love, and find that I still do whenever I look at her.”

You couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips. A smile for him. For the life he’d spent years chasing to have with you. For the peace you and him had carved out among the glamour and chaos of your careers. And for the years ahead, when the fame and glory days faded away, that he’d still be here, looking at you as how he did now.

As if reading your thoughts, Satoru reached to hold your hand in his. And like a promise, he said, “Because all I will always see is you.”

˙⋆✮ .✦ The End ✦. ✮⋆˙

a little something extra...

a/n: soooo i've actually written out the entire lyrics for domain's song, 'limitless'. >.< it's my first time writing a song, please expect it to be cheesy, but i thought i'd share it anyway to give a full picture of the story. so here it is:

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Limitless

[Verse 1 – Satoru / Geto / Haibara (harmonies)]  I was fine just running blind, Living fast, leaving things behind.  You showed up, no warning sign, Turned my world to one of a kind. They call me dream, they call me divine, But I still reach for something mine. 

[Pre-Chorus – Satoru]  I run, I chase, I fall, I climb, Each step closer, one more time. No map, no end, it's by design, My eyes see only clear blue skies.

[Chorus – Satoru / Geto / Nanami + Haibara (harmonies)] I’m limitless, no boundaries, Gravity bends so easily.  I’m limitless, and through the noise,  The rush, the high,  Lives one voice, so right, my guide,  Saying I’ll never stand alone, it’s become my home. Every song I write, it’s you I find  You’re the heart in every line. 

[Verse 2 Rap – Nanami]  Huh, baby don’t worry, go on keep making that face,  One day you’ll turn around and find me matching your pace,  Look up, watch me, I’ll rearrange our stars back in place, I’m infinity and you’re my endless race. [Haibara]  Still can’t hear me, then I’ll shout Faith’s the thing that never doubts. [Nanami]  If the road to us is a grind, it’s fine, I’ll bend the time. I’ll hold up signs ’til you stop and say ‘you’re mine’.

[Pre-Chorus – Satoru] I run, I chase, I fall, I climb, Each step closer, one more time. No map, no end, it's by design, My eyes see only clear blue skies.

[Chorus – Satoru / Geto / Nanami + Haibara (harmonies)] I’m limitless, no boundaries, Gravity bends so easily. I’m limitless, and through the noise, The rush, the high, Lives one voice, so right, my guide, Saying I’ll never stand alone, it’s become my home. Every song I write, it’s you I find, You’re the heart in every line.

[Bridge – Geto + group harmonies / Satoru solo] [Geto + Group] Every dream has your face in sight, Every fear fades in your light.  [Satoru] If forever’s taking time, I will still be here for you to find.

[Final Chorus – Full group] I’m limitless, no boundaries, Gravity bends so easily. I’m limitless, I won’t let go, You’re the tide that pulls me close. I’m limitless, when you’re with me, I’m not alone, you are my home. Every song I write, it’s you I find, [Satoru] You’re the heart in every line.

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

if you got to this point, i love you. thank you for sticking to the end with idol gojo and Domain! hope you enjoyed the performance, merchandise is still on sale outside the arena ;)

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

⭑.ᐟ please check out my MASTERLIST for my other works <3

*** likes and reblogs make my day, but please do not repost this fic or use it with any form of AI. thank you <3

Even now, your life still revolved around him. You would have it no other way. Even now, when he had no air in his lungs, no rise and fall of the once warm chest you used to lay your head on every night, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat as you listened to his voice prattle on and on about his latest discoveries like a bedtime story… you still heard him in your head.

“Can you imagine it, baby? The shock of the entire medical industry—no, life itself—when we finally crack the code?” You’d hear his excitement in the darkness of your bedroom. His endless blue eyes steeped with unquenchable passion. “Those narrow-minded dimwits on the board might call us crazy now, but we’ll show them, won’t we? Soon, they’ll be singing a different tune.”

“We?”

“Of course, baby.” The glow of the bedside lamp would catch in his eyes. A glint that never failed to mesmerise you. “We. Us. Me and you. It won’t feel as good sticking it to them without you by my side.”

“But this is your life’s work, Toru. I’m just your assistant. I can’t possibly take the same amount of credit.”

“It’s ours,” he’d said firmly, kissing your head as if he was sealing his words in stone. “Everything of mine is yours, if not officially now, then it will be soon. Why do you think I’m marrying you?”

“Because you always forget to eat unless I remind you.”

“That’s because I can’t live without you. I thought we’d established that fact.”

You’d smiled and snuggled into him. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he’d said, wrapping you closer in his arms, his scent. “Because neither am I.”

But he did. He’d gone and died.

And now you would fix him.

This was not ‘The End’.

Gently, you smoothed back the wisps of snowy white hair from his face. Your fingers traced his brows, his temple, along his jaw, brushing the pale, grey lips that used to press against yours not so long ago. Your gaze moved first before your hand, to the fine stitches down his chest, circling his right arm, raised slightly against the skin across the width of his stomach—a perfect split, and a reminder of the state he’d been in before you’d patched him up—

In pieces. 

You smacked the image away. There was nothing left in you to hurl out, but you refused to remember him that way. Your Satoru was too brilliant, too full of light, too alive. He was too beautiful to be fleeting. Too precious to be taken away so brutally.

And he was yours. He still was. 

You heard the staccato beep of an access card tapping in, the door sliding swiftly open. A pair of shoes clacked against the tiles. You didn’t turn around. 

“It’s time, doc.” The voice belonged to Shoko, your former colleague before you inherited the research centre Satoru left you in his will. “They’re waiting for you to do the final checks.”

You nodded once, your gaze still fixed on Satoru. You should be excited. This was it. You were going to revive him. You should move. Get him to the Infinity Chamber immediately.

But your feet stayed rooted to the floor. 

You felt Shoko come up beside you. The room was soundless for a few seconds.

“He looks good, doc. Your suturing is impeccable. It’s lucky his brain wasn’t damaged and all the injuries are neck-down. Cell and nerve therapy was a bitch, but I don’t think we’ll stand a chance if we have to replace brain matter.”

“It has to be his brain,” you said. “He wouldn’t be him if it wasn’t. And I would’ve found a way.”

“Mmm,” was all Shoko replied. You knew what she was thinking. You knew what they all thought but didn’t have the heart to say aloud in front of you. 

That you were delusional. That despite shutting down every research arm except those that benefited your cause, despite stripping the centre down of non-essential staff and resources, and pouring the entire budget into speed funding Satoru’s wildly controversial Theory of Resurrection—his life’s work—the chances of success was next to none.

And if it didn’t work, then that was it. You would have destroyed the Gojo family’s legacy. The board would kick you out and sell the centre. It was a miracle they had agreed to this in the first place. You supposed you had Sukuna to thank for that extra vote, though the man was a cunning bastard, so you were sure his motives were not completely altruistic. 

You’d calculated the odds. There was a six percent chance this would work. Only six. All for today. All for him.

Eh, better than five, Satoru’s voice spoke in your head. You clutched onto the sound, but it was like chasing a ghost. A blink, and it was gone.

A water bottle appeared in your vision.

“Drink,” said Shoko. 

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are. You’re also living in hell, and I guarantee you won’t find him there.” She pressed the bottle into your hands. “So you’re going to drink this, and you’re going to wheel him out of this room. You’re going to put him into that chamber, and you’re going to face the fact that it might not work. But I’ll tell you something—staring at his corpse for five more minutes isn’t going to bring him back.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. “How many?”

“All of them,” confirmed Shoko. “Every board member, not just Sukuna. Arrived some time ago. And ah… Fushiguro Megumi is here too.”

Fuck.

“I see,” you said, keeping your tone steady. “I—give me a moment. I won’t be long.”

A beat, and then Shoko was retreating. You waited for the sliding doors to seal shut before reaching into the pocket of your lab coat. Your gaze hadn’t wavered from Satoru this whole time, and it still didn’t as you let the water bottle fall on the floor with a loud thud.

“Hey baby,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. Like reflex, you waited for his fingers to curl around yours. For his thumb to brush lightly along your knuckles. And when nothing happened, you stroked his instead. “So, here we are. You could’ve made it easier if you’d sorted out all your files like I told you to. And didn’t I say making my birthday your password was too obvious? Anyone would’ve guessed that and you know it.”

A distant chuckle echoed somewhere in your head. 

“I wish you could see it,” you continued. Paused. “I mean, you will. When you wake up, you’ll see I did everything according to your specifications. No deviations. No variables. It’s all your design, down to the last decimal. It’s all you, Toru. It will be all of you… you’ll be you again.”

You lifted his hand, your other holding the ring you’d been carrying around in your coat pocket for what felt like an eternity, and slipped it onto his fourth finger. A simple platinum band, matching with the one you wore. You’d picked it out together during an extended lunch break a month before the wedding.

You squeezed his hand, and bent down to press your lips against his. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

Thirty three weeks ago…

“Death is a process, not a moment. But you already know that.”

You groaned. “Satoru, it’s two in the morning. The wedding is in fifteen hours. We should get some sleep before checking into the hotel.”

“Just humour me for a bit, baby. I think I’m onto something.” Satoru was already hopping out of bed. He flicked on the lights without warning, temporarily blinding you, and was rolling the whiteboard to the foot of the bed by the time your vision recovered. 

You stared at him, shirtless and in a pair of checkered pyjama pants, as he uncapped the marker pen, his blue eyes wide awake and bright with that unrivalled ambition you envied and loved.

You sighed and shifted to sit up against the pillows. “Alright, make it quick. I don’t want to walk down the aisle with bags under my eyes.”

“I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”

You couldn’t help the skipped beat in your chest, or the smile that appeared on your lips. “You want to keep the compliments coming, or tell me your theory?”

“Baby, you underestimate me. I can do both at the same time, and then some more.” Satoru winked, and began sketching.

You watched as Satoru filled the whiteboard with diagrams, his hand moving like an artist with a brush. Sometimes, you swore you saw equations flying out his head, faster than the average human could comprehend. His mind was a marvel, his face was a dream. He was your dream.

The dream you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your days with. 

"The key isn't preventing death,” Satoru was saying. “It's reversing it. Death is a cascade—cellular processes shutting down in sequence. If we can interrupt that cascade, reset the cells' programmed death response, we can bring them back online."

“Yes, it’s the basis of your entire research,” you said. “Interrupt cell degradation. Reverse. Reconstruct. Rehabilitate. Regenerate. The Four R’s, as you like to remind everyone. It’s why we’re building that machine in the first place—“

“Chamber, darling. Not machine. Sounds better.”

“But why are you repeating this?”

“Because, my gorgeous soon-to-be wife, I just realised we’re missing an important ingredient.” Satoru proceeded to draw a big question mark and circled it. “We can revive a body, but what of the soul?”

You lifted a brow. Since when was he suddenly concerned with the spiritual side of things? “You’re going to have to elaborate, Toru.”

“Think about it, baby. Why am I so madly in love with you?” Satoru grinned. “Why do I look at you now and think I want nothing better than to take your clothes off? Why do I want to fuck no one else but you?”

Heat prickled up your neck. But you said, “It’s the logic your brain comprehends, as unromantic as it sounds.”

“Exactly. It’s brain chemistry.” Satoru flung the marker pen aside and in the next moment, he was climbing on the bed, and on top of you. “The soul is tied to the brain.”

His head lowered, lips brushing against yours.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “Do you like that?”

You melted under his gaze.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Then he was ripping the blanket away. His hands slid underneath the oversized shirt you wore, up and up and peeling it off you, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

“What about this?” His fingers dragged up the middle of your torso, tracing the underside of your breasts. He began drawing slow circles around your nipple.

You arched into his touch. “Yes…”

His mouth caught a nipple, and he began sucking. Flicking. His tongue and teeth playing with you until little moans escaped you. “And what about now, baby?”

“Ngh—get to your point…”

A chuckle. “Consciousness,” Satoru said, as his hand travelled down your stomach, down between your thighs, and with two fingers, began stroking you over your already soaked panties. “Our brains are what shapes our souls. What allows us memory and complex emotions. We can revive a body, but without a soul, without consciousness, the body would be human in appearance but not in essence.”

Your moans grew louder when his fingers slipped underneath your panties, sliding right up the middle of all your aching wetness. Your legs parted wide to give him more access.

“Pleasure…” Satoru murmured, his mouth and tongue working up the curve of your neck as his fingers caught your clit, and pinched it.

“Ahn! Toru—take it off…”

His tongue had reached its way along the shell of your ear, but his fingers remained, holding your clit hostage.

“Patience, baby. I’m not yet done with my demonstration,” he teased, then did the most wicked thing, and began rolling your tight little nub between his fingers. Slowly. So, so slowly.

“Oh my…” Your head tipped back against the pillows. You tried to grab hold of Satoru, but he only pinned down your wrists above your head with his free hand. 

“God,” he finished what you couldn’t, “why do I always go crazy for you like this? Why are you enjoying what I’m doing as much as you do now? Tell me, baby.”

“Because—nghh! Because it’s you… because I only want you, Toru…”

“And I, you, my love,” he said against your lips, in a tone so tender and reassuring there was no room for doubt, before finally plunging two fingers inside you, pumping deep. “Which brings me back to my point. You love it when I fuck you like this because it’s me. Because of all the memories you have of me. Because of what you feel for me. This is what your brain has decided, and because the brain is connected to the soul, one cannot be brought back without the other.”

Somewhere in between, he’d added another finger, making it nearly impossible for you to concentrate on what he was saying. In this moment, with him rocking inside you, hitting you over and over again in that terribly sensitive spot, driving you insane, Satoru could’ve been reciting the ABCs and you still wouldn’t have understood much.

“T-toru…please—“

“Almost, baby. Did you forget about my cock?” His fingers ceased its sweet torture, slipping out. The sudden lack of him jarred you, but you could only whimper out a plea.

In one easy motion, Satoru flipped you around and was yanking off your panties. Warm, solid hands palmed your ass, lifted your hips high, exposing all the slick evidence dripping down your inner thighs. 

Satoru swore under his breath. “Fuck, look at you. If this is the last thing I see before I die, then I’ll die happy.”

Your thoughts shattered as you felt the warm press of his tongue. Satoru licked you clean. Licked up all that wetness leaking down your thighs. Then he licked you there—a single stroke, deep and slow, up your melting core, before narrowing on your dangerously sensitive clit, flicking and sucking and making you lose your mind. 

Satoru let you come like this first—on his tongue. With your face buried in the pillows and his buried in your pussy. Your legs were still trembling when you felt his impressive length, rock hard, rubbing against your folds, making you go wet all over again. 

“Yes or no, baby?” he asked, though it was pointless. He already knew what your answer would be.

You mumbled something unintelligent, but wiggled your hips for emphasis. Then felt his tip nudge at your entrance. 

“Which brings us back to the missing ingredient,” Satoru said, and a loud moan escaped you as he sheathed the full length of him inside you. He was so impossibly hard and thick, you were struggling to even clench around him. “We’ve only taken four R’s into consideration, when there’s actually a fifth… Resurrection.”

He pulled out, almost to the tip, and slammed back into you. Hard. Fast. Then he did it again, and again, and again. And each time he did it, you felt like you’d died and came back to life. 

“Because a soul can’t be regenerated,” Satoru continued as his pace increased rapidly, ruining your mind and your insides at the same time. “So, in essence, our theory is not about reversing death. It’s about resurrecting the whole self. All the intangibles that make us—fuck, baby, you’re so tight. You’re choking my cock.”

“S-Satoru…”

“Mm?”

“More… Harder…”

“God, I can’t believe I get to have you like this forever.” Satoru did as you asked, fucking you until your cries drowned out the erratic thumping of the bedhead against the wall. Until you could no longer close your mouth. Until nothing existed save the feel of him pumping deep inside you…

The way he filled you so completely, so perfectly… it was everything.

He was everything.

Stars exploded in your vision. Your climax came in swift, escalating waves, overwhelming you.

You cried out his name, and it was only then that Satoru finally gave in, driving right over the edge along with you. You felt him—all of him—spilling into you. Heard his deep, unrestrained groan as he spent himself inside you before falling on the bed, half his body still draped on top of you. 

Satoru’s mouth found yours, his tongue sweeping in and pampering you with gentle strokes while his fingers danced slow, playful circles down your spine. He grinned against your lips. “How was that, baby?”

You were still out of breath. “I think you know the answer.”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You peered up at your fiancé. At the man who was to become your husband in less than a day. A part of you still couldn’t believe it—that someone as brilliant as him wanted you as much as you did him. That you, who had dedicated your life to science and medicine, to logic and reasoning, still couldn’t explain why you found yourself speechless whenever his gaze was fixed on you. 

So you told him the truth. “You’re incredible, Satoru.”

The smile he gave you then… you could look at that smile a billion times and still melt from it. “I hope you mean both the sex and my theory.” 

You sighed, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “Alright, five minutes. Then I’m really going to sleep, promise?”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “As you wish, my love.”

“Well, for starters, you’re talking about preserving brain activity—core consciousness—after death, not only on a cellular level. That’s notoriously tricky. Impossible, some might say, but I know you hate that word—“

“Most things are not impossible, merely improbable.”

“But brain function is quickest to deteriorate, so you’ll have to find a way to—“

“We, darling,” Satoru corrected. 

You couldn’t help your smile. “Right, so we will have to find a way to prevent core consciousness from ceasing to exist the moment the heart stops beating… save the soul, as you say, from extinction.” You tapped your chin, your mind whirring as his fingers continued their light tracing along the contours of your body. You didn’t doubt Satoru had already found the answer, but you loved him all the more for letting you figure it out on your own, even if he wasn’t letting you sleep. “The difficult part is the time constraint, unless we freeze the brain. We already have the cryogenic technology for that…”

“But?” Satoru looked at you with hopeful eyes.

“But the soul isn’t cellular. It’s immaterial.”

His answering grin told you that you were close.

“Even if we do bring back consciousness, we don’t want it to be a blank slate,” you continued. “We want it the way it was before death. We want to retain memory…” It hit you then. Your eyes widened at Satoru. “So we back it up. We copy neural activity in the brain before it dies and upload it back in later.”

Satoru leaned in, and pecked your lips as reward. “By the way, have I told you I’m crazy for you?”

You laughed. “Everyday. Don’t stop.”

“Oh, as if I will,” he said, pulling you in for yet another kiss. “You’re stuck with me for the indefinite future, baby. You’ll soon get sick of hearing it, but I’ll continue saying it anyway.”

You reached for his beautiful face.

“Never,” you said.

Satoru’s smile was tender. “I’ll hold you to that.” He kissed your palm, your lips again, and then he was pulling away to slip out of bed. 

Your brows furrowed. “I thought you promised we were going to sleep?”

“Huh? I thought you were going to sleep.” He was already pulling open the dresser drawer. “I’m going to the lab. Don’t wait up for me, okay baby?”

 “What? Are you serious?” You sat up straight now, back stiff. “Satoru, you have a wedding to attend. Our wedding. Can’t whatever it is you want to do wait for just one day?”

“I’ll meet you at the hotel. I need to make some new adjustments to the chamber. I’m thinking of calling it the Infinity Chamber. Has a nice, ring to it, no? Infinite life. Infinite time. Very mythical—”

“Satoru, don’t,” you warned. “Just forget about work for twenty four hours. That’s all I’m asking for. Please.”

“Baby, you know it’s not just work to me.”

“Then what am I? Just some girl you’re marrying?”

His hand paused midway to his backpack on the armchair. Satoru’s gaze found yours across the room.

“Is that what you think?” he said, his tone gentle but serious. “Because to me, you’re my equal. In every measure.”

“Satoru, don’t you dare walk out that door. I’ll kill you.”

“Baby, we both know you won’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Then I’ll win,” he said.

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Well, I am. I’ll win because you’ll let me. Because you love me.”

He winked, and blew you a final kiss.

And then he was gone. 

Satoru never turned up at the hotel. You’d waited at the lobby for an hour, and when he hadn’t answered your call for the sixteenth time, you went to check in to the suite you thought you’d be stepping in together with him. 

As the hours until the wedding drew closer and closer, you’d finally hit the last straw of your patience and sent Suguru to the research centre to drag Satoru over. It didn’t matter if you had to marry him in his lab coat. It was better than marrying his ghost.

The call came thirty minutes before it was time for you to walk down the aisle. The guests had arrived. White roses covered every surface of the ceremony hall. You were in your gown, veil draped over your head, chewing on your lip when Suguru’s name flashed on your phone. 

You’d laughed first. You’d thought it was a joke. A bad one. Suguru had to repeat it three times before you were running to your car.

But still, you didn’t believe him. Not until you reached the lab. Not until you saw Satoru. 

They’d categorised it as an accident. The security cameras confirmed Satoru had been alone. You’d seen the time stamp. It happened while you were sleeping. He’d forgotten to turn off the main power, and was ripping out some components from the cryochamber, presumably to move to his new Infinity Chamber, when the door malfunctioned, and sealed him inside.

Hours. Satoru had been stuck in there for hours. In a temperature of minus two hundred degrees celsius, slowly freezing. His blood solidifying…

And like brittle ice, he simply broke apart.

As with every task that involved touching Satoru, you were the one who performed it. The human mind was fallible, so it was natural for them to make mistakes, but you less than others. Satoru was unmatched, of course, but since he was out of commission for the time being, the next best person you trusted was yourself.

You were not unaware that Shoko and the team, as well as every board member, had their eyes on you the moment you wheeled Satoru into the Infinity Chamber—more a tall, circular room that resembled the inside of a silo, with large lamps fixed onto the generous, three-storey high ceiling, clinical light glaring down as rigid and impersonal as the spectators watching you from above, shielded behind a circumference of glass. 

Well, you supposed ‘impersonal’ was being unkind to your team. Suguru was Satoru’s best friend, after all. Correction—he is. Perhaps unforgiving was a better word. They’d understood why you’d put all of their jobs and livelihoods on the line for this, but it didn’t mean they would forgive you for it. 

And then there was the boy. Megumi. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back as you hooked up the last of the dozens of tubes connecting Satoru to the walls of the Infinity Chamber itself, because that was what this room was—one giant machine built to execute the last of Satoru’s ‘Five R’ Principle: 

Resurrect.

You checked the tubes again, checked the wires, checked the position of the helmet fastened over Satoru’s head, then checked everything again before finally forcing yourself not to prolong this any further. You hated leaving Satoru alone, but you needed to be in the control room, and no one could be in the chamber while the procedure was taking place unless they enjoyed being electrocuted.

You went through a steel inforced door that took you up a set of winding stairs straight to the control room, where the chatter immediately died a quick death the moment you stepped in. 

No doubt they had been discussing you. Not like you gave a shit. You were used to it by now—the whispers behind your back, the glances shot your way when they thought you weren’t looking. The furrowed brows and downturned lips, and perhaps worst of all, the knowledge that none of it was out of hate but pity. 

“Doc,” Shoko nodded in greeting, the others mimicking her gesture, albeit in silence. “All screens are live. Perfusion system is loading, should be ready to go in three minutes.”

You turned to Suguru, who was positioned in front of a wide monitor, the screen filled with lines and lines of ever-shifting numbers. You asked him the same question you did everyday.

“How’s it reading?”

And Suguru answered you as how he always did. Calmly. A little bleak. “We’re still at a 0.0000033 percent loss. Nothing’s changed since the soul mapping. The system shows his neural patterns are still processing information at an unnaturally high efficiency. His consciousness is more than active, doc. It’s fully functioning, fully realised—it’s like Satoru can’t shut up in there. Typical of him, I guess.”

“We should have just made him a new body,” Nanami remarked from where he stood monitoring the blood tanks. “By my calculations, it would have lowered the risks by precisely sixteen more percent.”

“Yeah, but then we’re wasting the original body,” Haibara pointed out. “We can’t just throw him out—“

“We’re already copying his brain. I don’t see what’s the—“ Nanami cut himself off, glancing for half a second in your direction. He cleared his throat. “It’s done anyway. The best course now is to proceed as is.”

It’s all noise, baby. Block it out. Satoru spoke in your head. You have me. 

Without thinking, you walked over to the wall of thick glass. Below, Satoru lay unmoving, in the exact same position as when you’d left him. You couldn’t explain it, but even now, a tiny, microscopic part of you still thought he might just wake up on his own. As if he’d merely decided to take a very, very long nap. It was ludicrous since you were the one who had put his body back together. But when it came to Satoru, your own brain tended to override most rhyme and reason.

“Everything’s good to go,” said Shoko, pulling you from your thoughts. “Want to do the honours, doc?”

Your gaze narrowed on the small green button raised against the main control panel. You approached it, reaching out a hand, fingers hovering. 

You think I can’t do it, baby?

I think you can do anything, Toru.

Do you doubt me?

Never

“Never,” you whispered, and pushed the button.

It was as if the chamber itself had come to life. The great whir of a beastly machine waking up from an eternal slumber. Invisible currents coursed through the air inside the cylindrical shaft where Satoru lay alone, hooked up to the tubes that were now pumping synthetic blood into his body. You thought you saw him twitch. You blinked. It was just electricity. But then—

“Doc—“ It was Shoko, her tone uncharacteristically shaken. “Peripheral nerve activity detected. We're seeing reflex responses. His motor neurons are firing."

“Perfusion efficiency at ninety-two percent…ninety-three…ninety-eight...” Nanami added, similarly unable to hide his surprise. “Capillary beds are accepting the new blood flow. Oxygen saturation levels are rising steadily. No adverse reactions detected. This is… unprecedented.”

“Ah, guys…” Haibara announced. “The ECG just detected a heartbeat.”

Your breaths stilled.

“Fuck me.” Suguru jolted from his seat. “Doc, you should come see this—all of you should see this. The upload… it's working. His consciousness is downloading into the biological brain. Neural pattern fidelity is nearly perfect. I'm seeing unified brain activity. He's not just alive. He's conscious. He’s… he’s coming back—“

But while everyone rushed to Suguru’s monitor, your feet were moving in a different direction. In the next moment, you were flying back down the stairs and slamming through the door into the Infinity Chamber. 

And just as your gaze snapped to his body on the metal slab—

Satoru bolted upright.

Blue eyes, wide awake, found yours. 

Your mouth fell open.

His lips, no longer leeched of colour, parted.

Satoru blinked. Once. Twice.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Your lungs hollowed out. Disintegrated.

But then he was laughing. 

“I’m joking, baby. It’s a joke. Hey, don’t pass out, okay?”

You stared at him.

At the same time, a voice came through the chamber’s speakers.

“Oh my fucking god, Satoru. Are you serious? Of all the times, now’s not it.”

“Suguru? That you? Tch—some friend you are.” Thirty three weeks of stillness, but now Satoru was tipping his head up at the control room. “If you’d just answered when I called you, then I wouldn’t have turned into a block of ice, would I? Because I would’ve forced you to come to the lab.”

“So you do remember dying?” It was Shoko this time. 

“I remember freezing my ass off with no way out of that bloody cryochamber. Doesn’t take a genius to know what came next.”

“That’s a ninety nine percent memory retainment.” Shoko gave a low whistle. “Impressive work, doc. You did it.”

“Of course she did. She’s my—“ Satoru paused, his gaze finding yours again. “Fuuuuck… baby, I’m sorry. I missed the wedding, didn’t I?”

You didn’t answer him. It was as if your mind had glitched while trying to process if this was real, or if you were actually hallucinating. If somehow, somewhere in the process of trying to bring him back to life, you’d lost your mind and ended up in the loony bin, and that all of this was happening in your head. 

“Baby, you’re shaking.” Satoru made to stand but was jerked back by the tubes connected to his body. “Ow, damn it—fuck.” He gripped a tube, about to yank it off, but then had the common sense to drop it when he saw blood still pumping into him. His arms reached out towards you. “Come here, baby. It’s me… I promise.”

But before your feet could decide to function, the door to the chamber opened. Two figures strode in. Both, you recognised. Both, you could do without seeing.

