🩷hi, it’s jazz! 🩷requests are closed!!!

Get on her sweet, caring side, that is.

The young assistant who joined the company only a few months ago suddenly became the centre of her attention.

Your first day at a company would be treated as a total failure by most of your coworkers. With a miniskirt wrapped around your hips, its hem barely brushing your middle thighs, and a red bra showing through the white shirt. Long socks covered your legs up to the knees, giving your thighs a little squish.

You... didn't look bad. But also did not look corporate-like.

When Utahime saw you, she almost had a heart attack. Shoko, the menager, told you to send a prayer.

"Boss pays close attention to proper attire," she said, tugging at your skirt. "So I wish you good luck."

And thus, on the first day, after getting accustomed to your teammates and managers, you finally went to the lion's den.

The nicely manicured hand knocked on the milky-glassed door, and when a low come in, slipped from the room, you pushed the handle with a squeezed throat.

And then... you saw her.

Your knees nearly buckled, heart fluttered with warmth filling your chest, and mind suddenly went blank.

As the woman who sat behind the desk must have truly been a descendant of a Goddess herself. Lavender eyes traced your body, dark locks smooched her cheeks and lips, crimson red, curving into a little smile.

The white shirt was tight around her chest, and a single thin necklace nestled between her plush breasts. Long cherry nails tapped on the desk, filling the silent room.

"Close the door, sweets," she said, taking in the sudden warmth that hit your cheeks.

With a shy oh, you pushed the heavy glass, separating you two from the commotion and whispers outside. Her office was mostly made of glass walls, but the milkiness of their structure allowed for a bit of privacy.

On the one side, it certainly was good.

But on the other hand, you felt ashamed of the wetness beginning to pool in your panties. The heat bubbling in your stomach, fingers fiddling with the edge of your skirt, and only now did you realise how truly short it was.

"Good morning boss, I'm your n-new assistant," fuck, of course your voice failed you when it shouldn't!

Suguru hummed, finally standing up. Long legs, wrapped in loose trousers, moved in front of the desk before she leaned against its edge, head tilted.

Your figure didn't escape the heavy gaze for even a second, and so you wriggled awkwardly in place, trying to cover your naked thighs with miserable attempts.

"Come a bit closer, I don't bite," she chuckled, and the smoothest melody curled around your ears.

You walked towards her, cheeks burning and eyes unable to look away as her plump thighs spread when she sat on a desk. Thick and meaty, you wished to bite into them with a delicious moan, before slipping up to–oh dearst heavens!

You shouldn't have such nasty thoughts about your boss!

With fingers lightly pinching your thighs, just to wake yourself up for the delirious, lustful dream, you finally stood in front of her.

The sweet fragrance of her perfume tickled your nose, and a devil perched on your arm whispered minx-like temptations to lean in and lick the sweetness of her milky neck.

Oh, perhaps you should consider resigning immediately.

"So you're my new assistant, hm?" she asked, noticing the red lace bra peeking through your shirt.

"I am, boss." You noticed her gaze and mentally slapped yourself. You may or may not have forgotten to do the laundry. "I'm s-sorry, I'll work on my attire. It's just that this morning–"

But Suguru just giggled, reaching for your skirt and tugging at the hem. As her fingers brushed your thighs, you were grateful for the extra pair of panties in your bag, since the ones you wore were too soaked to last the day.

"It's okay, sweets. Your attire is perfectly fine," she said, lavender eyes mingling like little stars.

Your lips parted, and you were nearly certain she could hear the rapid beat of your heart. Pounding as if it were about to cause a cardiac arrest any second.

"Oh," slipped quietly, as your gazes crossed. "Manager Shoko said–"

"It doesn't matter what she said. I like your skirt," and before you could respond, she straightened up, towering at least a head taller. "You can get back to work now. I'll call if I need anything."

And thus, since that day, Suguru, for the first time, seemed to be bewitched.

Maybe it was the loveliness of your face, or maybe the way your soft voice wrapped around her senses in the most pleasurable way.

The employees soon noticed the special treatment she seemed to shower you with – your favourite coffee waiting on your desk each morning, a pair of new heels under your desk since you broke the other pair the other day, and a workload much lighter than your teammates'.

Your desk was placed right next to Suguru's office, yet still within the shared area. As a result, people who had always taken the utmost pleasure in not seeing the boss for a whole day now seemed to walk on eggshells.

As Suguru slipped from her office much more often than she used to. Only to come to your desk and have a little, lovely chitchat as if nothing in this world mattered more than hearing your chipper at least five times a day.

Sometimes she would invite you to lunch, and other times she shooed away Satoru, whose crystal gaze quickly noticed the new sweet assistant. Her closest, most irritating friend, who took a special pleasure in flirting with you in the nastiest, cheeks-heating ways.

