Eden!

You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.

Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.

“You, uh— are you okay?”

You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”

You are. Shit.

“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”

He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.

The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.

“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”

You stare at him, lips parted.

“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”

So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.

You’re panting.

So is he.

And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.

“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”

“I’m wet.”

That shuts him up.

He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”

You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”

He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.

“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“…But I’m a virgin.”

You blink. “You’re a virgin?”

He freezes. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”

“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”

“Oh my god.”

You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.

“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”

He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”

“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he says.

There’s a beat of silent realization.

Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.

“Can I…”

You nod. “Yeah. Please.”

The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.

“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.

“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.

He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”

You both snort, but neither of you moves away.

“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.

Your eyes widen, breath catching.

“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”

“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”

You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.

Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.

Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.

You're both gonna combust.

You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.

His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.

You feel like you’re on fire.

“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”

“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”

You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”

“You were licking butter off your fingers.”

“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”

You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.

“Can I see it?” you whisper.

His breath catches. His whole body freezes.

“You— my… dick?”

You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”

He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”

“…Yeah.”

His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.

You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”

His brain shuts down.

“Pretty?” he croaks.

You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”

He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”

“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”

He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.

“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”

“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”

You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”

Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.

You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.

He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.

“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”

“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.

You pause. “Wait, already?”

“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”

You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.

He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”

That makes you freeze.

“…Angel?”

He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”

You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”

“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”

You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.

“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”

“‘When’?” he pants.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”

He shatters.

Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.

You stare at the mess.

“…Whoa.”

He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”

“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”

“I exploded in ten seconds.”

You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”

He melts a little into your chest.

“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.

His head jerks up like a prairie dog.

Satoru’s still shaking.

You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.

His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.

And then—

Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:

“…You wanna see me next?”

Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.

“…Are you serious?”

You nod.

He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”

Your whole face burns.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”

He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.

You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.

“I just thought… since I saw yours…”

His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.

“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”

You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”

He gasps.

Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.

“Say that again,” he whispers.

You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.

“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”

He looks like he might cry.

“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”

You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”

His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”

You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.

His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.

“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.

You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.

And he pulls them down.

Slow, slow, slow

The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.

Your cunt glosses in the light.

Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.

He moans. Moans.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”

You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”

He gulps, audibly.

His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.

“Can I… touch you?”

You feel your knees threaten to buckle.

“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.

His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”

You grab his wrist and guide it...

His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.

“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”

“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”

You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”

“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”

You groan. “That’s not even close.”

He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.

“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”

You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.

“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.

“Y-yeah.”

He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?

You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.

His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”

You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”

His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.

“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”

Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.

But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.

And then—

“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”

That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.

You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.

You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”

You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

He kisses your thigh.

Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.

Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.

And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.

“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.

“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”

He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.

But you’re still trembling.

Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.

Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.

Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”

You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”

“You squirted.”

“I did not.”

“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”

You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.

And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.

Unsatisfied.

You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:

“…Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to put your fingers in me.”

You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.

“Wha— what.”

You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”

His ears go red.

“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”

He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.

His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”

“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”

He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.

His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools as it tries to worm its way in.

You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.

His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.

Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.

“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”

You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”

He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.

He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.

“Angel, you’re gripping me.”

You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”

He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.

“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.

His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”

“D-do it again,” you pant.

He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”

You grab his wrist. “Try two.”

He stares. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Satoru.”

You’re breathless, begging.

He shivers like it physically affects him.

He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.

You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.

It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.

“There— oh my god there, right there—”

His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.

You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.

And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

He doesn’t even pull out.

He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

And you start crying.

Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.

He kisses your forehead.

You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”

He nods. “Me too.”

“…But I might have to train for it.”

He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”

You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to the top of your head.

Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.

He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.

Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.

Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.

Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.

He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.

“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”

He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.

His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.

In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.

Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.

you 🩷 so… are we... dating? omg omg am i your girlfriend now?!

His reply comes instantly.

toru 🩵 i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick aaaand called it "pretty" ilysm angel omg

You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.

But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.

You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.

Usually you’d hate for people to offer help when you’re forced to do something you were unprepared for, taking the sentiment as a passive aggressive version of getting called incompetent but this time, you ponder while rereading the sweet little note in green ink— of course he used green ink to avoid students from being discouraged — and it's one of those times your stupidity has done you some good.

It’s an hour and a half later when class ends, people filing up to leave the doors of the lecture hall when a voice calls out to you. 

You smile at your professor, a little strained, but it’s okay, you tell yourself, you expected it. You walk up to him, bag on your shoulder, unzipped because you rushed down. You’re still smiling when you’re there, already preparing for what he has to say. 

The smile falls and you sigh, “I know that look.”

He’s standing with his arms crossed, dark shades balanced on his straight nose, looking down at you with nothing short of paternal disappointment. “Yes, and you shouldn’t be too familiar with it either. Seventy-five? really? I thought we were talking recommendation letters last week, turns out you’re barely passing my class?”

You swallow back, not really knowing what to do so you kinda just stand there awkwardly, waiting for him to air out his worries. “I know it's like, a little weird to put this much pressure on you but c’mon kid, you’re looking at being the next assistant after Choso to help your resumé right?” 

You nod, still not saying anything, but you can’t deny how you perk up when you heard his name. 

Your professor pauses briefly mid rant after spotting how you only met his eyes when he mentioned his current TA’s name, a light bulb flickers on in his head. 

He squints, “You’ve been familiar with each other, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” You’re quick to reply, stopping yourself from physically gulping out of nervousness. 

“He been showing you the ropes bit by bit?” he mutters, uncrossing his arms and leaning over the desk. 

“Bit by bit, yes.” You echo, unable to reply without being scared of saying the wrong thing to tick him off.

“And…” He feigned thinking about it, fidgeting with he pen in his hand and tapping the butt end of it on a thick stack of paper. “…He’s also helping with lessons to keep your grades up?” 

You say nothing, keeping your mouth flat and shut. You peer up at him, and shake your head slowly, “No sir.”

He tsks, standing up to his full height. “It’s not necessary but  you’re aware there’s an average for you to keep up just to become a TA right? We wouldn’t want students biting off more than they could chew.”

You nod once more, though this time, a lot more fervently. “I—yes, sorry. I’ll-“

“Get to it, yeah.” He finished for you, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waits for you to move, watching how you’re still standing there and waiting for him to also tell you to move. You’re so alike, he thinks. 

He nods upwards, dismissing you. You thank him while you’re already turned your back, eagerly making your way to your next mission.

Gojo watches the door swing inwards from the impact of your departure, a smile in his tone when he mutters to no one, “That’ll give her some motivation.”

You’re rushing to your next class now, given the fifteen minute grace period you were granted had now been shaved down to ten, no thanks to your professor, forcing you to take two steps at a time when making your way to the other side of the building. 

You’re looking down at your phone, deleting and retyping a message in your instagram dms. It’s when you pass the stairway that an unexpected force uncontrollably comes on to you. You thud against it, breath caught, hand tightly clutching at your phone. You stumble on your steps, holding onto the closest thing you feel for. You don’t fall, you don’t even come close to the ground, but your knees certainly felt like they couldn’t carry you.

Because here you stood against a very worried, very tightly holding you, Choso Kamo. Your mind blanks, your class just a few doors away, forgotten. Unintentionally, a small smile spreads on your face. 

“Hey, I was—“ He laughs nervously, “I was looking for you.” His hands wrap around your nearly limp arms, almost covering the expanse of it, yet held at a respectable position.

“You okay?” He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, a look of concern etching back on his terribly handsome face, he swallows thickly and you watch his adam’s apple bob decorating his thick neck.

 He takes a second to peer back at the stairs, then back to you before he realizes how his grip still clutched on you. “I’m sorry.” He pulls his hands down at his sides, unsure of what to do with them. “I was about to-“

“-Me too actually.” Cutting him off, you couldn’t help but smile even wider, uncaring if you looked too excited. You raised your phone, “Was about to send a dm but I got class in like,” You flip the screen to face you, “two minutes.” A pinch of apprehension makes its way to you but you push it back. 

His eyes widen behind his rectangular frames, lenses making them appear bigger than they actually are.  

“Really? Shit, “ He cursed, regretful,  “I don’t have class anymore so I could just wait out—”

“Sit in with me?” It comes out of you before you could stop it. “—or not.” You quickly add, retreating. “I could just go and email you.”

“No—I mean, Of course. Yes. Me, I’ll go.” He smiled with a toothy grin, ignoring how you said email instead of your socials in hopes you won’t bring up how he stuttered over his words.  You’re caught off guard and before you know it, he’s already making his way to the door without even being sure which class it was. 

He’s reaching for the handle when you stop him, “Oh, next door, please.” He nods bashfully, adjusting the strap of his comically small backpack on himself and apologizes under his breath. He follows you inside, you push, prying the door open. His palm flat against the wood, effortlessly holding it for you both. 

Luckily your professor hadn’t been in class yet, so you  weren’t spotted as the only late comer (technically no, with company, you weren’t.) The class was sparsely filled as it was only part of your minor and this schedule wasn’t as popular, so you could basically sit anywhere. You scan over the room, and you spot some seats at the very front. You’re about to take a step forward when you realize you’re being a little rude. 

“Where d’ya wanna sit?” You ask, head tilted up with a smile. You try to ignore the gleefulness that comes with the idea you’re gonna be seated next to him. Again, you push this feeling down, knowing it’s completely unprofessional and straight up childish. Though conversely, what you feel for him is not in the slightest, childish. 

“Back, definitely.” He answers a little too fast, blinking to check with you. “If you want.” He adds. 

He’s so polite, you could just die. 

You find comfortable seating by the right side of the class, second to last row and close to the back per request. This classroom was a little smaller, so distance from the whiteboard wasn’t really an issue.

You’re listening to your elderly professor repeat instructions about a future assignment and knowing he’s just going to be posting the guidelines, you just tune him out again, distracted. You have to learn to stop doing that.

But you’re shamelessly peeking at the side, Choso’s writing something down, you watch his face as he continues without a care in the world, back hunched down to get closer to the papers maybe, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in focus. You look down at what he’s writing when he flips the sheet over, the sound of the paper is quiet amongst the loud hum of the air conditioner.

 He’s checking something, a test again? You wonder if yours is there. Something catches your eye, he’s even writing down notes in the side for each correction. Maybe he’s also writing notes of encouragement for others. You don’t wanna wanna act all sensitive but something in your chest dampens. A lick of disappointment knowing you weren’t just given a little extra effort.

You shift in your seat, suddenly aware that you completely distracted yourself again and let your overactive imagination take over. You bite your cheek, brushing off the disappointment and sit properly on your seat. It moves the entire table though, you moved a little too roughly. Choso backs up in his chair, the commotion throwing off your professor in his fruitless discussion.

You gasp before immediately turning to check on your hard of hearing professor. He mumbles some incoherent complaint but you don’t wait to think and just apologize, “Sorry,” and it’s hopefully enough to divert the attention from you both. 

Choso grunts, “No—sorry, my chair was too loud.” He pulls the long, shared desk back with one pull of his hand, before hunching to go back to work. There’s already a furrow in your brows at the apology, and you’re staring at the side of his face, his hand behind his full, overgrown hair, expression mirroring your own except towards his papers. 

You adjust back, only this time you’re a bit farther, scared he’ll probably sense you’re being a little invasive. So you keep your eyes up at the projected screen and let the silence pass, the light sound of the ballpoint scratching paper on the smooth surface of the table and your teacher murmuring mix behind the stupid thoughts interfering and prodding at your composure. 

You made this unnecessarily awkward, eyes looking back down on the paper without trying. You’re still kinda curious what he’s writing down. He’s writing down notes to the side, red pen and all— red pen and all?

You do a double take, your uncontrollable, imposing, borderline deluded thoughts returning back to their place in your hopeless brain. Did he use a red pen for everyone or green? He used green earlier, definitely. What the hell? Why does it matter?

“Can I help you?” The inner monologue in your head ceases at the question. You glance up at him, a crooked smile on his face, dimple gracing his features. He waits for you to say something, you process how it's a little close to a tease. You’re unable to say something and end up nodding.

He smiles, achingly sweet and sincere, still waiting for a response. You blank out, unable to think of a proper fake answer in time. 

A last flick of your gaze at the paper outs your thoughts, he looks down at them. “If you’re looking for any of your own, this isn’t your section’s.” He assures, trying to fill in the silence you were so talented in bringing out in your conversations. 

You giggle out of pure giddiness, unable to hold it in as you act like a school girl and not a college student. It’s probably so strange to him that you’re acting this way  — internally reprimanding yourself is your only avenue for self control at these moments. You hope he doesn’t think the same way. “No um, you’re so focused on writing nice notes for everyone and marking every point.“

He smiles wider, eyes turning into pretty crescents. He shakes his head once, sitting back on his chair, and finally not slouching. Your stomach flips noting how he occupies more than half the seat. He scratches his neck, eyes flicking back at the papers for a moment before meeting yours, then averting again. 

“I don’t think…” He leaned over to read the name on the paper, “…Inumaki, T. thinks my detailed corrections, or rather critiques are very nice, nor the rest of section Z26.” he mumbled the last part, adjusting the collar of his pull over.

“critiques?” You inquire, unconsciously leaning to his side of the desk, closer so you could read them too. Choso hopes you can’t feel the warmth on his cheeks radiating right now. 

He nods his head a little too quickly, despite not being able to see him from where you were. He’s dizzy with the scent of your floral shampoo under his nose, heady and pulling. “Yes, just to help with,” he falters again, your bare arm brushing against his own, clothed one when you point at a certain part of the paper while reading, knees hitting under the table when you’re closely looking down on the sheet. “With the, the uh, future tests yeah-”

Choso watches your lips move but he doesn’t hear what comes out. Right now, he’s pushing away such un-utterable, uncalled for thoughts when his view is your head over what would be is his lap, only being separated by this rickety table. It only gets worse when you shift your eyes at him, wide and up at his tired onyx ones, only now his are a little wider too, something past friendly reflecting in your before averting back down the white sheet.

You’re still reading the paper, taking in the info for each question. “Oh,”

He snaps out of his daze, immediately taking notice of your blank tone. “What’s wrong?” 

You’re processing the words on the essay type test he’s checking and you realize you’ve never seen this kind of test before. “Y’know, now that I’m reading this, I don’t think  we’ve answered this activity yet.” A beat, and Choso flips the paper down.