“Huh, so you’re actually alive.” Sukuna picked off some imaginary dust from his creaseless suit, his tone managing to sound both amused and scathing all at once. “I was expecting some sort of trickery. A hologram, maybe. At most, a robot. Who knows what they’ll come up with to prevent the board from selling this place off.”

Satoru snorted. “You’re lucky there were cameras, or I would’ve found a way to frame you for my murder. And a robot? How insulting. No one can be me but me.”

“Evidently. A robot would know when to stop talking.”

A step behind Sukuna, Fushiguro Megumi stood glaring. Not at Satoru, but at you.

He looked more dishevelled than last you’d seen him during the reading of Satoru’s will, in which a mini skirmish had broken out among Satoru’s relatives—who hadn’t bothered showing their faces until that day—when the Gojo family’s lawyer had announced that the entirety of Satoru’s assets were to be split equally between you and Megumi. An adopted son and a not-yet-wife.

And like you, Megumi hadn’t given a flying fuck about the inheritance. What he did care about was the one clause Satoru had somehow had the foresight to include in his will. That the decision on what to do with his body would be solely up to you. Satoru’s own messed up way of showing you he meant it when he’d once told you, “I belong to you.”

Megumi had wanted a funeral. You didn’t. Megumi had wanted to say his goodbyes. You didn’t. Megumi didn’t want Satoru to be tampered with, to be experimented with. You didn’t see it that way. And that was how your relationship with the boy had soured to this point. 

“I hope you’re happy,” he said to you. He might as well have spat in your face. 

Satoru must have sensed the tension, because he immediately dropped his verbal sparring with Sukuna. “Oh? What seems to be the problem, Megumi-chan? I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

But Megumi wouldn’t even look at him. His eyes stayed on you like daggers slicing into your skin. “The Gojo Satoru I know is dead. This…thing you created—with fake blood and a fake brain—“ he laughed, bitterly. “And now you’re pretending he’s real? What a load of bullshit.”

He didn’t wait for a reply and stormed out of the chamber. 

“He’ll come around,” Satoru said, but still, he’d winced. “Alright, welcome party’s over, everyone. As nice as I am to look at, I don’t really want to sit here naked with my dick hanging out for much longer. So if all of you could kindly piss off, that would be amazing. I’d like a moment with my wife, please.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Well, if you’re in good condition to yap incessantly, then I expect you’ll be in good condition for a board meeting tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Don’t die and be late again.” And with that, he was out the door. 

Shoko’s voice spoke through the speakers. “We’re going to stop the perfusion, Satoru. It should be safe to remove the tubes. But me and the team will need to stick around in case of anything… unforeseen. Just pretend we’re not here.”

The whirring of machines faded, steeping the chamber in a new silence. Once again, you were alone with Satoru. But this time, you’d finally accepted he was truly breathing. 

“Baby? Talk to me.” Satoru flashed you a nervous smile. “You haven’t said a word.”

You moved.

And the moment you did, you couldn’t stop. 

You reached for him. Your hands were on his face, moving down his neck, his chest. Over the very real beat of his heart. And when you felt his hand on yours, the pressure of his very real touch, your voice broke.

“I—we should try taking the tubes out.”

It was lame. You should have told him you missed him. You should have told him all the things you wanted to tell him in the months he lay lifeless while you pieced him back together. How you refused to let a single drop of tear roll down your cheek, because it would mean that you had something to cry about. How the entire research centre thought grief had turned you into some mad scientist who was obsessed with creating your very own Frankenstein, and that you almost believed them… almost.

But you didn’t tell him those things. Because those things no longer mattered.

Slowly, you removed the tubes from him one by one. Satoru just sat there, watching you work, his fingers playing with your hair, grazing down the back of your neck, applying gentle caresses here and there until the last of the tubes were gone. 

“Try standing up,” you said, your voice too thick to hide the emotions threatening to burst out from within you. “I need to check your sense of balance.”

Satoru nodded and wasted no time hopping off the table onto his feet. He grinned, and did a little spin. Like he was modelling for you. “Nice stitching, baby. I think I prefer myself like this—adds a lot of character, you know?”

“I’ll get you some clothes.”

But he caught your wrist then, pulling you tight against him. His arms enveloped you, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, stroking your cheek. 

The way he spoke, softly, his cadence perfect and familiar and exactly as you remembered—it really was him.

Your lips trembled, betraying you as you peered up at him. 

“Never again, Satoru,” you said. “Okay?”

He leaned in. “I promise, baby.”

And when his mouth brushed against yours… when you parted your lips, feeling his tongue sweep inside you, meeting his every stroke and caress with your own… it was like everything that had been blocking up your insides for so long—the sand in your lungs, the pain in your chest, the hollow pit in your stomach—all of it became but a distant memory. 

Your kisses grew hungry. You couldn’t stop touching him. You needed to bottle up all of his warmth and preserve every ounce of this moment because you couldn’t bear to lose another second with him. 

“Hey,” Satoru murmured against your lips. “Easy, baby. I’m right here.”

A smile cracked through some forgotten place in you. “Well, deal with it. All my kisses have been one-sided for months.”

“I bet I still taste good dead.”

“That’s not funny, Satoru.”

He laughed. “We’ll see if it is sixty years from now.”

“Why sixty?”

He grinned, and then he was pulling you in for another kiss. “That’s what husbands and wives do, don’t they? Grow old together.”

Like wildfire, news of the scientist who died and came back to life spread across the globe, saturating every media outlet, baffling entire religions, upending the medical world and whatever long held beliefs they had been preaching on the subject of mortality. 

The headlines were calling it a miracle. Churches called it blasphemy. The medical journals were split between praise and skepticism. The National Registration Department had never had to rescind a death certificate eight months after registering it. Gojo Satoru, billionaire scientist, child prodigy, TIME 100 most influential individual, the world’s sexiest man alive for six years running, and former corpse, had become a global sensation as the man who had defied death. 

And you were right there in the spotlight alongside him. Satoru had made sure of it, insisting that your name was listed first in the accreditation for his now infamous Theory of Resurrection. Whenever he was asked, Satoru always drove in the fact that though he was the mastermind behind it, you were the one who saw it to the finish line.

“Execution is worth infinitely more than mere ideas,” he’d point out in all the interviews while refusing to let go of your hand.

Naturally, with any bizarre phenomenon came the conspiracies. There were those who accused Satoru of not being human, instead believing he was some kind of top secret, hi-tech artificial intelligence the government was testing out as a weapon for modern warfare. The ufologists’ deductions were much simpler—that extraterrestrial beings had abducted Satoru, conducted experiments, and placed him back on earth as one of them. 

In answer to these wild accusations, Satoru had only one reply. “Whether I’m an alien or the Terminator, at least I’m a damn good looking one.”

Well, if there was a truth you could confirm, it was that he still fucked you like a feral beast.

After three weeks of monitoring at the research centre, Shoko and the team had determined Satoru’s condition as stable, and the board finally allowed him to return home with you. The moment the both of you stepped through the front door, it was like Satoru was a man on a mission.

“To make up for lost time,” he said as he tore off your clothes, and took you against the wall. “It’s lucky you didn’t have to sew my cock back on as well.”

“If you’d lost it, I wouldn’t have brought you back—ahn!”

He laughed as he thrusted deep into you, filling you up so completely, making you take in every inch of him until there was no doubt that he was here to stay. Inside you. With you. “And here I am thinking you fell for my incredible mind.”

“It’s—nghh—Toru, you’re…”

“What is it, baby?” Another thrust. Your moans filled the foyer. “Tell me, what am I?”

“Everything,” you breathed. “You’re everything, Satoru…”

His gaze softened, and when his lips found yours, his kiss was tender. Warm. 

Alive. 

You let him pick you up, clinging onto him as he carried you to the bedroom and gently laid you on the sheets. You didn’t let go. Not when he sheathed himself in you again. Not as his mouth claimed every part of you as if he never wanted to forget the very shape of you. Not while your bodies moved in sync together, while you cried out his name over and over again as he brought you to the edge, and went right over it together with you. 

You still didn’t let go as your head rested in the crook of his arm, your palm on his chest, over his beating heart. Your fingers traced the thick gash spanning across his stomach. It was still too early to remove the stitches, but he was healing up nicely. You wanted to believe scars could be beautiful, too.

“You can close your eyes, baby. It’s alright.”

You peered up at Satoru, not understanding at first. 

“You’re exhausted,” he said. “I bet you haven’t properly slept since—“

“Don’t, Toru. I’ve heard that word enough. I don’t need you saying it too.”

“Then what do you me want to call it?”

“You didn’t—you were just absent. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Satoru trailed his fingers down the curve of your back. “And I’m going to marry you. We’ll have that wedding I stupidly ruined. We’ll take that trip to Paris and never see the sights, because I’ll be fucking you so well you won’t want to leave the hotel.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “What about all the improvements you want to make to the Infinity Chamber? It’s going to be a tight schedule. All the major hospitals have already placed their orders, and Sukuna wants to release the first commercial model by early next year—“

“Baby, if there’s one thing I learnt from dy—my absence, it’s my priorities. Work can wait. Never you. Never again.”

You hugged him tighter. “Is that a promise I’m hearing, Gojo Satoru?”

He beamed. “I don’t have to promise anything, baby. I’ll show you. Just sit back and see for yourself, I’ll—“

Satoru paused. His brows furrowed.

“Toru?” Your smile vanished as he suddenly jerked upright, and stumbled out of bed.

Satoru was coughing. The coughing turned into heaving. He was doubled over, clutching his stomach. 

Red spilled out his mouth. Globs of it, fresh and dark, splattering across the white carpet.

Someone was screaming.

It was you.

Of all the fucking things that had to go wrong, why did it have to be his immune system?

Your jaw was tight as you read the report, your eyes burning holes into the file as if you could force the words to magically reshuffle and change the diagnosis. 

But nothing changed. Satoru was dying. Again.

“We’ll rush a stem cell transplantation,” you said. “We’ll develop new immunosuppressants. We’ll—“

“Those treatments take time, doc,” replied Shoko. You hated the tone she was using. It was too gentle. Too final. The kind of tone doctors used when they were required to deliver bad news to patients. “If it were a normal autoimmune disease, we’d probably have a chance. But Satoru isn’t normal. At the rate his immune system is attacking… it’s like a war inside him. His body is shutting down too rapidly—“

“How long?” you asked, already knowing the answer. But your brain refused to accept it, instead seeking out someone, anyone, who might tell you otherwise.

The team fell silent. 

“He won’t last the hour,” Suguru finally said. “I’m sorry, doc.”

You pitched the file across the Infinity Chamber. The papers came loose, flapping about midair before scattering soundlessly onto the floor. On the operating table where Satoru lay motionless, those blue eyes lost under closed lids. Unseeing. 

He’d fallen into a coma before the ambulance arrived. Simply keeled over, face down in a pool of his own regurgitated blood. No hospital would be able to treat him, so you’d screamed at the paramedics to take him straight to the research centre. Everyone had seen his face on the news, and it didn’t take much convincing for them to oblige your demand.

His skin was greying again. The pink in his cheeks, his lips, had faded to an ashen pallor. His breaths were waning. Those fucking tubes were stuck in him once more.

“Brain activity is flatlining,” Nanami reported, his expression grave. He added, quietly, “You might want a moment alone with him, doc. He can’t respond, but he can still hear you.” 

Your fists were balled, nails puncturing through the skin of your palms. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

This wasn’t happening. You weren’t going to let it happen. 

You weren’t going to fucking say goodbye.

“Activate the resurrection procedure,” you said. “Now.”

Someone touched your shoulder. You flinched back.

Shoko’s hand retreated. “Doc,” she said, carefully. “We never calculated for a second time. It’s too much. The process will fry his organs. The synthetic blood might destroy his natural cells.”

You spared her a single glance. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

No one moved at first. Then, Haibara spoke. 

“She wants to try, guys.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes as he said it. “We should let her try.”

A sigh. You didn’t know from who. You didn’t care.

“Everyone to the control room,” said Shoko. “Nanami, reduce perfusion speed by half. Suguru, watch the reading—the moment his consciousness hits zero, we’re uploading immediately. Haibara, see if you can block some of the electro current. Satoru’s still alive. We want to jolt his system, not subject him to an electric chair. Doc—“

“I’m staying in the chamber,” you said. 

“It’s not safe—“

“It will be if you block a portion of the electro current, which you are. Either way, I’m not leaving him.”

“If we’re going to do this, we should get moving,” said Suguru. “We have less than an hour now, and I’ll have to recalibrate the neural mapping.”

There was nothing to recalibrate and you knew it. Shoko might not have given up on you, but Suguru had accepted the fact that convincing you to do anything else was a lost cause. You suspected he’d understood this a long time ago. He was the one who had found Satoru in the cryochamber, after all. The one who had to call you while you waited in your wedding dress. 

But you didn’t need him to understand. You didn’t need a friend. You didn’t need compassion. 

You needed Satoru back.

The team left you alone and hurried to the control room upstairs. You positioned yourself beside the operating table, and waited your second eternity. But you were used to waiting by now. You’d waited for him to offer you a spot on his research team, waited for him to notice you as more than an assistant, waited for him to ask you out for a quick lunch at that dingy sandwich joint staff liked to go to when they were sick of cafeteria food…

You waited for him to love you. So death could go fuck itself if it thought it could rip Satoru away from you after you’d spent all this time waiting.

You counted each shallow rise and fall of his chest. Saw the moment it stopped moving before the machines around you started buzzing. You stood, numb, as the chamber you’d finished building—not for humanity’s advancement but for one person—came alive around you in a flurry of mechanical droning. 

All the while, you watched him. Until you chewed the inside of your cheeks raw and your vision blurred from refusing to blink. Until you spotted the twitch of his finger. A fluttering of long, white lashes. 

Satoru groaned. His eyes flew open, then he was fumbling upright. 

A small cry escaped you, and then you were holding him. 

“It’s alright,” you said when he looked at you, dazed and confused. “You’re alright now.”

“I…” Satoru hesitated. “Where am I?”

“At the research centre. You had an accident, but everything’s okay now. You’re okay.”

“I see. I think I remember. Just… give me a moment. My head feels like someone cracked it open with a hammer.”

You helped him to unstrap the helmet, and draped your lab coat over him. Continued to hold him steady as he studied the tubes running out his body.

“So I died,” he said. 

“For a short while, yes.” 

“And you brought me back.”

“I always will, Satoru.”

Those blue eyes searched yours. 

“You’re very beautiful,” he said. “But I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Satoru, I told you it’s not funny.”

He blinked. “Right, ah… so I do know you. I mean, it feels like I do. It feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”

You stared at him.

Satoru stared back. “Shit. I’ve said something wrong, haven’t I?”

The speaker crackled. A grim voice cut through the chamber.

“Doc. Satoru…” Suguru sounded too calm. “So this is what’s going to happen—I’m going to read you the diagnosis, and then me and the team… we’ll wait for your decision. But, doc, I think this time you should let Satoru decide.”

Suguru didn’t wait for an answer and continued. “You died twice, Satoru. We brought you back using your Theory of Resurrection. Do you remember your theory?”

For a long moment, Satoru didn’t speak. His eyes darted from you up to the control room above, and then around the chamber, assessing. Processing. As if a flurry of information was running through his head at lighting speed to reach a conclusion. 

“I think I understand now,” he said, slowly. “And I can guess where this is going. Whoever you are, give it to me straight—and don’t bother explaining my theory. I know what I created.”

Silence.

“We couldn’t recover a portion of your memory, Satoru. Your body is rejecting the neural upload… among other things.”

“Please, I forgot some things. I’m not an idiot.” Satoru’s gaze settled back on you, on the matching rings on both your fourth fingers. He mustered a grin. “Well, at least I was lucky enough to find someone like you, even if I can’t remember how.”

You didn’t know when you’d started shaking. 

Suguru spoke. “Satoru… your body is shutting down. The synthetic blood we’re pumping in is keeping you functioning for now, but the moment we shut off the tubes, you’ll—“

“I’ll die,” Satoru finished. “Took you long enough to say it. Kind of figured that out since I woke up feeling like shit.”

“Your consciousness is currently at thirty three percent retainment. We can try to bring you back again, but from the reading, retainment percentage will only go down. You’ll probably lose another fifteen percent if we go through with a third procedure.” Suguru’s voice hitched. “I—listen Satoru… even if we succeed, you won’t be yourself.”

“Again, Mr. Obvious, I’m not an idiot. And I can hear you sniffling, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Suguru. We’re friends.”

“Well, Suguru, if we’re really friends, then I think you know what to do.”

“No,” you whispered. Then louder. “No. That’s not what we’re doing. We’re not going to—“

“Hey, come here.” You froze as Satoru took your hands in his, gently pulling you closer. He shifted, wincing as he stood, and wrapped you in his arms. 

The world slipped away from under your feet. There was only him. Soft, white hair falling over deep blue eyes. His pale, tired face, still perfect. The pressure of his hands around your waist, lifting to cup your cheek. The stroke of his fingers against your skin. The way he was looking at you, like he…

“I’m sorry, baby.” His lips were on yours as he spoke. “Do you hate me?”

At last, you broke. Your face crumpled. Your composure went. You stopped caring if he could feel your body shudder. 

“Never,” you said.

“Do you love me?”

Your laugh was bitter. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that.”

You felt his fingers tighten a fraction around your waist. “Then, do you know that I love you?”

“I—“you could barely choke the word out. Because the truth of it was more than you could handle. It was easier to beg. So you did. “Please don’t leave me.”

Satoru’s smile was oddly relaxed. Almost relieved. As if he’d lost something important and had found it. “I’ll still be around, if you want me to. Right here,” he said, and gently tapped the side of your head. “As long as you live, so do I.”

“It’s not the same.” Your vision blurred. “It’s not—it’s not everything. It’s not you...”

“My love, you know as well as I do that I won’t be me even if I stay.” He kissed you. Kissed away the damp streaks flowing down your cheeks. Gently. Slowly. 

“I’ll find a way,” you tried again. “There’s always a way. Nothing’s impossible, only improbable. That’s what you told me. There has to be another—“

“You’re right, there always is. Doesn’t mean you should go searching for it.”

“No. I refuse.” You were shaking your head violently. “Don’t do this to me. If you don’t want to try, I will. I’ll fix it. All you have to do is wait. I won’t stop—“

He hugged you tighter. You felt his lips on your hair.

“Look at me, baby.”

You screwed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see the what was written so clearly on his face, then it wasn’t true.

“Please, baby,” Satoru said, lifting your chin. “I want to get a good look at what my soul cannot deny.” 

You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to burn down this whole fucking place, with you and him in it, so you wouldn’t have to live through what was coming next. So you wouldn’t have to feel yourself tearing apart inside.

Not yet. It wasn’t enough. The time you were given with him was simply too short. It should be more. It should be sixty more years like he promised. 

You weren’t ready to let him go. 

But you knew you had to. Because it was what he wanted. Because he didn’t want you to lose him slowly. Because he was losing himself. Because he couldn’t be brilliant without his memory. Because he would no longer be Gojo Satoru, and he didn’t want you seeing it. 

Because he loved you.

You looked into his eyes… the eyes you once thought you’d be looking at forever.

“There’s my girl.” Satoru’s smile destroyed you. “Better holes in my brain than yours, because I don’t want you forgetting I’m yours. In every lifetime. Can you do that? Can you remember that for me?“

 It was the same before, and it was the same now. You would do anything for him. So you nodded, and told him what he wanted to hear. “You’re too much for me to forget so easily, Satoru.”

  He laughed and kissed you again, long and slow, and for a moment, nothing existed but the warmth of him that filled you. 

“Come here, baby,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

You let him pick you up and place you on the metal slab. You laid down with him, your head on his chest like how you always fell asleep, curled up against him. Your legs tangled with his, his arm under and around you. Your hand in his, where it belonged. 

You couldn’t say how long you stayed like that. Talking. You told him about the day you met, how he’d asked you to marry him one random morning to make you feel better about the coffee machine breaking down. He laughed and told you that he must be quite a catch for you to say yes to such a lame proposal. Then he told you his vows—the vows for a wedding you would never have. 

Somewhere in between, Satoru must have signalled for Suguru to stop the perfusion because the whirring in the chamber faded. You ignored the silence. There was only him. His voice. The press of his body against yours. His fingers wrapped in yours as you moved yourself up, placing your face so close to his that his features became indistinct, and you began to lose yourself in them. 

You held him as he slipped away. As his chest slowed and his skin turned cold. You told him it was okay for him to close his eyes, and right before he did, you told him you loved him. 

You held him long after his heart stopped beating. Long after the team had left and your muscles had gone stiff from lack of movement. Long after his soul had departed to a place you couldn’t reach. And when you finally let go of him, it was to pick up the metal helmet from the floor. 

You placed it over your head, and sat back down beside him.

“System override,” you said, your voice calm. Flat. “Password: Replacement.”

Satoru was wrong. He’d theorised Five R’s, ending with resurrection. He never considered a sixth. But you did. You’d figured out the final ‘R’ to the equation.

A computerised voice droned through the speaker. “System override. Affirmative. Existing consciousness detected. Permission to erase for remapping.”

“Permission granted.”

“Affirmative. Accessing stored neural data for replacement. Confirm subject.”

“Gojo Satoru.”

“Affirmative. Neural data for subject, Gojo Satoru, confirmed for replacement with existing consciousness. Requesting password for final permission.”

Your gaze fell on Satoru. You took his hands in yours, and brought them to your lips. 

“Never,” you said. 

“Password confirmed. Neural replacement loading. Erasing existing consciousness in ten… nine… eight…”

You loosened a great breath. 

You’d proven his theory. You’d succeeded. If you could not give him everything, then you would give him you.

His soul would live.

Even if yours couldn’t.

Anyway, it wasn’t like yours could exist without him.

thank you for reading! what do you think? this fic was a challenge for me to write, so i'd love to know your thoughts ♡

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the next morning, he rolls up to the resort in his blue honda civic, board strapped to the roof with bungee cords that look one bump away from snapping. the parking lot is already packed with trucks and subarus covered in stickers, plenty of college kids he recognizes from his classes. he yanks his beanie low, adjusts his round glasses that keep sliding down his nose, and hauls ass to the staff lodge. the manager barely glances at his paperwork before slapping a red instructor jacket on him.

“gojo, right? seen your videos, you're pretty damn good, kid. you’re on beginner hill all week, okay. try not to scare the little ones. got it?”

satoru salutes like an idiot and spends the first hour teaching eight year olds how to strap in without crying. he’s good at it, patient, cracks dumb jokes about newton’s laws when they fall on their asses. and by lunch he’s floating, cheeks wind-burned, feeling like a god on his board.

then the afternoon private lesson list gets taped to the board and his stomach drops straight through his boots.

y/n. 2:15 pm. adult beginner. one-on-one.

he knows it’s you before he even sees the last name. you, the girl from his tuesday/thursday astrophysics class who wears tiny skirts in december and somehow still looks warm, who paints her nails bright pink and asks even the most basic questions in that soft breathy voice that makes his brain blue-screen. you who he’s pretty sure doesn’t even know he exists except for the one time he tripped over his own laces in front of you and you helped him up with a giggle and said “cute glasses.”

he’s fucked.

2:10 rolls around and there you are at the base of the beginner slope, stomping around in rented boots that look two sizes too big, pink snowboard under your arm like you’re holding a dead fish. your jacket is baby pink with white fur on the hood, your pants have little hearts printed on them, your fenty lip gloss is reflecting the sun so bright it hurts to look at directly. your friends are already halfway up the lift, yelling down that they’ll “send search and rescue if you’re not at the bar by four.”

satoru coasts over on his board, stopping with a shaky spray of snow because his legs suddenly forgot how to function as soon as he sees your beautiful face.

“uh, hi. i’m satoru. your instructor.” his voice cracks on the last word and he wants to die.

you look up, big eyes blinking slow, then recognition hits and your whole face lights up. “oh my god, satoru? from class? no way!”

you bounce on your toes and the board clatters to the snow. “this is so crazy! i totally suck at this, my friends just dragged me here because boys in beanies are hot or whatever.”

he short-circuits, boys in beanies? are hot? he's wearing a beanie. holy shit.

he adjusts it for no reason and almost knocks his glasses off. “cool. cool cool cool. uh. let’s get you strapped in then.”

he kneels to help clip your bindings and realizes way too late that he’s eye-level with your thighs. imaging the smooth, silky skin underneath the baggy heart-print pants. probably some cute panties with lace, a little bow right in the middle. he swallows so hard his throat clicks.

you wobble the second you stand, arms pinwheeling. “woah woah woah—” you squeak, grabbing his shoulders to stay upright. your nails dig in through his jacket and he’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe. “these things have a mind of their own!”

“it’s okay, i got you,” he says, voice higher than usual, hands hovering around your waist without actually touching because what if you don’t want him to what if he’s being weird what if— “just lean into me a little. like a trust fall but on snow.”

you lean closer, pressing your whole front against him, tits soft against his chest even through layers. “like this?” you ask, all innocent, tilting your head so your fluffy hood brushes his chin.

he nods like a broken bobblehead. “yep, perfect. gold star.” inside he’s screaming.

but getting you up the magic carpet is a disaster. you keep sliding backwards, giggling every time your board crosses his and you almost take both of you out. at the top he has to hold your hand to keep you from zooming straight into a tree. your mittens are fuzzy and white and smell like vanilla. his palms sweat so bad underneath his gloves, he’s scared you’ll notice.

“okay, point your board downhill, knees soft, look where you wanna go,” he instructs, trying to sound professional while his heart jackhammers. you nod super serious, tongue poking out between glossy lips in concentration, then you push off.

you make it exactly four feet before eating shit spectacularly, tumbling ass-over-teakettle in a cloud of powder. satoru drops to his knees beside you, panicked. “oh fuck are you okay did you hit your head do we need medical—”

you pop up laughing, lifting your goggles, snow stuck to your lashes, cheeks cherry red. “i’m fine! that was kinda fun actually!” you flop onto your back and make a snow angel, legs kicking. “come lay with me!”

he stares. “we’re…on the slope.”

“duh, that’s why it’s exciting.” you grab his sleeve and yank him down. he topples next to you without resistance, board still attached, staring up at the sky while you wiggle around. “see? the clouds look like cotton candy. that one’s shaped like a dick.”

he wheezes, half laugh half dying. “you’re gonna get me fired.”

“oh boo-hoo.” you roll onto your side, propping your head on your hand, staring at him. “you’re really good at this, you know. like snowboarding and stuff. you make it look easy.”

his ears burn under the beanie. “thanks. i've been doing it since i was like. twelve. um, physics helps—understanding weight distribution and angular momentum and stuff.”

you blink slow, ditzy. “you just said a bunch of smart words…that’s like really hot.”

he sits up so fast he gets dizzy. “what?”

“what?” you mimic, grinning, then hop to your feet, miraculously without falling. “teach me a trick! preferably, something easy. i wanna impress my friends later.”

he scrambles up. “okay uh…basic straight air? just pop off that little roller over there.” he points to a tiny bump no one else would even notice. “watch me first.”

he drops in smooth, hits the lip and spins a lazy 180 and lands clean. when he looks back you’re clapping like he just won the olympics. “that was so cool, satoru!”

he chuckles. “alright, now your turn,” he says, coasting back up.

you try you actually kinda ollie, get maybe six inches of air, squeal the whole time, and stick the landing by sheer dumb luck. “did you see that?!” you scream, throwing your arms up. he catches you when you launch yourself at him, hugging tight, legs kicking in the air. “i’m a pro now!”

“you’re a natural,” he mumbles into your hood, arms locked around your waist, afraid to let go in case this is a hallucination. you smell like vanilla and hot cocoa and something sweet that he's already addicted to.

the rest of the lesson flies by in a blur of you falling on your butt and him catching you every time, your laughter echoing across the hill, his newly confident hands lingering longer than strictly necessary on your hips 'for balance.' when the lift shuts down for the day you’re still clinging to his arm, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

“same time tomorrow?” you ask, bouncing on your toes outside the rental shop while your friends honk from the parking lot.