And when you got more comfortable, noticing that Suguru seemed as interested in you as you were in her... the big flirtation war had started.

You – bending in front of her desk, because, oh, boss, it seems you dropped a pen! Miniskirt lifting up to show your red laced panties with a little wet spot right on your pussy.

Her – flushing cherry red, wriggling on the leather chair in an uncomfortable manner, and throwing another pen right in front of her eyes.

You – coming to her with each silly problem, just to chirp foolishly like a sweet birdie and look at her with round, doe eyes.

Her – coming to your desk and bending over, until the heavy breasts pressed against your arm and lips were mere millimetres from your heated ear.

You – flirting back with Satoru, biting your lip with a giggle.

Her – inviting you to her office after hours, only to fuck you like a madwoman with a long, pinkish strapon.

Your ass red from all the gentle slaps, tits pressed to her desk, and tears rolling down your cheeks whenever the round her smooched your cervix.

She would lean in and lick a long stripe up your spine, just to leave crimson kisses across your heated skin.

"Do you like to see me jealous, sweets?" Her voice curled around your earlobe as she shoved the silicone toy up to your belly.

Nothing but wet squelches and your moans filled her dark office as you tried to keep yourself steady on her desk. With fingers gripping the edge and hips rolling back, just to meet her every brutal thrust.

"Mmm," a cry fell past your lips, as her fingers slipped down your hips and flickered over your swollen clit. "B-Boss, I–ahhh–I'm s-sorry!"

She chuckled, rolling the hardener bud between her fingers. "Are you? It seemed you enjoyed yourself quite a lot."

With a single move, she rolled you over. Back pressed to the desk, thighs glued to the chest, till she pushed you into a mean, mating press.

"No, I–fuck–I didn't," another cry rolled as she pushed the dildo even deeper.

Till her hips met yours and tight cunt moulded under the thick, drenched toy. The sight of her full hips and jiggling breasts made your head spin. Saliva trickled down your chin, and she brushed it away with a low giggle.

"So you think my eyes are lying?" She leaned in until her heavy breasts pressed against yours. "Tell me, sweetie, do you think your boss is lying? Or maybe you just want to get fucked stupid in front of Satoru, hm? I think she would be quite happy–ah!"

A low, satin moan slipped past her lips as your fingers rolled her nipples, giving them a gentle squeeze. She looked utterly beautiful, bewitching, with crimson lipstick smeared on her cheek and a little heart twinkling behind her eyes.

Her pace was maddeningly ruthless, pumping you full with a thick cock and melting you beneath her fingers. She soon cut her three nails short, only to have a better time with your always drenched cunt.

As when she wasn't fucking you mad with a silicone cock – she had your spread on her office sofa.

With you sucking on her breasts and her pumping all three digits deep into your swollen pussy. Raven hair stuck to her flushed cheeks, and her teeth bit down on lower lip whenever you moaned around her hardened bud.

"Mommy–mmm–you taste so fucking good," a whimper hit her sensitive breasts as you slurped at the heaviness of her breasts.

The fat was spilling from between your fingers, sweet buds deep in your throat, as she bent her fingers to hit your sweet spot.

"Am I?" she asked, brushing a loose strand of your hair with another hand. "You would love to drink mommy's milk, wouldn't you?"

A quick nod shook your head as you allowed your face to get squished between her breasts. "Mhm, I wish you would get pregnant so I could suck on your tits every single day."

You soon left her breasts, only to go down, and down, tracing wet kisses across her belly, hips, till finally folding her legs to bury yourself in the sweetness of her cunt.

Nothing turned you on more than seeing her always so serious face twisted in pleasure, as you drank the hefty juices dripping down your throat. Your lips wrapped around her swollen clit, and two fingers slipped inside to feel the warm walls clench around your digits.

You loved feeling her thick thighs wrap around your head – pulling you closer, cutting off the air until you could breathe and eat nothing but the creaminess of her pussy. She tasted oh so heavenly, making your own cunt drench on the sofa and thighs clench in painful need.

"Mhm, sweets, you're doing so well," she purred, brushing your hair. "My cute little assistant."

You looked up to her with teary eyes, brows furrowed in pleasure. "Do you feel good, mommy?"

Your lips sucked on her clit, and she bent into a delicious arc. "So good, fuck, come on sweetie, make me cum."

You nodded, pumping your fingers faster, meaner. Hitting her spot with every bent, slurping on the clit till her walls finally clenched hard around your digits and sweet ambrosia gushed down your throat.

You drank everything she gave you. With crossed eyes and juices dripping down your chin, overstimulating her pussy with a maddening pumping.