“Right, that’s probably not good,“ He places a spread out hand over the papers, sheets mix on top of each other, disheveled and disorganized, one nearly falling off the narrow table.

You’re already laughing, “You’re so clumsy,” your hand stopping one of them from flying out of place. 

“No, you probably shouldn’t look at that too-“

“Relax, I don’t have the photographic memory to copy each answer. As much as I wish I did.” You mumble the last part, tucking the papers into an organized pile, facing outwards. “See? No cheating for me.” 

Choso fights the smirk that inches his way under the skin of his cheeks, nodding to you. “I appreciate your integrity.” You return the look on his face except with the stack in your grasp right now, it reflects its white canvas like a soft light on your skin, a sweet warmth overcomes him. “I never told you why I was looking for you.” 

You place the sheets separate from his pile of unfinished work. Pursing your lips, you make a noise of acknowledgment. “Oh, I was thinking the same thing. I didn’t know how to approach you ‘cause it was kinda embarrassing.” 

“Embarrassing how?”

For a while, you contemplate how to make yourself sound less pathetic, trying to amp up how to sound flirtier without breaching whatever boundary of the title you held to him. You wanted to play safe, for now.

“Like to ask for help, I bet it's as funny as someone asking a stupid question since you probably didn’t have to do any of that when you were in my year.” You don’t have to confirm with him whether or not it’s true, Choso’s going straight to a master’s after graduating this year. You’ve been hyping yourself up to ask him out for a while, knowing that he’ll most likely drift from you as a friend with the work that comes with finishing one. 

You truly weren’t looking for any kind of college relationship or even a fling, knowing such places bring unnatural levels of attraction to people who lack self identity, and if you’re being honest, college made you question that part of yourself when you first began.

 Ergo, you focused on yourself for your first year to second. Now, you’re in your third year’s second semester and people are thinking about their thesis and fellowships.  And here you were only starting to make career moves for your future in your third year. 

But you digress, circling back to how all that led you to meet Choso. Someone you’ve made acquaintances with last year during an exhibit at the school’s anthropology museum. Yes, you had an anthropology museum — Jjk technical college was not cheap.

His hair was a tad shorter back then, guiding a bunch of first years through the new exhibit, excitedly discussing some bones and energy. The glint in his eyes was bright and he was wholly unfiltered, charmingly gauche. You had tried to pose a question at the time, wanting to entertain him out of definitely just pure curiosity for Bioarcheology, but second guessed yourself and never approached him again. 

Until, it was that same year you found out he had been the TA for the professor you were aiming for next year (as a second year college student), and you found out he was resigning as the teacher’s assistant from a friend of a friend, and how Gojo had been already looking for a new one early on because Choso was that competent.

You want to say that maybe you joined just because professor Gojo was someone you highly look up to in the field of history research and will grant you a killer recommendation for a future career — which you know he will— there’s an underlying feeling where you also can’t deny that the idea of how it brings you closer to Choso made the position all the more appealing. 

So this year, when Gojo read your CV and decided to accept you out of the many (3 applicants, one was an irregular student, the other a nepo baby), and encouraged Choso to start training you by now, it was like fate realigned itself to bring you closer to him.

Sort of.

Now he was in front of you- beside you, and casually replying with, “ I don’t mind spending my free time with you—tutoring and stuff.” He offers, completely unaware how he gets your stomachs in knots and your heart feels like it's trying to rip out of your ribcage. 

“Really?” You ask too eagerly, he nods for extra reassurance. “It’s just, Historiography just isn’t something I’m good at but I’m also I find it interesting but it’s also really hard but— I also want this.” You size him up,  towards his side of the table. “Y’know, this.” 

He‘s about to point at himself, before looking at the papers and something clicks in place. “Checking papers on top of your thesis, dropping them off at Gojo’s office at 8 am, and getting death stares when I come across his students?”

You nod, almost even more eager, “Absolutely.”

“You’re perfect then.” He says, no hesitation whatsoever. You were eating it up and he was completely unaware. You giggle, heat rushing to your face.

You almost forgot how talking came easy with Choso. It was refreshing to meet someone you could hold a conversation with without feeling like you had to perform all the time, or wonder what to amp up or tone down. He had his intimidating moments at first, like being overqualified for a TA and the unmistakable height, or when you’re overthinking how to impress him and you don’t truly act yourself —  but those impressions crumble effortlessly when you recognize him for his sincerity and obsession with the academe. 

Choso can’t help but let a chuckle bubble in his throat, smooth and rich like a creamy cup of strong coffee. He’s analyzing your face, the apples of your cheeks are out with how wide you smile, he made you smile like that. The fact sits comfortably in his chest. He’s staring at your lips, maybe he can get away with it as him just looking down to your height, the few times he feels his own acted as an advantage for him. 

“…any reason you use green?… Choso?” He blinks, and he’s back in the classroom and you’re now holding your own head with your palm, waiting for him to answer. 

The back of his neck is hot with the thought you could probably notice him zoning out. “I like,” he searches your eyes, hesitating, and then, “I like green, so.” He nods, trying to rationalize his plain answer to himself. 

You’re squinting, “Cool,” nothing behind your tone, just the air that still manages to sit awkwardly between you two, suddenly the old scribbles in the storage part of the desk was so interesting—

“And it's good for not like…” He swallows back his nerves, heart pounding in his ears. “I didn’t wanna discourage students.” 

The admittance runs like oil down your back and you feel like you’ve hit him dead center in what you wanted to hear. “Right,” You look around, a false pretense of thinking in your expression, “So… why the red?” You ask curiously, pen in your hand scratching off the old paint under the desk in anticipation.

He paused like a deer caught in headlights, licking the dryness of his lips. Staring down the sheet of paper, yes it’s red indeed, he thinks. His lips part, you watch the smooth, glossy sheen of it move against the light. “I guess I have a favorite class.” He coughs, feigning the ease he was currently lacking with each word he carefully chose to speak.

Despite the urge to egg him on, you leave it at that, your bravery for the day already expended. You know if you continued you might say something a little irrational, and you’re also afraid to jump his bones too quickly. Though you’re pretty sure he could still hold you up if you tried.

Class ends anti-climactically, your professor waving your class off with a less than interested parting. You’re out of the classroom, Choso following behind when, “So, when do you wanna start? I’m free after class tomorrow and it’s the weekend. I don’t mind staying longer.”

You’re following his pace as you walk through the hallways of your building, aiming for the exit but you’re thinking about what happens after. You’re not fully sure where you’ll end up once you part. Do you just go? He stayed with you the entire boring class, (obviously the only reason why you want to stay longer and none other in particular) surely there must be something you have to do in return.

You’re nearing the exit and you can’t help but feel like you’re letting something slip if you go past the doors without making your thoughts known, “I have this thing with my best friend tomorrow, this is not a very good look for me— I promised I’d do this qualitative interview and—“

He’s quick to reply, “Oh yeah, I totally understand—“

Shit, okay you were not seizing the moment correctly. “You should come with me.” You turn over to him, unable to stop yourself.

Choso all but freezes, “What?”

Okay, no going back now, smacking your lips together before going for the kill. “—With me. Yeah, we could hang out and,” Could you still back out? No. 

“Just, maybe study after? like we could study like… for the,” So much for not wanting to jump his bones, “…whole night.” You can’t look at him any longer, eyes scanning back the outside that now surrounds you. The noises of campus and the lamp posts are bright, projecting a warm white over you. But all this is not enough to comfort you from the trepidation finally shaking your brain.

You watch as Choso’s pale cheeks start to tinge into a flushy pink, eyebrows raising behind his glasses.

 “Oh, okay, yes. Okay!” He nods taughtly, though willing.

You pause, “Okay?” trying to check if he’s serious.

“Sure.” You’re both standing opposite his body, shocked with what you’re hearing from the other as much as you were shocked from the words leaving yourselves. 

A beat passes, leaves rustle, and amidst that you’re silently hoping it won't matter how you didn’t think this through fully. “Five o’clock sound good?”

***

It was a steady, calm-ish afternoon, your best friend Miwa was sat in front of you, laptops laid out on the table. She’s writing down notes and closing up her recording software and you’ve been fixing up your hair, clothes, and picking lint off it. You find a loose thread on your shirt when, “Hey,” You look up, alert. Miwa’s squinting at you, blue hair cast in a warm yellow from the mid-afternoon sun. “You good?”

You’re finger quits picking at yourself, “What? Yeah,” eyes flitting back to the pesky string sticking out of the hem of your top. 

There’s a hum coming from in front of you, “You sure? You’ve been so fidgety this entire time.”

“I am not fidgety.” You say, fidgeting. A sigh comes out of you, and you lean back on your chair, hands coming on top of the arm rests. “You really okay with me bringing Choso?”

At this, Miwa’s lips curl into a smirk. “I knew it.”

Your eyes flick over to the side in thought, then back at her sly expression. “What do you know?”

She’s sitting up from her hunched posture over her laptop, and drinking from her cup of her almost lukewarm coffee, shrugging with her eyes still locked on yours.

Your thumbs come up from the arm rests, “What is it?”

She clears her throat, placing the mug on a coaster. She looks back up, a smirk still planted on her face. “Just that I didn’t know that he was your crush,” she expects you to reply, but you’re still waiting for her to elaborate. “Y’know, Choso.”

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

She squints, “Okay so we’re lying today.”

“It’s merely admiration— and some attraction at most.”

“That’s literally what a crush is based on.”

You’re blinking at her, feeling caught. You bite your tongue, knowing that your best friend out of anyone should be able to catch you in a lie. Or even a truth you lie to yourself about. You speak up, “Well?”

“Y’know I love you.” She starts.

“Oh no.” Dread seeps into your stomach, and you know if she starts somewhere along the lines of sugar coating, the following was about to be some bland truth coated around maybe an even bitter core inside.

“I like Choso! He’s been your friend for a while and I’ve never talked to him but he sounds really devoted to his work, maybe goodlooking, he’s smart, and he’s nice—“

“What would Muta think…?”

She chuckles, softening at the thought of her own boyfriend. “No, I just wanted to keep an eye out for you too when I say this.” She pauses, trying to find a way to word this as pleasantly as possible. “Cause you know how girls talk…”

You latch onto that last part, stomach churning in suspense. “Not really, I don’t.”

She stops herself from cackling at your nervous expression, “I just heard he’s always…nice.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Like too nice? I guess…it’s really hard to explain babe,“ She cuts herself off, sensing your growing apprehension. She observed how your hands are rubbing on the expanse of your cup, and bringing it to your lips to avoid saying something. She quiets down her tone, now kinda shy about mentioning it. She leans a bit towards you, “Like… in bed, y’know?” 

You sputter in your mug, feeling unwelcome liquid scratch your throat. Miwa’s eyes widen when she watches you cough, eyes turning watery. “Ooh gag reflex, that’s not coming in handy.“

“Fucking shut up-“ You’re coughing still and she’s laughing uncontrollably now. “—I did not expect that.”

She’s wiping the corner of her corneas with a finger, “I—I’m sorry I just had to bring it up.”

You’re more composed now, eyes looking up at the clock, it’s ten minutes to five, and you’re trying to relax. 

You don’t exchange looks with Miwa until a short moment passes for you to think. 

“So have you thought about what it would be like?” You’re back to meeting her eyes, a silent exchange between you both. Miwa smiles at you, lowering her voice and putting a finger up to her ear like an agent, “Then I’m glad to relay information.” She’s giggling when you throw a tissue at her.

You’re already standing out of your seat and making your way to sit beside her. She motions her hand for you to come nearer, both turning your heads when the door chime rings and someone enters, calming down when it’s just some delivery person. You relax, side eyeing her. 

Miwa inches closer, “Okay so I’m friends with this senior from my org and she had a friend who was seeing Choso, sort of? Anyways I mentioned once that you were replacing him and that you’re a little into him, sorry.” You’re beckoning her to continue, not caring much for the last part and nodding along. 

“Anyways, it was like a one night stand thing and — don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to spread rumors or judge,” Another pause, and you’re already on the edge of your seat. 

“Well? Go on,” You pull her in, arms tangled and clutching her, knee jittering. 

“I heard he was kinda scared in bed? Like maybe he has a phobia or something.” Your knee stops, and you’re now confused, “It’s just kinda odd ‘cause the guys like a unit, right?” a crease forms between your brows. “Maybe he’s like… a power bottom?” she whispered, tone serious.

You’re nodding, taking in the information with actual consideration. “Possibly,” You’re fully facing her now, “Y’know…he is a TA.” 

It’s Miwa’s turn to be confused, struggling to find the correlation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You fight the expression trying to pull on your lips, you nibble on the skin then let go, “I’d say he’s good at being told what to do.”

Miwa’s eyes widened, before adding, “Tell me when you find out.” A second where you’re both quiet and then you’re being shook by the shoulders, both of you squealing and chortling in your corner. It would be no surprise if you’ve caught the attention of other customers with your commotion. 

She quits with the shaking, now smoothing over the fabric over your shoulders for messing up your top. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

You can’t help but entertain your imagination, “I mean I think I’m too conscious to be playing around too much.” Your friend nods along, supportive. Past these exciting thoughts, it was all a front for the feelings you struggled to word out, “I really like him, Miwa.”

She parts her lips but as if on cue, another chime from the door rings once more. He stood by the entrance for a brief moment, barely scanning the vicinity when he locked eyes on you, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. 

***

“—I think they never made any real contact.”

“No, that’s definitely up for debate.”

Miwa watches your back and forth, pen in hand. Choso decided to be part of her research sample as well, given that he’s already here, he should make use of his time. And he didn’t mind, he liked helping out. 

If only he could actually speak and answer the questions without you guys debating every time one of you made an opinion on something vaguely related to Miwa’s research topic.  At first it was good, your opinions can be added too but now she’s running out of space in her storage with how long this unintentional joint interview was going.

“Okay guys, the interview questions are about historical revisionism. While I do see the correlation, how did we end up in Egypt and…?”

“Ancient Mesopotamia.” Both of you say,  completing her sentence. 

“I can elaborate.” Choso suggests, clearly unable to read between the lines of Miwa’s inquiry.

She stretches in her seat, her legs feeling cramped up with the lack of movement all this time. “Y’know what, I’ll hold you two to that. But first, let’s take a break!” It’s not even a minute until she’s out of both your and Choso’s sights, on the way to the restroom, pen and recorder left on the table. 