“yeah—i mean, if you want. i’m here all week,” he says, pushing his glasses up for the millionth time.

“cool. it’s a date then.” you lean in quick, press a sticky gloss kiss to his cheek, right below his eye. “see you tomorrow, teach!”

you skip off toward the car, waving over your shoulder. satoru stands there frozen, hand slowly coming up to touch where your lips were, brain completely offline. somewhere behind him the head instructor sukuna wolf-whistles. he doesn’t even care. he’s so screwed but he can’t wait for tomorrow.

you pile into utahime’s jeep, snow crunching under the tires as shoko cranks the heat and yuki immediately cracks open a white claw she definitely smuggled from the lodge fridge. the second the doors slam shut they all turn on you like sharks smelling blood.

“okay spill,” shoko says, lighting a cigarette even though utahime yells about the seats. “was the instructor actually hot or did you just hit your head too many times?”

“he’s so hot,” you groan, kicking your boots off and pulling your knees to your chest. “like stupid hot. white hair, blue eyes, glasses, the whole package. and he’s in my astrophysics class. his name’s satoru gojo.”

yuki snorts so hard cider almost comes out her nose. “satoru gojo? the nerd who wore a nasa shirt to my halloween party and tried to explain black holes to a drunk sorority girl for forty-five minutes?”

“that was him?” utahime cackles, reversing out the parking spot. “i remember! yeah, yeah. he had some glowy tube thing and called it a ‘plasma containment device.’ what a fucking dork.”

“stop,” you whine, burying your face in your fuzzy mitts. “he’s sweet. he caught me like eight times today and didn’t even laugh when i face-planted into a drift.”

“sweet?” shoko repeats, blowing smoke out the crack in the window. “babe, he’s a virgin with a capital v. suguru's is his bestfriend and says gojo’s never even kissed anyone. that he spends all his free time building model rockets and jerking off to hentai.”

“he totally does not!” you yell, cheeks burning. “he’s just…focused…and quiet…and cute.”

“quiet because his brain is doing calculus while the rest of us are trying to get laid,” yuki adds, reaching back to poke your thigh. “bet he calls it ‘making love’ and cries after.”

utahime makes a fake sobbing noise. “oh y/n, we're quantum entangled, you complete me—”

“shut up!” you grab yuki’s empty can and chuck it at utahime’s head. “he’s not like that. he was nervous but he kept holding my waist and his hands were really warm and he smelled like pine and hot cocoa and—”

“and he probably nutted in his snow pants the second you hugged him,” shoko finishes, deadpan.

you scream into your hoodie sleeve the rest of the drive while they roast him mercilessly, ranking his hypothetical kinks from “missionary under the stars” to “asking if reverse cowgirl defies the laws of physics.” by the time you pull up to the little wooden lodge you’re ready to combust.

“i hate all of you,” you announce, slamming the jeep door and stomping through the snow in your socks. “i’m going to bed. alone. forever. because my friends are assholes.”

“we love you too, bitch!” yuki calls sweetly.

inside you lock the bedroom door, you yell at them to fuck off through the wood when they start knocking and fake moaning, then strip out of your clothes. the shower is heaven, hot water melting the chill, the strawberry body wash turning everything pink, fruity and steamy. you change into your cutest pajama set, tiny satin shorts with a lace trim and a matching cami that barely holds your tits, then crawl under the fluffy duvet with your phone.

the lodge is quiet now except for the wind rattling the windows and your friends’ muffled laughter downstairs. you scroll mindlessly for a bit, then curiosity wins. you tap away on your phone as you search up the college instagram, finding the tagged photos from the physics fair last semester. there he is, satoru in a black turtleneck and lab coat, hair a fluffy mess, holding some glowing contraption while grinning like a kid on christmas.

then you pull up shoko’s page, clicking on a photo she posted of her and suguru recently. curiosity wins, so you tap over to suguru’s profile next. it doesn’t take long to notice he’s tagged satoru in a bunch of photos—mostly candid shots, half of them looking like they were taken without satoru’s knowledge and the other half with him posing like he absolutely knew. scrolling through them feels a little like flipping through someone’s scrapbook, messy and intimate in a way that makes your chest feel warm and weirdly nosy at the same time.

you've got satoru asleep on a library table surrounded by red bull, satoru mid-air on his snowboard doing some grab you don’t know the name of, satoru holding a trophy with the goofiest smile.

you’re three years deep, heart doing dumb little flips at every photo, when your thumb betrays you and double-taps a picture from two summers ago. it’s satoru, shirtless at the beach, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, long fingers wrapped around a melon soda. his abs are lean and cut, a white happy trail disappearing beneath low-slung swim trunks. the red heart flashes up like a death sentence.

you squeak and launch your phone across the bed like it’s radioactive. “no no no no—” your pulse is in your ears, panic fizzing in your veins as if unliking it fast enough could erase the digital footprint of your humiliation. but of course, you know it’s too late. the damage is done, and the universe is laughing.

meanwhile, across the resort in the cramped staff lodging, satoru is face-down in his pillow trying to will away the semi he’s had since your gloss smeared on his cheek. his phone buzzes on the nightstand. he rolls over, squints at the screen, and bolts upright so fast he smacks his head on the empty bunk above.

instagram: ynthedoll liked your photo.

he squints a little to see which one you liked. he goes a little wide eyed when he sees the photo, that photo. the one suguru took specifically to embarrass him because he said, “dude your v-line is fuckin' crazy, the girls need to suffer.”

he stares at the ceiling, heart hammering. then, before his brain can talk him out of it, he opens your dms. you never followed each other, he never had the balls to, despite how many times you came up in his 'people you may know', but the message bar is right there.

s4t0roo: hey…saw you liked my old beach pic lol s4t0roo: everything okay after today? you took some solid falls s4t0roo: not that i minded catching you or anything!!!! i'll catch you again s4t0roo: shit that sounded creepy s4t0roo: i mean you smelled really nice s4t0roo: FUCK ignore that s4t0roo: hi

he watches the “seen” pop up and immediately yeets his phone into his laundry basket, groaning into his hands. thirty seconds later it buzzes again.

ynthedoll: omg i’m so sorry that was an accident 😭 ynthedoll: i like totally dropped my phone and the floor liked the photo with your abs

right…

ynthedoll: not that i didn't think your abs weren't nice!!! they’re very nice ynthedoll: i mean ynthedoll: hi 🥺

satoru stares at the messages until the screen dims. his palms are sweating. he types, deletes, types again.

s4t0roo: surprised you were lurking on my page, i’m kind of a loser

ynthedoll: omg what??? you’re not a loser! you’re literally a pro snowboarder who understands quantum thingies! that’s like super hot

s4t0roo: you think i’m hot?

ynthedoll: i think you’re extremely hot ynthedoll: like unfairly hot ynthedoll: is that weird to say lol

he exhales shakily, dick twitching in his sweats just from your texts. he bites his lip hard.

s4t0roo: not weird s4t0roo: i think about you aaallll the time in class s4t0roo: like can’t-form-sentences level

ynthedoll: really? ynthedoll: that’s cute ynthedoll: i sit a row ahead on purpose so you can see my outfits 😭

oh, he sees them. he makes a strangled noise and palms himself once through the fabric before forcing his hand away.

s4t0roo: tomorrow can we ditch the beginner hill s4t0roo: there’s this secret run suguru and i like to hit when it gets busy. no one goes there s4t0roo: just us

ynthedoll: just us?

s4t0roo: yeah s4t0roo: if you want

ynthedoll: i want

excitement bubbles up, your heart lurches at the thought of getting to s[end more time with him, just the two of you. you tap away at your screen, kicking your feet underneath the covers, giggling.

ynthedoll: night toru <3

s4t0roo: night y/n :) s4t0roo: dream of me or whatever

he drops the phone on his chest and stares at the dark ceiling, grinning like an idiot, cock aching against his stomach. he tosses and turns, attempting to sleep at least a little.

he flops onto his back again for what feels like the nth time, ceiling spinning slow from staring at it too long. the little staff room feels too warm even with the window cracked, wind whistling outside while his digimon pajama pants tent straight up like a fucking flagpole. he palms himself once, twice, groans low and frustrated because it’s not helping. every time he closes his eyes he sees your glossy lips, the way your tits bounced when you hugged him, the little squeak you made when you landed that tiny jump and crashed into his chest.

he grabs his phone off the charger, thumb hovering over pornhub like muscle memory. opens it, scrolls—blonde, brunette, redhead, big tits, small tits, anal, threesome, whatever. nothing sticks. every moan sounds fake, all of it feels wrong. he types random shit to find someone like you, your features but still nothing. with a pissed-off huff he exits the tab and opens instagram instead.

your page is right there in his recent dms and he clicks it like a guilty addict.

first highlight: “girls trip ❄️✨”

he taps. it's video of you in the jeep mirror, lip gloss cap between your teeth, shoko crowding into the video while you laugh to something yuki said. your tongue pokes out to lick your lips and his cock jerks so hard it slaps his stomach. he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, long and flushed angry red, tip already slick. he wraps his fist loose and starts slow strokes while the video loops.

second highlight: “ootd dump”

just a bunch mirror selfies in tiny skirts, crop tops riding up to show your soft tummy, one where you’re bent over tying platform boots and the curve of your ass fills the frame. he zooms in, breath hitching.

“fuck me” he whispers, thumb swiping precum over the head, spreading it shiny. his hips twitch into his hand.

third one is new—posted an hour ago. story of you fresh out the shower, hair damp, satin cami strap sliding off one shoulder, cleavage spilling, caption just “cozy night in 🐰”. the sight of you in the cozy lighting of the lodge murders him. he replays it over and over, imagining crawling into that bed behind you, pressing his bare chest to your back, sliding those tiny shorts to the side, your tight warmth welcoming him.

his strokes speed up, grip tightening, wrist twisting on every upstroke the way he likes. the precum keeps coming, dripping over his knuckles, making wet sounds in the quiet room. he bites his lip hard enough to sting, eyes locked on a photo of you in a bikini from last summer—same pink as today’s jacket, tits pushed up, nipples just barely hidden by two tiny triangles. he zooms until all he sees is skin and gloss and the little heart you drew on your hip with sunscreen.

“shit—y/n—” it slips out ragged. he pictures you on your knees in the snow, fluffy hood framing your face, mouth open, tongue out for him, taking him into your mouth. pictures your pretty hands with those nails wrapped around his cock instead of his own. pictures pushing you down on this shitty lodge mattress, peeling those satin shorts off, spreading your thighs and burying his face between them until you cry.

his balls draw up tight, spine arching off the bed. “fuck fuck fuck—” he cums hard, thick ropes shooting across his stomach, splattering the hem of his t-shirt, one shot hitting so high it lands under his collarbone. his hand keeps moving through it, oversensitive, milking every pulse while your instagram story loops one last time—your sleepy smile, the way you blow a kiss at the camera.

he lies there panting, ceiling swimming again, cum cooling sticky on his skin. phone slips from his hand onto the pillow.

tomorrow he’s gonna kiss that gloss right off your mouth. maybe more. definitely more.

he reaches for a dirty t-shirt to wipe himself off, still half-hard just thinking about it, and passes out with your name on his tongue and your face burned behind his eyelids.

you wake up before the sun even thinks about it, phone buzzing with a single text from satoru that just says “i'm ready whenever ur up :)” with the little smiley face making your stomach flip.

the lodge is dead quiet, shoko snoring on the couch with a wine glass still in her hand, utahime’s door cracked and yuki’s boots kicked halfway down the hall. you tiptoe past all of it, heart racing like you’re sneaking out for real.

outside it’s stupid cold, breath puffing white, but you’re in your cutest fit: baby-pink snow pants that hug your ass, white puffer with baby-pink fur, matching beanie with a massive pom-pom that bounces when you walk. you even did your makeup because priorities.

the walk to staff lodging is all crunchy snow and dark blue sky, your airpods blasting some hyper pop while you practice what you’re gonna say. “hey sexy” feels too much. “morning babe” also too much. you settle on literally just waving like an idiot.

you get there in nineteen minutes flat, cheeks wind-burned and nose pink, and there he is leaning against the doorframe in black snow pants and a loose gray hoodie under his open instructor jacket, board tucked under one arm. his hair is a fluffy disaster, glasses already fogging from the warm air inside hitting the cold. when he spots you he straightens so fast his board almost slips.

“h-hey! you’re—wow—early,” he stammers, pushing his glasses up and immediately sliding them back down with nervous fingers. “i mean good early! great early! hi!”

you bounce on your toes, pom-pom flopping. “hi toru! told you i’d be here.” you do a little spin so he can take in your whole outfit. “do i look okay?”

his mouth actually opens and nothing comes out for a solid three seconds. “you—yeah—you look—really pretty. think i’m having a crisis.”

you giggle and step closer, close enough that your mittened hand can brush his sleeve. “mmm, a good crisis or bad crisis?”

“good,” he squeaks, then clears his throat and tries again lower. “really good. hi, again.”

you hook your arm through his like it’s the most natural thing. “ready to walk to the lift? i brought us hot cocoa.” you wiggle a little, the thermos peeking out your tiny backpack and he makes this soft little “oh” sound like you just handed him a puppy.

the two of you start trekking toward the private staff lift, boards clacking together. he keeps sneaking glances down at you, cheeks redder than the cold can excuse.

“so,” you chirp, bumping his hip, “were you up all night thinking about me or just a little?”

he trips over literally nothing and catches himself on your shoulder. “i—uh—a normal amount. a healthy amount, of course! definitely not a creepy amount.” he adjusts his glasses again. “ok, maybe a little more than healthy.”

“good,” you say, leaning your head against his arm for a second. he smells like pine and laundry detergent and you wanna crawl inside his hoodie. “i couldn’t sleep either. kept thinking about your hands on my waist yesterday.”

his breath hitches so loud you hear it over the crunch of snow. “yeah? well i mean, i was trying not to be weird about it. failed probably.”

“nope, i loved it.” you peek up at him through your lashes. “they’re really big and warm. i felt safe.” you give him a soft smile, the tip of your nose already red from the cold.

he makes a strangled noise and stares straight ahead like the trees personally offended him. “you can’t just—say stuff like that. my brain stops working.”

“that’s the goal,” you tease, squeezing his arm. “i like when you get all flustered. it’s cute.”

“cute,” he echoes faintly, like he’s testing the word. “i’ve been called a lot of things, you know. dork, nerd, idiot, loser. but…never cute.”

“well you are. cute and hot at the same time. a deadly combo.” you tug him to a stop just before the lift line starts, spinning to face him. the pom-pom on your beanie brushes his chin. “also your glasses fog up when you’re nervous and it’s adorable.”

he groans, hiding his face in his mittens. “god, stop perceiving me.”

“never.” you reach up and tap the lens gently, thumb swiping at the fogginess. “i like seeing you all foggy for me.”

his hands drop slow and he looks at you, his blue eyes huge behind smudged glass, lips parted. “you’re gonna kill me before we even start.”

“promise i’ll resuscitate you. like mouth to mouth and everything! i'm cpr-certified still from life guarding last summer,” you tease, then bounce back like nothing happened. “c’mon, secret run time!”

his mind immediately flicks back to your photos from your instagram, picturing you in that tiny bikini. he gulps and follows after you in a daze, board dragging a little because his legs forgot how to work. when you step onto the lift first he hesitates, then slides in next to you super careful, leaving a polite six inches until you scoot over and plaster yourself to his side.

“it’s cold,” you lie, even though the sun’s up now and you’re basically a furnace underneath your layers. he immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders, tentative, then tighter when you snuggle in.

“is that better?” he asks, voice soft as he looks down at you by his side.

“way better.” you tip your head onto his shoulder and feel him shiver—not from cold. “you’re like my favorite heater.”

he laughs under his breath, the sound shaky. “anytime, literally anytime.”

the lift climbs higher, resort shrinking below, just the two of you swaying gently above the trees. you tilt your chin up, lips brushing the edge of his jaw accidentally-on-purpose. “thanks for this, satoru. it kinda feels like a date.”

he swallows hard, looking down at you again. “was kinda hoping you’d think that.”

you grin against his neck. “well, mission accomplished then.”

he doesn’t kiss you—his hands flex on your shoulder like he wants to cup your face but he’s too scared, too sweet. instead he just holds you closer the whole ride, thumb rubbing little circles through your jacket, both of you pretending to watch the view while your hearts try to beat out of your chests.

when the lift reaches the top he helps you off first, steadying you even though you don’t wobble this time. you spin to face him again, bouncing on your board. “ready to show me your secret spot, teach?”

he smiles, a small, nervous, one but stupidly pretty. “yeah, follow me, princess.”

you trek next to him, giggling the whole way down the untracked powder, his shaky flirting and your shameless teasing echoing through the quiet trees.

once you reach a good spot, he kicks off first, carving a lazy s into the fresh powder, glancing back every three seconds to make sure you’re still behind him. the run is tucked way off the map, narrow and steep at the start, then it spills into this wide gladed bowl nobody hits because the only way in is a sketchy traverse most people miss. trees tower on both sides, branches heavy with snow, sun slicing through in golden beams like the whole mountain’s showing off just for you two.

you follow his line, wobbling a little because the snow is deeper than yesterday and your board keeps sinking, but every time you yelp he slows instantly, reaching back with one hand.

“grab on,” he says, voice all soft and breathless and you latch onto his fingers like it's nothing, like it's completely normal for you two. his glove is huge around yours and you swing behind him, giggling when powder sprays up your jacket.

“you’re showing off,” you accuse, squeezing his hand.

“maybe a tiny bit,” he admits, cheeks pink. “wanted to look cool for like…five seconds.”

“i always think you look cool,” you say, loud enough for the trees to hear. “cool and nerdy and tall and—satoru! slow down i’m gonna crash into you!”

he laughs and purposely checks his speed so you bump gently into his back, arms wrapping around his waist from behind to stay upright. you don’t let go even when you’re balanced again, chin hooked over his shoulder, tits pressed to his spine. “this okay?” you ask against his hood.

he makes this tiny broken sound. “more than okay. never let go actually. mhm, our new rule.”

you squeeze tighter and feel his abs jump under all the layers. “deal.”

the traverse flattens and he leads you through a little tunnel of pines, ducking branches, then suddenly the trees open up and it’s just…perfect. untouched white rolling out forever, little kickers and pillows everywhere, the resort noise completely gone. just birds and your breathing and the soft shush of boards on snow.

he stops at the lip of the first drop, kicks his back foot out of the binding so he can turn and face you fully. you do the same, clumsy, almost fall, and he catches your elbows automatically.

“welcome to my favorite place on earth,” he says, gesturing grand with one arm like he’s presenting a kingdom. “no lifts, no kids, no rules.”

your eyes go wide and sparkly. “it’s so pretty, i think i’m gonna cry.”

“don’t cry,” he panics, stepping closer. “i’ll cry too and then we’re both screwed.”

you laugh and shove his chest playfully. “teach me something cool then. something only you can do.”

he rubs the back of his neck, snowflakes melting in his hair. “uh…there’s this butter box i built with some friends. wanna try a boardslide?”

“teach me words later, just show me,” you demand, bouncing.

he grins so big his dimple pops and drops in first, hits a little side hit, ollies smooth and slides the fallen log like it’s nothing—grabs indie, spins out clean. when he looks back up the hill you’re literally clapping with mittens, pom-pom on your head flapping around.

“your turn, princess,” he calls, coasting back up on foot, boots crunching.

you puff your cheeks, nervous for the first time all morning. “if i eat shit you have to kiss it better.”

his whole face explodes red, imagining his lips on yours. “deal—now, focus! knees bent, look at the end of the log, not your board.”

you nod super serious, tongue out concentrating, then push off. it’s messy—you pop too early, your board clacks loud, but you actually stick the slide for like half a second before bailing forward into the powder with a squeal. snow explodes everywhere. satoru’s there before you even stop rolling, on his knees, brushing snow off your face with frantic hands. “you okay? shit, are you hurt—”

you grab his jacket and yank him down on top of you, giggling like crazy. “i did it! kinda! did you see?”

“i saw,” he breathes, propped on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you, hair hanging down and tickling your cheeks. “you were perfect.”

“liar,” you whisper, but you’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. your legs are tangled, boards still half attached, and he’s so close you can see every snowflake melting on his lashes.

he swallows hard, eyes flicking to your mouth and back up. “still gotta…guess i gotta pay up though. you said to kiss it better.” your heart slams in your chest, cheeks red from more than just the cold.

“where does it hurt?” he asks, all breathy and teasing. then he hesitates for a second—big blue eyes nervous behind foggy glasses—then gently taps your forehead where a tiny bit of snow stuck. “here?”

you scrunch your nose. “lower.”

he moves to your cheek, barely a brush of cold lips against flushed skin. “here?”

“lower,” you whisper again.

his breath shakes. he hovers over your mouth for what feels like forever, thumb stroking your jaw, then chickens out at the last second and drops a soft kiss to the tip of your nose instead.

“there,” he mumbles, voice wrecked. “all better.”

you whine dramatically and wrap your arms around his neck so he can’t escape. “tease.”

“i’m—working up to it,” he admits, burying his burning face in your neck. “gimme like…five more minutes of not dying.”

you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at the nape. “take all the minutes you want, pretty boy.”

he groans against your skin, whole body trembling and you just hold him there in the quiet powder while the sun climbs higher and the mountain holds its breath around you.

you stay tangled in the snow way longer than you should, his nose pressed to your neck while you talk about nothing and everything. he tells you how he found this run when he was fifteen and sneaking out the lodge at night with suguru, how the stars look insane from the ridge up there. you tell him about the time shoko dared you to streak through the quad freshman year and you only made it halfway before security showed up. he laughs so hard he snorts and then dies of embarrassment, hiding his face in your scarf while you scratch his scalp until he’s boneless.

eventually your stomach growls loud enough to echo off the trees and he sits up, hair full of snow like a dork. “shit, you’re starving. i’m the worst date ever.”

“you’re the best,” you correct, letting him pull you up. your legs are jelly and you almost face-plant again, but he catches you by the waist, steady as always. “pancakes? my treat for showing me your secret run.”

he lights up like you offered him the moon. “the diner does chocolate chip ones the size of your head.”

you gasp dramatically. “i'm sold.”

the ride down is lazy and perfect, him in front, you holding his hips the whole time, carving slow s-shapes through the powder while the sun turns everything gold. when you finally pop out at the base he grabs both of your boards without asking and carries them under one arm, other hand locked with yours like it belongs there.

the diner is warm and smells like bacon grease and coffee. you slide into a booth way in the back, knees knocking under the table because he’s too tall to fit right. he orders chocolate chip pancakes for you and blueberry for himself, plus extra whipped cream because he said that 'you strike him as a whipped cream girl.' you kick his shin gently and steal his hot cocoa when he leans down a bit to rub the spot the second it arrives, leaving a glossy print on the rim that makes his ears go scarlet.

you’re halfway through demolishing a pancake the size of a steering wheel when both your phones start vibrating like angry bees. his lights up first—

manager: gojo where the hell are you group lesson in 10

then yours explodes: ten missed calls, thirty-seven texts ranging from shoko’s “did you die” to yuki sending increasingly unhinged eggplant emojis.

you pout at the same time he does, syrup sticky on your fingers. “ugh, fuck my life. adulting.”

“worst timing,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with a napkin and then folding it into a perfect little square. he looks so sad kicking at the table leg that you reach across and lace your fingers with his sticky ones.

“hey,” you say soft, “your shift ends at four, right?” he nods, hopeful.

“come find me after. we can do a real date. no boards, no lessons, no friends cockblocking us.” you lean in, voice dropping. “you mentioned there’s other fun stuff to do here. show me.”

his eyes go huge behind his glasses. “like—like actual date stuff? dinner and walking around and holding hands without pretending it’s for balance?”

“exactly that,” you grin. “i wanna wear a cute outfit and everything…maybe the little black dress i packed just in case i met a cute guy.”

he makes this wounded noise and squeezes your hand so tight your knuckles creak. “i’ll be done at four on the dot. i’ll shower so fast, i promise. meet me by the big fireplace in the main lodge? i’ll probably be the idiot smiling too big to function.”

“perfect,” you whisper, and because your friends are now spam-calling again, you lean across the table quick and kiss the corner of his mouth, tasting chocolate and whipped cream. “go be all professional and stuff. i’ll be thinking about you all day.”

he touches his mouth like you branded him, stands up so fast he bangs his knee on the table, then drops cash for the bill plus a ridiculous tip. “four o’clock,” he says, backing toward the door because he can’t stop staring. “i'll be there, pinky promise.”

“see you soon, pretty boy,” you call, waving with syrupy fingers.

he trips over the welcome mat on his way out and you laugh so hard hot cocoa nearly comes out your nose. best morning ever.

you stomp back into the lodge with snow still clinging to your lashes and that dumb floaty feeling in your chest. the second the door slams behind you, three heads snap up from the couch like meerkats on crack.

“there she is,” yuki announces, kicking her feet up on the coffee table, white claw already in hand even though it’s barely noon. “miss secret morning ride. spill it, did you let the physics nerd raw you in the trees or what?”

shoko doesn’t even look up from her phone, just blows smoke toward the ceiling. “bet he cried when he came. virgin boys always cry.”

utahime cackles so hard she snorts. “did he call your pussy a black hole and say he wanted to study the event horizon?”

“shut the fuck up,” you hiss, cheeks on fire, kicking the door closed with your heel. “it wasn’t like that. we just…snowboarded and talked…and ate pancakes. and he paid. and he’s picking me up at four for a real date.”

“a real date,” yuki repeats in this fake dreamy voice, clasping her hands under her chin. “oh y/n, will you quantum entangle with me under the stars—”

“bitch, i will throw this boot at your head,” you threaten, hopping on one foot while you yank the rented ones off. “he’s sweet, okay? he held my hand the whole lift ride. leave him alone.”

shoko finally glances up, eyebrow raised. “he held your hand. wow, groundbreaking. did he ask permission first or just spontaneously combust?”

“both,” you mutter, flopping face-first onto the armchair, muffling your scream into the cushion. “he’s coming at four and i’m wearing the black dress i brought and you bitches are not allowed to embarrass me.”

“no promises,” utahime sings, already scrolling her phone. “i’m texting suguru right now. bet he has dirt.”

you launch a pillow at her head.

meanwhile, across the resort, satoru is dying.

he’s supposed to be teaching a group of twelve year olds how to link turns on the bunny hill but his brain is still in that diner booth tasting chocolate syrup on your tongue. every time he demonstrates a carve he almost eats shit because he’s thinking about the way your knee knocked his under the table, how your lip gloss left a perfect pink smooch on his cheek.

“mithter gojo, why are you red?” one kid asks, staring up at him with snot frozen to his nose.

“uh—windburn,” satoru lies, pushing his glasses up for the hundredth time. they’re fogged solid. “okay tiny humans, pizza slice position, let’s go—”

he spends the next three hours mechanically correcting stances while his dick twitches every time he remembers you calling him pretty boy. by the time the last kid gets picked up he’s sweating under his jacket even though it’s negative digits outside.

sukuna—his asshole coworker with pink hair and face tattoos—leans against the rack smoking a cig. “you look like you’re about to nut in your pants, dork.”

“fuck off,” satoru mutters, yanking his beanie lower. “i have a date.”

“with the chick in the heart pants? the one who face-planted twenty times yesterday?” sukuna grins, all teeth. “she’s a baddie. real fat ass. you gonna last thirty seconds?”

“i’m gonna last—” satoru starts, then realizes he has no clue. “i’m gonna be a gentleman.”