Till she finally needed to rip you away and pull closer, only to close your lips in a messy, drenched kiss. With plush lips smooching yours and a heavy fragrance wrapping around your senses.

As she tugged at your hair to pull you back, only a silver thread connected your swollen lips.

"Am I a g-good assistant?" you cried, feeling her thumb brush your heated cheek.

A sly smile tugged on her lips as he tilted her head. "Of course, sweetie. A fucking employee of the month."

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Dear Anon and everyone else, I hope you enjoyed it! Btw I still have a few free spots on my wlw taglist!

where bodies press together beneath flashing lights. the scents of cologne, fruit punch, and beer linger in the air. and red solo cups litter every flat surface. a psi bau party ™ is exactly what you need after toji fushiguro dumped you, very publicly, for a sorority girl. 

the aftermath of your split tastes like cheap vodka and dregs of regret. sour and acrid on your tongue.

psi bau has enough alcohol to numb the prickle in your spine from the people staring at you. but it doesn’t have enough liquor to dull the subtle ache in your chest.

it’s an ache that persists despite the fact that you’re not even remotely heartbroken. you’re never invested enough for that. you weren’t in love with toji. not even close. what you’re feeling is something else entirely.

irritation. you’re irritated. irritated at the way eyes follow you with morbid curiosity, waiting for you to shatter. irritated by the whispers trailing after you from the kitchen to the living room. irritated, because your time’s been wasted. again.

“did you hear ? he already took someone else upstairs. poor thing”

‘poor thing ??’ please. you lean against the beer pong table and stare the girl down. she quickly pretends to be very interested in the contents of her solo cup.

you adjust the hem of your top and let your face settle into something more indifferent. across the room, toji emerges with the brunette in greek letters tucked under his arm like an accessory. she giggles, looking extremely pleased with herself. how cute.

“ignore them” shoko says, brows furrowing as she follows your line of sight, “he’s not worth it, and she certainly isn’t either”

you turn away, the sight of toji and his new plaything is less painful than the concern etched across shoko’s features. you don’t want her concern, you want another drink. 

“sugu can you make me another dirty shirley ?” you sigh, fingers brushing against his as you hand him your empty solo cup, “please. and make it strong , i can’t deal with this sober”

“anything for our ‘unofficial frat princess’” he grins, disappearing off into the kitchen before you can throw anything at him

utahime shifts closer to you, her shoulder bumping yours  “so what exactly happened with toji earlier ?”

you swallow. you could tell them about the argument you had in his car. about him calling you a prick tease because you still wouldn’t have sex with him – in your defense, you didn’t have to, and you certainly wouldn’t be getting it on in psi bau’s parking lot – or you could avoid another pity party. you choose the latter, “it’s really nothing, he wanted me to rush his sister sorority”

shoko lets out a snort, “you ? join a sorority ?”

“exactly” you scoff, “he wanted me to fully commit to being his plus-one at all the boring philanthropy events. he wasn’t very thrilled when i told him i’d rather shit in my hands and clap”

“that’s not grounds for a break up. . what are we ?twelve ?” shoko sneers, “i knew his ego was fragile but holy shit that’s pathetic”

“it wasn’t just about frats and sororities though” you add, weaving a half-truth into the lie “the fight started because he has some bizarre issue with my friendship with suguru”

“what a hypocrite” utahime says dryly, “he hangs out with his exes too and he was hooking up with half the girls in that stupid sorority every time you two were ‘on a break’”

you nod, “he was, but i couldn’t care less, it was never that deep”

shoko watches you over the rim of her solo cup “it’s never ‘that deep’ with you”

you frown slightly. “that’s not true”

“for someone who’s got history with like half the guys in this frat—”

“it was all casual” you interject sharply

“—suguru, souta, toji, and what was it . .? like three athletes ?”

“it was two actually” you correct, your jaw tight

she waves her hand dismissively, “have you ever been in healthy, fully-committed relationship ? ”

you open your mouth, a protest ready on your lips, and close it just as quickly. you have nothing tangible to say.

utahime presses, her voice softer  “have you ever allowed anyone to be in love with you ?”

the music seems to recede, the thumping bass replaced by the erratic thudding of your heart. suguru hands you your dirty shirley. you thank him absentmindedly.

“well ?” shoko prompts, arms crossed over her chest

“well, stop interrogating me” you retort, taking a drawn out sip from your crimson solo cup. rum and sickly sweet grenadine seep over your tongue. “i could make anyone at this party fall in love with me if i actually wanted them to”

utahime nearly chokes on her drink “righttt. . . ”

“wanna bet?” you grit your teeth, “i could have anyone wrapped around my finger in like . . ten days”

silence falls around your little circle. shoko and utahime exchange a look that’s a mix of disbelief and intrigue. 