“Y’know, I don’t think she likes me that much. I also think she’s too nice to tell me that.” You’re in the middle of cracking your neck until you’re moving your attention to him.

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think she just isn’t up for hearing any more strong opinions on exported textiles.”

“That’s if they were truly exported—“ You shove his arm, and he’s laughing at your face, not even moved from the push. He’s pretending to rubbing his bicep in feigned hurt, lifting his arm in the process, almost flexing. You try to ignore how they felt so hard under your fingertips. You check him out unintentionally, taking notice of how the hem of his layered shirt hangs enough to show the lower part of his stomach. Out of respect, you look the other way.

You swallow thickly, ears hot. “I think I’ll get another snack. Want anything to eat?” You’re already standing up and off the chair, limbs wobbly from the long period of time you spent sitting on the deep arm chair.

There’s a sudden burst of noise coming from the entrance of the café, very loud and boisterous. You can’t help but let your jittery self get distracted, there stood an entire group of men, looking like they just got off practice. You’re wondering why one of them looks vaguely familiar, but there’s a body blocking your view out of nowhere with what you realize is Choso’s chest. 

There’s an odd, slightly frantic look in his eyes you haven’t seen on someone as easygoing as him. “Um, how about I go with you?” 

You’re looking up at him, a little skeptical on why the sudden change of tone, but agree anyways. 

You’re in the short line along the display and point out pastries that you could try when a voice calls out to the person beside you. “Cho!”

It’s easier for you to check where it’s coming from as Choso was in front of said voice. You recognize the pink hair from the group coming in earlier. He’s about 2 inches away from being as tall as Choso, hair damp like he just came from a shower, and a sports bag was strapped across him. 

A pat on his shoulder signals your dark haired companion to turn, seeing a sight he’d been trying to avoid earlier. Of course he had to be the one ordering for his group. 

“Hey man,” Choso greets, strained, a guard visibly coming up around him. 

“What’s up, you don’t say hi to family anymore?” The sentiment, although on paper sounded sweet, in reality was like a taunt. Something you don’t wanna dissect to avoid reading into it too much. “Who’s this?”

You peer over at both of them, their attention now on you. Still unable to read the room, you focus on Choso to see how he wants this to play out. He steps in for you, “You know her, I mentioned the TA thing like a while back. She’s a friend, though she is replacing me.”

 He gestures to the pinkette’s side, introducing him. 

“My brother by the way. Same year though.” 

Sukuna nods at that and smiles, canines showing. He reaches out with his hand, and you meet it halfway. “Ryomen Sukuna.” Huh, he’s not a Kamo.

“Pleasure,” You’re squinting your eyes, there’s something a little unsettling about him that you can’t place, but you’re not trying to jump into that. 

 “I didn’t know Choso had any siblings — ones on campus, no less.”

You let go of his large, callous hands, moving an inch closer to the cashier when the customer before you has their turn to order. “Have 2 terms to catch up with and I don’t really see this one around either ‘cause I did training camp in Barcelona last semester.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silently, you’re comparing them, unknowingly looking back and forth between him and Choso a little too obviously. 

“We don’t look related do we?”

 Before you could defend yourself, a dry chuckle beats you to it. “We get that a lot.” He squeezed where his hand was planted on Choso, who visibly tenses. “Different mom, same dad. He doesn’t take after him though, if you’re worried—“

“Alright, I don’t think she wants to know about that.”

“Speak for yourself,” You laugh nervously, trying to ease the tension you could feel multiplying tenfold. He pats Choso’s shoulder before bringing his hand down to the side, not before looking at the side of his brother's face as he semi-whispered, “At least one of you doesn't have their panties in a twist.”

“I would if I were wearing mine.” A very long, awkward silence overcomes all three of you. That is until a nearly genuine smile breaks out of Sukuna’s angular features. 

“Ha, what the fuck,” He mutters in amusement, “You’re both weird, that’s cute.” A dry chuckle eases the anxiousness you were struggling to place the source of. Though at the cost of your own dignity.

The line to the cashier moves, it’s yours and Choso’s turn now. He’s first to leave his brother’s side, not even bidding him a glance as he moves past you. “Nice meeting you,” you voice out, still on edge, Sukuna just nods in acknowledgement. 

***

It’s around 6:40pm  when Choso walks you to your apartment outside of campus. There’s a slight tension in the air that you’re struggling to bring up, it’s been there for the remainder of your meet up, not having said a word since you’ve left the café. You’ve been trying to make a move and talk to him but he’s had his eyes on the ground this entire time, rarely up, and definitely never on you. 

He was about to walk in the pedestrian lane when you tug on his backpack. He’s caught in the pull, looking up to the red walking signal reflecting on the road. He walks back to stand next to you, still not saying a word. “What’re you thinking so hard on?”

For a moment he turned his head to you, a little too quick to not look like he wasn’t anticipating you to bring it up yourself. He looks ahead once more when you’re walking now. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

You start to feel a little guilty for not clarifying sooner, wondering if this entire time he thought he should’ve apologized for something he couldn’t control.

“It’s alright, it wasn’t unpleasant for me.”

He almost laughs at that, “Right, and I was jumping for joy.”

The air shifts, it’s not so tense anymore, just between that and uncertainty directed at something else entirely. “I felt really dumb earlier.” He adds, looking back down on the pavement. “I couldn’t say anything to make him leave us alone.”

You’re a few blocks nearby to your place, walking a little ahead of him so he could follow you now. 

“Again, it wasn’t that bad. You don’t have to apologize.” Once more, silence fills the space between you both and it feels like you’re unable to remove this weight you feel affecting your interaction.

Now you’re both looking at your feet as you wait for cars to pass the street you’re crossing and for the timer to finally get to zero. Your foot is stepping over a dry leaf to fill in the lack of communication, the sound crunching in the quiet in a loud, distant manner.

“I just kinda get made fun of for acting like this—weak.” You crane your neck up to meet his eyes, and you’re right to think he’s still looking down. “It’s just annoying how even until now it’s expected of me to bite back on others ‘cause I look like I should.” 

There’s a furrow in his brows, and he’s tightly clutching on the strap of his bag. “Like I’ve accepted that, sort of.  I’m already conscious of it— but maybe people like to pick on me when it's obvious I’m not gonna do anything.” 

You’re making another turn together, he’s leading with the path he’s familiar with and you follow, his words don’t falter. “Maybe ‘cause it makes them feel less small or some shit — I don’t know.”

After processing the words that left him, it brought you back to your conversation with Miwa. How you laughed about his past history with women and how you basically gossiped about his insecurities. Guilt swirls in your stomach, realizing this might just be a little worse than you treated it to be. You keep quiet, deep in your own thoughts, letting him say what he needs to.

“And of course my own brother is like that too.” He rants, tracing back to the behavior he displayed earlier. “He’s my brother and I love him, yes. But frat guys could be such dicks, y’know? I was like his first practice hazing dummy lite…in a way.”

You nod, acknowledging him. “Right, right.” You’re turning to the street ahead of yours, just about a block away now.

“It’s hard to not let those insecurities take over.” He groans, “I spent so much of my life trying to make my best first impressions, and I feel like it backfires on me with the wrong people—I hate that.” He’s scratching the back of his head. “Sometimes I just wish I looked normal. That way I wouldn’t literally feel like the elephant in the room.”

At that, you turn almost as if you’d heard the worst take in your life, brows scrunching. “Normal?”

He shakes his head, “Yes, normal. Like I can wear normal shoes and sit on couches normally.”

“I like that you’re not.” You say, insensitively. “I mean you’re not not normal. But I like…it.” You slow down, trying to backtrack on what you just let slip. 

He’s blinking down on you, a look of surprise etched on his slowly flushing face. “…Why?” 

Your breath is caught in your throat, not knowing how else to explain it.  No going back. Remember? 

 “I feel safe, even if you don’t…bite back. And on top of that you’re kind. I think that matters a lot.” 

Choso stares at you like you just grew a tree on your head, but in truth, he’s just trying to tone down his elation. “Really?” He asks dumbly, already cursing himself in his head for looking like he wants to hear you call him that again. Safe.

You dip your head, agreeing once more. “I’m a girl so I may be a little biased but if I were also a little taller, I wouldn’t have to deal with some idiot guys trying something on me, and I could also defend myself easier.” 

“Oh yeah—Yes, that's totally different from my problems.” He clarified, trying to catch himself from sounding ungrateful. You watch the way his expressions shifts from blank to stressed and bite back a smile. “There’s obviously people with worse problems than being bigger than a doorway.” He’s looking down and pushing his glasses up, almost ashamed. 

You turn to the road leading up to your street, your apartment just at the end of it. “Is that like 6’3 or…”

“Huh?” He meets your inquisitive eyes, “Uh, just a little more.” He replied, shying away from your stare. You’re thinking about all the objects that could possibly match up to Choso’s figure. 

“Those chillers they got in 7’11?”

“Hm, nope. Like 2 inches more, maybe.”

Your stomach does a flip you had to ignore, “You’re lying. Six foot six?”

“Without shoes, yes.” He nodded, met with you side-eyeing him. “Well you’re free to go with me to my annual checkups and see.” He defends, a smile finally appearing on his face at your skepticism.

You squint, stopping yourself from looking too excited with the many, unbecoming thoughts storming your brain. “I’ll hold onto that.” 

Shortly after, you find yourself standing in front of the building to your apartment. “I’m sorry about dumping all that on you, It was a lot.” He looks around before letting out a barely there sigh, “I’ll get going now—“

“Are you forgetting?” You look back and Choso’s standing stiffly, feet planted on the ground. “We’re…studying, remember?”

Choso’s throat bobs at your sly tone, convincing himself there is nothing behind it.  “You did a lot today I just thought we were tired—“

“We don’t have to study then.” You’re looking around and thinking to yourself before landing back on his face, “I mean you came all the way here, you could come up and have some tea?”

The notion has his chest puffing out to regulate the way his heart started beating like its pounding from behind his sternum. He doesn’t say anything, his eyebrows raise behind his glasses, his usually sleepy eyes now wide. He nodded and let out a strained, “Okay.”

***

The door to your apartment swings open with a loud creak. The lights switch on, a warm white cascades from the ceilings. 

Your keys make a clinking noise against the ceramic jewelry tray you leave on the dresser by the entrance. The door is wide open, you feel Choso trailing behind a couple steps away. 

He’s standing kinda stiffly, “Do I take my shoes off or—“

You’re shaking your head, stepping aside to let him in. “My neighbors are kinda sticklers for people who leave their shoes outside in the halls.” He walks past the doorway, head craned down. It’s supposed to look like he was trying to avoid getting hit by the frame of it, though he’s only finding a way to hide his face naturally.

He picked his head up when he heard clanking from the kitchen which meant that you were inside. “I hope you’re not allergic to pollen? I like to put honey in mine.” You ask, your voice still clear as the space isn’t big at all, but in his head it’s distant. He’s trying to calm himself down, taking in your apartment. 

It’s small, kitchen tight and you’ve no space for a table. You use the counter as one, your bed, desk, and sofa all in the same space. However, the lack of furniture made it wide, the “living room” taking the least space with just a little coffee table and the tv on the floor as the only decor. 

“You didn’t say anything so I didn’t add any honey.” He finds himself turning on his feet when he’s met by your figure, coming from the kitchen with two— red and yellow —mugs. You hand him the yellow one, he  takes it with a ‘thanks’. You make a move to sit on the couch, trying to get cozy. Choso’s still standing, sipping on his cup awkwardly.

“You can sit if you want.” Choso’s eyes flick over to you. You realize he had shed his bag on the entrance, still it looks like something is weighing on him.

“I’m okay, I might launch you out of it—“

“Sit with me.” You pat the spot beside you on the couch, your fawn-like eyes up at him. 

It turns his legs into jelly. Thoroughly convinced, he sits beside you, trying to be as careful as he can so the side of the couch doesn’t sink to his weight too much.

He winced at the audible sound of the springs under the cushions, “Sorry.” 

Quietly, you assess him. How stiffly he sat, how much of the seat he took up despite keeping himself at the edge of it. If he sat back, would his knee brush against yours? Though you feel a little bad for taking advantage of his reactiveness towards you. However, something deep inside you is undeniably excited with the thought. 

On the other hand, Choso feels like he’s watching himself act in third person, deliberating what part of his body he should move next to not look too obnoxious or stiff. He doesn’t know if he should just let the silence pass till he runs out of tea, or maybe till it turns lukewarm. You shift in your seat, he feels your gaze heavy on him. You don’t say anything, you just stare at the side of his face. His throat bobs.

He looks over to you for a split second and meets your eyes, you raise your brows at him, a smirk growing on your sweet face. 

An anxious laugh bubbles from his throat, the tips of his ears tinging red. “I think you’re aware of how you’re making me nervous.” 

You couldn’t stop the way the smirk spreads into a wide smile. “I was thinking of how to get you to talk, is all.” You tilt your head to the side, checking out how the light from your room lamp makes his jaw seem sharper. His hair nearly fell on his shoulders, built and perched with his elbows on his knees, posture a little hunched, but he still sat taller than you. Nothing short of tempting in your eyes.

He follows your gaze, “What?”

“You’re also thinking of something.”

His brows pinch, he hates how good you are at prodding at him when he clearly doesn’t know what to say. “I’m always thinking.”

You nod, “And still, you haven’t said anything since we went up.”

Choso pauses his already stiff self. You place your mug down, crossing your legs on the couch. He brings his attention back to you but you’re already intently looking at him. He flinches back.

Sighing, “What do you think I’m thinking about?” You purse your lips, shrugging at his question. He shakes his head, a smile fighting its way on his face.

 “Then I’m happy you only brought me here to drink some tea.” A roll of his eyes comes out of sarcasm, reaching for his own mug on the table, stretching his arm out. 

He’s about to pull his hand back when your smaller one lands on top of his. The contact would have made him drop the glass into little pieces if it weren’t for the coffee table underneath. He lets down the cup, missing the coaster you laid out. 

“That’s my mug….” You point at the red cup in his grasp, yours. You let the words linger like the pads of your fingers on the back of his hand, “Hm, you’re really warm.”

He blinks, unable to ground himself back to reality because maybe, maybe you’re trying to make a move on him. He’s unable to look into your eyes, 

“Uh,” He falters, the warmth on his cheeks multiply and spread out when you inch closer, the warmth of your own body makes him feel like he’s overheating. 