“sure you are,” sukuna laughs, flicking ash into the snow. “text me when you prematurely bust and cry about it. maybe i can fill in for ya when you're done.” he winks. satoru flips him off and bolts for the staff locker room.

he showers so fast the water’s barely warm, scrubs pine body wash everywhere like it’ll make him smell less like nervous boy. stands in front of the foggy mirror with a towel low on his hips staring at himself like he’s never seen his own reflection before. his dick is already half hard just thinking about seeing you in a dress. he has to slap his face to make it behave.

he changes three times—black jeans and a white hoodie, no too casual; gray sweater, no too soft; ends up in dark jeans and a black turtleneck that makes his eyes look insane. runs product through his hair until it’s fluffy and messy in that way you stared at yesterday. he sprays cologne once, twice, then panics and waves his arms like a bird to disperse it.

by 3:58 he’s pacing in front of the massive stone fireplace in the main lodge, hands shoved deep in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. people keep glancing at him because he looks like a runway model who accidentally wandered into a ski resort.

at exactly 4:00 on the dot you appear at the top of the stairs and his brain flatlines.

the black dress is tight and short and clings to every curve he’s been jerking off to for the past twenty-four hours. thin straps, neckline dipping low enough that he can see the swell of your tits when you breathe. your legs look endless in sheer tights and little black kitten heels. hair down and glossy, lips red this time instead of pink.

you spot him and your whole face lights up, waving like a dork as you trot down the stairs. he meets you halfway because his legs move on their own.

“hi,” you breathe, stopping one step above him so you’re almost eye level. “you clean up nice. toru.”

he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out—like his brain has short-circuited the moment you got too close. his hands hover uselessly in the air, like he’s scared to touch you where people might see. it’s painfully, adorably obvious.

you sigh, roll your eyes, and hook your fingers around his wrist. he lets you tug him down the stairs, obedient in that dazed, long-limbed way of his, until you slip into a quiet corner by the windows where the hallway hum fades and the world feels smaller.

the moment you’re out of sight, you step in, push him gently back against the wall, and kiss him for the first time.

and for satoru, it’s like someone cracked open the sky.

like constellations reorganizing themselves behind his eyelids, like every astrological forecast he’s ever read suddenly making sense. every atom in his body lights up in this wild, electric way—like the universe just nudged him and whispered, this is it.

the kiss starts soft—just the press of your lips against his, glossy and warm, sticking to his for a heartbeat before you pull back. that tiny separation nearly kills him. his hands finally land on your waist, tentative at first, then gripping the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid he’ll float right off the planet if he doesn’t hold on.

“hi,” he finally manages, voice wrecked. “you’re—fuck—you look unreal.”

“i wanted to look pretty for you. how'd i do?” you murmur, nipping his bottom lip. “mission accomplished?”

he nods too fast. “i’m—yeah—gonna need a minute or i’m gonna do something embarrassing in my pants.”

you laugh against his mouth and he swallows the sound, kissing you deeper this time, tongue sliding slow and careful like he’s scared he’ll mess it up. you taste like cherry lip gloss and the mint you chewed on the way over. your hands slide up into his hair and tug just hard enough to make him groan.

when you pull back his glasses are crooked and his pupils are blown wide. “dinner first,” you decide, smoothing his turtleneck where you wrinkled it. “then we can do embarrassing things in private.”

he exhales shakily. “dinner, right. forgot about food. i can do food.”

you lace your fingers with his and he starts walking you toward the little italian place attached to the lodge, his palm sweaty against yours the whole walk.

once you both reach the restaurant, you tug him through the arched doorway and the warm air hits like a hug—dim amber lights, red checkered tablecloths, old dean martin crooning from hidden speakers. the hostess recognizes satoru immediately since he’s been coming here with suguru since they were freshmen and gives you both the corner booth that’s half-hidden behind a fake grapevine.

satoru slides in first because he’s too tall to fit on the short side and you scoot right next to him instead of across, thighs pressed together under the table from the jump. he freezes for a second, then relaxes when you bump his shoulder with yours.

“um, is this okay?” you ask, nudging his knee.

“more than okay,” he mumbles, cheeks pink again. “just—i'm still, you know, processing that you’re real and that this is real and you're sitting this close and wearing that dress.”

the waitress drops off menus and a basket of garlic knots that smell like heaven. satoru immediately grabs one and tears it in half, steam curling up between you.

“these are dangerous,” he warns, holding the bigger piece out to you. “eat this or i’ll finish the whole basket and hate myself later.”

you take it, fingers brushing his, and he watches your mouth way too intently while you bite. butter and garlic and parmesan explode on your tongue and you actually moan a little.

his eyes go comically wide behind his glasses.

“good?” he croaks.

“marry me,” you say around the bite, more so talking to the garlic knot than him, then laugh when his ears turn scarlet.

you both order—him the carbonara because he’s a creature of habit, you the spicy vodka rigatoni because you saw it on the specials board and wanted to watch him sweat when you'd eventually feed him a forkful. he orders a coke, you get a sprite and then you’re just staring at each other wrapped in candlelight while frank sinatra sings about strangers in the night.

“so,” you start. “tell me something embarrassing that isn’t about snowboarding or astrophysics.”

he snorts, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “uh, well…last month i tried to microwave a burrito still in the foil. i might've set off every smoke alarm in the dorm. suguru filmed me running around in boxers waving a towel like a helicopter. it was on his private story.”

you cackle loud enough that the couple two booths over glares. “oh my god, you have to send it to me later.”

“never,” he says, but he’s grinning. “your turn.”

you lean in, voice low. “freshman year i got so drunk at a halloween party i thought the campus statue was a real guy hitting on me. probably spent like twenty minutes trying to give it my number before shoko dragged me away.”

he throws his head back and laughs—full, loud, nose scrunch and everything—and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

the food comes and it’s ridiculous portions. you stab the pasta with your fork and hold it up to his mouth because sharing is caring. he takes the bite, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, then immediately starts coughing because the sauce is actually spicy as hell.

“water—water—” he wheezes, grabbing your sprite and chugging half of it. you pat his back, giggling. “told you it was hot,” you tease.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes watering. “you’re evil, really evil.”

the conversation flows stupid easy after that and he keeps stealing bites off your plate even though his carbonara is right there. you keep stealing bites off his when he’s not looking and he's not at all, because all he can look at is you. every time his hand brushes yours, he gives it a gentle squeeze like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

at one point the waitress drops off tiramisu you didn’t order and winks. “on the house for the cute couple.”

satoru goes bright red and mumbles thank you while you beam. you dig in first, scoop up a massive bite of mascarpone and cocoa and hold it to his lips. “open,” you order, wiggling the fork a little.

his eyes flutter shut like he’s tasting drugs. “fuck, that’s good.”

you take the next bite and a little cream sticks to your bottom lip. he stares for a solid five seconds, thumb twitching on the table like he wants to wipe it off. you beat him to it, licking it slow on purpose, watching his throat bob.

“you’re killing me.” he whispers, brows furrowed, eyes soft.

“good.” you whisper back, batting your lashes up at him.

by the time the check comes, he snatches it before you can even look, you’re both leaning into each other, shoulders touching, his arm stretched along the back of the booth behind you. he traces little circles on your bare, bare shoulder with one finger, light enough to raise goosebumps.

“do you…still wanna walk around?” he asks, voice soft, a little nervous. “or we could…i dunno…go somewhere quieter?”

you turn your head so your lips almost brush his jaw. “quieter sounds perfect.”

he pays, leaves yet another ridiculous tip, and then you’re sliding out of the booth, his hand finding yours immediately like it’s magnetic. outside the restaurant the lodge is all twinkle lights and soft jazz spilling from speakers hidden in fake pine trees. he tucks you into his side as you walk, thumb rubbing over your knuckles.

“so…the fireplace again?” he suggests, nodding toward the massive stone one in the main lobby. “or my room’s…closer. staff lodging is right behind the rental shop. no sukuna, he’s on night patrol tonight.”

you squeeze his fingers. “your room. definitely your room.”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours and steers you toward the side exit, his heartbeat hammering so hard you can feel it through his jacket where you’re pressed against him. the night air is sharp and cold but neither of you feel it—you’re both burning up, fingers tangled, stealing little glances every three seconds like teenagers who just discovered kissing exists. he keeps bumping your hip on accident, you keep stepping on the back of his shoe, both of you giggling like idiots under the strings of bulb lights.

the staff lodging is a low wooden building tucked behind the main lodge, warm light glowing from a couple windows. he fumbles the keycard twice before the door clicks open, then ushers you inside like you’re made of glass. his room is exactly what you expected and somehow cuter: string lights along the ceiling, digimon posters half-hidden under snowboard magazines, a stack of physics textbooks threatening to topple off the desk, one single bed pushed against the wall with a navy comforter that’s definitely too small for him. it smells like the pine soap and laundry detergent you've come to adore over the last two days.

he shuts the door, locks it, then just stands there staring at you in the soft light, hands flexing at his sides. “hi,” he says again, like it’s the first time tonight.

“hi,” you answer, stepping closer until your boots bump his sneakers. “so…are you gonna kiss me again or do i have to climb you like a tree?”

his answer is immediate—he cups your face with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, and kisses you slow and deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours like he’s been starving for it. you make this soft needy noise into his mouth and he walks you backward until your knees hit the bed, never breaking the kiss.

when you finally pull apart you’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. “been thinking about doing that again after the first time,” he admits, voice rough.

“same,” you whisper, fingers curling into his turtleneck. “now, please take this off before i rip it.”

he laughs shakily and yanks it over his head in one motion, hair exploding into fluffy white chaos. the second the shirt’s gone you’re on him again, hands sliding over warm skin, tracing the lean lines of his stomach, the little happy trail that disappears under his jeans. he shivers hard when your nails scrape lightly over his nipples.

“fuck—wait—” he gasps, catching your wrists gently. “i’m—i’m gonna embarrass myself if we go fast. like really fast. i’ve never—”

“i know,” you soothe, kissing his jaw, his throat, his cheeks. “we go slow. whatever you want. i’m not going anywhere.”

he exhales like you just lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders and kisses you again, softer this time, guiding you down onto the bed so you’re straddling his lap. the string lights paint both of you gold and his hands are shaking when they settle on your hips over the dress.

“tell me if i do anything wrong,” he murmurs against your lips.

“you won’t,” you promise, rolling your hips once just to watch his eyes roll back. “just touch me, toru. anywhere. everywhere.”

and then his hands are everywhere—sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher, thumbs tracing the lace tops of your tights, mouth hot on your neck while you grind slow and dirty in his lap. slick pooling in your panties.

he keeps rocking you against him like he can’t stop, hips jerking up every time your clothed pussy drags over the bulge in his jeans. the friction is filthy, wet sounds starting already because you’re soaked through the lace. his breath hitches against your throat.

“fuck—wait—” he pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. “i’ve literally never done this. like. any of this. zero. virgin with a capital everything. you were my first kiss tonight. i don’t even own condoms because my brain never got that far.”

you kiss the tip of his nose. “i’m on the pill and i’m clean. we’re good if you want it raw. and toru, baby, i want you to wreck me tonight, okay? no embarrassment allowed.”

he makes this broken little sound and drops his forehead to your shoulder. “you’re sure? because once we start i don’t think i can—”

you shut him up by sliding off his lap and sinking to your knees between his spread thighs. his belt clinks loud in the quiet room when you yank it open.

“oh fuck oh fuck—” he whispers, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to put them.

you pop the button, drag the zipper down slow, and his cock basically jumps out—long, flushed angry pink, tip already shiny and leaking. he’s thick enough that your fingers barely meet when you wrap around him. the second your hand touches bare skin he jolts like you shocked him.

“sensitive,” he chokes out, laughing nervously. “really sensitive—shit—”

you stroke once, slow, thumb swiping over the head to spread the precum. his hips buck hard enough to lift off the mattress.

“gonna taste you now,” you tell him, voice low, and before he can answer you lean in and lick a fat stripe from base to tip.

his reaction is instant—head slamming back against the wall, a strangled “jesus—fuck—” ripping out of him. you take the head into your mouth, suck gentle, tongue swirling, and he’s already shaking, thighs trembling on either side of your shoulders.

“y/n—baby—you keep doing that a-and i’m not gonna last, i swear—” he’s babbling, fingers finally landing in your hair, not pushing, just holding on for dear life. you pull off with a wet pop and he whines, actual tears in his eyes.

“that’s okay,” you murmur, kissing the inside of his thigh. “cum whenever you want the first time. we’ve got all night.”

you sink down again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing, hand twisting at the base. he lasts maybe thirty seconds—hips stuttering, abs clenching—then he’s yelling your name, cock pulsing hard as he shoots thick ropes of cum straight down your throat. you swallow every drop, humming around him until he’s twitching from overstimulation and tugging weakly at your hair. you pull off slow, lips shiny, and he hauls you up immediately to kiss you messy and desperate, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning into it.

“your turn,” he rasps, flipping you so fast the room spins. he shoves your dress up to your waist, practically rips your tights and panties down in one go. the second he sees you bare he freezes, staring like he’s never seen pussy before—which he hasn’t.

“so pretty,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “can i—”

you cut him off, voice needy. “yes, toru. please.”

he dives in like a starving man—nose bumping your clit on the first try, tongue licking a broad stripe through your slick folds and moaning loud enough to vibrate against you. he’s sloppy, eager, licking into you like he’s trying to drink you dry. when he finds your clit and sucks you jolt so hard he has to pin your hips down.

“like that?” he mumbles against you, words muffled because he refuses to pull away long enough to talk properly.

“fuck—yes—just like that—”

he loses his mind after that. tongue fucking into you, then back to your clit, two fingers sliding in easy because you’re dripping for him. he curls them, finds that spot on the first try—pure luck—and you arch off the bed with a broken cry. he does it again and again, sucking your clit in pulses until you’re grinding against his face, thighs clamping around his head.

“toru—gonna cum—don’t stop—”

he moans into you and doubles down. you shatter, clenching hard around his fingers, flooding his mouth. he drinks it all down, licking you through it until you’re pushing at his forehead because it’s too much.

he finally pulls back, face wrecked—lips swollen, chin shiny, glasses completely fogged and crooked. he looks drunk. “again,” he says hoarsely. “wanna do that again.”

you laugh breathlessly and drag him up to kiss him, tasting yourself everywhere. “later, need you inside me now.”

he scrambles for his wallet like a man possessed, then remembers he has nothing and just whimpers like a puppy. you push him onto his back, straddle his hips, reach between the two of you and line him up, the fat tip nudging your tight hole.

“we'll go slow, okay?” you tell him, sinking down inch by inch.

he’s big—stretching you open, burning in the best way. his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, mouth open in a silent scream. when you bottom out you both just breathe for a second, foreheads pressed together.

“move—please move—” he begs. you roll your hips slow and he’s already shaking, cock twitching inside you. you ride him steady, watching his face—eyes rolling back, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. after maybe two minutes his abs clench hard.

“fuck—gonna cum again—i’m sorry—”

“do it,” you whisper, grinding down hard. “fill me up, toru.”

he snaps—hips slamming up, coming with a choked sob, pumping you full of heat. you keep riding through it, chasing your second, and the overstimulation makes him whine and buck wildly.

you cum again clenching around him, milking every drop. he’s still hard thankfully so you climb off shaky legs and flip onto your stomach, bending over.

“please don't stop,” you gasp. “i want more.”

he goes wide eyed and blanks for a second at the sight of you on all fours presented to him like a meal. he cartoonishly shakes his head and scrambles up, grabs your hips, slides back in easy because he’s made a mess of you. the angle’s deeper—he hits something that makes you scream into the pillow. he fucks you hard now, confidence blooming, one hand sliding up your spine to press between your shoulder blades.

“like this?” he pants. “tell me—tell me it’s good, baby—”

“so good—so fucking good—hah- harder—”

he pounds into you, the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin so loud in the tiny room. you reach back, grab his wrist, guide his hand around to your clit. he rubs messy circles and you’re gone again, pussy fluttering hard around him. he follows right after—hips stuttering, burying deep and spilling again with a broken moan of your name. you feel every pulse, hot and thick inside you. he collapses half on top of you, both of you sweaty and wrecked, his cock still twitching. after a minute he kisses your shoulder, your neck, your cheek.

“again?” he mumbles, already half hard inside you.

you laugh into the pillow. “give me five minutes and then ruin me some more, pretty boy.”

you wake up tangled in navy sheets with his long arm locked around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go. he’s already half hard again, pressed against your ass, mouthing sleepy kisses along your shoulder.

“morning, princess,” he mumbles, voice gravel-rough. “round four? five? i lost count.”

you laugh and roll over to kiss him slow and lazy, both of you tasting like last night. the rest of the trip melts into one long blur of exactly that. cozy mornings in till he has to go to work, waking up wrapped in each other, sneaking off the slopes to fuck in empty locker rooms, quickies in the staff shower, slow sleepy sex at 3 a.m in his room with the string lights painting gold across his back while he whispers how perfect you feel around him. he eats you out on his desk at least twice a day until your legs stop working. you somehow manage to jerk him off in the gondola once and he has to bite his own glove to stay quiet.

your friends go from roasting him to adopting him in like forty-eight hours. the first morning after the date you stumble into the lodge kitchen at noon wearing his hoodie and nothing else, thighs still shaky.

shoko looks up from her coffee, cigarette dangling. “jesus, he actually dicked you down. you’re glowing.”

yuki whistles. “gojo! get in here, nerd!”

he appears in the doorway in sweatpants and messy hair, cheeks pink.

utahime throws a croissant at his head. “you made her walk funny. good on you, dork.”

by day three they’re dragging him into their jeep for late-night hot tub runs, forcing him to shotgun white claws, teaching him beer pong on the coffee table. he loses spectacularly every time but laughs so hard, actually enjoying the time he's spent with you and your friends, for once, he doesn't feel like the dorky nerd everyone paints him out to be.

on the last night you all pile into the hot tub under the stars, steam curling up into the freezing air. satoru sits behind you, legs spread so you’re between them, chin on your shoulder.

yuki splashes him. “so, gojo, are you treating our girl right or do we have to bury you somewhere on the campus grounds?”

he tightens his arms around your waist, kisses your wet shoulder. “planning on keeping her forever if she lets me.”

the girls aww dramatically. shoko flicks water at both of you. “that's so fucking gross, i like him now. don’t fuck it up.”

you and the girls go home the next day, his hand never leaving yours as he walks you utahime's jeep. he kisses you stupid until sukuna yells at him to get back to work.

two weeks later, on christmas day, you’re standing in his childhood driveway in kyoto, snow dusting the traditional roof tiles, wearing the fluffiest coat you own because he warned you his mom keeps the house like the arctic. he’s vibrating beside you in a black peacoat, hair doing its fluffy thing, holding your hand so tight your fingers go numb.

the door flies open before he can even knock.

“satoru!” his mom shrieks, launching herself at him for a hug, then freezes when she spots you. her eyes go comically wide. “oh my god. oh my god! is this the girlfriend???”

satoru’s face explodes red. “mom—”

she’s already grabbing your cheeks, squishing them, tears in her eyes. “you’re real! you’re so pretty! he said he had good news and he never answered and i thought—”

“mom!” he wails, trying to pry her off you.

his dad appears behind her, tall and quiet and smiling exactly like satoru does when he’s trying not to laugh. “let the poor girl breathe, dear.”

she finally releases you but immediately drags you inside by the hand, chattering a mile a minute about baby photos and his old digimon bedroom and how she always knew he’d bring home someone perfect.

satoru catches your eye across the genkan while he’s kicking off his boots, mouthing “i’m so sorry” with the goofiest grin.

you mouth back “i love you” and watch his entire soul leave his body in the best way. his mom is still talking as she pulls you toward the living room, grabbing her photo albums.

“i knew it! i knew my baby finally got a girlfriend!”

satoru groans into his hands but he’s smiling so wide it hurts.

KAMOSWRLD 2025 ©

masterlist!

‘A tall man, long dark hair, amethyst eyes, he’ll be quiet and kind, oh and he’ll want children, he’ll want family. He’ll be strong and smart, and just a little on the eccentric side – we can’t have him too boring.’

Your sister had giggled at you, when you had picked up purple petals that you imagined of his eye color, grinning as your sister ran over. 

‘Amethyst, that’s such a crazy color!’ She'd said, touching the petals with you.

‘Well, he’s not real so – he can be as beautiful as I imagine.’

It’s just long black hair you tell yourself, you're being ridiculous! So he's tall, okay… that’s the only similarities. 

Your heart is racing just a bit in your chest, nervously shifting as the girls tug you along even closer, into the living room just dusted a bit from drywall and sawdust.

“Papa, papa!”

He’ll have a deep, husky voice.

“Girls,” he turns around then, and you pause in your tracks, thighs trembling, breaths quickening just a bit.

His eyes.

They’ll be amethyst.

You’d said it dreamily as a little girl underneath the full blood moon, but even then you never thought, never imagined that maybe it could be real. It can’t be surely, even if his eyes are amethyst, even if his dark silky hair falls a bit over his shoulders, and you see his bare chest, chiseled and cut, your eyes trail down it before you can stop yourself, flushing hotly.

He pauses as he eyes you, seeing the heat on your cheeks, something about you making him – Suguru Geto – falter just a moment, a man never lost for words and completely at ease, paused.

You’re dressed casually, soft and cozy, smelling like the autumn itself, hints of the apple orchard and cinnamon, but mostly, it’s how you just look at him like that.

Who are you?

Suguru long ago gave up on women, he had love once long ago, to the mom of these two little girls, and he couldn’t help but focus solely on them. She was lost so tragically.

Not that he doesn't see women as beautiful – especially you. He loves beauty, after all, yet nothing has stopped him in his tracks like this.

How can he pinpoint it? You're beautiful but it's not that… it's something around you, real and tangible, making his fingers twitch with the need to just touch your skin.

Mimiko is giggling and tugs you down to whisper in your ear - “Papa must think you're pretty.”

You blush even more, clearing your throat a bit, finally taking a breath and holding out your hand. “Hey new neighbor, I'm the witch next door.”

He chuckles then, a sound he's hardly made in ages it feels like, aside from when the girls do something too adorable. Little troublemakers that have him wrapped around their little fingers, always batting their lashes and looking too adorable to punish.

But to chuckle from someone else?

He sobers a bit then, realizing how easy that had been, how pretty your necklace sits between your collacollarbone. Some pendant he can't quite place, tilting his head a bit to study it, before realizing his attention was right on your breasts.

The girls run around now giggling and you smile just a bit, leaning over and touching the necklace ever so delicately. “Do you like it?”

“A witch talisman, huh?” He smirks a little and then turns, snatching up a sweater and sliding it over his head, abs flexing when he moves it across his chest. You heat up at the action, managing to stay casual instead.

“Of course it is,” you tease. Yet it was indeed just that – rose quartz, glittering a soft pink. “So your name?”

“Suguru Geto,” he's trying to be friendly, holding out a hand for you to shake, yours rests in his now, biting down on your lower lip and staring. His hand overtakes yours, swallowing it in his calloused grip.

Something about the touch lingers in his mind that night after you leave. He can't help but toss and turn, looking out the window after pacing around his room for a while. In the quiet he thinks too much, sighing and pressing aside the blinds, just to see you under the glittering light of the almost full moon in your garden.

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, sighing when you look over toward him, as if you can see the crack in the blinds. You smile just a little, turning in a little circle before bouncing back in. “Maybe she is a witch.”

****

You may or may not dress just a little sexier with hot dad neighbor across the street - it certainly isn’t intentional at all!

It’s also just coincidental that you put a little charm spell on yourself to look just a bit more ‘enchanting’ if you will. That you bat your lashes that have a little bit of mascara on them lately when you borrow a cup of sugar, or come over with extra donuts for the girls.

It’s just to be a friendly neighbor! It has nothing to do with the fact that Suguru Geto is the epitome of that love spell you made when you were a little girl, down to the smirk and how his eyes get just a bit lidded in amusement when you show up. The house is progressively coming together more and more every day you walk by, Suguru seems to be quite the handy man.

Aside from some workers most of the restoration seems to be done by his own hands, and you sure can’t complain while sitting on the front porch in your little swing after work and sipping your favorite tea.

It may or may not be a little magical brew of your own – you’re not that good at witchcraft but this one is to attract… wealth or something of course!?

Not that man putting a coat of paint on his outer wall, with leafs fluttering around him, he smiles back at you for just a friendly moment and you wave, going back to pretending to read. Then you eye him again, when his attention is off you, and the girls are laughing and running around in the leaves, crunching all underneath their feet.

You can’t help but move your fingers a bit, making the leaves swirl for them, they’re clapping and giggling as they move in the air, and your finger moves in a circle motion. Suguru peeks over at the girls and his smile melts your heart, chuckling a bit and watching curiously as they keep swirling in a figure eight motion.

He eyes you on that porch, your finger moving with them.

You’re not really a witch, are you?

Your eyes meet his and widen, then the leaves stop swirling, instead scattering all across the girls, who are jumping up and down excitedly. You hastily look back at your book, your hair falling a bit in front of your shoulders, looking so pretty in that white swing, like you need him right next to you.

Suguru wonders if you’re casting some spell on him, but he knows the moment he locked eyes with you there was clear desire, but the affection that builds every time you come by is hard to ignore. The girls adore you, frequently running over to your house to bake something with you or help you mix up herbs for your shop, shit they want you more than him sometimes.

He notices your cute little dresses and your boots, like you are the town witch how you carry on, something magical about you that’s hard to ignore. But he does ignore it a bit, because he has to focus on the girls, on getting the house together, on his business. He doesn’t have time to fall for cute little witches next door, even when they start to make him ache at night.

Even when he’s jerking his cock remembering you bending over in front of him in some little dress that’s way too little clothing for this weather earlier that week, he can remember the smooth expanse of your thighs, the curve of your ass. The hint of your black panties that had peeked right between them, made him long to grip your hips and drag you against him.

He’s peeking out that window even as he starts stroking his cock under the covers, sucking in a breath. Suguru hasn’t been with a woman in a long time, not that he couldn’t but he’s picky, and you’re this particular brand that’s driving him insane. Cute and giggly where he’s serious and quiet, warm and soft where he was a bit colder and hard to read.

Suguru wasn’t always this way, but it’s how it went, and now he’s desperately stroking his veiny length thinking of slipping his cock inside you, his cute little witchy neighbor. Bending you over and making you arch for him, a hand slammed over your mouth to keep your moans quiet when he bottomed out, stretching your perfect little cunt out.

He’s so sure it’s perfect.

All of you must be.

You’re in your room which is directly across from his, doing some little dance – surely some other spell of yours – as you get undressed, just your silhouette alone has him leaking pre. He sits up and exhales, spitting on his cock and watching the saliva drip down his tip, mixing with the pearly pre that’s coming out of his tip in spurts, making him suck in a breath.

He should feel like a pervert, watching you slip on a baggy tee shirt, the curves of your body suddenly hidden by it, when you walk over towards the window to flick off the lights, and he swears he sees the curtain move for a moment, as if you were peering at him. You flick them off and it’s dark then, his pretty show gone, but his eyes slam shut and he pictures everything.

Stroking faster he murmurs your name softly under his breath, groaning as his big hand strokes up and down faster until he busts at the thought of fucking you in a baggy shirt in your bed, shoving it up your hips and using it to yank you down his length. White ropes spill all across his hand, his eyes rolling back, breaths coming too quickly, trying to calm himself down.

You’re just pretty, he’s just being a whole pervert, he can control himself better than this.

Surely he doesn’t jerk off again that night.

****

The next morning he’s knocking on your door, he has to look at you and know he jerked himself off to you, stammering almost with a little flush on his cheeks that you’ve never seen, across the bridge of his nose and his high cheekbones as he stands there in front of you, business suit on making him look far too attractive, black and sleek following the sharp lines of his body.

You’ve seen him in one before, but this close to him makes you blush yourself, eyes flitting down his starch white dress shirt he’s still tucking into his belted waist, as if he’s in a rush. His hair’s down falling across his face rather than thrown up in his typical pony tail, making him look like he’d just jumped out of some fucking romance novel cover.