 “aren’t we too old for stupid bets ?” suguru splutters

“i’m not too old for anything” you scowl, “because i’m quite sick of you guys acting like i’m hard to love”

“are you serious. . .” shoko says, it’s more of statement than a question

“oh, i’m dead serious” you reply, a smile playing on your lips “ten days. . or less. i’ll have someone head-over-heels in love with me before you can say six-seven”

“you’ll get bored by day three and start looking for an out that doesn’t involve hurting their feelings, which will obviously hurt their feelings even more” utahime murmurs

“i’m not the one who gets bored” you scoff

“regardless, it’s a terrible idea” suguru groans, dragging a hand through his dark hair, “it might be your worst one yet, and that’s saying something.”

“if i win” you continue, eyes gleaming as you look at each of them in turn, “i get to use suguru’s car for a month. and you” you point at suguru, “are going to campaign for me. i want to be psi bau’s princess”

suguru looks physically ill. “my car ?! you drive like you have nine lives. . and you hate greek life ! isn’t that the reason why you and toji–”

“semantics” you cut him off, “imagine the look on toji’s face when he has to attend a meeting about me”

“i thought you didn’t care about toji” shoko raises a brow

“i don’t, but i love being petty” you say, “if i don’t get someone to fall in love with me then i’ll just stay away from guys for a bit. happy ? ”

shoko shakes her head, “you’re gonna stay away from guys for the rest of the year”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face, “that’s insane i’m only using the car for a month”

“three months then” suguru counters, “no dating and absolutely no stupid situationships” 

“fine” you agree, perhaps a little too quickly, “but if i have to be a chud, i want your car for three months too, not just one and i’m not paying for your gas”

“fine” he groans, “but for the love of everything holy don’t crash my baby”

“oh, and no flirting with anyone if you lose” shoko adds, “if you’re looking at a guy for more than ten seconds, it counts”

you sigh, glancing back across the room. toji’s disappeared with the brunette again. “fine”

“okay” shoko says, leaning against the sticky beer pong table. her expression is solemn, like this is a board meeting rather than a frat party, “glad we’re all on the same page. pick your next victim”

you roll your eyes but you let your gaze sweep across the room. your vision swims throughout the sea of jocks, frat boys, and stoners. 

“shiu ?” utahime suggests, “he’s not that bad”

“toji’s best friend ? absolutely fucking not.” shoko shoots that down immediately, “they’re practically the same person”

“not nanami” you murmur, spotting the tall blond man near the staircase, “we’ve got too many mutual friends,”

“ryomen ?” utahime offers, nodding towards the left side of the living room

sukuna is leaning against the wall, looking like he’s allergic to joy. you wrinkle your nose, “hard pass. he’s literally unc and he hates everything and everyone,”

“choso ?”

“absolutely not” you laugh, “yuki would never speak to me again” 

“higuruma ?”

you shake your head, “he’s pre-law, he’d figure it out almost immediately, and we have so many classes together. it’s not worth it”

“suguru ? souta ?” shoko prompts, half-joking. suguru looks positively mortified

“been there, also been there. plus souta hates me” 

“see ?” utahime says, gesturing vaguely at the collegiate crowd “everyone here knows you and your track record. you’ve already lost the bet”

your lips part, ready to argue but then you see him. and the words die on your tongue

across the room souta weaves through the crowd like he owns the place. his toned arm is slung over someone who looks like a carbon-copy of him. same snow-white hair. same bright blue eyes. same looming height. but where souta is all loose shoulders, cocky smiles, and chaos, this guy is . . . the exact opposite. his jaw is clenched and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. cute

“toru c’mon” souta’s laughter carries over the music, “just one shot ! you’ve been doomscrolling that stupid interview script for hours”

“it’s not stupid” his twin snaps, adjusting his glasses with an irritated flick as they slide down his nose. “i have to prepare, the first round is tomorrow and i don’t want to smell like tequila during the selection process”

“you’re basically already dead inside, what’s a little liver damage ? ” souta groans, “live a little !”

“i’d rather live responsibly. unlike you”

“i’m plenty responsible” souta mumbles, but he finally gives up, throwing his hands in the air before slinking off to the kitchen. his twin retreats to the wall right across the beer pong table, completely out of place. he pulls out his phone, the screen’s blue glare reflects off his lenses.

“i didn’t know souta had a twin” you muse, setting your solo cup down on the edge of the beer pong table. a drop of your dirty shirley trickles down your knuckle. you absentmindedly lick it away. your friends follow your gaze across the room.

“uhh you had a thing with souta freshman year” shoko sighs, “how the hell don’t you know ?”