“How else could I get you to go up with me?” You say, goading another reaction out of him. 

“I-I mean you could just ask and…I wouldn’t say no,“  You’re closer to his face now—too close. But you’re still not looking at eye level — not close enough. 

“I think I’ve done a lot just to be around you, Cho.” He almost melts at how the stupid nickname his brother calls him sounded so good coming from your honeyed lips. Choso gulps, audible and embarrassing in the silence of your apartment. 

He started off this conversation on the edge of the couch, somehow it feels like you’ve backed him into it.

“Y’know, the TA stuff, asking to study—do we look like we’re studying now?” Your arm skates over his hand, up his arm, the touch leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You watch how his jaw all but clenches at the feeling, a newfound confidence makes you unbelievably giddy, driving you to push more. “But what I wanna know is,”

He feels like he’s running out of breath before he could utter a word when your palm lands up on his hard chest, feeling for the erratic thumping of his heartbeat underneath the fabric of his shirt.

Your head is craned up, lashes bat at him, “What are you willing to do…?”

He’s looking deeply into your eyes, searching for the answer to your question, not realizing how his neck is craning down at your height in return. Several beats pass — he feels a tug on his shirt and then he’s closing the distance between your lips. 

He whines on the soft, wet skin, sucking gently, eyes falling shut. His hand finds your cheek, the other reaching for your side when you tangle your arms around his neck. The pace is hungry yet fervent, tugging and melting against the other. You pull away slowly, lips parting from each other wetly. You’re smacking your own lips before smiling up at Choso, giggling. 

His eyes are hazy, glasses crooked out of place. His hands are covering your back and smoothing over your clothes, “I can do anything— whatever you want.” 

If you weren’t already grinning wide enough, now you’re fully Cheshire-like. Pushing yourself closer towards him, “Anything?” He nods eagerly, you’re pulling him in, hungry. 

His hand is on the back of your neck now, holding. There’s something about his touch that feels like it’s keeping you together without feeling too possessive. Caring with a dash of hesitance. One you’re looking to break through tonight.

Your lips travel down his neck, leaving hot, lingering kisses along his throat. “Oh, mmh-“  He bites his lip immediately after nearly letting out the low noise from chest, eyes shutting when you find the particularly sensitive spot on his neck. You feel his fingers dig rougher on your hips, you’re on your knees now, determined to cover every inch of him in your touch. Your weight falls on him when he tugs you, the hands planted on his shoulders squeeze out of instinct.

“You good? I-I didn’t mean to, ah—“ He tried to move his head away from your persistent lips, but a shiver that runs through him stops his actions. You’re sucking on his skin, humming proudly, undettered from your little slip. His hands brush down your sides, they plant themselves lower on your waist.

You plant kisses all the way back to his chin then meet his lips again. You’re eye level, a sinister glint in your eyes. You stick your tongue out, half lidded gaze and staring right at him — brushing the wet, pink muscle along Choso’s bottom lip, teasing. Heat rushes on his face, blood rushes on his crotch. You’re killing him.

You suck on the pink flesh, tugging then letting go, he’s pulling you in closer by the back of your neck. He wants you on him,  mind unable to decide how — just everywhere is fine. You drop your palm down between your bodies and on the garter of Choso’s sweats, feeling for the hardness underneath.

He hissed as your fingers brushed what would be his shaft, “Um, sorry, can we make out a little I think…” He holds your head closer to his face, breaths mingling as you catch them. “I’ll get less hard— nervous, I think. Sorry,” You hummed in agreement before landing back on the flushed skin of his mouth, quieting him down with your lips.

You giggle against him, chasing as he squirms, palms settling on his shoulders. You pull off him with a peck, feet planting back on the carpeted floors.  Choso now sat far into the couch, slacked with legs spread. His mouth parts as you start undressing, stripping off into your underwear. 

He sizes you up and down, taking in your soft, bare skin, your strapless bra and cotton panties under the warm lights of your apartment. It elicits a heavy throb under his pants. Choso’s breathing feels uneven and the air grows thinner when you settle back on the couch, only now between his spread out legs.

 You’re steadying yourself, his hands find a place on your warm, now bare skin. You smooth over the wide expanse of his chest, then land on his neck, even warmer than you. “This okay?” You ask, to which he only replies with a nod. 

You’re about to lean into him when he reaches for his glasses, but you stop him before he tries to pry the piece of metal off. “They stay on.”

His breath catches in his throat, stomach dipping. A part of him he’s not quite sure whether he wanted to acknowledge, liked when you tell him what to do.

 He lets his hand fall, you adjust the rims on the bridge of his nose. “You’re so pretty.” You’re holding his face with both hands, tilting it upwards to you. A lopsided grin appears on his face at the comment, eyes shying away and down from your face and to the body on him.  

“Thanks- Thank you,” He replied poorly. His palm skated from your waist and to your back, laying above the clip of your bra. His lips are caught between his teeth as he takes in the feel of your skin against him, he looks up. “You’re awfully pretty as well.”

He was never good at expressing himself,only with what he was sure of. But this was new, you pushing, him taking, it was all new. But he meant every word he said to you. He leaned in to catch your lips against his. Fuck, if only you could tell how much he meant it.

He’s slotting his tongue in between your parted mouth, leaning further in and you’re falling back, but he’s catching you — keeping you to him. You work together smoothly, as smooth as silks rubbing against each other. You clutch on to him tightly as if he’ll slip if you don’t. You taste like jasmine tea and he’s wondering if the sweet taste is from the honey or just you. He’s holding you by the neck and pushing your back into him. 

You finally move to settle on his lap, the kiss unwavering so you’re first to pull away, “Choso—“ He catches the sound of his name in your mouth, chasing, taking, and taking. There isn’t any place on your body that isn’t covered by him, your arms, your back, your legs in between his that caged you. You moan at the thought against his greedy tongue,  entirely consumed. But you’re impatient and already wet, the fabric of your panties has been riding up for the last 10 minutes. So you squeeze his arms weakly, but it’s enough for him to let air flow between you.

“Shit, Sorry—” He’s frantic and searching your eyes, but he’s met with your hazed out ones and your swollen, drooly lips. He wiped the corner of it, chest heaving. “I need to— you’re driving me insane,” He chuckles, deep and uncertain with how true the fact felt. He’s brushing your hair back gently, “I’m sorry,” he lets go of you as you’re pulling away.

You’re upright now, letting your feet back down. You’re bending over to his lap, palms resting on his spread out limbs, “You need to make it up to me,” You’re once again reaching for his sweats, the imprint of his shaft taking form at the side. He gently lays his hand on your wrist.

 “Are you sure?” His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, the frames of his glasses are now on the tip of his nose bridge. But there’s a wave of genuine uncertainty blanketing his expression.

You’re blinking up at him, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It’s a tangled knot in his chest, one bundled in embarrassing moments and unsuccessful hook-ups. He stuttered over his words,

“Just that before I’ve-“ he pondered if he should risk you laughing at him, but you’re expectantly looking into his eyes, and your hands are already on his lap, a little more and you’d be right where he’s aching for you. “I’m scared of making it…unpleasant?” 

His hand rubs up and down your arms, you’re tuning him out and thinking of how you should go about sitting on him. He continued to ramble on, “Um, like I’ve been told it was…“

“Too big?” You ask, attention now on him. Externally you’re collected, stating it like a remark. But internally you know it’s a fact. You feel a little bad thinking about it but now you’re piecing together your earlier conversation on what Miwa’s friend’s friend might’ve been complaining about. 

Choso all but nods, eyes scanning your room as if that would keep yours away from him. “I could just help you, y’know. We don’t have to—“

You’re turning over and maneuvering his hand out of his lap, sitting on his thigh. For a moment, you’re a little hesitant, hovering. “I mean I’d like it if we did, but I’m also…” His words trail off, holding your hip and securing you on his lap, unbothered as your weight settles on one thigh. He clears his throat, “I’m okay with, um,  anything.”

You’re leaning into him, on your side, hand trailing underneath the hem of his shirt, grazing his clenched abdomen. He jolts, causing you to jump in your seat. Your eyes widen for a moment before relaxing, hand skating lower under the garter of his sweats with a simpering grin on your face. You’re kissing his cheek, gentle and slow as your hand palms over his hard, covered cock.

He’s watching your move under the fabric of his gray sweats, feeling your smaller fingers squeezing and rubbing the base of it. It hurts, he thinks. In a way that something stings and feels good at the same time. You’re squeezing at his tip when he throws his head back on the couch, groaning loudly. You take the opportunity to mouth on his neck again. 

“Can you please— Can I please take it off?” He asks politely, but the grip on your hip feels anything but. You hum, still licking at the expanse of his neck. 

You’re pulling his pants down with his help—mostly him just taking it off himself, desperate and aching. He’s bare from the waist down now when you settle back on his thigh, sweats and boxers discarded on the floor. 

You’re now shamelessly gawking at his erection bouncing against stomach, slapping against it. The warmth of your hand catches him off guard, finally making contact skin to skin. You tug on the shaft, immediately taking notice of how your fingers struggle to close around it and were squeezing on accident.

“F—oh, god. ” He rests his head on your shoulder, sweat building on his forehead. You start moving your hand up and down, already slippery from how he’d been oozing in his boxers the entire time. He’s quiet behind you, save for the heavy breathing on your skin. You go faster. “Your hand’s so tight,” it comes out in a whimper. A wet, mouthing sensation can be felt on your shoulder, he’s biting your skin to muffle himself. But It doesn’t work, his throat lets loose with each reaction.

 His eyes roll up from your shoulder when he feels you lean forwards and away from his chest, cock twitching when a wet glob of spit drips on him from your tongue.

You’re both watching your hand work up and down, bringing both onto the shaft, he’s cursing as you go faster. 

You’re throwing your other leg over his thigh, straddling him in reverse, before resting back on him. Choso's hands come up to hold you under your knees, keeping your legs apart. He watched as the movement stretched the fabric, pussy still clad in underwear, drenched and barely covering it. But he can’t help but peek lower, your hands exclusively paying attention to his erection. 

You joke, “It’s like I'm jerking myself off.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, the vibrations thrum against your back and you turn them into moans as you suddenly go faster. “Sucks though, I can’t feel it.” 

You’re unable to see his expression behind you, but you can hear how his moans are muffled between his teeth, “You’re s-so eager.”

You reveled at how shaky he’d sounded. “One of us has to be.”

And then a strange noise akin to the tearing of fibers can be heard from below. You gasp as it happens in front of you, hands slowing its ministrations. You realize you’re watching him rip your underwear, exposing your wet, shiny pussy. “Hey—“

 He’s adjusting himself from under you, bringing his other hand under your thigh, your legs tugged higher as he starts rubbing right on your clit. 

He’s rough and accurate on where he wants to touch you, deliberate in his movements.  He’s quick but he isn’t rushing either, his only motive was to get you to falter in his stead as you were doing just the same.

Your voice shrinks into breathy pants, the slick sound from your poor clit syncing in with each, “Ah, ah, Cho—“

“You’re making me so, so hard, baby—” You’re both an obscene sight to behold, playing with each other, spread out, grunting or whimpering. Both sloppily still trying to let your lips tangle with each other despite the inconvenient position. Both a mess, your tits spilling out of your bra, and his glasses all fogged up. 

You grind into him, “Feels so good,” rubbing your juices on the cock you’re jerking with now one hand, coating his chubby length. Your body felt like it was on overdrive, moving your hips up and down as you clenched on nothing, gushing freely. 

You’re biting your lip as your hips grow erratic, brows pinching and your abdomen clenches on itself. “I-I’m close.”

Choso lets a groan escape,“Fuck, really?” realizing he’s making you come first. It’s a miracle he’s held off this long, he wonders if he’ll hold up if you let him inside. The thought makes him move your hips on his cock, assisting you as you use him to get yourself off. 

He doesn’t know if he’s breathing so hard because he’s getting tired or because he knows getting your clit rubbed nudges you a little closer to the edge when you start to get louder. He breathes against your ear, “Come on me, please.” He’s mumbling now, less at you and more to himself.  “I wanna see you cum on me, please, please—”

Your legs begin to shake in his hold, fighting to shut close but the grip under your knees forces you to come with your legs spread wide, pussy making a show of spasming against Choso’s cock, voice breaking as you whimper. “That’s it baby, that’s it,” 

Choso is completely enamored, the sounds of your high pitched whines in the air was like music to him, the way you writhe against his body was this entrapping dance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He notes how you were still in your bra, he whispers something about it, but you’re just nodding your head with your eyes shut, riding it out. Then he’s unclipping the strap with one hand, the fabric falling off and releasing your perfect tits.

You then relax your back to him, twitching still. But then he’s thrusting his erect cock up between your folds, the stimulation starting to make you wetter again, your breath can only catch up so fast.  You’re attempting to lift your hips with a squirm.”Gi-give me a sec—”

Choso quickly lets your legs fall to the side and pauses, sitting up and moving your head to face him. “Shit- we can stop here,” he assured, breathy and worried. “I didn’t mean to, I was just looking at you. You looked-” So fucked out, “I’m sorry.“

“Sh-shut up,” You look away and Choso stiffens under you. Was he too rough? Before he could even utter another apology, you spoke, “I’m fine, I just need to— breathe.“ 

He watches you quiet down from underneath you, he’s rubbing your thighs comfortingly. “I am sorry,” The silence lingers, only getting tenser with each beat that passes.

And then you start chuckling — at nothing in particular. Your breathing slows down, and you look back to check on him. He looked so worried, brows pinched and his lip jutted out. A lazy smile breaks into your features, leaning down to catch him in a chaste kiss so he wouldn't see the expression on your face. “I liked it, okay?”

His breath hitched in his throat when you spoke against his lips, “Yeah?” 

You’re nodding, smile now exposed. You kiss him again, powerless against his sweet lips. He relaxes, hand coming up to the back of your head. “I wanna-“ A kiss, “Fuck you now,” A slower kiss, “Please.”

He’s backing up to read your face, reassessing. Within the silence, something passes between you two. Amidst the air that smells of sex and vaguely of tea, there’s this mix of warmth and uncertainty—and whether or not to dive in it — that lingers in between. 