“Hi!” Your voice literally squeaks, you try to compose yourself, wrapping your cardigan around your shirt and shorts you’re wearing, the girls hug each of your thighs and you laugh softly. “Hi girls.”

“We’re coming to play!”

“You’re babysitting us!”

“Huh?” You’re laughing softly, looking over at Suguru curiously, who rubs the back of his neck, smiling a bit.

“Hey there, girls,” he admonishes, they pout all cutely. “We haven’t even asked her if she can yet.”

“Sorry!” they're pouting as they speak in unison, too cute to ever be mad at.

“You’re fine, pretty girls,” you pat their heads as they just run into your house then. “Um, come in?”

“Sorry,” he sighs. “Girls! Manners!”

They’re already familiar with your home so they’re running around and sitting on your cozy couch, Suguru hasn’t been inside your home just yet though. He eyes it carefully as you shut the door behind him, seeing a cauldron on your kitchen counter, a kitchen that has original seventies counter tops and cabinets mind you.

“You are really into this witch thing.”

“It’s for my shop! Aha…” You’re standing in front of it, waving your arms as Suguru smirks a little, hands in his pockets, looking at the old wooden cabinets.

“Have you ever considered renovating?” He walks up and touches the old press wood that is close to falling apart, humming to himself. “Some updates would really open it up.”

“I haven’t no, my parents left me this place and I’m afraid I didn’t do a thing to it,” you touch the old formica countertops that are peeling. “Haven’t even taken down the old wallpaper.”

“Well I can help if you get the materials,” he offers, the girls are climbing up onto the tall chairs, swirling around the mixture in the cauldron as he assesses the kitchen with a sharp eye. “I actually have a good buyer if you want me to order them for you.”

“How much would you charge to put it all in?” You ask, trying to see in your mind if your budget will allow.

You are doing a wealth spell tonight with the new moon though, so maybe it’ll manifest itself just like Suguru did, those amethyst eyes looking at you again, flashing back to that vivid memory. You keep telling yourself that you’re looking too much into it, that it’s nonsense.

But it’s hard to even breathe when he’s near.

“How about you help me out and watch the girls a couple times a week, and I’ll gladly put it all in for free? Fix this place all up.”

“Oh! Of course I can…” they’re giggling and talking amongst themselves, petting your cat who slinks by and jumps up on the counter, purring. “Is it okay if I bring them to the shop? I do go in a couple hours on the weekends.”

“Perfectly fine, I do most of my work at home but I have to go to a bunch of meetings the next couple weeks,” he sighs, snatching a band off his wrist and tying his hair up as he speaks. “It would help me out so much, just on the weekends if you could, the week will be fine because they have school but if you could let them hang out a little bit if I’m not here?”

“It’s no worry at all,” Suguru watches you light up as Mimiko shows you a drawing she’s done. “Oh it’s beautiful!”

The way you are with the girls makes him falter, the affection tearing at him, something he never knew he could feel. Of course he was aware of the fact that they loved you already but he’s never seen them like this. Usually his little ‘troublemaker twins’ as he called them – would chase away any nanny, any babysitter in the world. Yet they adore you.

“Will you be good for her?” He asks them now, leaning down to their level and narrowing his eyes, they nod and giggle behind their hands. “No crossing your fingers.”

“We’re not!” Mimiko says.

“No way!” That's Nanako, he rolls his eyes at them.

“Yeah you are,” he snatches their hands playfully, and they sigh. “Be good for her or I’ll get a mean babysitter instead.”

“No, no we love her!” Mimiko says, eyeing you and holding your hand. “She’s a witch!”

“Girls…”

“No, I am,” you shrug a shoulder and raise a brow now. “And I’ll put a spell to turn you both into frogs if you’re bad!”

They just laugh at you, as does Suguru, standing and realizing how close you are, when they run off, already making themselves at home. You turn to him and smile just a bit, realizing you’re still just in a tank and shorts, and your cardigan has fallen open, soft and tan against your skin.

Suguru’s eyes lower before he can stop himself, seeing your nipples perked up and pressing against the fabric, his heart races in his chest at the sight. He can even see the curve of each breast under the thin cotton, his hands twitch just slightly with the need to grip them, to mold them to his palms.

You seem to notice, they rise and fall, your breaths quicker and quicker, Suguru clears his throat and flushes more, looking back up into your eyes, faltering. “Shit, I’m sorry…”

“No, no I am wearing nothing and it’s cold,” you murmur, but you don’t close the sweater, you bite down on your lower lip instead, stepping a little closer. “It’s cold in here, isn’t it?”

“A little,” he murmurs, looking back at your old counters and touching them, trying not to act like he doesn’t want to brush those nipples with his fingers. “Thank you so much for this, really.”

“Of course, I’d love some help around here-”

Crash.

“Shit…” Suguru grimaces, as the girls crash a face, gasping out simultaneously. “I’ll buy you a new one!”

“It’s all right,” you walk over and sigh, you’ll have to try to fix it with magic a little later, you can’t scare Suguru off when he’s finally coming over. “No worries, just be careful okay?”

****

The girls were not careful.

As adorable as they are, they’re breaking and crashing anything and everything, to the point you do start trying to piece them together with your rusty magic, but you can’t even keep up with them. The cat is even joining in and scratching your old wicker furniture instead of his scratching post, being a little menace to society right along with the girls.

They’re truly exhausting even for you, but they’re so freaking cute it’s hard to stay mad, you instead try to divert their energy with the enticement of a spell.

“What kind of spell!?” Mimiko asks excitedly, while you take them out to your greenhouse, letting them run around and explore the many, many herbs that grow here.

“We’ll do a love spell!” Nanako chimes in, giggling and touching a petal.

“A love spell, hmm?” You ask, gathering some of the mugwort carefully, praying they don’t crash all of your plant pots too. “You have a crush, Nanako?”

“No, yuck!” You smile in relief. “But for dad… he really needs a push.”

“He does,” Mimiko agrees, giggling and then looking at you. “Do you like dad?”

“I mean,” you blush now, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I don’t know him very well. I’d… like to?”

“We’ll help!”

*

It’s the evening when Suguru comes back, looking a little exhausted and leaning in your doorway, smiling just a bit before he sees the mess the kids have made of your kitchen. “Oh god, how bad is it?”

“I mean… they’re rambunctious?”

“Girls!”

“No, no,” you tug him inside now, shaking your head and putting a finger to your lips. “They’re finally calming down, we’re cooking dinner.”

“Oh…” the scents hit him then, some stew that makes his tummy grumble. “Fuck, I didn’t eat.”

“What, not all day? Come on please, it's almost done!”

“Are you sure?” You just nod and take him by the hand, leading him into your cozy little dining room.

Suguru’s not sure anything you own is newer than the eighties, truly, you must love thrifting or have kept everything original.

Though something is so homey and comfortable about it all, it's still a shame to look at as a man who literally has spent years building homes. 

“It’s no imposition, the girls wanted to eat dinner here too. One less thing you have to do today, hmm?”

Suguru’s stunned for a moment, just a small gesture of help is more than he’s had in… as long as he can remember since he’s had the girls on his own. What exactly are you doing to his mind?

It's cozy, the four of you in the outdated kitchen as you scoop another helping of stew into his bowl. The way the girls devour your meal makes him wonder if he's ordering out too much, it's hard sometimes being a single father. 

On days he works Suguru barely sees the girls sometimes, and he's tired some days for their boundless energy.

With you they almost seem a little calmer, showing some actual table manners which surprises him, before they start to yawn and look a little sleepy. “You two can watch a show while we clean up,” he says softly, eyeing the bottle of wine you've pulled out. 

“One glass?” You tease, after they get snuggled up under one of your afghans, it looks like you had a crochet habit judging off all the little balls of yarn and hooks on your living room table.

“I'd love one, what kind you got?”

“A nice cabernet,” you pour him a glass slowly, letting dark red liquid half way fill up the glass you hand him. “It's a little strong.”

You put the crystal wine glass to your lips, you’re flushing just a bit as he watches you sip it, hands around the stem of the glass, sipping it and letting the rich flavor dance along your tastebuds. It’s quiet in the kitchen, the girls are already yawning and snuggling when Suguru stands, sipping his wine and coming a little closer.

“Thank you so much for today,” he murmurs, tense a bit when you look up at him under your lashes. Fuck you’re pretty. “They love you.”

“I love them too, I mean… is that totally weird to say? I feel like they’re my little nieces or something already,” you say affectionately, tugging at his heart then. “Please know I don’t mean to overstep.”

“No, that makes me happy.” He smiles and picks up his bowl then. “Let me help you with dishes.”

“Oh you don’t have to!”

“You have witch magic for them?” You smile and giggle behind your glass, grabbing your bowl as well and carrying it in with him.

“I do, look…” You pop open the dishwasher. “Tada!”

Suguru snorts and laughs, the sound so pleasing to your ears you melt just a bit more for him, looking back over your shoulder and smiling. “I’ll grab the girls’ bowls.”

It’s quiet aside from the running water and the gentle clicking of the dishes as you rinse them, taking little sips while Suguru helps you pop them in the dishwasher, you shut it and start it, leaning against the counter and brushing your fingertips across the counter. It feels perfect having them in your home, you can’t really describe it.

You don’t want to scare him away completely, so you temper it a bit. “I loved having you over for dinner.”

“Yeah?” You nod shyly, the breeze from your little kitchen window blows in gently, tousling your hair around your face.

“You three are welcome any time, truly I get a little lonely since my sister moved out.”

“Where’d she move to?” Suguru brushes a little tendril back, fingers accidentally brushing your skin, you gasp out, teeth sinking into your lower lip to bite back an embarrassing noise. He falters, clearing his throat. “Was in your face, m’sorry.”

“No, no,” his hand falls and he takes a gulp nervously. “Don’t apologize, um she found her true love and moved out of state.”

“That’s cute.”

“I dated him.”

“Huh?” Suguru blinks in confusion, and you sigh, sipping a little more wine and eyeing the two sleeping little girls on the couch snuggling. “You dated him?”

“Everyone I date, they find their ‘true love’. It’s some curse, but don’t worry – even being near me means you’ll find it.”

Suguru laughs then and you glare. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” your lips pout now, looking down and sighing. “It really is true, she’ll fall right into your lap.”

“You’re not cursed,” he shakes his head a bit now. “You’re still young.”

“Twenty five and never dated longer than two weeks, that’s usually the magic number. They find their loves, don’t laugh!”

“That’s nonsense, how much of this curse do you believe?” He finishes his drink and takes both of your glasses, eyeing your pretty lip print on the glass, rinsing it and washing it for you.

“It’s all factual, I assure you, just wait.”

Suguru just laughs at you, and you wish it wasn’t real, but you’re absolutely sure some pretty girl will end up on his doorstep tomorrow.

You carry Mimiko as he carries Nanako over to his home once they’re tuckered out, she’s snuggling to your neck all cute and precious, when Suguru looks over at you in the moonlight you’re so pretty in that moment. All smiling against Nanako’s hair, the soft white light illuminating your skin, when he quietly shows you up to their room.

The entire house looks beautiful, all redone from the new vinyl plank to the soft gray paint on fresh drywall. The girls room is everything you’d dream of as a girl, so pretty and done up with their beds, both sides of the room have their own unique little touches too. Mimiko’s has darker colors, blacks and blues with plushies, Nanako’s room is brighter and sunnier, pastels and sunny yellows.

“Suguru it’s so pretty,” you whisper, eyeing the fairy lights dancing across their ceiling, it’s beautiful and swathed in color. Suguru beams with pride and it’s adorable, as he brushes back their hair and kisses their foreheads. “I want to live here.”

“I’ll make your place just as nice,” he promises, walking out of their room and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, the hallway is dark, still smelling of fresh paint. “You pick a color scheme and I’ll work with it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you murmur, as he’s suddenly too close to you, and you inhale his scent - fresh with just a hint of musk. “It’s not a problem to watch them, I enjoy them coming over.”

“Your kitchen is going to be a work of charity, it’s that bad.”

“Hey!” You playfully shove him by his chest “They aren’t that horrible!”

“Mhm,” his hands rest on your shoulders now, you’re trembling a bit. “You’re living fifty years in the past like a little time bubble.”

“Well maybe I like the seventies,” you tease, the wine warming your bloodstream and making your cheeks flush by his proximity. “It’s retro.”

“Ancient,” he corrects, tapping your nose then, making it scrunch just a bit, his breaths slowing down then, eyes drifting to your lips. “Does your nose twitch side to side too?”

“And you’re hating on retro…” you twitch it all cutely then, making him chuckle, as he brushes his thumb across your lips without thinking.

You’re too cute, your body so warm he can feel it with his fingertips burning through the softness of your sweater with his other hand. He swallows nervously – it’s been a long time since Suguru has been with someone, and he has vivid memories of stroking it to you last night, that ache worse in your presence.

You both just stand there, eyeing each other in the darkness of the hallway, your heart hammering in your ears, pulse racing in his neck, the two of you unsure of what to do, how to move. Him, nervous after years of being alone – you terrified that the moment you kiss him, he’ll be on his merry little way with a pretty new neighbor.

Was it a curse?

Was he the one you summoned that night?

You step a little closer, his hand slides to your waist, briefly brushing across the curve of your breast, your nipples press up aching and needy underneath that top, as he steps closer to you. He’s so tall your head falls back, his shadow overtaking yours when his lips are just a breath away, tickling your own and shooting hot desire from his big hand cupping your cheek.

You feel so small next to him, the feeling is heady, making you even more needy, but all the same so scared. 

Your lips part for him now, as he starts descending, your eyes flutter shut – imagining a first kiss, only for one of the girls to cry out suddenly. Suguru panics, pulling back and opening the door. You see Mimiko has had a bad dream, up hugging her knees then calling your name too.

“Oh,” you come to her and sit on the bed, Suguru watches carefully as you soothe her back to sleep. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

He has never felt this.

Their mom passed a very long time ago, when they were born, so he hasn’t even seen someone with them, especially like you, making him long to capture that moment forever. Your gentle smile as if you’ve cast a spell of calm, he’d almost believe all of it if he wasn’t such a skeptic, that you calmed the very energy all around you all.

You look back and ease up finally, letting him walk you down the stairs to his door, opening it for you, letting the breeze sweep in over both of your overheated bodies, all flustered by the sensations of what had almost been a kiss. “Suguru… I’m not sure my budget on things-”

“I get great deals, I’ll just buy the materials.”

You blink then, shaking your head. “No, no that’s far too much for just some babysitting!”

“Really to see them like that? I…” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes so vibrant in that moment that you drown in their depths. “Worth anything.”

“Suguru…”

God, the way you say his name.

For every bit of him that wants to drag you up to his room and spread your thighs, bury himself in your cunt, another part of him is terrified to take it that far, too ruin something beautiful you have with his girls already. So he hesitates, instead kissing your forehead as sweetly as he does the girls, you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning in close to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, we’ll go over some options,” he says then, pulling back and brushing your tendrils back one more time. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Of course…”

You walk home and he watches you, waiting for you to wave at him, smiling and giggling when you walk inside, leaning back against the door.

Fuck you really, really like your neighbor, it’s past like really, a word you’re too terrified to think but that keeps echoing in your ears.

True love.

Love spell, amethyst eyes, dark hair, the smile – was Suguru Geto the man you conjured up as a little girl?

****

Suguru coming over every day almost to work on your house was far too attractive, shirtless and sweaty, while you dress the most skimpy you can, bouncing around and giggling. He acts nonchalant like he doesn’t notice, even when the girls are at school and he’s over, and you’ll lean and bend over to grab a tool for him, or a cold beer at the end of the day.

It’s easy being near you, that’s all Suguru keeps thinking, amusedly watching as you just accidentally let a strap slip off your shoulder, and he’ll adjust it right back for you, letting his fingers brush just a bit against your skin. You’d pout all cute, never directly saying what you want, though you make him jerk it every night to you like it’s just what he does now.

A routing, remembering every time you brush against him, as he starts to tear out your old ugly cabinets, replacing them piece by piece when he gets time – until it all starts to come together. What was an ugly yellow kitchen was now becoming a beautiful modern creation.

Suguru is great with his hands.

So great you can’t help but wonder how they’d feel against you, how those fingers feel inside your cunt, the thoughts alone make you touch yourself all night, knowing it’s hopeless, no matter what you try he just kisses your forehead, pats your head like you’re a little puppy.

He’s sweet, he’s caring and fun, the days blend into something that almost feels like family, the girls over constantly during the renovations, and you three get even closer than before. Showing them little healing potions and protection charms you all make for Suguru, it’s like they become more than neighbors.

They’re everything to you now.

In the span of a few months it’s become what you look forward to the most, quiet dinners after Suguru works so hard, the little talks as you catch glimpses of his life before he moved to this tiny town. A little vague and mysterious, he eventually shares more, so much more every day with you.

His wife that passed away, some of the pain he felt, a new love it was really snatched too soon. How hard it’s been alone with the girls, but how they have him wrapped around their fingers.

Yet you don’t realize one thing, because Suguru doesn’t show you yet.

You’ve got him under your spell, too.

Every time he grabs Boba for the girls, he grabs you one too, every time he gets some pretty little piece of jewelry they ask for, he makes sure to find something for you. Tiger’s eye, rose quartz, amethyst just like his eyes, wrapped in some expensive gold you know isn’t just casual.

Yet he doesn’t say it, not out loud, stopping himself every time he’d watch the girls hug you, so scared to ruin that for them.

Suguru’s not a perfect person, what if he messes up, what if you two end up done, and the girls suffer?

Yet how can he keep going on acting like he’s unbothered, like he doesn’t constantly think of you, intoxicated by your very presence, by the energy surrounding you just as much as he is your beauty, your humour, the determination as you pass by every day with your little herbs in your bag.

“Daddy, can we stay again for dinner!” Mimiko asks once things are complete almost in your kitchen – just a couple touch ups of paint to go.

“Well we don’t want to keep making-”

“Nonsense,” you bend down, hands on your knees as you get to eye level with the twins, smiling at each of them. “You all are welcome any time.”

Your eyes meet Suguru’s over the girls’ heads, smiling carefully, wondering if you should just stop trying. This isn’t some rom com, there’s no fix to your ‘curse’ truly, he may not have found a love yet, but he would.

You have to enjoy him while he’s here.

When Suguru eats with you all that night, he can hardly take his eyes off you, prompting Nanako to run up to you and whisper in your ear –

“That spell worked, dad is in love.” You laugh softly, entertaining her and whispering conspiratorily back.

“You and Mimiko are witches!"

She giggles with delight, and you feel his gaze, wondering just how long you have until he moves on, as the curse goes.

But that night as a kid keeps replaying in your head, picking those petals.

Amethyst eyes.

*****

“It’s all done,” Suguru says a couple of weeks later, nothing has happened since that night alone, when you two had been so close to kissing.

Was it the curse in action?

You panic a bit knowing he may not come over much anymore, plastering on a smile you don’t really feel. “It is all done! Suguru, how could I ever repay you, really? It’s all so beautiful…”

“No need to thank me, you’ve done so much for the girls,” he looks over to where they’re sleeping on your couch again, snuggled up all cute. “They love it here a little too much, huh?”

“I love them here too much,” you look up then, taking a breath for courage. “I love you all here too much.”

It’s quiet, then.

Suguru’s eyes lock on yours, wearing one of those thin little dresses and your big open sweater, he can see your nipples press up through that thin material, making him ache to suck them, to feel them. He’s barely able to keep his sanity, to keep his control anymore, so afraid to open up again…

That he may lose this chance, a chance at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, shaking your head and looking down at the sweet tea glass set on the table, condensation cooly dripping. The fan overhead does nothing to cool you down, neither does the sip of that golden iced tea, even if it’s cool outside – you’re burning up. “That’s too far.”

Suguru steps closer as you back a bit, into the kitchen, hidden in the darkness so that his shadow’s cast over yours along the wall. He cups your face carefully, like you’re special, like you’re so delicate, while his other hand grips a hip, his chest rising and falling with his nerves.

“I haven’t felt this in a long time… I haven’t ever felt this,” his words make you melt, your eyes blinking back tears while he gently speaks, his voice just a breathy whisper. “I want to break your ‘curse’ you think you have, okay?”

“The ‘never finding love’ curse?” He nods, smiling just a bit, you inhale his musky scent and let it fill your senses, his body heat seeping against yours.

Every breath, every movement, every look is special to him.

It’s you.

“But what if now that we… fall in love… you find your-”

Suguru kisses you quiet.

The first uninterrupted kiss from Suguru Geto was the sweetest thing you’ve ever had in your life.

It tastes of that sweet tea you’d brewed him, mixed with something distinctly Suguru. Like velvet against your tongue, your hands slipping up over his chest, slipping around his neck – fingers entwining in those silky locks. Your lips part, gasping as he slips his tongue in your mouth, slowly exploring the depths of it.

His kiss is slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world with you, not something that shocked you though, no, everything about that first kiss felt perfect, the warmth spreading through your body slowly, burning through your veins. The ache in your tummy was sweet and building, like the sugar on his lips from the drink, still just a little cool.

His hand comes to press on the small of your back, tugging you closer as Suguru loses himself in that moment, in this kiss. He’s moaning softly, pressing you against that table now, long fingers cupping your face while his head tilts, and the kiss gets hungry. You’re desperately arching, craving friction as his thigh presses up between your swollen folds, making your clit twitch as you start dripping.

He moans out softly, lifting you so quickly you gasp out, biting down on your lower lip to try to keep your noise down. His lidded eyes gaze down at you, your swollen lips and dilated pupils meeting his. “Should we slow down?”

“God no, I mean!?” He laughs softly, his hands slipping up the sides of your thighs and dimpling the skin under his touch, lips pressing over and over as you roll your hips, thighs now on either side of his. “Mmm, don’t slow down.”

“I’m not gonna stop if we keep going,” he whispers hoarsely, a hand behind you on that table, the cool wood pressed against your skin. “Been wanting you for too long.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” his lips press a hot trail down your neck, moaning softly against your neck, grinding you against his length underneath his jeans, watching your pretty eyes roll back. “Of course it’s you.”

Suguru’s kissing you again, sucking down your every bit of saliva like he’s thirsty for it, tongues dancing together with that deliberate slowness, his cock leaking and waiting to press up inside you, fill you. He’s aching to taste you everywhere, taste your sweet skin, your pretty cunt, the roundness of your breasts and those nipples pressing against his chest..

“This slutty little dress,” he murmurs then, shocking you for a moment at the change of tone. Your breath catches when he leans back, slipping the straps down your bare shoulders, the thin nylon flimsy as it falls. “You wear them to torture me, huh princess?”

“Princess,” you whisper softly, kissing him again when he lifts you in his arms like you’re nothing, walking you carefully towards your room, the door shutting behind you quietly, only for him to press you against it.

“Mhm…” He pulls back, holding you by your ass, your cunt dripping and needy. “Princess.”

“I’m more of a witch than a princess.”

Suguru chuckles and brushes your hair back ever so gently, leisurely, like he wants to savor every moment. Even as you arch and wriggle, craving his nearness, his touch, Suguru teases you with calloused fingers, rough from how he works with those hands across your skin. His fingers grip your hips, thumbs pressing your pelvis, your back against the door.

“A witch, hmm?” You giggle softly, looking up at him under your lashes, he lifts your dress up your hips now, slipping a finger inside your panties. “Well, little witch, you're just soaked."

“Mnh… you should know one thing about me,” you gasp as he laps his tongue against your neck, tracing the curve delicately. “Before we…”

“What is it?” You tremble as he presses you closer against him, carrying you over to your bed, unmade with so many pillows he has to shove them off, earning your soft breathy laugh. “Besides the fact you have a messy little room.”

“I didn’t know you’d be up here,” his lips trail across your collar bone, your hands entangle in his silky locks that are falling against your skin, caressing it while his fingers tug down your dress.

“Wearing the most easy little dresses to mess with me,” he slips it off in one motion, leaving you in just panties, exhaling when he sees your body. You should feel a little nervous but instead you’re arching for him, breasts begging for attention, as he studies you. “What do I need to know, hmm? Before I have you cumming so hard you fall apart for me?”

“Oh… mnh!” Suguru’s gripping those panties now, easing them down your trembling thighs, savoring every inch of your body with his darkened gaze. “Well… I may have made a love spell and… I think it was you.”

You expect him to laugh, but you’ve already woven so much magic in his life, he leans back, slipping off that soft sweater to show his body to you, those thick arms with bands tattooed around the biceps, flat brown nipples with those chest muscles pressing up. You suck in a breath when his gaze hits your cunt, watching it drip.

“You made a love spell, little witch?” He asks, stepping closer and undoing his belt, the clink echoing, opening it to reveal a hint of that dark patch of hair right above his cock. “What kind of spell?”

“I was young,” you sit up, a hand slipping down every rippling abdomen, hearing his soft moan in response as you trace every one, your hand tugging his zipper, looking up at him under his lashes. “Amethyst eyes. Dark hair. And a laugh, soft and deep. He’ll be loving and caring, want a family.”

Suguru halts then, his cock straining as you lower his boxers, he lets you watch it spring free, falling heavy and thick, leaking pretty pearly spurts. He sucks in a breath as you stroke him, leaning over and lapping some of it up with your tongue as he stands before you, hands entangling in your hair.

“A spell, I knew it,” he murmurs, while you wrap his tip with your lips and he tries not to bust then and there, moaning softly at the warmth of your mouth. “As addicted to you as I am.”

You pull back, saliva dripping down your lips now. “Addicted?”

His answer is pressing you down on that bed, hovering over you, big hands taking over every inch of your body. “You think I don’t notice every little thing you do? Hah…” he laughs softly, shaking his head, scooching you up your bed so that he can lay between your thighs, his body laying hot over you. “Show me a little spell then, let me see.”

“Yeah? You sure you won’t get spooked?” you raise a brow, he shakes his head. “I’m not the best witch but…”

You see flowers by your bed, the ones the girls had picked and brought over because he thought they were pretty. You lean up on your elbows, concentrating and moving your fingers, Suguru watches as you make them swirl up.

“Oh shit,” he watches in wonder, he’d had a feeling you were the one doing the leaves, but this just confirms it all, you let them fall gently, grinning over at him now. “You got impossibly sexier.”

You giggle but it’s cut off when he’s all over you, your bare cunt soaking his abdomen in need, making it slick. Suguru’s whispering your name mixed with – little witch – mouth trailing kisses down the valley between your breasts, mouth bolder, hands kneading the soft flesh of your tits. You arch and whimper out, just how good he feels, descending lower and lower.

Those raven tresses brush against your bare thighs, hand pressing on your tummy where there’s so much pressure, until he’s nestled his shoulders between your spread thighs, breath ghosting your clit. It jumps at attention when he parts your lips with two fingers, watching that drool just pool out of your little hole now.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, your thighs are shaking, breaths coming in little pants while your hands clench his shoulders – nails pressing into his skin. “Look at you.”

“Sugu what are – ah!” He’s pressed a filthy kiss right on your hood, tongue dipping in a tease just to gather some of that slick, you’re gripping his shoulders so hard they leave marks, body trembling underneath him in need.

“I’m gonna taste your pretty cunt,”  he murmurs, cooing almost and smirking as he strokes your folds with his two fingers, the backs of them brushing up and down your slit. “See how many times you cum, but…”

He puts your hand on your mouth, and you nod.

“Stay a little quiet for me this time, but as soon as I have you alone? You’ll scream so much you can’t even talk.”

Fuck.

You’re soaking wet and hot when his fingers tease up that slit again, making you jerk with the touch, your free hand grips his hair, hips arching up. “Yeah, you want it princess? My mouth?”

“Please…” You whisper then, gasping and covering your mouth once more when he makes his first filthy lick, from your drooling hole to your teeny little clit, groaning out at your taste.