“souta and i never did much talking” you shrug, unable to tear your eyes away from the wallflower “so what’s the deal with his brother ?”

“that’s satoru” utahime quips, “the ‘other’ gojo. the one who actually uses his brain. he’s here on a full-ride even though their family’s filthy rich. perfect gpa, founder of the campus coding club and head of the debate team. your typical overachiever”

you study him as he frowns at whatever is on his screen. “he’s kind of cute” you admit, biting back a genuine smile.

“no” suguru says immediately, cadence firm and rigid “absolutely not, don’t even think about”

“please” shoko snorts into her drink, “you’ll have him questioning every single one of his life choices in seconds ”

“what ?” you whirl around to face them, arching a brow defensively “why the hell are you guys acting like i’m some evil man-eater ?”

“because” suguru says slowly, gesturing to where satoru stands, “that is souta’s identical twin brother”

“i’m aware of the concept of twins, suguru” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, “i’m not that stupid”

“and you” he continues, undeterred “are you.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean ?”

“it means” utahime says, soft brown eyes pouring into yours, “you suck at relationships. you always end up really hurting people. and we know you don’t mean to–”

“i don’t suck at relationships” you huff defensively, folding your arms over your chest, “and i haven’t actually hurt anyone”

“you went out with souta for three weeks” suguru points out, “and then he spent the rest of the semester listening to juice wrld and xxxtentacion”

“we wanted different things !” you insist, though the memory of souta’s wounded puppy-dog eyes after you ghosted him flashes in your mind

“he wanted a girlfriend” utahime deadpans. “you wanted someone to go to parties with”

“and toji ?” shoko presses, “let’s not even get started on the last couple of months”

“toji doesn’t count.” you retort, “he’s a walking red flag ! he’s the one who’s avoidant. not me” 

“i don’t think your therapist would agree with that statement” suguru snickers, “speaking of, when last did you see her because i think you should have a session as soon as possible”

( frankly, your therapist wouldn’t agree with any of this. she’d never approved of your love life anyway )

“okay, that’s enough” you look away before the irritation crawling up your spine can show on your face. you can’t believe this. your own friends, painting you as some heartless siren. it’s beyond insulting

( heaven forbid a girl isn’t the best at romance )

“look” suguru says, his tone softening as he follows your gaze back to satoru, “satoru isn’t like the guys you usually go for”

“and that’s the understatement of the century” shoko adds, “unlike the rest of these meatheads, he doesn’t care about popularity, or parties. hell, he barely cares about anyone who isn’t in the honors college.”

“he’ll be impossible to wrap around your finger” utahime agrees, “you didn’t even know he existed five minutes ago. plus, you’re literally polar opposites. you like partying. he likes engineering. it would never work”

across the room, satoru shifts against the wall. his discomfort is blatant even from a distance. someone tries to hand him a red solo cup and he declines with a barely perceptible shake of his head, his blue eyes never leaving his phone. he’s completely unimpressed by everything around him

you watch him a beat too long before murmuring, “exactly” you lower your cup slowly, glossy lips curving into a smile

shoko narrows her eyes suspiciously, “exactly what ?”

“exactly why it has to be him” you say, “the whole point of the bet isn’t to prove i can make some jock or frat boy fall for me. it’s to prove that i can make anyone fall in love with me. what’s the point of an easy win ?”

suguru lets out a long, pained groan “oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”

“you said he’d be impossible” you continue, your gaze drifting back to satoru. your target is typing out something with an admirable degree of focus, thumbs flying across his sceen. his brows are slightly furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line. he exhales slowly, as if he’s counting down the seconds until he can leave.

“well, i think i’ll have him hooked in ten days” you grin

suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, “i’d rather call the bet off and let you drive my car for free”

“why ?” you ask, completely perplexed, “what’s the big deal ?”

“the big deal” suguru says, lowering his voice to a whisper, “is that satoru is actually a really good guy. and if you make him fall for you because of this stupid bet and whatever issues you still haven’t resolved in therapy and souta finds out. . . he won’t just be mad at you. he’ll murder me.”

“relax sugu” you murmur, “it’s pretty harmless. if he doesn’t fall for me, you guys are right and i’ll take a break from guys. if he does fall for me i’ll be with a good guy for once – which nitta will love! it sounds like a win-win to me” 

utahime squints at you, “you’re not actually going to date him”

“why not ?” you counter, “he’s smart, he’s cute, and – no offence sugu – he’s definitely an upgrade from all my exes”

“because by all accounts satoru gojo is the most nerdy, boring person on this campus” shoko insists bluntly, “and you get bored very easily”

“i don’t get bored easily” you frown, “and i don’t appreciate this mischaracterization from my so-called best friends”

“that’s beside the point” utahime interjects, “a relationship built on deceit is good for nothing . .”