He’s nervous under your gaze, once again, looking for a way out of your eyes that traps him so effectively like no other. He’s looking down at his still, very much, erect self. “I don’t have a condom.”

You’re thinking to yourself before you reach for the side table of your couch, scrambling for a box you kept there in case.

Choso’s scrambling to rip the plastic off before fishing for one packet. “I’m not really sure if it would fit so, maybe just try it,” You remark as you’re being maneuvered out of his lap and on the side of the couch. He fumbled with the rubber a couple times, pulling it down before it snapped a little too tightly on his girth. He tugs it down on him until a tear starts spreading on the side of the translucent material. 

“I’m sor—“ He hissed as it snapped against his skin, “See I can’t even fucking…I don’t think this is quite right—” He’s cursing to himself, obviously a little sexually frustrated. For someone his size he still managed to look somewhat like a defeated puppy. 

You’re tugging the broken thing off, relief blooming in his chest but it’s short lived as he’s reminded of how he might not even have sex with you anymore. “But no, we really don’t have to.”  He says, discouraged. 

“You can fuck me raw, I’m on the pill.” He internally groaned, pulled back out of his head. You just had a way with your words. 

He does a complete 180, eyes widening, shifting from beaten to optimistic. He reminds himself to curb his excitement though, slowing down. “You can be on top—set the pace?” You’re already moving to sit on his lap.

He’s nodding his head at you, and finally rips his shirt off himself, now completely naked. You’re staring down at him, licking your lips at the sight of his milky skin and toned chest. He pulls you out of your thoughts, voice small and distant. 

“I’ll pull out, yeah?” He’s swallowed back thickly, more of reminding himself to do that. “Just be slow okay? I didn’t prepare you that wel—um,"

His voice trails off when you’re already lining yourself up with his reddened tip. “A little at a time—Oh,” You’re already sinking down, unrepressed. 

The stretch is long and constant, to the point it feels like you’re rethinking how fast you jumped on this, except you remember you’re already lowering yourself very carefully. 

Your jaw hangs open in a silent scream when you get past the head, sinking lower, your walls throb against his member. You’re bracing yourself with a palm, Choso’s chest is covered in sweat and heaving. “You’re so—‘s really tight, oh fuck you’re so warm,” He whined out, unable to complete a sentence.

He’s leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and then back on your lips to keep your mewls at bay. You’re kissing back, he’s only half way in when you start moving. Choso’s breaths turn ragged against yours, pulling you closer to him. You catch your breath, “It’s stretching me out so much, Choo-” You whine, slowly rolling your hips.

He’s squeezing your waist before trailing his hands down your ass, “You’re doing good, you’re doing really good.”

He’s looking down at your progress, struggling to tell where you ended and he begun, now nearer to the base of his cock. He throbs inside you. “Fuck, a-are you okay?” He’s looking back up at your face, taking in your lips, bitten and swollen under your teeth. 

He lets out a shaky whimper, “You’re taking so much.” His eyes finding their way back to your hole swallowing him. “So good, baby.”

You tuck your feet over his thighs for leverage, pulling off his cock slowly then sinking back down, and back up. You repeat the motions, torturously slow, your slick creating this lewd noise from each rock of your hips as you go deeper. Choso’s hands are on your thighs, weighing you down but he’s really holding back from actively pushing — still you’re sinking, taking more. 

You start to bounce, struggling to hold yourself up with your palm on his chest, the slight sting of the stretch dulling out to a deep pressure. It’s a lot easier now, you go even faster with the help of your growing arousal slicking up his cock. Every touch you leave on each other now feels highly sensitive, your tits pressed against Choso’s hard chest, his hands squeezing on your ass for dear life. You’re left unable to keep up conversations or teases to each other now, heads completely in a different space. You're left babbling incoherencies as your tingling nerves derail your focus, the only thing clear was to go after what felt good. 

But you falter, your knees slowing as they start to ache but you push yourself further, desperate, taking even more of Choso’s length. You find yourself losing balance and lean over, panting. You lift your hips, then let your ass fall back into his lap, a strained mewl leaving your throat, “I-I need help. I need you, Cho—need you t’a fuck my pussy,” 

He groans out at how high your voice got, fresh from its suppressed whines. “Okay I’ll help,” He’s quick with his hands, holding you by the globes of your ass, and pulls you up. He bites back a noise, hearing and feeling your tight pussy gush and clamp on him as he lifts until it’s just the tip. “s’ okay if I thrust a little?” He whispers against your ear, growing desperate as his cock pulses in anticipation. You nod fervently in his neck, arms circled around him. “Okay baby, I’m gonna. I’m gonna help this pussy- fuckkk” 

It’s noisier now, from your skin, sticky and slapping against each other, to your gasps turning into moans against each other’s open mouths. Choso’s now taking all the work, lifting your ass and bringing it down to meet his aching cock even faster than you could have. He starts meeting your pussy half way, thrusting up wards and it knocks the wind out of you.

Moans spill out of you with each thrust up, breaking and then bursting out of you. You’re clinging to him, bodies impossibly close, skin rubbed up against skin. “You’re so fucking loud, honey—do you like it?” His groans turn into grunts with how he’s physically exerting his body, on a mission to see you break apart on top of him.

You reply with a noise of acknowledgment, barely audible amongst the slapping and heavy breathing. You’re body feels hot all over, from inside and out. He’s deep enough inside you in places you didn’t even know was possible to go that far in, and the best worst part is you haven’t even reached the base of him yet. A new objective makes itself known in the part of your brain that still functioned, a dimly flickering idea. 

“Ch-choso can you, ngh—“ You’re bringing your face out of his neck to face him, but he’s still busying himself with his thrusts, “I want you deeper, c-could you do that f’me?”

He’s letting out a high pitched whine he when lets you down, about to throw his head back when you catch his lips in yours, tugging on his hair and pulling roughly.  “You’re stronger than me Cho, c’mon. Make me cum on your big cock—“

He groans, planting his feet on the ground, before you know it you’re up in the air, now standing. You cut yourself off with a moan, both of you do —sighing out when he lifts your ass up before dropping you on his painfully hard cock. “You’re so filthy when you talk, y’know that?”

It feels like he's all the way to your lungs when he finally bottoms out in you, which would make sense since it feels like you aren’t breathing anymore. You cry out once more, wiling your eyes and muffling the noises in his neck, biting down. “Are you crying?” He asks, concern prodding between his excitement, but the thought manages to make it’s way to his cock, fucking you on him rhytmically slow and deep. You let out a choked sob, “Fuck you’re crying—not even going that fast.”

“Then g-go faster,” You managed to voice out between moans, your hips wiggling in his grasp. He groans in response, kneading your ass to stop you from getting ahead of him.

“You tell me if it’s too much- just, you have to tell me a-alright?” You’re clenching on him, still trying to bounce. “Shit, Okay.” 

The slower sounds of your skin slapping each other turn into rapid, sharp sounds. Choso grunting from each thrust, now fully unrepressed. In seconds, the image you’ve crafted of him as this shy, hesitant boy, crumbles. You’re fully moaning out now, his cock nudging deeper and repeatedly in that spot that triggers your insides. “I’m so full, fuck-“

He’s hiccuping his moans out, turning into whimpers as he pumps you up and down even faster, his nails digging into the meat of your ass. “You’re taking me so good baby,” He’s thrusting up when he lets you fall on his cock midway, his muscles forgetting to strain. “Fuck, take it, take it—“ 

He dives in against your lips, tongue invading your whimpering mouth. You try your best to kiss back, eyes nearly closing while he’s drowning you in him. You’re clenching on his cock a lot tighter now, his balls drenched in your arousal, slapping against your other hole from the impact of his motions.

“I think I—I’m gonna cum-“ You pull away from Choso who lets out a breathy moan, licking your lips to chase yours. You’re falling limp against him, hips rendered useless when he’s already fucking you on a pace outside of your own stamina. 

Your insides are pulsing around his member, your moans growing even louder. Choso’s deep enough into you when he feels his cock twitch, “I need to pull out—“ You’re immediately protesting, letting out noises of disapproval. “No, no baby I’m gonna cum if you—“

“I don’t care.“ Fuck. Choso holds himself back, his pre-cum oozing out makes your sopping hole even more slippery at the thought of filling you up to the brim.  He’s thinking of ways to keep himself from cumming right this very second when you’re already so fucked out and desperate, high up in your own head.

His dick twitches again and he’s biting his lip, slowing his carry on your body til you’re stopping altogether. Before you could say anything else, he’s pulling out and placing you on the couch, lying down. You’re complaining, spreading your legs as much as the cushions on your side could let you. 

Choso’s holding his cock, squeezing at the base to calm himself down but he opens his eyes to your gaping, hungry hole, presented to him like an offer, “C-cum inside me, Cho,”

His resolve breaks within a blink of an eye, already laying above you and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel like crying out of joy when he finally makes his way inside, thrusting slowly and hissing from how tight you still are. “I need to be on top of you, I need to—“ He mumbled, eyes already hazed out and clambering for satiation.

He topples over you as he finds his balance, now setting a newer pace from earlier, caging you with his body while his thrusts grow even faster.

The sensation is much more different now, a stretch added with the forces of his thrusts now fully landing on you.

He’s watching every twist of your face and moan spill out. Scanning your body downwards while he lays a palm on your lower abdomen, “If I cum inside you’re gonna bulge right h-here, d’ ya want that?”

You’re squealing against him when he presses down, his cock nudging where he’s digging his fingers from the outside. Your walls flutter against his member, sucking him in and pulsing wetly. Choso’s grunting against you, hips growing faster as he watches your eyes get even more hazy and your face twisted.

Your eyes are rolling back when he starts rubbing on your clit, already impatient with wanting to feel your pussy tighten impossibly around him.

He’s whispering incoherencies to you, face on your neck when he pulls back his hips and pushes back in deeply as he continues rubbing you. 

You cry out, shuddering against Choso as the coil in you snaps, holding onto his wrist as your legs secured against his ribs.

He lets out a shaky moan, pumping faster when he chases his orgasm while you ride yours out on him, bodies grinding up against each other intimately. 

A curse lets you know that he’s finally reached his climax, thrusts growing slow and deep while pumping you full of his sticky cum.  Your eyes are glossed over, your throat sore from your own voice when he’s riding out his high, panting and leaving kisses all over your face. 

Your chests are pumping against each other,  both catching your breaths. Your hand finds its way to his face, turning it so he could look back at you. His cheeks are red and his glasses were no longer on him, probably losing them from how much you’d been switching positions. 

You’re brushing his hair from his face, tucking a long strand onto his ear. Your body still feels like it’s on fire but it doesn’t compare to how even after all that, his stare on you still makes your heart skip a beat. You let out a breath, gathering yourself.

 “What do you think?” His eyes scans over your face, “Better than coming up to study?”

Choso shifts on his elbows as he’s laying on top of you.“Yeah that was…” He takes a moment to think of a better way to describe it, a smile spreading on his face. “Really good.” He settles with honesty instead.

He’s thumbing over your shoulder, a hundred thoughts trying to materialize themselves in his still mushed up brain. “I’ve never done it like that, before I mean.“ 

He’s looking up to meet your eyes, and you’ve got a glow emitting from you, drawing him in. He hesitates for a moment but then, “And you? How’d you feel?”

You huff out a soft chuckle, realizing how ironic this all was. How you’ve still managed to not destroy the awkwardness that came with affections even when you’ve skipped over to, well sex. Choso waits for your answer, something swirls tight in his chest, uneasy but still patient. 

You’re brushing back the hair on his scalp, taking in how much less guarded he looks without glasses. “Yeah, I feel…safe.”

He smiles, that knot in his chest untangling. To no surprise, he finds the thread it’s bundled from may be connected to you. “Yeah?”

You nod, smiling, “Yeah.”

But the real trouble started with the scent of your office.

Several of your coworkers regularly brought their hybrids to work, mostly tiny, docile breeds with gentle temperaments who spent their days napping under desks and collecting treats from the staff.

Because you loved hybrids, you often gave into the temptation of giving them a quick scratch behind the ears before heading home.

To Rin, your return from the office became a whole ordeal. The second you walked in, his dark teal ears would perk up, and he would practically press his entire face into your neck, sniffing aggressively. The foreign scent of other, weaker hybrids drove his territorial predator instincts up a wall. He would hiss, a low, vibrating sound of pure disgust, and immediately drag his body against your clothes from behind, desperate to mask the offending odors with his own scent.

You briefly, fleetingly considered bringing him to the office with you just to appease his separation anxiety. That thought was instantly destroyed when you walked into the living room later that afternoon and witnessed him completely shred his sixth soccer ball, ripping the leather to absolute confetti with his bare claws just because he was bored.

Yeah... better not, you thought, sweating slightly. Your boss would never forgive you if Rin decided the industrial office printer was his next target.

His newfound possessiveness naturally spilled over into the nighttime. The guest room you had so carefully decorated was completely abandoned; Rin had officially colonized your bedroom. He didn't even wait for you to fall asleep anymore. The moment you climbed into bed, he would silently pad in, claim the exact center of the mattress, and burrow himself into the pillows.

He moved around so much trying to get comfortable that you eventually had to buy three more heavy, plush blankets just so you wouldn't get left freezing in the middle of the night.

And because he was a feline hybrid, the inevitable had finally happened: your pristine, crisp white comforter was now permanently covered in a tragic, undeniable layer of dark teal hair.

You sighed, rolling a lint roller across the neat sheets, and picking a stray teal strand off your pajama sleeve as Rin shifted beside you, his tail lazily draping over your ankle.

He was a possessive, shedding, soccer-ball-murdering menace, but as he let out a soft, contented huff in his sleep, you couldn't bring yourself to mind at all.

—

After weeks of watching him master the layout of your backyard, you finally decided he was ready for the ultimate milestone: a real walk to the neighborhood park.

Getting him out the door, however, was a massive ordeal. Before you even unlocked the front entrance, you sat Rin down in the foyer and made sure to talk some sense into him. You gripped your care guide like a gavel, looking him dead in the eye.

"Listen to me, Rin. We are going to a public space. If you start acting up, barking, or lunging at anyone, the snacks are gone for a week. And you will have to deal with the silicone muzzle again. Understand?"

Rin clicked his tongue, crossing his arms and averting his eyes with a moody huff. But he nodded.