“Fuck, sweeter than anything,” he’s sinking two fingers inside you, and he curls them just right, while his tongue flicks that clit, making stars explode behind your eyelids.  

"Fuck," you whimper right back, barely able to keep it down, biting on your lower lip and looking at the amethyst eyes you’ve dreamed of, already pussy drunk off a couple sips of your messy cunt. “Ngh…”

“S’tight, f-fuck…” Suguru’s losing his calm, lazy demeanor, pumping your cunt up and down with so much pressure you can’t take it. “That’s it, you’re taking them so well, even though it’s such a stretch.”

“Mhm!” Your answer is a jerky little nod, as you writhe underneath him, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat while he sucks your clit in his hot mouth, juices just pouring down his pretty face.

“Too tight,” he whispers, your cunt gripping his fingers like a vise, he eases the strokes, flicking his tongue up and down your clit over and over, pushing you over the brink, you cling to the blankets to try to stay stable. 

“It’s… been a while,” you admit breathlessly, arching into his touch, hearing the embarrassing squelching of your cunt just echoing in your quiet room, his eyes lock with yours then, his fingers curling as he speaks – methodical, knowing just where to press inside you.

“For me too,” he admits, you’re surprised then, lips opening and closing like you just don’t know what to say. “You’re worth waiting for, would fucking drown in it, die just like this.”

“Sugu…” He pauses at the nickname, the affection tearing at his chest before he dives back down, lifting your ass up and dragging you even higher as his mouth descends, sealing over your clit with ruthless suction – slurping sounds obscene.

You’re slamming a hand down on your mouth, back arching, your tits bouncing as he watches you under dark lashes, mouth ruining you right with his thick fingers. Your cunt spasms around them as you’re closer and closer, and he can simply feel it, you don’t have to say the words.

Suguru knows you’re cumming.

He pulls back for a quick breath with strings of saliva and your arousal dripping between your cunt and his swollen mouth, eyeing you fucking hungrily while his cock presses against your matress, just aching for release. Suguru works you relentlessly, knowing every part of you like he’s the magical one, and you’re barely able to keep in any way quiet.

Your hips shift and move side to side so much he pins them, your thighs on his shoulders while his tongue moves in broad, flat strokes up your slit and then quick flicks on your clit, mixing with a sharp little nip of his teeth that makes your eyes roll back in your skull. Your toes curl and press into the soft blankets as that tension tightens in your tummy, pushing you right over the edge.

“Cum,” he orders softly, and how can’t you, when he adds his fingers back inside you – three now with one just barely inside at the fingertip, thickness just stretching you obscenely right along with his tongue relentless on your clit.

Of course you cum, of course you shatter.

You have to cling to him with one hand – nails pressing in and leaving crescent moons on his skin, as those fingers fuck you right with his tongue’s rhythm, your eyes shut as the release rocks you, and Suguru drinks it all up, lapping every squirt of arousal gushing as you scream into your palm.

It’s so hot, like the room is suddenly a humid summer afternoon, with the sweat dripping as it rushes through your veins. He presses every bit of that orgasm out of you, greedy and smirking when he finally pulls back just a bit, watching you twitch and whine out, your cunt still shooting up his forearm with those spasms.

“One,” you gasp out.

“One!?”

“Need more, so much fuckin’ more,” your eyes roll back once more as his mouth is lapping at your now messy, sloppy cunt. "Look at me."

The order, soft and lazy like his previous kisses makes you snap your eyes open quickly. Hair damp with sweat clings just a bit in strands to your brow, as he watches the little mess he’s made you, dying to fuck into you.

But he wants that first stroke for you to cum right around him, to milk his cock – he can’t wait to put so much cum deep inside you.

“Wanna see those pretty eyes when they roll back f'me,” he’s back down, fingers scissoring now past the point of overstimulation while his tongue keeps flicking faster and faster. “Mmm…”

He can’t help but almost cum just from your sweetness, like your cunt is just as magical as all of you, heady and addictive. His fingers and tongue along your already sensitive and swollen clit is too much, you barely remember to hold back your cries as your back arches off the bed, and Suguru Geto is drinking your squirting release like a man dying of thirst.

He finally lets go of his suction, seeing the weak and boneless mess he’s made of you and relishing in it, kisses just a little softer and easier now, his soft laugh making you jerk. “Need something, little witch?”

“Inside me,” you gasp out then, he languidly kisses your inner thighs, teasing and ghosting his breath and relishing in how you react. “Please, f-fuck…”

“Needy witch,” he leans up finally, face embarrassingly coated in you, arms on either side while his fingers ease out with a messy pop. He puts those fingers to his mouth, not wasting a single drop of your perfect cunt, as you watch him, lips parted, cunt spurting out even more as you eye his pretty, thick cock again. “Need my cock inside, three fingers not enough?”

Your answer is to yank at him, tugging him up your body, and kissing him deep and messy, not the ease he takes kissing you – no.

You’re frantic, desperate, never having felt anything like the pleasure he’s just brought you, tasting yourself on his tongue as he drools right in your mouth and moans out. His cock is heavy and hot against your inner thigh, decorating your skin in pretty little patterns, spurts of white trailing down as your fingers slip down his body.

You grip his cock in your little hand, earning his choked out breath, moving them up and down as he moans, losing control at the feeling of your fist. He lets you position it against your slick cunt, rubbing it up and down that messy slit that just echoes with every movement.

“Want me to cum inside you, huh?” He asks, husky and deep, his eyes gone black and narrowed lazily, while his fingers are digging into the meat of your hips. “I won’t leave that perfect little cunt once I’m in there.”

“I want it,” you say – even as you’re blushing in the dark. “Fuck me Sugu, please.”

Your little plea ruins him.

He lines himself up, kissing you again slow and gently, as he presses that thick head against your soaked hole – even so wet and ready it’s tight and gripping him so good he almost busts inside. He curses quietly, just holding there, no amount of jerking his cock to you prepared him for this, for the way your cunt grips him with that tight ring of muscles.

“Fuck you’re perfect,” he says hoarsely, and pushes in slowly, stretching you wide and deeper than even his thick fingers could ever manage. Suguru is thick, and far bigger than you’ve had.

You cry into his mouth and try to take him, feeling that fullness from just an inch or two, pretty blushed tip just leaking and pressing on that spongy spot in your walls. “Ah!”

“Shh, relax f’me,” he orders, as your legs are locking around his hips, trembling. “Relax, princess.”

“Witch,” you tease, managaing to laugh ever so softly, when he pulls back and smirks.

“Be a good witch,” he taunts softly – then he fills you completely, inch by thick inch buried inside your cunt so deep. “And take all of me. Can you?”

You nod even as you’re completely unsure, your cunt milking him instantly for all he’s got, as he pulls back and lifts your hips up, moaning at the sight of your tummy just bulging with him. “Fuck,” he groans out at the sight. “Look at us.”

You do just that, heating up at the sight and gasping out, watching it move when his cock just drags along your inner walls, the ones that spasm as hips snap forward sharply.

“Mnhh!”

“That’s it,” he murmurs as he bottoms out, grinding his hips so that he’s leaned back over you, hairs tickling and pressing your twitchy, oversensitive clit. You try to breathe, to take him, nails sinking into his well muscled back and scratching. “Can you take me really fucking you?”

“I can… I can…” He teases more, just rolling his hips, letting you adjust to his sheer massive size, smirking a bit as you wriggle – finally gasping out – “Move, please. W-want you to.”

“Anything for my pretty witch,” he whispers, as he pulls out slowly, dragging himself against your spot, making you whine at the loss before slamming back in hard. “Feel you takin’ me, s’good….”

“Ngh!” Your pornographic moan rips from your throat when he lifts your thighs, his dark hair falling across your breasts, eyes locking.

You take his breath away.

He takes your breath away.

There’s this moment, this perfect moment where your eyes meet, and everything that’s ever not made sense does.

His hands press up your thighs, leaning over you and giving you the sweetest kiss, as if he realizes it to.

Then…

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, princess, gonna be my little witch,” his words barely make it to your ringing ears when he begins to really move.

Suguru Geto is no longer lazy and teasing - no he’s fucking into you at a brutal pace, thrusts fast and hard and just filthy as you’re so wet it’s mesys, it’s damn near embarassing. Sliding in easier and easier with each push, balls slapping on your ass harder and harder, the smacking and squelching sounds mixing with your muffled little cries, his lips swallowing them as he folds you in half.

You’re whining out desperately into his lips, already close to shattering again underneath him, when he moans your name and pauses, biting your neck and letting your thighs fall to the side. “Turn over.”

You’re eager to obey, turning around and pressing your ass up in the air for him, pretty cunt already pushing out his milky cum, earning his desperate moan as he runs his fingers up and down your slit. 

“That’s it, been fuckin’ dreamin’ about you,” Suguru says, all needy now as he grabs your hips, bringing your ass against him. “Use that pillow, you’re gonna need it like this.”

You take his hand and he obeys, shoving you into those pillows and beginning to fuck you from the back – so deep it’s painful, your cries muffled against the bed while his cock works, slamming inside of you and bruising your cervix. His leaky tip is just pouring spurts onto your cervix as he leans over you, prone position.

“Need to see your face,” he murmurs, studying you with his thumb slipped inside your mouth to keep you hushed. “Pretty little witch, gonna take all this cum?”

“Y-yes, yes - ngh!” He slams his mouth on yours to drink your cries, your orgasm wrecking you, blackness making you dizzy as he starts stuttering his hips, murmuring your name over and over.

“Take all of it, hah - can you?”

You’re nodding, biting down on his fist he offers as he slams into you one last time, burying himself against your snug cervix, hot white ropes just flooding you, hot and thick. You clench around him in response, pushing your own pleasure over the edge, both of you falling off it.

“S-Sugu…” You’re trembling, your cunt still milking every drop, you’re breathless, dizzy, when he collapses on top of you, still buried deep inside, his breath tickling your neck in hot little pants.

“Fuck…” He’s kissing across your shoulder, teeth nipping teasingly, hands roaming your body greedy, like he wants to remember every moment. “Good girl.”

You giggle and blush,  as you both pant against each other’s skin. His lips find yours again in a slow, lazy kiss, tasting of sweat and sex.

“I mean good witch,” he murmurs against your mouth, he tugs you to him on your side now. Studying you as you both come down. “I actually believe you now.”

“I told you, but I'm like… diet witch? Witch lite?” He chuckles and shakes his head, your hand rests over his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath your palm. He's still embarrassingly sliding out of your hole slowly, dripping onto his thigh.

“I want to break your curse,” Suguru Geto says lovingly, holding you close against him while his hands move soothingly up and down your back. You look up at him, tremulously smiling, tears swimming and making your vision blur.

“You do?” You ask, leaning up to kiss that cleft on his chin, your own hands pressed on his chest.

“I do, your little spell more than worked,” you giggle, feeling blissful in his arms, sticky hot cum dripping down your thighs, you’re languid as he pulls you so close, feeling so safe and right with him. “Got me bad, too.”

“Mimiko and Nanako helped,” you admit, giggling again. “They did another spell for us.”

“I’m raising witches?” His brow rises and he observes your grin. “So I’ll have a family full of witches then?”

“Call it a coven,” you whisper, kissing his hand and taking it, pressing it against your chest. “You’ve already got a witch's heart.”

“Three witches with me wrapped around their fingers,” you’re crying then, he swipes a tear with his fingertips, studying you and sighing now. “I didn’t think I’d ever find…” He trails off.

“Love.” You finish, carefully, quietly.

He nods, swallowing nervously now, before pressing you on your back, hand sliding up the curvature of your frame achingly slow. You’re sore and throbbing from him, as he brushes your cunt again, feeling your cunt twitch around him and smirking now.

“I do love you, little witch,” he whispers against your ear, lips tickling the shell of it. “Fallen in love from your spell.”

“Well I summoned you,” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “I did!”

“I kind of believe you…” He leans up and tilts your chin with two fingers, tears slip from the corners of your eyes.

“I love you, Suguru Geto. I want you and them to stay… for as long as you ever want to.”

“Oh my pretty witch,” he leans up and presses against you again, cock coated in your entrance, it spasms – already fucked out and sore, but needy for more. “I’m never letting you go.”

As he enters you achingly slow, and you lose yourself under his heavy weight, you realize that curse wasn’t a curse at all.

You were just meant to wait for him –

for the boy with amethyst eyes.

I hope you all enjoyed thisss !!

Your heavy eyelids snap open (when did they even close?) And you’re casting a sweeping look around the humble room.

You couldn’t see much in this darkness, but then again nothing stood out of place.

And so you’re letting your vibrator go back to work, drawing sultry circles just with the tip by your navel. Again and again. So pent up. When it got too much, and you were just too drenched- you’re teasingly letting its length start to slip underneath your silky sleep shorts—

You feel it again.

Something that made icy goosebumps rise on every inch of your skin.

Someone was watching.

“Fuck- okay.” You’re immediately lurching to sit up on your bed, bouncing ever-so-slightly at the force. That baseball bat of yours for protection was downstairs, you think- but you could still throw a lamp if anyone was there. Maybe your vibrator (hah!)

And you instantly lean over for the lamp - not to throw it (yet), but rather to turn it on. “Who’s there? I swear on everything that if anyone’s there and I catch you are going to be- what the…”

You should have sworn.

You should have screamed.

Because as soon as the lights flood the walls of your bedroom, you’re not coming face-to-face with some masked, murderous intruder. At least, not in the way you might have expected - which, then again, you still couldn’t be sure.

Instead, you catch the pale, somewhat…other-worldly sight of a man dressed in all white.

Tall. Toned. His Stygian hair flowing over his shoulders and slightly over his face, reaching all the way till the tips tickled the floor. From what you could see of his features he was…handsome- delicate, pretty features, high cheekbones, and the most shapely lips all pink. The man smiles kindly, and through the gaps of his bangs you could tell that his eyes were upturned into happy half-moons. 

Were you sure that some model or someone of the sort hadn’t accidentally ended up in your bedroom? And was he included in the rent?

This stranger wore a flowy kimono with the right side wrapped over the left. And even in such a drab thing, he looked ethereal.

There was a strange glow about him.

He almost looked like a…a ghost.

And he was standing in your empty closet.

“Wh-what the-” You’re gaping, your mouth opening and closing a few times before you manage to blink yourself back into cognition (and to sanity). The realization: there was a strange man in your closet and yes, no matter how pretty he was, he’s still a strange man in your closet.

Without thinking, you’re reeling your hand back in a forceful throw. Hurtling. “-fuck!”

Your glitzy vibrator hits the back of your closet dead-on, it was a perfect throw.

And yet, it still didn’t hit the man.

Instead, it passed right through him.

Your veins grow cold as you wipe your eyes with your fists - he wasn’t there anymore. Urgently, you get off the bed and look around your room - he wasn’t there anymore.

Aw, great. He really was a ghost—so there was a reason this place was so damn cheap.

There was no way he could have sprinted from the confines of your closet to the doorway and out without you seeing him. So there was nothing to do but step towards the origin of this entire mess in the first place: the closet.

You cautiously step towards it, your footsteps echoing almost as loud as your heartbeat. As you reach the dark line in the tatami that marked the start of the closet, you begrudgingly can’t find anything amiss. Looking in every corner, on every empty shelf.

Looking upwards—

Ah.

A trapdoor.

A tiny square of a door that was cut out into the ceiling of the closet. You guessed that this led up to some sort of attic (the move had really been hasty, okay), and you tip-toe to brush your fingertips against the high ceiling.

Though, even if you did find him there, what could you even do? How does one even co-exist with a ghost-

Your toes knocked against the fallen vibrator.

And suddenly you have an idea.

You push open the wooden trap door with a creak, managing to peak your head up. And there, sure as day, was the crouched figure of the man. His lifeless face devoid of expression. Eyes wide. He spied down at you in silence as you pull yourself slightly into the attic space. Slightly crawling back a few inches.

He smiled that cute, crescent-eyed smile once more.

Without hesitation, you reach your hands out- and to your surprise, your palms meet solid flesh. Cold. But solid. You’re cupping his face and edging him closer to you. Grinning, “Hey there.”

The next second, your lips are on his.

And this man - this ghost - groans out in ecstacy. Melting into it. You swear you could feel the surface of his skin where your thumbs rested start to scorch with a red-hot blush. His bangs tickle your face as he tilts his head to the side and starts pressing in even deeper.

Until you have to pull away with a gasp and a slick line of spittle that still connects him to you. Something he’s shortening the distance of as he chases after your now-swollen lips with a whine. 

“M-more-” He croaks out from the back of his throat, thick and wet with need. 

To which you raise an amused brow, “Well, I’d like to know your name first, Mr. Ghost-”

“Geto Suguru.” Geto then starts closing the gap. Puckered, pink lips ravenous for yours. Just the slight edge of his fangs grazes your bottom lip as he starts gnawing down.

But you weren’t done just yet. “And then also I wanted to know what it’s like being a ghost? Any habits? Any dislikes?” You probe, expectant of his answer- but he only looks down at you with half-drunk eyes. Focused on only one thing. “If we’re going to co-exist then I think it’s better if we- mmpf.”

And that one thing was to kiss you silly.

He’s pryin’ your lips apart with his textured tongue, slithering inside so he can stick it into every ridge and orifice. Geto kisses you like a man wishing to quench his thirst after eons of going without. Hot and open-mouthed.

His sloppy kisses end up with a thin line of drool sliding down the edge of your lips and he grunts as he registers it. Dark lashes fluttering ever-so-slightly, “More.”

“Like- like this?” You’re panting by now.

You’re slightly dizzy from all the kissing, flapping your hazy lids a few times and realizing that you were now pressed up against the closet wall. How did you even get there?

Fuck, you had no idea. Right now, the only thing that mattered was Geto’s firm abs pressing through the cottony fabric of his kimono and onto your front. His ice-cold heat. His mouth pushing against yours over and over and over- he didn’t need to breathe.

And yet he was gasping into your mouth with every lecherous suck on your tongue, like his favorite candy. His favorite taste. “More.”

Oh.

What have you unleashed?

Your mouth parts in slight shock and he’s taking the opportunity to kiss you even harder. Until his plump, plush lips were on the verge of bruising and yet Geto didn’t even seem to notice.

Only briefly breaking off the Earth-shattering kiss to look you deep in the eyes. One of his pale, slender hands comes up beside your face and you stare at it in confusion. Still confused as he then clicks!

And suddenly you’re on the bed once again.

“Wh-what the-” You feel like you’ve been saying that non-stop tonight - but could anyone blame you? You’re looking around, your eyes taking their time to adjust to the abrupt change in setting. “You can do that?”

Geto only smiles a sly smile, something knowing. And he has the audacity to shrug.

Before his lips attack yours.

Again. Though, this time his hands are firmly caressing the sides of your body. Gliding down every dip and curve until he’s resting his fingertips against the elastic hem of your shorts.

Geto gives it a slight tug, before you’re pulling away.

“Ah ah-” You’re making a noise of warning over his disappointed huff. Geto narrowed eyes (were they amethyst colored? Oh, they were gorgeous) seem to light up as you then fiddle with the ties of his robe, “You first.”

Gladly.

Geto shoulders away the fabric of his kimono until you could make out his toned upper half. His chiselled chest. Pecs. The ladder-like ridges of his abs lining down his stomach- which is all the greedy glimpse you can take in before he’s then rip-rip-riiiipping off your shirt.

Buttons bursting everywhere as he throws it over his shoulder.

Your shorts are next. Though Geto takes his sensual time slipping them off- shuffling himself down as well. His pinkish tongue comes out to lick his lips as he watches a few stringy wads of your slick stick to the front of the shorts. 

Oh, you were just so wet.

It was almost embarrassing. And as the smirk on his mouth grows, you find yourself puffing. “Don’t- don’t get cocky about it.” Attempting to close your legs just to stop the pure intensity of his stare and-

“Don’t.”

And perhaps it’s the startling divergence of him saying something else, perhaps it the sheer carnal need that seeps into just the tone of that one word - but you’re frozen as Geto then uses his palms to smear your sheeny thighs out until you whine at the stretch.

Taking just one second, maybe two, to admire the splosh of syrupy slick that runs between your pussylips. So thick and swollen with need that Geto gulps before he’s immediately surging his face between them.

Pushing in nose-deep.

He doesn’t hesitate for even a second. He doesn’t even breathe before sticking the fat, padded edge of his tongue on your sensitive folds.

Plastering. Gluing.

Geto’s fucking his prolonged tongue into you like such an animal- husking out moans at the back of his throat at he way your flooded entrance was just too tight to take all of his tongue in one go. 

You’re whining as he pushes and pushes his honed, swabbin’ tip against the circular outer rim. Trying to stretch it out even further with the extreme girth of his tongue - he was just so thick. So big. “Oh- fuck, fuck. Calm down, Geto-”

“Suguru.” Geto practically jolts at the electricity of you saying his name.

“S-Suguru—” You squeal, your thighs shaking so much when he sticks his pointed chin to the bottom of your pussy. Just letting his head move in rovering motions and half-thrusts to bully inside. “You’re acting like you’ve been starving for ages, hah.”

And at that Geto lurches himself upright ever-so-slightly. 

Syrupy juices drip down the lower half of his face and splatter back down onto your pussy. Glistening all the way down his jawline and up his cheekbones like a gloss. 

“Oh, gorgeous…” And then he smiles. Something crazed in his eyes. “I haven’t tasted anything this sweet in life or death.”

Your chin drops to meet your chest, “Oh- wait, how old are you?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t expect me to count right now?”

And he was addicted already.

Properly spitting a wadded knot of saliva down, it strikes the front of your pussy harshly. To which Geto immediately followed up with a lingering few kisses, gluing his upper lip right near where your clit was.

Swollen and needy. And Geto’s just as ravenous as he tug n’ tugs your pussylips aside to fit inside his tongue. 

“Never have.” One of his forearms comes up to rest against the inside of your left thigh. You’re trickling out in wires of slick as he runs one of his fat thumbs between your dripping wet crevice. Pushin’ just down on your perky nub like a button, “Never will- fuck, this pretty pussy’s all mine now. Y’know ghosts haunt for life?”

“N-ngh, oh my god…” Your mouth hangs ajar. Hips arching off of the slowly-dampening blankets to further push his pretty face into your pussy. “Y-you’re talking so much now, ngh.”

“Oh.” Like he didn’t even register that. And Geto clouds out a murky breath that heats up your core even more. Just so many sensations that already send zaps of pleasure skittering up your spine - it makes your cunt gush out in a waterfall of even more sap that Geto leans over to lap at.

Tongue fully flopping out, licking and licking every polished inch of you so that none of it goes to waste. You’d soaked yourself even wetter, and he was stopping mid-sentence just to taste you. Only after he’s done does he murmur. “Oh I’m…”

“Hm?”

“Drunk.” Oh. Geto’s knobbly thumb rolls over the tip-top of your clit in slow hearts, making your eyes swirl comically inside the whites of your eyes. “Fuck, always was a talkative- hah, drunk. You’ve got me pussydrunk, gorgeous.”

You admit, “I like it.”

His dark brows raise, the ends of his mouth twisting upwards into something mean. You should’ve known there was an inkling of darkness behind that sweet smile of his.

“Well, you’re going to like this a lot more.”

And then he’s not just teasing, he’s not waiting ‘round to stretch out your pussy’s entrance so that you can take him easily. No, the very tip of Geto’s tongue sticks inside your cunt and then shoves all the way through.

In quick, sloppy half-thrusts.

He’s probing and probing his flexible muscle into the most tender spots against your walls, just swirlin’ them around before each jackhammer so that he can reach every tiny cranny. And they were so thick, too, such a generous girth that stretched out your glossy walls as they should. “Oh, mmm, oh my god- fuck. Just like that, Suguru.”

“Mmm—” But he wasn’t doing it just like that. In fact, he was folding apart your puffy pussylips with the tip of his nose.

Letting it graze lightly against the front of your clit, only further putting pressure on your favorite nub. Hands and face. “More.” A particularly hard squeeze of your clit leaves you bucking wildly, your limbs shaking like a leaf. “More.”

“I’m t-trying—” You sob out, your hamstrings starting to ache with how much harder he was trying to pull your hips into him.

Grind after grind of your glistening, stimulated folds dragging down his features.

Geto rolls his murky irises and latches his free hand onto the side of your waist, “Tch-” He uses that leverage to guide your hips to form filthy figure-eights, openin’ you up just so he can plaster his hot mouth even further. “Try harder, honey. Harder. I don’t have to…heh, I don’t have to breathe, y’know?”

Your mouth drops into a little ‘oh!’ as he then starts to sink in his middle finger inside your wet pussy. 

You were just so hot n’ velvety around him, it felt like he was being crushed in from all sides by a slice of fucking heaven.

Shit. It should be illegal to feel like this.

Dazedly, he’s letting another plumpened digit (his ring finger, this time) scrape against the squeezing edges of your walls. Two of his fingertips almost fighting against his mouth for purchase of your honeyed cunt, pushing and pushing.

“Sh-shit, your fingers are so long-” You’re wailing out, your hands somehow weaving through the sweaty valleys of his locks. And even that only seemed to be used to drag you down even deeper. Even harder against his face.

Something that Geto loves - if the way he fucking smiles against your core told you anything. The toying tip of his tongue pulls out and clings to the outside of your folds now, and he slowly slithers it up to circle on top of your clit. Everywhere. “Oh yeah, c’mon, gorgeous. Like that. Haaaaaarder.”

“T-trying to-”

“And try harder.” There was something stirring in the way that Geto said those words - something dark, something almost predatory. It was a tone that you already knew wouldn’t bode well for you or your poor, puckered pussy. 

And before you know it, Geto has one of his hands in the air once again. 

Smirking as he watches the exact moment your eyes bulge at the sight, lips dropping onto an ‘o’ of recognition. He hums, “Like- this-” And then he snaps his fingers once.

The next time you’re blinking, you’re the one on top.

Your eyes level with the splintering wooden headboard, your legs wobbly where they straddled his handsome face. Geto Suguru had all the teleportation powers in the world and he’d chosen to use it n’ have you seated on his face.

Splayed out on the bed. His mouth chasing your other pair of lips.

Riding your sloppy cunt down his mouth in rapid, little ruts. “O-oh my god, you’re just- just-” You can’t find the words, especially with your mind all muddied like this. Losing your train of thought any time his rovering tongue was licking upwards.

Geto feels you start to hover your hips upwards, not wanting to put his full weight on him. And with his brows furrowed, the man only locks his arms around your waist and pulls you to sit on him. Properly. “-f-filthy! Fuck!”

“Don’t insult me by fucking hovering, gorgeous.” He warns you. Three of his roughened fingerpads now pryin’ apart your pussylips. Before you know it, he’s gyrating them upwards in vulgar strokes, “Who do you even- hah, think you are? Just- fucking- sit-”

You’re already seated on top of him, and he’s using his inhuman strength to pressure your pussy against his mouth even more. Still. 

Just truly jackhammering away all the pretty spots inside your walls as he does so. Pinpointing every bundle of nerves. Geto’s extended middle finger grazes almost near the splotchy area of your g-spot and you moan. “There- just a little closer, Suguru, ngh.”

“Oh yeah? There?” His fingertips maze in that very direction, but this time they’re missing the place completely. And Geto snickers as you shake your head whinily, “Then, maybe I can’t reach it?”

“But-”

“Maybe you just hafta ride my face for it.”

Oh. 

He was just playing with you. Driving you wild with the thrashing drags of his tongue up n’ down your slit. You could feel every sizzling ridge of his tastebuds, they mold against the throbbing nub of your clit and leaves you reeling. 

Once again, Geto pokes his slick-glazed fingers up right near your g-spot and forces your babbling answer out of you. “C’mon, I’m a gentleman. Sit on my face.”

“F-fine—fuck!” You hiccup through your tears. 