“i’m begging you” suguru pleads, digging his fingers into his temple, “just pick someone else”

you’re not sure if this impulsive decision stems from the liquor thrumming beneath your skin, or your infinite insecurities. but your mind is completely made up.

your gaze drifts back to satoru again. his eyes lift from his phone for a moment – sweeping across the room, passing over you like you’re just another person getting drunk by the beer pong table – before returning to the illuminated screen in his hand. you don’t even exist to him

“see ?” utahime says pointedly beside you, “he didn’t even notice you !”

you smile thoughtfully, you’ve never had to chase anyone before. you’ve never wanted to try, you’ve never had to but . . “now, i want this even more”

“that is the worst possible thing you could’ve said” suguru inhales sharply, “i’m a dead man, souta’s going to kill me . . .”

“he’s going to kill all of us” utahime sighs, “shoko, why the hell would you entertain this ?”

“i just asked a simple question, don’t throw me under the bus” shoko says, holding her hands up defensively, “ we, yes we, are all responsible for this”

satoru gojo stands by the wall, blissfully unaware that he’s just become the center of your very bad idea. he’s the only person who hasn’t looked at you twice tonight. and you are very determined to change that.

masterlist day zero ⇆ day one

── .✦ mimi’s notes: first chapter everybody twerk! going on the record to say that this series is nothing like the movie but i don’t wanna spill too much ( wink wink )

The surf school was a small operation tucked behind a row of rental shacks near Lahaina. A hand-painted sign read “Maui Wave Riders – No Experience? No Problem.” You showed up fifteen minutes early on the first day, sunscreen already sweating off your arms, and joined a group of five other beginners milling around on the sand. Two college guys from California, a couple on their honeymoon, and a woman in her forties who kept checking her watch like she had somewhere better to be.

Then Gojo showed up.

He jogged down the beach carrying three boards under one arm like they weighed nothing, white hair shoved under a backward baseball cap, board shorts hanging low on his hips. “Morning, wave warriors!” he called out, voice loud enough to scatter a few nearby seagulls. “Who’s ready to get absolutely destroyed by the ocean today?”

The group chuckled nervously.

He dropped the boards with a thud and clapped his hands once. “Alright, quick roll call. I’m Gojo, your ridiculously talented instructor. I’ve been surfing these waters since I could walk, so trust me when I say I’ve seen worse than whatever you’re about to do out there.” His eyes skimmed the group and landed on you. “New face. You from Honolulu? You’ve got that city-girl posture.”

You blinked. “Yeah. How’d you—”

“City girl it is,” he said, already moving on. “Let’s get you all suited up before the sun decides to cook us alive.”

The first hour was mostly on the sand. Gojo demonstrated pop-ups with exaggerated slowness, then yelled corrections while everyone practiced on dry land. He was everywhere at once—fixing the honeymoon husband’s grip, teasing the California guys about their “mainland form,” and somehow remembering the watch-checking woman’s name after hearing it once.

You kept falling during the pretend pop-ups. Your arms shook, and sand stuck to the backs of your thighs in gritty patches.

“Easy, rookie,” Gojo said, appearing beside you without warning. He placed one hand on your waist to steady you as you tried again. His palm was warm, calloused from years of paddling. “Bend your knees more. you look like you're waiting for a bus”

You wobbled and dropped back to the sand. “I feel like a newborn giraffe.”

“Giraffes can’t surf,” he shot back, grinning. “You’re doing better than that guy over there.” He jerked a thumb toward one of the college dudes who’d just face-planted dramatically. “At least you’re not dramatic about it. Yet. Come on, try it without looking like you’re about to file a complaint with HR.”

By the time you actually got in the water, the sun was high and relentless. The waves were small, beginner-friendly, but they still felt like they held personal grudges. You managed to stand up twice—brief, glorious seconds—before the board shot out from under you and you ate it hard. Saltwater burned your nose. When you surfaced, coughing, Gojo was already paddling over on his own board, laughing.

“Ten out of ten for commitment,” he said, offering a hand to help you back onto your board. “Zero out of ten for grace. Classic city girl move. You fall like you’re texting and walking at the same time. Or maybe you’re just trying to hug the ocean. Either way, entertaining.”

“Stop calling me that,” you grumbled, but took his hand anyway. His grip was firm, steadying.

“Can’t. Forgot your actual name already. Too many new people.” He winked, then paddled backward. “Try not to drown. I don’t get paid enough for lifeguard duty. Though I’d look great doing it. Sunglasses and everything.”