You were so excited that you practically bounced on your heels as you pulled out your secret weapon: a heavy-duty leather leash that perfectly matched the custom acrylic keychain dangling from your house keys—the one engraved with both your names and a little heart.

Rin stared at the matching set, his dark teal ears flattening in sheer disbelief. He muttered something under his breath about it being incredibly tacky and "lukewarm," but he didn't pull away when you clipped it to his collar. What a party pooper.

He tried his best to maintain his stoic, unbothered persona, promising he’d behave himself, but he couldn't control his anatomy. His tail was whipping back and forth so hard it was practically thumping against the wall, a dead giveaway that he was secretly excited.

The walk itself went beautifully. Rin was the absolute epitome of a well-behaved companion. He walked beside you down the sidewalk with perfect posture, ignoring the passing cars and keeping his eyes glued to the path ahead.

When you finally reached the grassy field of the park, you let him drop his brand-new soccer ball—the seventh one now—to do whatever it is he does with a soccer ball.

The true test came when a pair of happy, overly enthusiastic canine hybrids ran over, one with yellow hair and the other blue, yapping excitedly and trying to play with his ball.

For a split second, you panicked, gripping the handle of the leash tightly. Rin’s ears pinned flat, and a dark, dangerous shadow crossed his eyes. But he took a deep, deliberate breath, and stepped in front of the ball to block them, and merely let out a sharp, warning hiss. He held back from absolutely tearing them apart, showing a level of restraint that made you beam with pride.

You even traded contact info with the owner of the two canines incase Rin wanted others to play with. You even managed to sneak in a pat on their heads. What a lovely pair those two make, they must be best friends. You thought wistfully watching Bachira, and Isagi pester Rin.

He was so incredibly good that on the way back, you decided he deserved a massive reward. You stopped by a high-end traditional restaurant and ordered a special, premium takeout container of Ochazuke, savory green tea poured over delicate dashi, rice, and seared salmon.

The moment you both got back home, you unclipped his leash, and Rin practically flew to the kitchen. He happily devoured the warm meal, his tail swaying in pure bliss as he tasted the rich broth. A sight you rarely get to see.

The heavy warmth of the food, combined with the sensory overload of his first big outing, caught up to him instantly. Minutes after finishing dinner, Rin dragged his feet over to the living room couch where you had just sat down. Without hesitation, he climbed up, turned around, and completely collapsed sideways, letting his heavy head drop right into your lap.

He was out cold within seconds, his dark teal ears twitching as he drifted into a deep sleep.

Smile melting, you slowly, carefully reached your hand out. You gently pressed your fingers into his soft hair, petting him as he let out a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated right against your thighs.

—

Now, Rin was basically domesticated—or, at least, as domesticated as a prideful, apex predator hybrid would ever allow himself to be. He finally let you do normal hybrid pet things, like dressing him up in the expensive designer loungewear you bought him. It was honestly offensive how good he looked in everything.

You doted on him relentlessly, entirely ignoring his constant, dramatic grumbling and complaints. You know he secretly likes it.

It was an ordinary, lazy Sunday afternoon. Rin was melting into your lap, his heavy head resting comfortably on your thighs while you lazily shook a fluffy dangling teaser toy above his face. His dark teal ears twitched, tracking the feathers. Occasionally, he would huff, swatting at it with a single finger and muttering, “Put it closer to my face, idiot.”

The peaceful silence was broken when your phone suddenly began to blare from across the room.

With a soft sigh, you set the toy aside and started to rise. Rin let out a displeased, guttural whine, begrudgingly shifting his weight so you could stand, his tail thumping against the couch cushions in protest.

You picked up the device to see Shidou’s name flashing on the screen. Shidou was a fellow hybrid owner and your chaotic childhood friend, currently living abroad for work. You swiped answer, and the speaker immediately exploded with his loud, unfiltered voice.

"Yo! What's up, slacker?!" Shidou cackled by way of greeting.

You chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Hey, Shidou. I'm good. How's Madrid treating you?"

"Amazing! The energy here is insane!" Shidou rambled, before pausing. "Oh, by the way, I finally did it. I adopted my own hybrid. Absolute genius, this guy."

"Oh, really? I actually heard about that a while ago," you replied, smiling. "Congratulations. What kind did you get? I actually just adopted one recently, too."

Shidou hummed over the line. "Mine’s one of those predator breed type. What about yours? What’s the paperwork say?"

You racked your brain, recalling the complex classifications listed on Rin's official adoption documents from the Second Chance Foundation.

"Uh, let's see... his file classified him as an ultra-rare, high-risk feline predator variant. Specifically an Arctic-boreal pantherine hybrid, don’t ask me what that is, I don’t even know. But they’re extremely territorial and their aggression is off the charts.”

There was a sudden, dead silence on the other end of the line. Then, Shidou burst into a loud, hysterical fit of laughter that nearly blew your eardrums out.

"No way! You've gotta be kidding me!" Shidou wheezed, slamming his hand against a table on his end. "Holy shit! Mine’s from the exact same litter!"

Your breath hitched. "What?"

"Yeah! The shelter told me his backstory when I cleared the background checks," Shidou yelled cheerfully. "I adopted a hybrid named Sae! Sae Itoshi!"

The name hit you like a wave. Your mind instantly flashed back to that first day in the isolation corridor of the sanctuary—the tired staff attendant flipping through a clipboard, explaining Rin’s history.

'He was actually rescued alongside his older brother, Sae... Sae was adopted by that foreign football player last month... when Sae left, Rin's abandonment issues got worse...'

"Sae..." you whispered.

Shidou’s loud voice broke through your stunned train of thought. "Hey, you still there? Listen, this is perfect! I'm actually flying back to Japan later this year. We’re totally meeting up. A family reunion type of shit, you know? The brothers gotta see each other!"

Before you could even process the absolute chaos of a reunion between Rin and the brother who inadvertently broke him, a crashing sound echoed from Shidou's side of the phone.

"HEY! Drop that! Drop it right now, bad Sae!" Shidou suddenly screamed away from the receiver. He huffed back into the phone, "Gotta go, babe! Sae’s tryna rip my uniforms. See ya!"

Then the line went dead.

You stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at your phone screen, trying to comprehend the cosmic coincidence of it all. But you weren't allowed to ponder it for long.

A heavy, warm weight suddenly crashed into your back. Rin had crept up behind. Annoyed by your long absence, he pressed his chest firmly against your back, draping his broad shoulders over yours. His tufted ears brushed against your cheek, and his long tail wrapped tightly around your waist, forcefully dragging you backwards toward the couch.

"You're ignoring me for a stupid phone call," Rin muttered into your neck, his voice a deep, possessive growl as he squeezed you tighter. "Drop the phone. Put the toy back in my face."

You melted against his warmth, hiding your growing panic behind a soft smile. You would have to deal with the reality of Sae and Shidou later. For now, you had a very grumpy, very clingy hybrid to appease.

—

But the real trouble started with the scent of your office.

Several of your coworkers regularly brought their hybrids to work, mostly tiny, docile breeds with gentle temperaments who spent their days napping under desks and collecting treats from the staff.

Because you loved hybrids, you often gave into the temptation of giving them a quick scratch behind the ears before heading home.

To Rin, your return from the office became a whole ordeal. The second you walked in, his dark teal ears would perk up, and he would practically press his entire face into your neck, sniffing aggressively. The foreign scent of other, weaker hybrids drove his territorial predator instincts up a wall. He would hiss, a low, vibrating sound of pure disgust, and immediately drag his body against your clothes from behind, desperate to mask the offending odors with his own scent.

You briefly, fleetingly considered bringing him to the office with you just to appease his separation anxiety. That thought was instantly destroyed when you walked into the living room later that afternoon and witnessed him completely shred his sixth soccer ball, ripping the leather to absolute confetti with his bare claws just because he was bored.

Yeah... better not, you thought, sweating slightly. Your boss would never forgive you if Rin decided the industrial office printer was his next target.

His newfound possessiveness naturally spilled over into the nighttime. The guest room you had so carefully decorated was completely abandoned; Rin had officially colonized your bedroom. He didn't even wait for you to fall asleep anymore. The moment you climbed into bed, he would silently pad in, claim the exact center of the mattress, and burrow himself into the pillows.

He moved around so much trying to get comfortable that you eventually had to buy three more heavy, plush blankets just so you wouldn't get left freezing in the middle of the night.

And because he was a feline hybrid, the inevitable had finally happened: your pristine, crisp white comforter was now permanently covered in a tragic, undeniable layer of dark teal hair.

You sighed, rolling a lint roller across the neat sheets, and picking a stray teal strand off your pajama sleeve as Rin shifted beside you, his tail lazily draping over your ankle.

He was a possessive, shedding, soccer-ball-murdering menace, but as he let out a soft, contented huff in his sleep, you couldn't bring yourself to mind at all.

—

After weeks of watching him master the layout of your backyard, you finally decided he was ready for the ultimate milestone: a real walk to the neighborhood park.

Getting him out the door, however, was a massive ordeal. Before you even unlocked the front entrance, you sat Rin down in the foyer and made sure to talk some sense into him. You gripped your care guide like a gavel, looking him dead in the eye.

"Listen to me, Rin. We are going to a public space. If you start acting up, barking, or lunging at anyone, the snacks are gone for a week. And you will have to deal with the silicone muzzle again. Understand?"

Rin clicked his tongue, crossing his arms and averting his eyes with a moody huff. But he nodded.

You were so excited that you practically bounced on your heels as you pulled out your secret weapon: a heavy-duty leather leash that perfectly matched the custom acrylic keychain dangling from your house keys—the one engraved with both your names and a little heart.

Rin stared at the matching set, his dark teal ears flattening in sheer disbelief. He muttered something under his breath about it being incredibly tacky and "lukewarm," but he didn't pull away when you clipped it to his collar. What a party pooper.

He tried his best to maintain his stoic, unbothered persona, promising he’d behave himself, but he couldn't control his anatomy. His tail was whipping back and forth so hard it was practically thumping against the wall, a dead giveaway that he was secretly excited.

The walk itself went beautifully. Rin was the absolute epitome of a well-behaved companion. He walked beside you down the sidewalk with perfect posture, ignoring the passing cars and keeping his eyes glued to the path ahead.

When you finally reached the grassy field of the park, you let him drop his brand-new soccer ball—the seventh one now—to do whatever it is he does with a soccer ball.

The true test came when a pair of happy, overly enthusiastic canine hybrids ran over, one with yellow hair and the other blue, yapping excitedly and trying to play with his ball.

For a split second, you panicked, gripping the handle of the leash tightly. Rin’s ears pinned flat, and a dark, dangerous shadow crossed his eyes. But he took a deep, deliberate breath, and stepped in front of the ball to block them, and merely let out a sharp, warning hiss. He held back from absolutely tearing them apart, showing a level of restraint that made you beam with pride.

You even traded contact info with the owner of the two canines incase Rin wanted others to play with. You even managed to sneak in a pat on their heads. What a lovely pair those two make, they must be best friends. You thought wistfully watching Bachira, and Isagi pester Rin.

He was so incredibly good that on the way back, you decided he deserved a massive reward. You stopped by a high-end traditional restaurant and ordered a special, premium takeout container of Ochazuke, savory green tea poured over delicate dashi, rice, and seared salmon.

The moment you both got back home, you unclipped his leash, and Rin practically flew to the kitchen. He happily devoured the warm meal, his tail swaying in pure bliss as he tasted the rich broth. A sight you rarely get to see.

The heavy warmth of the food, combined with the sensory overload of his first big outing, caught up to him instantly. Minutes after finishing dinner, Rin dragged his feet over to the living room couch where you had just sat down. Without hesitation, he climbed up, turned around, and completely collapsed sideways, letting his heavy head drop right into your lap.

He was out cold within seconds, his dark teal ears twitching as he drifted into a deep sleep.

Smile melting, you slowly, carefully reached your hand out. You gently pressed your fingers into his soft hair, petting him as he let out a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated right against your thighs.

—

Now, Rin was basically domesticated—or, at least, as domesticated as a prideful, apex predator hybrid would ever allow himself to be. He finally let you do normal hybrid pet things, like dressing him up in the expensive designer loungewear you bought him. It was honestly offensive how good he looked in everything.

You doted on him relentlessly, entirely ignoring his constant, dramatic grumbling and complaints. You know he secretly likes it.

It was an ordinary, lazy Sunday afternoon. Rin was melting into your lap, his heavy head resting comfortably on your thighs while you lazily shook a fluffy dangling teaser toy above his face. His dark teal ears twitched, tracking the feathers. Occasionally, he would huff, swatting at it with a single finger and muttering, “Put it closer to my face, idiot.”

The peaceful silence was broken when your phone suddenly began to blare from across the room.

With a soft sigh, you set the toy aside and started to rise. Rin let out a displeased, guttural whine, begrudgingly shifting his weight so you could stand, his tail thumping against the couch cushions in protest.

You picked up the device to see Shidou’s name flashing on the screen. Shidou was a fellow hybrid owner and your chaotic childhood friend, currently living abroad for work. You swiped answer, and the speaker immediately exploded with his loud, unfiltered voice.

"Yo! What's up, slacker?!" Shidou cackled by way of greeting.

You chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Hey, Shidou. I'm good. How's Madrid treating you?"

"Amazing! The energy here is insane!" Shidou rambled, before pausing. "Oh, by the way, I finally did it. I adopted my own hybrid. Absolute genius, this guy."

"Oh, really? I actually heard about that a while ago," you replied, smiling. "Congratulations. What kind did you get? I actually just adopted one recently, too."

Shidou hummed over the line. "Mine’s one of those predator breed type. What about yours? What’s the paperwork say?"

You racked your brain, recalling the complex classifications listed on Rin's official adoption documents from the Second Chance Foundation.

"Uh, let's see... his file classified him as an ultra-rare, high-risk feline predator variant. Specifically an Arctic-boreal pantherine hybrid, don’t ask me what that is, I don’t even know. But they’re extremely territorial and their aggression is off the charts.”

There was a sudden, dead silence on the other end of the line. Then, Shidou burst into a loud, hysterical fit of laughter that nearly blew your eardrums out.

"No way! You've gotta be kidding me!" Shidou wheezed, slamming his hand against a table on his end. "Holy shit! Mine’s from the exact same litter!"

Your breath hitched. "What?"

"Yeah! The shelter told me his backstory when I cleared the background checks," Shidou yelled cheerfully. "I adopted a hybrid named Sae! Sae Itoshi!"