Holding onto the silken strands of hair, you grind your hips down harder. Feeling this, Geto’s mouth drops all the way till his limits- wider, deeper, opening up to stick his fingers into your hidden nooks n’ crannies. “Just like that- oh, just like that. Open up wiiiide f’me, please.”

“Don’t stop- feels so good like this.” Your entire body shakes when he bangs a fourth fingertip against the rim of your hole a few times before fitting that in, too.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you, honey.” Geto purrs. This new angle made your sultry pussy let off the most filthy, dampened slurps every time he thrusted his fingers back and forth. Tongue swipin’ up any cobweb of slick that hung out of your hole and dripped down his wrist.

Any and every splash of your juices, he’s lavishing it up.

You swear you can hear Geto finally strike your g-spot and gulp at the mess it creates. Your toes curled. Head thrown backwards.

You’re spraying out your sweetened slick like a fountain - one that he’s got his mouth opened wide for. Partially-closed eyes locked with yours when he lets it all pool at the back of his throat and swallows. 

Fingers thrusting primally inside of you, “Now I- fuck.” His voice was husky, any coherence in them positively shattered. “And now I need you to, ngh, cream all on my tongue, gorgeous. Okay? Yeah? Can this cute human body do that f’me?”

Stupidly, you’re nodding. Body moving before your mind. “Mhm—yes, ngh.”

“Heh, because a dinner isn’t complete without dessert, is it?”

“Yes- yes yes yes, please.”

You just look so pretty whimperin’ and trembling on top of him like this. Your weight presses against Geto’s lower half and he’s moving you feverishly. Swabbin’ the plush fingertips of his digits, he fucks them up into your g-spot and watches as your whole body loosens.

Slouching on top of him, slurping up his every probe.

His mouth upturns into a smile as he suckles on your clit last, “Mhmm—so cum.” He jostles your body around like a ragdoll, as if you weighed nothing. “Ride my face now- and cum- fuck. Use me and cum.”

“Gonna–” Drool seeps from your mouth and down your chin. “Sh-shit I think m’so close.”

“Yeah? Better cream all down my- hngh, tongue, gorgeous.” Geto’s nose crinkles as he feels your movements get sloppy. You could barely control yourself, your head way too dizzy to focus on anything but his roverin’ fingers, sticking against your g-spot in harsh cadence. “Yeah- all down my tongue. Use me-” He bucks his own gluttonous mouth forwards, “Use me use me use me- fuck!”

You’re clenching around his thick fingers so hard that it’s almost hard to slam back in.

“C-cum f’me, honey.”

Within only a few sultry seconds, you’re toppling over into your high.

So hard that you shut your eyes and they still flash white behind your lids. You claw onto Geto’s clammy scalp and push your hips- “Cum—ing, mm.” Your pulse throbs aggressively at both your temple and between your legs. And your lips flap wildly with shrills, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, it just feels so g-good, Suguru. Never felt like- hck! this before.”

“Heh, aw my poor girl. My poor, poor gorgeous girl.” Geto cooes, though you could discern the amusement in his voice. He smacks his lips on top of your clit, sucking through every peak of your high. So accurate it was almost as if he could see them. 

Spearheading your treacly entrance through each wave of bliss. 

You swear you’re seeing stars once he surges his head even closer and then decides to bite down on that cute nub. “Don’t you worry now. Ghosts have endless stamina, didn’t you know?”

“Th-they do?” Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull - you didn’t expect that. But he’s proving it to you exactly. Slapping his fingers up against the gooey roof of your pussy even after your high is nothing more than a few tingles. “But what if I can’t last-”

“Of course, you will.”

“What if I can’t cum aga-”

“Of course, you will.” Geto was firm on that one. And he was still makin’ out with your pussy as if he was going to prove it to you. Even after most of your orgasm has bated. Even after it was nothing but a few twinges of pleasure bubbling in your veins.

Even after you were so overstimulated that it brought tears to your eyes- Geto takes his own sensual, slow time licking away the last few dewdrops of slick from your cunt. Humming in satisfaction only once he’s finally polished you off completely, “And we have alllll night.”

Geto doesn’t snap his fingers a second time - too pussydrunk to. 

But he’s still flipping you over, the soft fabric of his kimono falling down his shoulders and revealing a few slivers of his milky, toned hips. His kimono covered practically nothing. Practically all-exposed. Him on his meaty knees, you facing him. The perfect viewpoint. All Geto has to do is move his wrapped robes aside- and suddenly you’re face-to-face with the largest, hardest cock you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

And so pretty, too.

He had a thick bulging tip that was blushed a delicate red, scorched in a gradient all the way down to his neat base. Some sparse, curly hairs of black. Your mouth waters as you take in the creamy wad of precum that beads out of his reddened tip, and drips all down.

And his size—oh.

You can’t help it- you’re leaning yourself closer n’ plopping your mouth wetly on top of his flared mushroom head. He tastes salty and of something sweet, almost like honey.

Groaning at the taste, you shiver as Geto hunches over at the feeling of your mouth. His sculptured back flexing, he crouches over to kiss down your arched spine.

Humming, “Sh-shit, dunno what’s sweeter- this mouth or that pretty pussy, hngh.” He grits his teeth. 

You whine into his length when you start to bob your head, throat letting off primal gulps every time Geto’s vein-covered shaft slides down your tongue and targets your throat. He was just so hard that you flinched every time he pulsed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” Geto coos down, his rough palm resting on the back of your neck. Meanly, Geto pushes you down and giggles when you choke. “Too big for you, honey?”

“M-mmmpf-” You’re managing out.

And he nods like he understands, “Mhm, don’t worry, gorgeous.” And then with a final buck, like a teaser, he cups your lolling head and pulls you off. The action lets out the most carnal squelch- “I’ll make it fit.”

Click!

You’re on your back. Your head placed softly against the pillows, your legs thrown over his shoulders. 

Geto shoots you the most devilish grin as he holds onto both your thighs and folds you all the way in half. Like a lawnchair underneath him - with your heels against his muscular back, your foreheads touching. 

Into a mating press.

With one hand letting off, he holds onto his bulky hilt and smack-smack-smacks his pink, globular tip between your pussylips. Groaning, “So you better- haaaah, take a deeeeep breath now.”

Your brows slightly knit, “Why do I need to- oh, fuck!” You’re gasping. Heaving. Crying out in lewd trills to which Geto cuts you off by smearing his mouth against yours in a filthy, filthy kiss.

You’re moaning as he fills you up without even trying.

Just the plump, fleshy tip of his cock probing inwards. It stretches out your geysering hole so widely- the smooth lines of his cockhead, and that sensitive line of his slit that massages your walls so sinfully. 

You’re still slightly overwhelmed by your high, and every texture fitted inside of you made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

A few veins ran down the middle of Geto’s cock, slightly redder than the rest of his shaft. And they flinched inside your cunt once he started easing his way in, “Shit- shit, you’re just so big- ngh. Fuck I don’t know if I can–”

“You will.” Sternly, Geto’s kissing you again. Shutting up your silly words, he’s sighing as his massive tip finally swabs its way inside with a wettened plop! “Ghosts never break promises- mm, I never break promises.” Staring dead-on into your hazy peripherals. Voice run ragged. “M’gonna make it fit.”

“Fuck—fuck, it’s so much.”

He wasn’t even thrusting - half-rutting, knees spread, bucking wildly like an animal.

Geto had gotten one cloying taste of your pussy wrapped ‘round his cock and he was suddenly addicted. Suddenly forgetting any and every method of rolling his hips, and instead simply holding onto you and bullying his fat cock inside. 

Both of his hands lace over your scalp, and every time one of his hammering pushes left you reeling- Geto was there to drag you back into his hips again. “What did I say? Hah, what did I say?”

He looks downwards, his jet-black hair falling around the two of you like some silky curtain. You follow his line of sight and come across the most lecherous scene: with your sheeny pussylips all glossed and glittering with slick, dripping all over every time he was nudging his swollen inches inside.

Bit by bit.

Using the restraint he had on you to shove—“M’gonna make it fit- gonna, hah.”

“H-how is it all even fitting, Suguru?” You whine out, your mouth gaped. Geto was a streamlined size near the end of his shaft; but the deeper you took him in, the thicker he became. The more his proud circumference dragged along your walls and stretched you out.

His zig-zagged veins drove you crazy, and you grappled your fingers onto his sculptured deltoids. 

Geto registers your words, and one of his hands lifts off of your head and down onto your front. He pushes down so hard that your breath hitches, feeling for himself as he fucks his size inside. “Oh, honey, you really wanna know?” Something devilish sparkled in his darkened eyes. “You really, really wanna know?”

“Y-yes?” You’re questioning, not entirely sure what you were in store for.

And it turns out- the surface of Geto’s palm, where it was in tactile contact with your stomach, started to glow. Some part of it seeming almost…transluscent as he then glides his hand up n’down. Almost as if he was caressing.

As if he could see exactly where the fat, bludgeoning tip of his shaft ended.

“See here? Here.” Then he’s drawing an invisible line somewhere about midway down your front. Leaning in even closer, “Here’s where I am.” Those glowing fingertips of his move further upwards, dangerously upwards. “And here’s where m’ngh- going to be.”

You balk as that calloused tip of his digits goes up, up, up.

All the way up to your throat- “And here’s where m’gonna be reaching for.”

Oh.

And then he’s fucking you exactly like it. His round, globular tip bulging against the sides of your tight channel- again and again and again. Geto’s hefty thighs slam into the backs of yours with stinging smacks, shovelling his hips ruthlessly.

“And don’t you worry, gorgeous–” He’s whispering out against your ajar mouth, a slight line of drool starting to fall from the edge of your lips at the pressure. “I’m gonna reach there, gonna do it a-all.”

Clammy palm pushing down even harder.

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

“Yes- yes!” Fuck, it genuinely did feel as though he was probin’ his crowned tip against your very lungs. Bruising in a wide circular bruise, Geto snaps his hips further forwards and you feel your back arch. “Can feel you a-all the way in, ngh, here.”

“Awww, there?” Geto chuckles down at the cute way you were clutching onto somewhere ‘round your stomach. Somewhere ‘round your cervix. Feeling him go in even deeper than his jackhammers were going.

The spanking impact of his hips only growing more vicious- he rovers his free hand onto your throat and uses that to keep your restless body still. The perfect target for him to aim his vulgar thrusts, “Then you better allow me to- hah, give it to you there.”

“Yes- yes yes-” Your flooded pussy swallows him up readily with a sluuuuurp, and you feel him ultimately bottom out by your cervix.

“Come on then-” He’s spitting. He’s seething. “-fuck me harder. Fuck back into me.”

The goopy end of your cunt gets punished with a thorough slam of his blushin’ red cockhead. And despite stretching you out to your maximum already, Geto forces his weight down even further. Like he wanted his lengthy shaft to spearhead even deeper-

“Look at youuuu—”  He’s crooning out, his breathy gasp botched with a few hitches now. You just felt so fucking—oh, he couldn’t even put it into words. “Look at you all t-taking it. Fuck back further into me and oh, we are going to have a ngh- niiiiice co-habitation, gorgeous.” Couldn’t even put it into feeling.

The only thing that Geto can do is squelch back his merciless hips. Carnally letting reach winding vein outline the inside of your cunt- and then he’s thoroughly jutting back in. 

Hitting the back of your pussy. Swabbing his slick, drivelling tip into every crevice inside.

He’s smoothing out the ridges of your cunt on his veiny length again. And again. And again and again and again so many times that the spongy area of your cervix starts feeling raw. You stutter out a few sobs, “Oh my g-god, hnghhh—I don’t know if I’d be able to t-take it like this every day in that case.”

“You don’t know?” Geto’s face falls into a faux-pout. And then you’re gasping at the feeling of his frigid thumb gliding across your stomach, his powers fully activated. “Fuck back into me a little-” As you jostle yourself forwards. “Heh, a little more.”

You grab onto him for anchorage, “I’m t-trying.”

“Mhm, trying and I haven’t even shown you the, mmm, half of it.”

Your eyes widen, “What’s the half of it?”

“Well one half is kissin’ that cute little cervix of yours.” He’s smiling, hunching his shoulders forwards so that his pre-glazed tip was fully glued to your cervix. Drawing out little vertical lines every time he drills inside, “Feel that? Fuck- feel me in there, honey?”

“I d-do…”

“And then the other half- or, well, other part is to find that pretty g-spot inside here.” Swirlin’ the slicked end of his cock all around.

Geto’s using it almost like a spotlight, stirring it against the most delicate places on your walls. With each of his hammering thuds, he manages to probe his cockhead even closer to your g-spot. Right where he’d mapped it out before - and right where his ghoulish eyes could see. 

With it, he could pinpoint that exact location of your sweetest, most favorite spot.

“And it can be fooooound…” Geto himself was starting to slobber out from the side of his mouth at this point, like every push of his sensitive length only left him more and more pussydrunk. “Riiiight…”

With every longing drag of his words, he accelerates his cadence.

And it was just the right tempo to make your pupils circle comically, your thighs twitching where they lay across his shoulders. You gasp for air once his fingers press, in—“S-Sugu, it feels like you’re reaching straight for my- fuck!”

He is. 

A plump, plush smooch of his mushroomy tip straight into your g-spot.

Geto strikes his cock against that particularly treasured area so hard that you’re seeing stars. “Yeeees?” Driving into you like such a madman, such incredible strokes that leave you speechless. “Reaching straight for your-” Palm leaving indents where he pushed, where his nails clawed. “-what, gorgeous girl?”

“My- my- fuck.” Your throat clogged up with so many sobs and hitches. And you’re sure that by now you’d barely even be able to spell out your own name let alone-

“Can’t spell out your name, hm?” He tilts his head to the side, teasingly looking at you through the gaps of his shaggy black bangs. “Do you even know your name right now?”

You gasp, “Well…”

And at that even Geto himself seems slightly taken aback. You were that fucked stupid?

 With one hand on your throat, the other then snakes down to the gooey in-betweens of your thighs. Swipin’ over your plump clit with his thumb, “Awww, that’s alright. Heh, let this ol’ ghost here do allll the work. And you just worry about that last- hck! part of it.”

“I—oh.” The rough fringe of his thumb outlines a few hearts on top of your nub for a few seconds. Before he’s suddenly drawing hearts- and his foggy pupils were shaped just the same.

Heart-eyed. 

As you feel the molten bliss start to build up in the pit of your stomach, you strangle out. Slightly mesmerized by the way he was just so ruined. “And what is that, hngh, last part of it, Sugu?”

“Oh, well, y’know…” He casually looks down between your legs. The gooey splashes of slick n’ precum that kept on pouring out. It’s a sight that makes him smile. Geto sweetly kisses your lips, “The next part would be to cum inside.”

“C-can a ghost even cum inside?” You’re wondering out loud, now thoroughly gone on his large, plummeting shaft.

“Oh, honey-” Geto croons, “-you’re about to find out.”

And it’s with a few more sloppy thrusts, just a few more twists of his ravenous fingers- he’s toying with you, driving you wild until you’re finally crashing into your nth high of the night. Because it’s not just one orgasm - over and over, your entire body is being pounded by repeated waves of bliss.

Your clawed hand on his shoulder falls off, and Geto uses one of his to bring it back up to his mouth. He kisses the back of your hand softly as he cums deep inside your womb.

“Ohhhh, god.” Geto throws his head back, silky hair flying. Before he fights against the reflex- his urge to stare down at your pretty face was even stronger.

With one hand pushing up his curtain bangs, and the other pressing down on your cum-inflated stomach. Geto chuckles as he feels you drip down both your legs and his, a shiny coating of ivory white. “Oh fucking hell, I’d die another thousand times just to see a sight like this- fuck.”

“I f-feel so full.” You can barely gurgle out. Your voice feeling all thick at the sensation of his clingy wads of cum being pumped into you.

He’s cumming and cumming- and you swear that one of the lights on the other end of your hallway burst. Each of your skins covering with a layer of supernatural power.

Geto pushes and pushes each sappy layer of it inside with his crowned shaft, the bulbous end of it plugging up your every orifice with the thick knots of his seed. You can feel it splosh all about you, your legs thrashing on top of his shoulders as yet another thrust of his leaves your walls all raw. All overstimulated.

A thickened few drops of it slip from between your pussylips and drench his fat base. To which he’s swiping a finger around and coating it in the glittery moisture, sucking on it. “Mmm–” Geto savors the taste. “So you remember what I said about a ghost’s stamina, gorgeous?”

You were still shaking with the aftershocks of your high, and your ringing eardrums could barely believe what they were hearing. 

But he leans in, emphasizing.

“And by that, I mean more.”

.

.

.

“Oh fuh-fuck…” You’re hiccuping out from the back of your throat. Barely able to even hold your head up, you rest it on Geto’s prominent collarbones, your spittle splashing out in waves.

Something that he’s staring down at with a chuckle, and swabbin’ the plump end of his thumb between your drooling lips. Pushin’ all those wads back, “Haaah, what’ve I said about keeping it- ngh, inside? Both those pretty lips of yours are the same, gorgeous.”

You’re whimpering at this tutted statement - what else could he expect?

After your first round there’d been the second, the third, then the fourth- then the fifth where your high was nothing but a few oversensitive tingles that left you crying. And yet, Geto still had the stamina for a sixth.

Even when his thick, bludgeoning cock was all red n’ raw. Even when he was swollen with need. Even when his precum was webbing out in milky ribbons like cum, and he couldn’t even control himself by now - he was still going.

One hand plastered on the side of your hips to help you ride him silly, the other cupping your face. Geto softly kisses your ajar mouth, before he then spits.

Thick and splattered on the side of your lips, Geto moves his hand down from your face to your neck then. Using it to help your overworked hips slide even faster down his cock, you twitch at the feeling of each vein scrapin’ your poor insides. “C’mon, cooooome on. I told ya what to expect with a- hah, ghost, honey. Didn’t I?”

“You’re no ghost- I think you’re some beast.” You whine out tearily. In response, he snakes the hand at your hips down. Latching on instead to your clit, and he bears no regrets simply puuuuulling.

He purrs, “What was that, honey?”

Your body is trembling on top of him. All wobbly, you angle the splotched area of your g-spot to meet his mushroom tip. Over and over. “I said you- you are a- fuck.”

“Mhmmm—?”

And by now you’re fully dumbified. 

You should have known better than to think that Geto Suguru would go easy on you. In fact, he was only wildly thrashin’ his tip against your cervix harder, it draws with the creamy streaks of cum left before. And if you were any less ruined, then you might not have noticed the way that his supernatural eyes narrow down at your front. At the way he simply stares.

“Hmmm, can’t tell if it’s taken yet~” He muses, out loud. Head tilted, and with it so was the inky curtain of his hair. “But it hasn’t…not taken, heh.”

“Fuck- any chances that power of yours can tell when- hngh, when you’re showing any signs of stopping?” You’re huffing out, and he quickly gives a rude spank against the doorway to your womb to make you shut up.

Shaking his head seriously, “Ohhhh, honey.” Geto then lifts his hand off of your throat and drifts it downwards, letting the waterfall of sap drench his thumb. Before he plugs it inside your mouth, making you suck on it like some lolly. “You’d be lucky if either of us made it out of this alive.”

Oh.

You sure would be lucky.

Because within only a split-second, he’s slouching back sexily. Further against the pillows so that he could drill his hips up into you- your cute bounces n’ figure-eights just weren’t enough. Geto wanted to fuck you.

And he wanted to fuck you hard.

He wanted to pound his plummy, split-ended tip against the back of your pussy until you were practically sobbing. And he was. 

Long, slurped drags of his vein-decorated cock. Ones that splosh around the oodles of cum layered on your walls, getting them into every tiny nook and cranny. He was so thick - you swear he was swollen with even more need than before - that he let you mewling after every ramming thrust.

With nose crinkled, teeth gritted into a snarl, Geto sticks his divot into the area of your g-spot. And he watches as you whimper, your mouth babbling out something half-nonsensical. “Gonna- cum- ngh, again. Sugu!”

“Mmm, love how you say my name.” You were burning up, practically at a fever-pitch by this point. “Can you say it even louder? Hmmm? Say it even hah! more?” With a few more hefty thrusts you’re feeling the oncoming wave of your high- though, by now it felt more like a few white-hot sparks.

Leaving your head completely blank. “I don’t- I don’t-”

“Yeahhh, you can.” He knew you were close. And he didn’t even need his powers to tell. 

He could simply feel it in the way your walls were relentless in their adorable clenching. Their slick surfaces growing wetter by the second, a few lines of your honeyed slick glissade down your legs and up his prominent v-line - now all red with slamming impact.

Only flushing even further. 

Especially when he speeds up, probin’ his tip mercilessly. And then, in a final pattern, Geto cups the base of his length and helps slide his glazed tip. 

It almost feels like he’s circlin’ his girth around your walls, just stretching you out. But, really, he was writing out - a long, scrolly ‘G’ at the very back of your bruised pussy. One that makes Geto huff out in laughter, the burning sting sizzles against your most tender spots. “And what’s that spellll—?”

“G-Geto—” Another curling line that he was scouring out. Within your cockdrunken mind, it almost felt like an ‘S’. ’“Suguru- fuck. Suguru!”

And with that, you’re cumming. 

Short and sharp- your vision in front shattered with a kaleidoscope of tears. Suddenly overtaken by so many spurts of high that you don’t know where yours ends and his starts. Your back arching, breath stuttered.

You’re so far gone that you barely even realize it once a sudden warmth seeps between your legs. Flooding out your tender orifice with a few hefty dollops of cum, “Mmm, yeahhh. Take it, gorgeous. Take- hah, take all of it.”

“I am-” You bawl out, “I am I am-”

Your bedroom lights were already long-shattered from hours prior, and it doesn’t take long for the sheer force of Geto’s orgasm to leave your unbolted furniture shaking. Hovering. You swear you catch your sagged bed lift off of the ground a few centimeters as he rides out his orgasm on your heated, wet pussy.

“S’right here.” His tracing index glides up the middle of your body, as if you couldn’t feel him. Even in the darkness. “Riiiight in the middle here. And- ngh-” His toned hips shift as he sees white with overstimulation, the dribble of his cum petering out after a sudden surge.

You suddenly realize that Geto’s cumming dry now - he didn’t even know that was possible.

The power goes off in your all-new apartment. 

But also in every ward in Tokyo.

Burst after burst of his high leaving you completely spent. You whimper as you feel his supernatural energy let off a few sparks where he touched - but mostly where he plastered a few fingers to your clit. A constant, buzzing sensation even better than any of your toys and vibrators- honestly, you couldn’t even think of those right now. 

As he feels his flinching tip stop moving, Geto looks up at you with the most heady, pussydrunken eyes. Parted lips. Messy hair. 

He just looked so pretty. His voice trembling with need as Geto finishes off, “And I believe it’s taken now, gorgeous.”

You blink, “Taken? You mean…”

“Mhm.” He just looks so proud of himself. So accomplished. Lovingly grazing his hand down the front of your stomach, where a bulge of stuffed cum was starting to form, in a way that only ever could be done by him.

He embraces you tightly, head falling on your shoulder. And despite being cold, usually, you can’t help but notice that he was sweating. Warm. “All taken.”

“O-oh–” You shake atop him, vision still bleary with the haze of your high. But it was starting to fade back in, and so was your sense of rationality. 

You could feel his ivory sap dripping out like a faucet from your core, all creamy and lust-filled. Looking down at it- the way it had completely ruined your silky sheets by now, almost made you feel shy. “B-before that we might have to discuss splitting rent, first.”

Geto squints, “What’s…rent?”

A/N. Mwahahaha

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

“You couldn’t have picked someone normal to bond with?” you ask the dragon.

Sukuna blinks slowly, entirely unfazed, then shifts his massive head a fraction closer to your shoulder. His scales catch the sunlight like dark, wet marble, but the way he’s leaning into you gives him all the menace of a particularly clingy housecat. A housecat with fire breath, razor claws, and the ability to level a village if he ever got bored enough.

Satoru, stretched out on the grass beside him, grins. “Don’t blame Sukuna,” he says, resting his weight back on his palms like he owns the hill, the sky, the whole bloody island. “He can’t help liking you better.”

“Everyone likes me better.”

“Mm. Bold claim.”

“True claim,” you retort. You scratch absentmindedly under Sukuna’s jaw, right where the scales give way to smooth skin, and he lets out a deep, throaty rumble of pleasure. It vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a sound that would send most of Berk sprinting for the hills. You barely flinch. He’s impossible not to soften toward—something Satoru has weaponised far too often.

“I’m just saying,” Satoru drawls, “you might be his favourite person on the island.”

“He doesn’t have many options,” you say.

“Wow. And here I thought we were friends.”

You roll your eyes. “We are not friends.”

“Acquaintances?” he tries, silver hair glinting in the sunlight and blue eyes far too bright and mischievous and knowing.

“Barely.”

“Brutal,” he says. “You talk to all your barely-acquaintances this much?”

“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”

“That’s most people, though.”

“Maybe you’re the problem,” you shoot back.

It’s exhausting, really, how he manages to talk in italics, every word tilted just enough to keep you bristling. He’s the single most aggravating man on the entire Isle of Berk—and that’s saying something, considering the place is full of dragon riders who think personal boundaries is a suggestion, not a rule.

You’d like to say you hate him. Really, you would. It would make things simpler. But hate implies he occupies actual space in your head, and the problem—the infuriating, inescapable problem—is that you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Why are you even here?” you demand finally, because you’ve learned the only way to deal with Satoru Gojo is to stay on the offensive.

“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.

“Pretty sure Sukuna can find his own way here.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, grinning wider, “but I can’t.”

You blink. “Are you—are you implying you used your dragon as an excuse to see me?”

“No,” he says immediately, dragging the vowel out. “Definitely not. I have so many better things to do.”

“Name one.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks for a second. “…Patrolling?”

“That’s not better.”

“Depends on who you ask.” He falls back fully onto the grass, folding his arms behind his head, one long leg bent at the knee. The picture of ease, like he hasn’t just casually dropped the suggestion that he wanted to see you and then refused to elaborate. Like he hasn’t steadily been driving you insane since the day you met him.

The wind shifts over the hill, carrying with it the salt of the distant sea. Berk stretches out below—scattered houses of stone and tumber, smoke curling from chimneys, dragons wheeling in the sky above the watchtowers. Out past the cliffs, the ocean flashes silver under the sun, calm for now but never for long.

“Illegal trapping’s been getting worse,” Satoru says idly after a moment.

You glance at him. “And yet you’re here annoying me instead of dealing with it?”

“Hey, I’m off-duty.”

“You’re never off-duty.”

“True,” he admits, shameless. “But my boss doesn’t need to know that.”

You roll your eyes. The boss in question is Yaga the Vast, chief of Berk, who has approximately zero patience for stragglers like Satoru and yet, somehow, keeps putting him in charge of things anyway. Probably because when he isn’t being insufferable, Satoru is annoyingly good at his job.

Sukuna shifts closer again, massive head nudging your shoulder with a low whuff. The force of it nearly knocks you off balance.

“He’s so needy,” you mutter, scratching under his jaw again.

Satoru props himself up on his elbows to watch. “You love it.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do—”

“Finish that sentence,” you warn, “and I swear I will throw you off this hill.”

He smiles, unbothered. “Can’t, gorgeous. Sukuna would just catch me.”

“Shame,” you say.

Sukuna rumbles again, louder this time, as if laughing at the both of you. Which is ridiculous, obviously. Dragons don’t laugh. Probably. You’re still scratching absentmindedly at his jaw when the shout comes from below the hill.

“Gojo! We’ve got movement near the cliffs!”

It’s one of the younger riders—Yaga’s apprentice, maybe. You don’t remember his name. He’s sprinting uphill, out of breath, waving both arms wildly.

Satoru sighs. “And here I was enjoying my day off.”

“Trappers?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” He pushes to his feet. “Looks like it.”

The apprentice finally reaches the top, panting. “They spotted nets near the west cliffs,” he manages. “Could be setting up for a catch.”