The rest of the lesson blurred. Gojo flirted shamelessly with everyone. He told the honeymoon wife her form was “elegant as hell” and fake-pouted when her husband splashed him. He called the California guys “bro” every other sentence and pretended to steal one of their boards. With you, the teasing kept coming. After your third fall he yelled from twenty feet away, “Nice splash! You training for the Olympics or just showing off for me? Wait, don’t answer that—I already know it’s the second one.”

You wanted to throw your board at his head. Instead you paddled harder and ignored him, muttering under your breath about cocky instructors who talked too much.

After the last wave, everyone dragged their boards back to shore. Your legs felt like jelly. Sand caked your knees and there was a suspicious amount of it in your bikini top. Gojo tossed you a faded blue towel from the pile near the shack. It hit you square in the chest.

“Dry off before you attract every crab on the beach,” he said. Then, without asking, he reached over and tugged the strings of your bikini top tighter. “This thing’s loose. Don’t need any wardrobe malfunctions on my watch. I’ve seen enough of those this season.”

Your face heated. “I can tie my own—”

“Clearly not tight enough,” he interrupted, already stepping back. “There. Now you won’t flash the tourists. You’re welcome, city girl.”

The group dispersed slowly. You sat on the sand, wringing out your hair, when Gojo dropped down beside you holding two plastic cups of shaved ice from the nearby stand. He had sauce on his shirt from something he’d eaten earlier, and his cap was on crooked.

“Peace offering,” he said, shoving the red one toward you. “Cherry for the newbie who ate the most waves today. Don’t say I never did anything nice.”

You took it, the cold cup instantly numbing your fingers. “Thanks. You don’t have to—”

“I know.” He spooned a massive bite of blue ice into his mouth and spoke around it. “But you looked like you were about to melt. Or cry. Or both. Figured sugar would help. Plus I already paid for it so don’t waste it. I’m not made of money, you know.”

The second lesson started late because Gojo showed up fifteen minutes after the scheduled time, half a breakfast burrito in one hand and sauce on his chin. “Traffic,” he mumbled around a bite, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a smear. “Or maybe I hit snooze. Who remembers? My bad. Summer schedules, right?”

He spent the dry-land warm-up doing handstands for no reason, sand flying everywhere. “Watch this!” he yelled, then immediately toppled over laughing. Sand went everywhere, including into your water bottle. You snorted despite yourself.

“Child,” you said, shaking your bottle.

“Proud of it,” he replied, upside down for a second before collapsing. He shook sand out of his hair like a dog. Some of it landed on your leg. “Your turn, surfer girl. Impress me with those city moves.”

“No thanks. I’m trying to survive the actual surfing part. And you got sand in my drink.”

In the water he was still talking too much. Every time you wiped out he had a comment ready. “That one had style! Too bad style doesn’t keep you on the board. Maybe next time aim for the wave instead of the sandbar.” One joke about your paddling form landed so flat that the honeymoon husband winced and changed the subject. You paddled away and focused on the waves instead, wondering why you’d signed up for this when you had two whole months to fill.

After that lesson the group stuck around for a beach bonfire someone had mentioned. Gojo helped stack the wood, mostly by handing pieces to other people while he talked nonstop about his worst student stories. Sparks popped against the darkening sky. The college guys passed around snacks from a cooler. You sat on a log, legs sandy, picking at a bag of chips and trying to brush off the grit that kept sticking to your thighs.

Gojo plopped down next to you, closer than necessary, his knee bumping yours. “Not bad today, rookie. You stayed up longer on that last one. Almost looked like you knew what you were doing.”

“Yeah, until I didn’t.” You brushed sand off your calf, then reached for another chip.

He shrugged, then reached over and pressed a cold can of soda against the back of your neck without warning. You jumped at the chill. “Brain freeze prevention,” he said casually. “You seemed off after that third fall. Work emails again? Or just tired of my amazing instruction? Teachers get summers off, right? Lucky.”

You nodded, taking the can when he finally handed it over. The cold felt good against your skin. Across the fire, the watch lady was struggling to open a stubborn bag of marshmallows. Gojo hopped up immediately, nearly tripping over the log. “Here, let me. These things hate everyone.” He tore it open with his teeth, spilling a few into the sand, then helped her skewer a few on a stick. The lady laughed and thanked him. He waved it off like it was nothing and sat back down, wiping his hands on his already messy shorts.

You watched him for a moment—the easy way he’d jumped in even after forgetting half the group’s names earlier, the way he launched right back into a dumb story about a tourist who tried to surf with a GoPro attached to his forehead and nearly lost it to a wave. He kept talking, forgetting a detail midway and backtracking, but the story still landed. Something clicked as you listened. Not the jokes or the confidence. Just him helping without making a big deal out of it, even while covered in sand and burrito sauce. You looked away, took a long sip of soda, and passed the bag of chips his way instead of saying anything.