The name hit you like a wave. Your mind instantly flashed back to that first day in the isolation corridor of the sanctuary—the tired staff attendant flipping through a clipboard, explaining Rin’s history.

'He was actually rescued alongside his older brother, Sae... Sae was adopted by that foreign football player last month... when Sae left, Rin's abandonment issues got worse...'

"Sae..." you whispered.

Shidou’s loud voice broke through your stunned train of thought. "Hey, you still there? Listen, this is perfect! I'm actually flying back to Japan later this year. We’re totally meeting up. A family reunion type of shit, you know? The brothers gotta see each other!"

Before you could even process the absolute chaos of a reunion between Rin and the brother who inadvertently broke him, a crashing sound echoed from Shidou's side of the phone.

"HEY! Drop that! Drop it right now, bad Sae!" Shidou suddenly screamed away from the receiver. He huffed back into the phone, "Gotta go, babe! Sae’s tryna rip my uniforms. See ya!"

Then the line went dead.

You stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at your phone screen, trying to comprehend the cosmic coincidence of it all. But you weren't allowed to ponder it for long.

A heavy, warm weight suddenly crashed into your back. Rin had crept up behind. Annoyed by your long absence, he pressed his chest firmly against your back, draping his broad shoulders over yours. His tufted ears brushed against your cheek, and his long tail wrapped tightly around your waist, forcefully dragging you backwards toward the couch.

"You're ignoring me for a stupid phone call," Rin muttered into your neck, his voice a deep, possessive growl as he squeezed you tighter. "Drop the phone. Put the toy back in my face."

You melted against his warmth, hiding your growing panic behind a soft smile. You would have to deal with the reality of Sae and Shidou later. For now, you had a very grumpy, very clingy hybrid to appease.

—

He pulled out his phone and typed a message.

Nanami: I apologize for today’s disruption. I hope you’re well. Would you be available for coffee this weekend? I’d like to speak with you properly.

He hit send before he could overthink it. Then immediately started overthinking it.

FUSHIGURO TOJI - NIGHT

Toji was not a planner.

He didn’t do strategies or schemes or any of that corporate bullshit the other three probably thrived on. But he also wasn’t an idiot.

He’d seen the way you looked at him. You liked him. Maybe despite yourself, but you liked him.

And he liked you. More than he’d liked anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.

Which meant he wasn’t backing down just because three other assholes had decided they wanted you too.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled to your number.

Toji: You still have that cat?

He waited. It was late. You were probably asleep.

Then: three dots appeared.

You: Why are you texting me at midnight

Toji: Answer the question

You: Yes I still have the cat. It’s on my bed. Happy?

He grinned.

Toji: Very. Sweet dreams.

You didn’t respond to that.

RYOMEN SUKUNA - NIGHT

Sukuna leaned back in his chair. He’d never competed for anything in his life…. people either gave him what he wanted or he took it.

But he couldn’t take you. That much was clear.

Which meant he’d have to actually try. Actually compete. The thought should have irritated him.

Instead, it made him smile.

~~~~

You were laying on your couch…. a secondhand monstrosity you'd gotten from a friend of a friend who may or may not have used it to film adult content, but you tried not to think about that.…. staring at your ceiling's water stain that had recently evolved from "mushroom shaped" to "definitely looks like a dick now," while your phone buzzed…..

Buzz buzz buzz

You'd been ignoring it for twenty minutes now, which was impressive considering your phone addiction.

You KNEW who it was.

You knew because because you'd made the mistake of glancing at your lock screen twelve buzzes ago and seen his name.

Gojo Satoru

AKA: one of the four horsemen of your apocalypse

Your phone buzzed again. Then again … and again and again….

"Oh for the love of…” you groaned, rolling over so violently that your cat relocated to your laundry pile where she immediately started kneading it with her claws.

Great. More holes in your clothes. Perfect.

Gojo (do not answer) : Good morning my lil saint 😘

Gojo (do not answer) : Heyyyy

Gojo (do not answer) : there was some excitement at your office

Gojo (do not answer) : You never told me you were into group activities

Gojo (do not answer) : not judging. just curious 👀

Gojo (do not answer) : I know you're reading these

Gojo (do not answer) : Your read receipts are on, sweetheart

Fuck. Fuck. You'd been meaning to turn those off for like three years but kept forgetting, which was very on brand for your life choices.

You: WHAT DO YOU WANT

Gojo (do not answer) : ouch

Gojo (do not answer) : straight to business huh

Gojo (do nt answer) : no "hi satoru" or "wow satoru you're so handsome and thoughtful for checking on me"

You could feel your twitching. You wanted to throw your phone across the room. You really, truly did. But phones are expensive and you’re not about to sacrifice your cracked screen, two generations old iPhone to make a point that Gojo Satoru will probably just find amusing.

Gojo (do not answer) : I have a proposition. meet me tomorrow

Gojo (do not answer) : I can help with your little... situation

He sent an address. Some caféyou'd never heard of, which meant it was either incredibly exclusive or a front for money laundering. With Gojo, both options seemed equally plausible.

You: Why would I meet you anywhere

You: You're literally one of the problems

Gojo: Ouch

Gojo: And here I thought we had something special

Gojo: What happened to seven years of courtship?

You: I'm going back to sleep

You: Goodnight Gojo

Gojo: See you tomorrow, sweetheart ;)

What the hell was that supposed to mean? What "common problem"? What "solution"? And why…. why…. did your stupid treacherous heart did a little skip at the word "sweetheart"

Your cat looked at you with an expression that clearly said, You're going to go, aren't you?

"I'm not," you told her.

She turned around and showed you her butthole. Which felt like appropriate commentary on the current state of your life.

THE PROPOSAL (NOT THAT KIND) - THE NEXT DAY

The cafe was, predictably, obnoxious.

You'd worn the only nice dress you owned that wasn't currently in the dirty laundry pile. Your hair cooperated for once, falling in waves instead of its usual "I stuck my finger in a socket" aesthetic.

You looked... good. The kind of good that made you paranoid about what the universe was planning to balance it out.

"You came," He stood when you walked in. Like a gentleman. Which was concerning, because Gojo Satoru was many things, but a gentleman was not on the list.

You slide into the booth across from him, immediately grabbing the menu like a shield. "Why am I here?"

"I told you I have a proposition"

Right.

The proposition.

The mysterious solution to your mysterious problem that was actually not that mysterious because your problem was very straightforward…. four men who wouldn’t take a hint and a family who thought arranged marriage was a totally normal thing to do in the year of our lord 2026.

You crossed your arms and waited. Because goddammit, you were curious.

“Fine,” you bit out. “Talk.”

Gojo’s smile went from playful to something predatory. The expression of someone who’d just gotten exactly what they wanted.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, settling back into the booth like he was about to deliver a TED talk on How To Ruin Your Life In Three Easy Steps. “You have a problem.

"Several, actually. You're one of them."

"Flattering." He took a sip. "Your problem is that your family is forcing you into an arranged marriage. He paused, eyes raking over you in a way that should’ve been offensive but instead made your stomach do a weird flip thing.

“Are you done?”

“I have a problem too. See, my family’s been on my ass about settling down. Find a nice girl… Produce some heirs…..Stop sleeping with the entire female population of Tokyo….” He didn’t look remotely ashamed. “They’ve been threatening to cut me off from certain business ventures if I don’t show commitment to my future.”

You snorted. “You? Settle down?

A waiter appeared from nowhere…. seriously, did they train these people like ninjas…. and poured champagne into crystal glasses.

He grinned, shameless. “Exactly. A man of my… appetites… being asked to commit? To one woman? Forever?” He shuddered dramatically. “Unthinkable.”

“So what do you want? A recommendation for a therapist? A dating app for commitment phobes?”

“Something better.” His eyes locked onto yours, and suddenly the playful mask dropped “You,”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Your brain was making a little BLEEP sound like something had gone fundamentally wrong and all your programs had crashed simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” you said slowly, like you were testing each word before speaking it. “Could you repeat that?”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his interlaced fingers. “Let’s get engaged.”

You chocked

Champagne went down the wrong pipe and you spent a good thirty seconds coughing. "You… " cough "…. WHAT….” cough cough "….. are you FUCKING INSANE….."

"Fake engaged, obviously” he clarified, sliding you a napkin "I know I'm irresistible, but even I don't move that fast."

"That's….” you wiped your mouth, eyes watering, "…..that's the DUMBEST thing I've ever heard."

"Hear me out…”

"NO”

“what's your alternative?" He spread his hands. "Keep pretending? You're not exactly a master of deception.”

Ouch

You felt your cheeks heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His smile was devastating in that way that had probably convinced many, many women to make many, many bad decisions.

(You were not going to be one of those women. You WEREN’T.)

“I did my research, you know,” he continued, pulling out his phone “After our first date.” He scrolled through something, smile widening. “Interesting Instagram you’ve got there.”

“You…. you STALKED me?” You glared at him and he had the audacity to wink

“2019 keg stand,” he continued, completely unbothered by your existential crisis. “Very impressive core strength, by the way. That Halloween party where you dressed as a sexy nun….. ironic, given recent events. Oh, and my personal favorite…”

He turned the phone to face you.

It was a photo from your friend’s bachelorette party you’d been to last year. You were wearing a tiara that said “PENIS QUEEN” in rhinestones (you were DRUNK) and holding a drink shaped like… well. Like a dick

You’d never wanted to die more in your entire life.

“Delete that,” you hissed.

“Hear me out first”

( This white haired motherfucker)

“This better be good”

“Think about it” He held up one finger like he was about to teach you basic math. "One: gets your family off your back.Two….” another finger, "… gets my family off my back."

"Three….” a third finger, he was really committed to this bit, "… makes those other three idiots back off because you're publicly TAKEN."

"And what happens after?" you asked. "When your family wants a wedding? Grandchildren? Matching his and hers bathrobes?"

"We break up." He waved a hand. "A year from now, maybe two. Enough time for both of us to get our shit sorted and establish enough independence that our families can't control us anymore."

"So what do you say?" He extended his hand across the table. "Partners in crime?"

This was a bad idea

The kind of idea that future you would look back on and go “what the FUCK were you thinking?”

You took his hand. "Fine. But we need rules and a contract or something because I don’t trust you.”

His eyes lit up. "I love rules. Specifically breaking them."

"No breaking these ones." You held up a finger, mimicking him. "One: No actual romantic feelings. This is a business proposal."

"Obviously."

"Two: We keep up appearances in public, but in private, we're just... roommates. Friends. Strangers. Whatever."

"Can friends cuddle?"

"Satoru."

"Fine, fine. Continue."

"Three:" You hesitated. "If either of us wants out…. No questions asked. No guilt trips."

"Deal," he said softly.

This was possibly the stupidest decision you'd made since that time you got bangs in college and looked like a medieval peasant for six months.

You shook his hand.

It was warm.

Why were his hands always so WARM? It was like shaking hands with a human furnace.

"So," he said, still holding your hand (why was he still holding it?), grin widening, "when should we tell our parents?"

Oh fuck.

Oh FUCK.

What had you just agreed to?

Two Days Later: The Phone Call That Destroyed Your Eardrums

You called your mother

Mistake number one.

“Hi mom, I have news…..”

“YOU’RE PREGNANT.”

“WHAT….. no….”

“Oh thank god because I’m not ready to be a grandmother, your father would have a heart attack…..”

“I’m not PREGNANT……”

“Then what?”

“I’m getting engaged.”

Silence.

You checked your phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Mom?”

“To who.”

“Gojo Satoru?”

The scream that came through the phone sounded like a banshee getting exorcised . You had to hold the phone away from your ear. Your neighbours probably heard it.

“SATORU GOJO? THE GOJO HEIR? THE… OH MY GOD…. OH MY GOD I NEED TO SIT DOWN…”

“Mom are u ok?…..”

“…. I’M SITTING…. I’M SITTING…. YOUR FATHER… HONEY…. HONEY OUR DAUGHTER….”

Muffled sounds of your father in the background going “what? what happened? is she pregnant?”

“SHE’S GETTING ENGAGED TO A GOJO…. “

More muffled sounds of your father going “holy shit.”

Your father never swore.

“Mom I have to….”

“….I NEED TO CALL EVERYONE… YOUR AUNT….YOUR GRANDMOTHER… OH MY GOD YOUR AUNT IS GOING TO SHIT HERSELF…. SHE’S GOING TO ACTUALLY DIE…”

Click.

She hung up.

Probably to call every single person she’d ever met in her entire life to brag about how her disaster daughter had somehow landed a Gojo.

~~~

Gojo showed up at your apartment one evening without warning.

You opened the door in your rattiest sweatpants and a shirt that said “LETS FUCK” that you’d gotten as a gag gift three years ago and never stopped wearing because it was comfortable

“Nice shirt,” he said, walking past you into your apartment like he LIVED there.

“You can’t just….did I invite you?”

“Nope.” He looked around your apartment“Cozy.”

“It’s a mess.”

“Same thing.” He spotted Dumpling…ypur cat… on the couch and immediately went over to her. “And who’s THIS?”

“That’s Dumpling. Don’t touch her, she hates people….”

Dumpling immediately rolled over and started purring as Gojo scratched under her chin.

This bitch

“She’s adorable,” Gojo said, now fully sitting on your couch, dumpling climbing into his lap like they were old friends. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Don't flirt with me."

"Sweetheart, if we're getting engaged, I'm legally required to flirt with you. It's in the contract."

You stared at him. "You're joking."

"I never joke about legally binding documents." He pulled out his phone, scrolling. "Clause one: neither party shall develop genuine romantic feelings for the other…"

You snatched the phone, scanning the document

"Clause seven: both parties agree to attend a minimum of four public events together per month?"

"Gotta make it believable."

"Clause twelve: any physical contact shall be limited to hand holding and brief embraces unless mutually agreed upon in advance?"

"I'm a gentleman."

You handed the phone back. Satoru's hand found yours, fingers intertwining with yours…making your breath catch.

"For practice," he murmured.

"Right. Practice."

He stood, stretching like a cat. "Anyway. I should go.”

He grabbed his jacket from where he'd thrown it. At the door, he paused and turned back.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For everything”

The sincerity caught you off guard. You weren't used to this version of Gojo… soft, vulnerable

"See you tomorrow, Mrs Gojo."