Satoru dusts off his hands lazily, like he hasn’t just been summoned to go handle the exact kind of people who would love to get their hands on a Night Fury. On Sukuna. You glance at the dragon, who’s gone very still beside you. His tail flicks once, sharp and restless.

Satoru notices too. “Relax,” he tells him softly, before turning that insufferable grin back on you. “Rain check on the head pats?”

“Not my dragon,” you remind him.

He winks. “Technicality.”

With that, he swings easily onto Sukuna’s back, all long limbs and practiced motion, like he was born in the saddle. Sukuna launches into the sky a moment later, wings snapping wide, dust kicking up in their wake. You watch them go, a dark shape against the sunlit clouds, until they’re nothing but a speck over the cliffs.

You’re still staring at the empty sky when the young rider clears his throat.

“Uh… hi,” he says awkwardly. He’s about your age, maybe a bit younger, with a nervous energy that makes you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to relax. He’s holding a map, which he’d pulled out of his pocket and now folds and unfolds with frantic hands. “You’re, uh, you’re the mapmaker, right? The one who lives by the sea?”

“That’s me,” you say, forcing yourself to look away from the horizon.

He nods, relieved. “Right. Yaga said to give you this. It’s the new coastline for the north. He said you’d be able to sketch it out better than anyone else.” He holds out the piece of parchment.

You take the map, unfolding it to see the jagged lines and rough sketches of a coastline you haven’t visited yet. The lines are crude, but the general shape is there. “Thanks,” you say. “I’ll get on it as soon as I can.”

“Right,” he says. “So… you and Gojo. You guys are… close?”

You stiffen. The question is innocent, but it feels like an accusation. “No. Not at all.”

He looks skeptical. “He talks about you a lot. Like, a lot lot. Says you’re the only person who can keep up with him.

You fight the urge to groan. “He’s a liar.”

“Yeah, he is.” The young rider laughs, a short, nervous sound. “But I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s always, like, looking for you. Or waiting for you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. It’s too close to the truth. You just shrug, then look at the map. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Right. See you around, then.” The rider turns to leave, jogging down the hill with a newfound energy, as if he’s happy to escape the awkwardness, leaving you alone with the silence, the incomplete map, and the lingering scent of ozone and dragon scales.

You look at the map, then at the sky where Sukuna and Gojo disappeared. You can’t stop thinking about the way Gojo smiled when he told you that Sukuna was just an excuse to see you. It was a joke, you know that. He’s always joking, always playing with words. But the way he said it… it felt like there was a kernel of truth in it, a tiny, infuriating admission that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You trace the lines on the map, but your mind is elsewhere. You’re picturing him, the way he looks when he’s serious, the way he talks when he’s trying to get under your skin. You’re picturing Sukuna, the way he leans into your touch, the way he rumbles with contentment. You’re picturing the two of them, a perfect pair of chaos, a storm of annoying energy.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You have work to do, a map to sketch. But you can’t help but wonder if Gojo and Sukuna are okay. You can’t help but wonder what he’ll say the next time you see him. You can’t help but wonder if you’re a little bit relieved that he used his dragon as an excuse to see you.

A soft breeze, smelling of salt and distant rain, carries the sound of Sukuna’s contented rumble. You look up from your work, the firelight from your cottage flickering on the parchment in your lap. The Night Fury, a silhouette against the moon, lands with a soft thud, a dark shadow in the growing dimness. You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugs at your lips. It’s a happy sound, that snort of his, and it’s hard not to feel a little bit of warmth toward the gigantic reptile. The smile vanishes the moment you see Satoru Gojo dismount.

He slides off the dragon’s back and lands on the packed dirt with a huff. His silver hair, usually perfectly styled, is now adorned with a scattering of leaves and twigs, as if he’d flown through the crown of a tree. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Looks like you had a hard day,” you say, voice dry as old leather. You don’t bother looking up from your map, a new survey of the eastern coast that is proving to be a nightmare of jagged inlets and hidden reefs.

“The hardest,” he replies, walking toward the fire. Sukuna follows, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he nudges your shoulder gently. You stroke the smooth scales under his jaw.

“Did you, by any chance, get your head stuck in a bush?” you ask pointedly.

He laughs. “Just a little turbulence. But don’t worry, it was for a good cause.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Well, you know,” he says, pulling a stray leaf from his hair. “I had to make sure the trappers didn’t get away. Can’t have them messing up the ecosystem, can we?”

“But your impeccable hair and abysmal flying skills get a pass, I suppose.”

“The hair is secondary to the ecosystem, of course. Priorities, you know.” Satoru sits down on a log across from you, the firelight glinting in his bright blue eyes. “What are you up to? Still drawing pretty pictures of rocks and water?”

“I’m creating an accurate navigational chart for the fishing fleet,” you correct. “So that they don’t end up on the bottom of the sea.”

“Right, right. Important work,” he says. “You’d be a lot faster if you had some help.”

“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, “a second pair of eyes could be useful. Especially mine. They’re very, very good eyes.”

You roll your own. “I’m not interested in your help, Gojo. Or your eyes, for that matter.”

Sukuna, who had been contentedly nuzzling your shoulder, chooses that moment to let out a slow, mournful sound, as if he understood the conversation and is deeply disappointed by your attitude. He nudges Gojo’s head with his own, then your shoulder again. He goes back and forth, like a pendulum. It’s slightly annoying.

“See?” Gojo says, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Even Sukuna agrees. He thinks we should be friends.”

“Sukuna thinks you should be less annoying,” you counter, reaching out to pat the dragon’s large head. He lets out a low rumble, pleased.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Satoru says. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me on the way here that he thinks we would make a very handsome couple.”

You snort. “He has terrible taste. You’re lucky he hasn’t left you for a better rider.”

“Impossible,” Satoru scoffs. “I’m the best. And he knows it.”

“And the most modest, too,” you mutter.

Sukuna lets out a deep, throaty rumble, and gently nudges you closer to the fire. The action is subtle, but a piece of your parchment slips off your knee and lands with a quiet rustle on the ground near Satoru’s feet. He bends down to pick it up, his long fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back.

“Clumsy,” he says, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not talking about the paper.

You ignore him, focusing on the map, but your hand trembles slightly, and the ink bleeds on the line you’re trying to draw. You let out an exasperated sigh, and Sukuna, with a loud huff, settles down between you and Satoru. It’s a deliberate move. The dragon’s nothing more than a massive, scaly chaperone.

“Look at him,” Satoru says, his voice softer now. “He’s tired. Trappers, you know. They’re more persistent than usual.”

“Did you catch them?”

“Most of them. They had nets—one almost got Sukuna. If he hadn’t been so fast, it would have been a rough night.”

You look at the dragon, who is now snoozing with one eye open, the firelight catching the dark, wet-looking scales on his hide. A sudden wave of protectiveness washes over you, a familiar feeling when it comes to the dragon. But then you look at Satoru, and see the deep weariness in his eyes, the faint lines of stress etched around his mouth, and that familiar wave of protectiveness becomes tangled with something else, something you refuse to name.

“You should get some rest,” you say, the words feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue.

He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”

“I’m worried about Sukuna,” you shoot back, and the warmth in your stomach curdles into a familiar acidity. “He needs his rider to be in top form. The last thing he needs is to be stuck with a tired, insufferable oaf.”

He laughs. “You wound me. But thank you. It’s nice to know someone cares.”

“I don’t care,” you insist, and you know you’re lying. You also know he knows you’re lying. It’s a game you play, a tense, stupid dance.

Sukuna lets out a snort. He flicks his head towards Satoru, then towards you, as if to say, just talk to each other, idiots. You want to kick him. Affectionately, of course.

“Well,” Satoru says. “I suppose I should go. Duty calls and all that.” He stands up, stretching his arms over his head before shaking it.

“You’re going back out?” you ask, a note of alarm in your voice that you can’t control.

“Nah,” he says, smiling a little softer now. “Just kidding. Yaga told me to stay put until morning, ‘cause he said I caused enough trouble for one day.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He reaches down and ruffles Sukuna’s head, though his words are addressed to you. “I’ll be back tomorrow for some more pats, okay?”

Sukuna huffs happily in response.

Satoru turns and walks away, a long, lanky shadow disappearing into the darkness. Sukuna watches him go, then turns his gaze back to you, his garnet-coloured eyes flashing. He nudges your hand again. You know what he wants. He wants you to talk to Gojo. He wants you to go after him.

You sigh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not his keeper. I’m not yours, either.”

Sukuna snorts, a clear, exasperated sound, and settles his massive head on your lap. He’s warm, a solid weight of comfort in the cool night. You don’t bother to shoo him away. You simply sit there, under the moonlight, and stare into the dark where Gojo had disappeared.

“It’s a fool’s errand,” you say, dropping the rolled-up parchment onto Yaga’s desk with a resounding thud. The Chief of Berk, a man with a beard as formidable as his temperament, looks up from the horn he’s polishing.

“What is?” he asks.

“This,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at the map. “The north coast. It’s impossible to draw from the ground. I’ve only been there twice, and I spent most of the time trying not to fall to my death. The cliffs are sheer drops. The inlets are jagged and hidden. I need to map it from above.”

Yaga stares at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. You hold his stare, a silent challenge. You’ve never been one to back down from the Chief, a fact that both annoys and impresses him.

He sighs. “Fine. You’re right. You’ll need a rider.” He looks around the hall, his eyes scanning for a likely candidate. Your heart sinks into your stomach when he lands on the very last person you want to see.

“Satoru!” he bellows.

Satoru Gojo, leaning against a support beam, in the middle of conversation with Yaga’s apprentice, gives you a little wave.

“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.

“You’re taking our mapmaker to the north coast,” Yaga says. “She needs to draw it from the air.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Chief,” he says, sauntering over to the desk. “North coast, huh? A little chilly for you, isn’t it?”

You resist the urge to punch him. “I’ll manage. Let’s just get this over with.”

He claps his hands together. “Excellent! My calendar is wide open.”

The next morning is cold and brisk. A light mist hangs over the village, and the air smells of wet stone and woodsmoke. You’re waiting by the flight academy, a satchel slung over your shoulder and your sketchbook clutched in your hands. You’ve been waiting for ten minutes, which is ten minutes longer than you’d like.

Just as you’re about to turn and leave, you hear a loud, familiar whoosh of wind and the deep, throaty rumble of a Night Fury. Sukuna lands right in front of you. Satoru leers at you, seated on his back.

“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.

“I’m ready to get this done,” you correct.

You climb onto the dragon’s back, settling behind him on the saddle and placing your sketchbook and charcoal pencils carefully in your lap. Sukuna lets out a low purr, a rumble that you can feel vibrating through your body. He nudges his head back, giving your hand a soft, affectionate lick.

“He’s excited,” Satoru says. “He loves when we all go out together.”

“He’s excited about the snacks I brought him,” you say, pulling a piece of dried fish from your satchel and holding it out to Sukuna. He devours it in one gulp.

“You brought snacks?” Satoru asks. “For the dragon, and not for your very handsome and talented pilot?”

You sigh. “You are not my pilot, and you are not getting any of this fish.”

He kicks his feet against Sukuna’s side, and the dragon launches himself into the air. You grip the saddle, your knuckles turning white. The wind whips at your hair and clothes, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of flight wash over you. It’s a feeling you’ve never gotten used to, and it’s always a little terrifying, a little exhilarating.

Satoru leans back. “You’re good at this. Not screaming, I mean.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m a mapmaker, not a child. I’m used to dangerous situations.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re the one who saved my ass, remember?”

The memory of that night, of his blood on your hands, of the raw fear in your gut, flashes through your mind. You shiver, a cold feeling that has nothing to do with the wind. It’s the whole reason why Satoru has made it his life’s mission to annoy in every possible way; it’s his way of thanking you for finding him in the woods all those weeks ago.

“I’d rather not,” you say.

He doesn’t respond. Sukuna, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, lets out a low, questioning snort. He banks left, heading toward the northern cliffs.

The gentle, rolling hills of Berk give way to a brutal, unforgiving coastline. The cliffs are dark and jagged, the sea a churning mass of white foam. You pull out your sketchbook and begin to draw.

You work for hours, meticulously sketching every rock formation, every inlet, every hidden cove. You direct Satoru to turn this way and that, and he, for once, doesn’t argue. He lets you work, his body a steady, comforting presence in front of you, ensuring Sukuna’s movements are smooth and controlled.

At one point, you get so focused on a particular series of sea caves that you lean too far over the edge of the saddle, and almost lose your balance. A long, strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You stiffen, your body rigid with surprise.

“Careful,” Satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t want you falling to your death.”

You push him away, heart pounding. “I had it under control.”

“Sure, you did.”

Sukuna lets out a low, knowing chuff, a sound that makes you want to smack him. You ignore him, focusing back on your drawing, but it’s hard to stop thinking about the feeling of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body against yours.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a while.

“I’m working.”

He hums. “Right. I just thought, you know, we could talk. Get to know each other. Since we’re going to be hanging out more often, we might as well be friends.”

“We are not going to be friends,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.

“We are,” Satoru says. “We’re a team. You and me. And Sukuna, of course.” He reaches forward and strokes the Night Fury’s head, and the dragon rumbles with contentment.

“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.

“He likes you, too. More than me, I think,” Satoru says, and there’s a flicker of something in his voice—something soft and genuine—that makes you look away from your sketch and at him instead. His eyes are fixed on you, a strange mixture of warmth and… something else. You can’t quite place it.

You look away, your heart pounding again. You can’t handle this. You can’t handle this man, this dragon, this strange, dangerous intimacy that has sprung up between you.

You land back in the village as dusk is falling. The air is colder now, and the stars are beginning to peak out. You slide off Sukuna’s back, your legs shaky from the long flight. You feel a hand on your arm, steadying you.

“You did good,” Satoru says.

“So did you,” you say.

He smiles, a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. It’s a smile that you realise you haven’t seen very often. It’s a smile that makes the hollow cavity inside your chest where your heart lies skip a beat.

You turn away, clutching your sketchbook to your chest. “I’ll bring this to Yaga in the morning.”

“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

You walk away, but you can feel his gaze on your back. You can feel the warmth of his hand still on your arm. You don’t look back.

You make it to your cottage, but you don’t go inside. You sit on the stone step, your sketchbook still in your hands, and stare at the sky. You think about the north coast, about the cliffs and the caves, but also about Satoru. About the way his arm felt around your waist, about the way his smile made you feel, about the way he wasn’t being annoying for once.

You hear a soft thud. Sukuna stands behind you, a small branch in his mouth. He drops it at your feet. A branch from a Night Fury’s nest. He jabs at your hand with his nose, his eyes fixed on yours.

You know what he’s doing. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to tell you that Satoru is not so bad. He’s trying to tell you that there’s more to him than the smug grin and the witty remarks. He’s trying to tell you that there’s a place for you in his life, in their life.

You reach down and pick up the branch, then look back at the dragon. You sigh, a long, drawn-out sound.

“You’re a terrible matchmaker, you know that?” you whisper to him.

Sukuna lets out a low purr and nudges you again. You don’t know what to do. You’re a mapmaker, a person of logic and order, and this man and his dragon are nothing but chaos. There’s absolutely no way anything good could ever come out of this.

“Head pats? Again?” You shoot Satoru an unimpressed glare, though the effect is rather diminished by the fact that you’re hanging upside down, trying to fix a hole in your roof. “At least come up with a better excuse.”

“Can’t. The dragon wants what the dragons wants,” Satoru says. “And what the dragon wants, the dragon gets.”

You grunt, shoving a loose thatch of straw back into place. Your ankles are looped around a wooden beam, your torso dangling over the edge of your cottage’s roof. The world is a strange, inverted place from this angle. The grass is a vibrant green sky, the clouds are a white, fluffy ground. Satoru Gojo’s annoyingly perfect face is floating in the air below you. He’s leaning back, his hands in his pockets, watching you with a smile. Sukuna is a little ways off, chewing on a large branch.

“And what the dragon wants is for me to risk breaking my neck just so you can make a terrible joke?” you ask.

“No, no, the dragon wants head pats,” Satoru corrects, shaking his head. “I’m just here to deliver the dragon to the head pats. A simple go-between.”

“You’re a go-between for your own dragon?”

“Look, it’s a complicated relationship,” he says. “He’s a very discerning dragon.”

You roll your eyes, a motion that makes your head throb. You pull yourself up, muscles straining, and clamber onto the roof. You sit on the ridge, straddling the peak, and pull a loose piece of wood from the hole. The wood is rotten, and the smell of mold and wet earth makes you wrinkle your nose. A sudden gust of wind snatches a loose piece of cloth from the edge of the roof, and you watch as it flutters to the ground and lands directly at Satoru’s feet.

He picks it up and says, “Lost something?”

“It’s just a rag,” you say.

He examines it, shaking it out with a flourish. “Looks like a perfectly good rag to me.”

“It’s not,” you say. “It’s old and worn out. Just leave it.”

He doesn’t. He folds it carefully and places it in his pocket, before walking over to where Sukuna is lying, and pulls out a piece of meat from his saddlebag. He tosses it to the dragon.

“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”

“No,” you say, “I just enjoy dangling from high places.”

He laughs, a clear, loud sound that makes your stomach feel weird. “I get it. You’re a thrill-seeker. It’s one of your many charming qualities.”

“I’m not a thrill-seeker,” you say. “I’m a mapmaker. I prefer quiet, predictable things.”

“Still,” he says, “here you are, hanging from a roof, and here I am, your friendly neighbourhood… well, whatever I am.”

You groan. “You’re a pain. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re my favourite pain,” he says. “You’re the only person on the entire Isle of Berk who doesn’t fall all over themselves to talk to me.”

“That’s because I have a working brain.”

He laughs again, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s leaning against Sukuna’s side, his arms crossed over his chest. His silver hair catches the sunlight, and his bright blue eyes are fixed on you. He’s the most infuriating man you’ve ever met, but you can’t deny that he’s also breathtaking.

You tear your gaze away, a flush of heat creeping up your neck. You turn back to your roof, your hands shaking slightly as you try to hammer a loose piece of wood into place. You miss, and the hammer clatters to the ground, landing with a soft thud on the grass.

“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.

Satoru bends to pick up the hammer, turning it over in his hands. “For someone who claims to like quiet, predictable things, you have a funny way of living on the edge.”

You scowl down at him from the roof ridge. “I’m fixing a hole, Satoru. Not fighting a dragon barehanded.”

“Could be both, if you fall on Sukuna.”

Sukuna, hearing his name, glances up, tail flicking idly. He looks like he’d catch you if you fell. Probably. Maybe. If he felt like it.

“Very reassuring,” you mutter. “Give it back.”

“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.

You glare at him. He leans back against Sukuna’s side, one long leg crossed over the other. He looks like he could stay here all day, bothering you from ground level while you slowly lose your mind above him. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist. The sun’s beating down hard, pressing heat into the back of your neck. Your hands are already splintered from the wood, your hair sticking to your cheeks. You have an entire day’s worth of mapping to do but here you are, arguing with Berk’s most irritating dragon rider over a hammer.

“Fine,” you say. “Keep it. I’ll just tell everyone you bullied me into falling off my own roof.”

“But you didn’t fall,” he says. “Yet.”

You wish you could throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. Like a rock. Or maybe the entire cottage.

Instead, you clamber down from the roof ridge to the small platform just under it, wiping your palms on your trousers. From here, the world tilts alarmingly close. Satoru watches your careful descent with the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth, as though he’s silently grading your balance.

When you reach the edge, you stretch your hand out. “Hammer.”

He taps it against his chin thoughtfully. “What do I get in return?”

“Your continued survival.”

“Tempting.” He tosses it up, easy and careless, then finally lobs it towards you. It arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and you snatch it out of the air just in time, the impact jolting through your wrist.

“Show-off,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

You don’t dignify that with a response, instead crawling back to the hole and fitting the new piece of wood into place. The hammer thunks steadily as you nail it down, the sound mingling with the wind and the distant crash of waves against cliffs. Satoru hums something under his breath, a lazy, tuneless thing. It carries upward, curling under your skin despite yourself.

You focus very, very hard on the roof.

When the piece finally holds, you sit back, wiping your forehead again. Your arms ache, your knees are bruised, and you can feel bits of straw clinging to your hair. Glorious, really.

“Done?” Satoru asks.

“For now,” you say.

“Good,” he says, pushing off Sukuna’s side. “Because Sukuna’s patience is running out.”

At the mention of his name, the dragon lets out a short, sharp huff, nostrils flaring. The branch he was chewing lies in two neat halves at his feet. His pupils have gone wide, round as coins—his version of puppy eyes.

You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”

“It’s effective,” Satoru says cheerfully, already strolling over to you. “C’mon, he’s been waiting all day.”

You glance from the dragon’s enormous, hopeful stare to Satoru’s infuriating grin and feel, very distinctly, like you’re being tag-teamed.

“Fine,” you mutter, hopping lightly off the lower edge of the roof. You land in a crouch, knees absorbing the impact, then stand and dust yourself off. “But only because he asked nicely.”

Satoru bows low, one hand over his heart. “As the humble messenger of the dragon, I thank you for your generosity.”

“Shut up,” you say, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Sukuna lowers his massive head as you apprach, scales gleaming like wet stone. He makes a low, thrumming sound as your hand comes to rest between his eyes, the tension in his frame melting instantly. It’s absurd, how such a creature—so fast, so powerful, so feared—can melt into warmth at something as simple as a touch.

You scratch behind his jaw, feeling the rumble travel through your palm. “You deserve a better rider,” you murmur, just loud enough for Satoru to hear.

Satoru presses a hand to his chest. “Wounded. Absolutely gutted.”

“You’ll live.”

He leans against Sukuna’s shoulder, close enough that you catch the faint scent of wind and leather and something warm underneath. “You always say that like you’re sure.”

“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.

“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”

You roll your eyes. The wind picks up again, tossing Satoru’s hair into his eyes. He doesn’t move to fix it, just grins at you through the mess like he knows exactly what kind of picture he makes—irritatingly golden in the sunlight, with the dragon at his side and the whole damn world under his heel.

“You really are full of yourself,” you say finally.

He tilts his head. “Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the trappers that thought they actually had a chance against Sukuna? Even I don’t stand a chance against Sukuna, and that’s saying something.”

“Trappers?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping your hand moving against Sukuna’s scales. “I thought you lot scared them off two weeks ago.”

“We did,” Satoru says. “Or so we thought. But the funny thing about pests—” He leans lazily against Sukuna’s massive shoulder, folding his arms. “—is that they always crawl back when you’re not looking.”

You frown, not at him for once, but at the idea of it. “Where?”

“Souhtern Coves,” he says. “A little group at first—three, maybe four men. We figured they were amateurs, probably thought they’d make their fortune dragging a few Terrible Terrors back in cages. Easy enough. Send them running, burn a net or two. Job done.”

The way he says it—casual, dismissive—doesn’t sit right with you. It rarely does, when Satoru Gojo talks about problems like they’re inconveniences rather than… well, problems.

“But then?” you prompt.

“But then,” he says, drawing out the words, “we found another group. Bigger. With better equipment. Grimborn steel nets, reinforced cages, the whole schlong.”

Your hand stills against Sukuna’s jaw. “Grimborn steel?”

“Mhm.” He tilts his head, watching your reaction like it’s more interesting than the story itself. “Not something you find lying around unless you’ve got coin. Or connections. Or both.”

Sukuna shifts beneath your touch, nudging his head into your palm like he can sense the tension in your shoulders. You scratch harder, both to soothe him and yourself. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” you say.

“It doesn’t sound like much of anything,” Satoru counters flippantly. “Could just be a few desperate men pooling what they’ve got. Could be something else. Either way, we’re keeping an eye on it.”

“And by we you mean…”

“The riders. Me, Suguru, Kento, Haibara—the usual suspects.”

You narrow your eyes. “You mean the same group that considers dive-bombing into cliffs a legitimate training exercise?”

“Worked out fine for me,” Satoru says with a shrug.

“Everything works out fine for you,” you shoot back.

That earns you a flash of his grin—bright, boyish, and infuriating. But it fades, just a little, and he says, quieter, “Doesn’t always.”

It’s the kind of admission that makes your stomach twist, because it’s true. Riders don’t always come back. Dragons don’t always survive. Trappers—real trappers, the kind with coind and steel and a hunger that isn’t easily sated—don’t play fair.

You exhale slowly. “You think they’re after Sukuna.”

“Everyone’s after Sukuna.” He says it like it’s a joke. “Last Night Fury, blah blah blah. People can’t help themselves.”

You glance at Sukuna. His pupils are still round, content beneath your touch, but his tail lashes once, like even he knows the weight of those words. A rare thing: fear dressed up as restlessness.

An unease worms its way beneath your ribs. It feels like the calm before a storm, the air just a shade too still, the sea too quiet. The trappers Satoru described don’t seem like scavengers chasing scraps. They’re organised. Equipped. Waiting for something—or someone. You hate it. You hate that Satoru can stand opposite you, hands tucked in his pockets, as though the world isn’t about to tip over its edge.

“You should be more worried,” you say finally.

“I worry plenty.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“Would it help if I wrung my hands and wept dramatically at your feet?”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” you say automatically. Sukuna nudges you again, harder this time, nearly knocking you off your feet. You steady yourself with a laugh that comes out thinner than you’d like. Satoru watches the two of you, his smile softened into something that almost looks like thought. Then, just as you’re about to ask another question, a shrill whistle splits the air from somewhere down the hill.

“Show time.” Satoru straightens, stretching his arms overhead. “Sounds like they’ve spotted another group near the coastline.”

Your stomach sinks. Already?

Satoru clicks his tongue, turning back to Sukuna. “Up, big guy.”

The Night Fury rises in a smooth, terrifyingly graceful motion, all coiled muscle and gleaming scales. His wings snap open, blotting out the sun for an instant, and you step back instinctively. Satoru sings into the saddle. He doesn’t look at you until Sukuna’s already crouching low, ready to launch.

“Don’t worry too much,” he says. “We’ve got it handled.”

“You don’t know that.”

He grins down at you. “Sure I do. I’m me.”

“Again?” You stare at Yaga the Vast like he’s sprouted another head—which, considering the man’s already broad shoulders and beard thick enough to hide a small family of sparrows, would be quite a sight. “You want me to map out the north coast again?”

“Yes,” Yaga’s voice rumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. The firelight in the great hall casts half his face into shadow, making him look even more immovable than usual. “But this time, you go deeper. Past the cove, beyond the breakers, to the inlets we’ve yet to mark. Unless we map out our neighbouring areas, how will we be able to defend Berk?”

You blink slowly, as if stalling will make the task shrink back into sanity. “Defend Berk from what, exactly? The world’s deadliest flock of puffins?”

“From anyone who thinks Berk is ripe for the taking,” Yaga replies. His thick fingers drum against his arm. “We can’t pretend we’re isolated forever. Already, the trappers sniff at our borders.”

You make the prickle of unease that shivers down your spine with a scoff. “So your solution is to send me—me, a humble mapmaker who values being alive—to traipse along the most dangerous stretch of coast known to dragon or man?”

“You won’t be alone. Take that scoundrel of a dragon rider with you.”

You groan, dragging both hands down your face. “Not him.”

“As if there were any other scoundrel I could mean,” Yaga says, almost indulgent.

“Satoru Gojo,” you say, lowering your hands and scowling, “is less of a companion and more of a—what’s the word—parasite. Loud, obnoxious, impossible to get rid of once he latches on.”

“He’s effective,” Yaga says.

“He’s insufferable,” you say.

“Both can be true,” he says. “And if you want Berk defended, if you want us to have some place to safely hide, or if you want your precious maps to mean something, you’ll take him with you. End of discussion.”

You gape at him, outrage coiling hot in your chest. But before you can muster a reply sharp enough to singe even Yaga the Vast’s vast beard, a familiar voice cuts through the hall.

“Did somebody say my name?”