Clause one: neither party shall develop genuine romantic feelings for the other.

Right.

Sure.

No problem at all.

At the same time

SUKUNA RYOMEN - 4:47 AM

Sukuna hasn't slept properly in days. He sits in his office….the one at his home, surrounded by reports and contracts

But for once, the paperwork wasn't holding his attention.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through the messages he hadn't sent. Draft after draft, deleted before completion.

You're not what you pretend to be.

Too direct.

I know what you're doing.

Too threatening.

Have dinner with me.

Too... desperate.

Sukuna set the phone down. He didn't do desperate. He didn't chase. People came to him, not the other way around.

But there you were…. with flushed cheeks and wild eyes, and he'd felt something crack in his chest. Something he'd thought was long dead.

NANAMI KENTO - 5:30 AM

Nanami was already awake when his alarm went off.

He'd been awake for hours, actually, staring at his ceiling and replaying every interaction he'd had with you.

His colleagues would laugh if they knew. Nanami Kento, the man who could spot a lying witness from across a courtroom, completely undone by a woman pretending to be interested in him.

But you weren't a schemer. You were a mes.

An adorable mess

His phone buzzed. A calendar reminder.

Thursday meeting - Father's firm - 3 PM

Right. He had actual work to focus on. Actual responsibilities.

But as he rose to begin his morning routine, Nanami found himself wondering what you looked like when you first woke up. Whether you were a morning person or if you emerged from sleep like a grumpy cat, all squinted eyes and defensive hissing.

He suspected the latter.

The thought made him smile.

TOJI FUSHIGURO - 6:15 AM

Toji hadn't gone home.

Home was a concept that didn't really apply to him anyway… just a series of apartments and hotels and occasionally the backseat of his car when things got complicated. Last night had been an underground poker game, where he'd won enough to keep his credit card company from sending another passive aggressive letter.

But he hadn't been able to focus on the cards.

That was new.

Toji had excellent focus. It's what made him good at the things he was good at… fighting, gambling, pissing off his family. Distractions were weaknesses, and he didn't do weak.

But there you were, stuck in his head like a song he couldn't shake.

He laughed, alone in the early morning streets, drawing concerned looks from a passing men.

The giant stuffed cat you’d clutched to your chest on the back of his motorcycle, pressing against him like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth?

Toji had dated plenty of women. Beautiful women, smart women, dangerous women. Women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it.

You were none of those things.

You were a disaster

And he wanted you anyway.

That probably said something unflattering about his psychology, but fuck it. He'd never claimed to be sane

~~~

The next week was a blur of dress fittings and dinner reservations and pretending to be in love with a man whose primary personality trait was being insufferable.

Actually, that wasn't fair. Gojo was... more than that. You were starting to realize it in small ways. The way he checked in on you when you looked tired. The way he ran interference when his family got too pushy. The way he made you laugh… when the stress felt like it was going to crush you.

"You're thinking too hard," Gojo said one evening. He was lounging on your couch. He had been doing that a lot lately, showing up unannounced with snacks and excuses about "keeping up appearances"

"Your eyebrows are doing that thing." He poked the space between your brows. "Stop that. You'll get wrinkles."

Your phone buzzed. You reached for it automatically, then froze when you saw the name.

It was Sukuna's assistant, requesting a meeting

"What?” he notices immediately when your face drops.

"Nothing."

"That's your 'something bad is happening' face. What is it?"

You hand him the phone wordlessly. He reads, his expression darkening.

"Block him."

"What?"

"Block him." He hands the phone back. "Block all of them. You don't have to deal with this anymore. That's the whole point of the engagement."

He's right. You go to your contacts, thumb hovering over Sukuna's name.

Then Nanami's.

Then…

Toji.

You opened his chat and froze.

There's a photo there that you'd forgotten about. From the arcade. You're holding that ridiculous giant cat plushie and he's standing next to you, and he's smiling. Not that cocky grin he usually wears. A genuine.. soft smile

"What's wrong?" Gojo's voice is closer now. He's moved from the couch to stand behind you, looking over your shoulder.

"Nothing." You close the chat quickly.

"Awe, You're blushing."

"I am NOT."

He reaches past you and taps the screen, pulling up Toji's contact. "You should block him too."

"I will."

"Now?"

"I…." Your thumb hovers. "I will."

Gojo sighs, but there's something careful in the sound. "You don't have to, you know."

"I know."

"If you want to talk to him…”

"I don't."

You block Sukuna. Block Nanami.

And then you close the app before your thumb can make a decision about Toji that your brain hasn't approved.

"Done," you say, and if your voice is a little too bright, Gojo has the grace not to mention it.

“You like him," he says.

"I don't…”

"It's fine." He stands abruptly, moving to the window. His back is to you, shoulders tight under his expensive shirt. "If you want to see him..”

"I don't want to see him." You sit up, frustrated. "I don't want to see any of them. That's the whole point."

"Then why didn't you block him?"

You look at your phone. At the chat with Toji, still open. At the photo.

"I don't know," you admit

Gojo turns. His face blank… but something in his eye…. Something that looked almost like hurt before it vanished behind a smile.

"Well," he says, "when you figure it out, let me know."

He grabs his jacket.

"Wait…. where are you going?"

"Home." He doesnt look at you. "We've rehearsed enough for tonight."

"Satoru…."

The door closes behind him.

That night, alone in your apartment, you let yourself think about what you were doing.

Gojo made sense. On paper, in practice, in every logical way. He was safe because he was temporary. He was easy because neither of you wanted more.

But Toji...

Toji was different. Toji made your pulse race and your palms sweat and your brain short circuit in ways that were decidedly inconvenient.

You couldn't afford inconvenient. Not now. Not when everything was finally falling into place.

So you texted Gojo instead.

You: are we doing the right thing?

Gojo: What's wrong?

You: I don't know. that's why I'm asking.

A pause.

Gojo: I think we're doing the survivable thing. Sometimes that's all you can do.

You stared at the message for a long time.

Gojo: also I ordered us pizza because I know you haven't eaten since that sad croissant this morning. It'll be there in 20.

You: how do you know about the croissant

Gojo: I know everything.

You: you're very annoying

Gojo: Eat the pizza. That's an order from your future fake husband.

You laughed despite yourself. It bubbled up, unexpected and warm, filling the quiet of your apartment.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe, with Gojo by your side, you could actually survive this.

The pizza arrived eighteen minutes later. You ate the whole thing, didn't think about Toji once (okay, maybe twice), and went to bed feeling something dangerously close to hope.

You are getting fake engaged to a man. The three other men are going to kill your fake fiancée, once they find out.Your mother is losing her mind

And somewhere in all of this, you think you might actually have feelings for someone.

You just don't know who.

Fuck.

Rule one, you reminded yourself as you drifted off. No feelings.

To be continued

Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻✨

A/n : This is a bit rushed and not proofread. I'm sorry if it wasn't what y'all were expecting ♥︎

because he fed you. regularly at that. they’re meals that came at the same times everyday. breakfast, lunch and dinner, in the same portions and adjusted when necessary without you having to ask. you learned quickly that hunger wasn’t something you had to worry about—as long as you stayed within the lines he set. in other words, when you’re good. and it’s not like you’re disobedient by nature or you purposefully do things you aren’t supposed to do. it’s honest mistakes, small mistakes. but little ones are still mistakes nonetheless, aren’t they?

because he clothed you. nothing fancy but it was always practical. things that fit you well, kept you warm and helped him in handling easier, move you, manage you. of course, you never had a say in what you ever wore but he did notice you taking a liking to what you now know as your favorite color. so, you do have more pieces in that shade than you do anything else.

because he bathed you. at first because you didn’t know how then later because he didn’t trust you to do it properly. it became routine—just like a clinical, detached in that way. it was never sexual either, at least.. it doesn't feel that way (again, you really have no concept of sexualization or perversion). it was simply just maintenance: something that had to be done to keep you functioning the way you were supposed to.

and because he taught you. this is the part of his influence that lingers the most, and may actually be the first thing that someone would notice if they managed to have a conversation with you. his lessons on english started simple at first, then things got a bit harder, and your repeated everything until they stuck. he corrected you when you got something wrong, rewarded you when you didn’t. but it wasn’t just language. it was behavior. expectation. understanding the way the world worked, or at least the version of it he allowed you to see.

“people are dangerous, (name). unpredictable. selfish. sick.”

he would tell you that, not always in those exact words but in the same way that built the same idea. he reinforced it with examples, with his tone, with the way he positioned himself in contrast to everything else.

so of course after fear mongering, he would feed you something extra nice and warm to fill your belly or perform something similar to an act of service for you (for example, he liked to fix your hair, otherwise it becomes a mess). or even correct you in a way that didn’t hurt as much as it could have. and the message would settle where it was meant to:

he is the exception. the only one who doesn’t want to harm you. the only one who understands you. the only one who provides.

victor gideon wouldn’t ever break the pattern—your pattern. the routine you’ve come to know as your life. and yet for the first time, the rhythm breaks.

you haven’t seen him for hours so you assume he’s busy.

so, you do what you’ve always done when something doesn’t make sense. you stay still and you wait because waiting has always kept you safe.

but footsteps that don’t belong to him move through the hallways. a different scent. a different voice registers.. mm. it doesn’t make sense.

you wait for things to correct on their own but.. it doesn’t. and time stretches in an unfamiliar way without you fully understanding why you feel so.. unsettled. perhaps it’s a bit of separation anxiety or maybe you’re picking up on a shift in the air.

the footsteps comes closer, then the sound pauses like whoever it belongs to is.. adjusting? is that the right word? it feels like whoever it is, is cautious. and that alone is enough to make something in your chest tighten because there’s no place to put it. no rule to apply. no outcome you’ve been prepared for.

by the time it reaches the door, your body has already reacted; shoulders pulled in tighter, your tail curls closer around you, your ears press back. you don’t think through any of it, you just brace for whatever.

the handle moves, not suddenly but definitely not in a way anyone else would notice—it lacks the confidence you’re used to. there’s a difference in the timing, in the pressure, in the certainty of the motion. victor was always certain. this hesitates where it shouldn’t and shifts where it should be smooth followed by a quiet greeting of ”hello darling.” or “how are you, little one?”

the door opens anyway, the shape that fills the doorway doesn’t align with anything you’ve been taught to expect. the presence is foreign and there’s no hesitation in how your mind processes it, no pause to question or reassess.

it categorizes immediately. not him. which means—not safe.

leon doesn’t move right away when he pushes the door open.

for a second, it’s just assessment—distance, layout, exits— but all that collapses almost immediately when he mentally hiccups. the cage. that’s the first thing that he processed and then, there’s you.

young. folded into the space like you’ve been shaped to fit it. not fighting it—just existing inside it. he doesn’t know, but it seems like it’s clear as day this isn’t new for you.

his jaw tightens.

“jesus,” he mutters under his breath, the word slipping out before he can filter it. his gaze flicks over you again, slower this time to catch on the details. the ears. the tail. for a brief second, his brain tries to file it somewhere explainable. and it lands in a sick place. something ugly, but a conclusion built on what he’s seen people do before.

“perverted bastard..” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else, the words laced with quiet disgust as his attention shifts back toward the cage, toward you and the way you’re watching him.

the comm in his ear crackles softly. “leon?” sherry’s voice cuts through, low but alert. “you stopped moving. what’s going on?”

his eyes don’t leave you. “..i found someone,” he says after a beat, voice quieter than usual. there’s a pause on the other end—brief, but enough to register surprise. he adds, more specific this time, “there’s a girl. locked up.”

another pause. “is she—”

“i don’t know yet,” he cuts in, already stepping closer as his attention stays fixed on you, tracking every small reaction. “stand by.”

he lowers himself slightly as he gets within a few feet of the cage, not close enough to crowd you, but not distant either. enough that you can see him clearly. and.. up close, the details don’t resolve the way he expected them to.

leon is.. confused. yeah, confused.

because the ears don’t sit like.. a headband would. there’s no seam, no break in the line where they meet you. they move—subtle, reactive, flattening tighter against your head as he shifts, responding to him.

his gaze drops, just briefly, to the tail. and its the same thing. its not attached to you. it is you.

there’s a moment where his expression stills completely, the realization settling in without fanfare or comment. he doesn’t want to be rude. but whatever assumption he made a second ago dissolves just as quickly as it formed, replaced with a new feeling. something similar to finding out the gayest person you’ve ever met is straight.

“..okay,” he exhales under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. he doesn’t linger on it. doesn’t question it out loud because whatever you are— or whatever was done to you—it doesn’t change the situation.

you’re still in a cage.

you’re still looking at him like he’s the worst possible outcome.

“hey,” he says, voice dropping again, softer now. its definitely not the tone he uses in the field. “you understand me?”

you don’t answer but your eyes stay on him, tracking every movement like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.

“alright,” he murmurs, not pushing it, because clearly.. you’re scared of him. “that’s okay.” there’s a pause, just long enough to let the space settle again before he tries something else.

“i’m gonna get you out of there,” he continues, “you don’t have to—” he stops himself, “..you don’t have to do anything right now. just stay there, okay?”

not that you could do much else.

you don’t respond to that either. not verbally at least. but something in your posture shifts. not enough to call it movement, but you are less rigid than before.nyour gaze flickers over him again and there’s something there that doesn’t fit with the fear.

confusion, maybe. or curiosity. something softer that doesn’t have a place to settle, caught between everything you’ve been taught and everything you’re seeing.

because he doesn’t match what you expected.

he doesn’t move like a threat. doesn’t sound like one. doesn’t look like anything you’ve been told to fear in the way you understand it.

and more than that—he’s different.

there’s no comparison for it or framework to put it in. you’ve seen one man your entire life, learned the shape of him, the way he exists in a space. this one doesn’t match.

his face.. his body. something about the way he holds himself, the way he looks at you. not through you, not around you, but at you. it doesn’t align with anything you know how to interpret.

it catches and lingers longer than it should. and somewhere underneath all these big emotions—

you think he’s… nice to look at.

you don’t have a better word for it.

and you don’t have the context to understand why your attention keeps drifting back to his face, to the way his expression shifts when he looks at you, to the steadiness in his voice when he speaks again.

you just know it doesn’t feel the same as looking at victor and that alone is enough to make your belly flutter in a completely different way.

“i’m leon, by the way.” he says, he’s a few feet away now looking for something—a key maybe.

leon..