Lesson three was the rainy one. Light drizzle turned the sand dark and the water choppier. Gojo showed up on time for once, but his board shorts had a new mystery stain down the side. “Don’t ask,” he said when you glanced at it. “I tripped carrying coffee this morning. Forgot the lid. Classic me.”

Everyone wanted to cancel but he talked them into one short session. “Come on, it builds character. Or pneumonia. One of the two. What’s a little rain between friends? You teachers deal with worse every day, right?” You fell more than usual. One wipeout left you with a minor scrape on your knee from the board’s fin. Gojo had you sit on the sand under the shelter of the rental shack while he dug through the first aid kit, muttering about how he always forgot where he put the good bandages.

“It’s barely anything,” you protested, wiping water from your face.

“Still.” He crouched in front of you, antiseptic wipe in hand. His touch was light, almost careful. “Don’t want it getting infected. Then you’d blame me and never come back for more of my top-tier teaching.” He blew on the spot gently to dry the wipe, then stuck a bandage on it. “There. Battle wound. Makes you look hardcore, princess. Just don’t tell the others I played doctor or they’ll all want one.”

“Thanks, Doctor Gojo.”

He laughed. “Don’t get used to it. I forget half my own stuff anyway.” He patted his pockets, realized he’d left his own towel back at the shack, and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his hands instead, leaving a wet streak across his stomach.

After the lesson the rain eased up. Most of the group headed out, but you and Gojo ended up walking toward a food truck a short distance down the beach. “I’m starving,” he announced, kicking a piece of driftwood ahead of him. “Burrito guy owes me after yesterday’s mess. I left my wallet there last week and he held it for me like a saint.”

You went along. The truck had tacos. Gojo ordered way too much—three for himself, plus extras—and then insisted on paying for yours when you reached for your wallet. “Instructor discount,” he claimed, even though the guy behind the counter just rolled his eyes and muttered something about Gojo always saying that. You sat at a rickety picnic table under a faded umbrella, eating while waves crashed nearby. He talked nonstop—about a bad wipeout from last season where he lost his board for two hours, about forgetting his keys in the surf shack twice this month, about how the honeymoon couple asked him for couple’s surf tips that were definitely not appropriate. You laughed despite the stress still lingering from wrapping up school emails before the trip. He noticed your quieter mood and launched into an even dumber story about the time he tried to teach a group of kids and ended up wearing a floatie as a hat until one of them cried laughing. Your taco nearly fell apart in your hands from laughing.

The next lessons passed quicker, with the group slowly thinning as people’s vacations ended. Gojo remained equal parts chaos and competence. He was late again once, showing up with the half-eaten burrito and complaining about forgetting his phone charger. He still teased, though less constantly now. “Nice recovery, trouble,” he’d say after a decent ride. The hand on your waist during stance checks became routine. He stole your sunscreen again but actually applied it properly this time, thumbs pressing into the tight spots between your shoulder blades without comment. The towel toss after every session stayed the same—sometimes missing and forcing you to chase it across the sand while he laughed.

One afternoon after the group had mostly cleared out, Gojo suggested grabbing shaved ice and walking the beach path instead of heading straight back. “Not a big deal,” he said, already heading toward the stand. “I’ve got nowhere to be and you look like you could use the extra sugar before the ferry. Plus I forgot my water bottle again, so I need something cold. Teachers probably have all kinds of summer plans, huh?”

You agreed. It wasn’t called a date. You just walked side by side, cups melting in your hands, stopping once so he could tie his shoe and complain about the sand getting everywhere in his shorts. He pointed out a crab scuttling sideways and made a bad joke about it being a better surfer than half the beginners he’d had that week. You kicked sand at him. He kicked some back, missing widely because he was distracted waving at a kid building a castle nearby. The kid’s mom looked stressed, juggling a cooler and a phone call. Gojo wandered over for a second, showed the boy how to pack the sand tighter for a taller tower, then returned like it was nothing, brushing his hands off on his shorts.

“Kid had the right idea,” he said, spooning more ice. “Build big, fall big. Kinda like your first few days out there.”

You rolled your eyes but kept walking. The path wound past some rental houses, and Gojo kept up a running commentary on random things—forgetting midway through a story about a local food spot and starting over. The shaved ice dripped down your wrist, sticky and cold. You wiped it on your towel, which he’d tossed at you earlier. By the time you reached the end of the path, the sun was lower and your legs were tired in that good way. He didn’t say much about the next lesson, just mentioned the time and waved as you headed toward the ferry dock.

A couple more lessons followed the same loose pattern. Gojo showed up late one day with wet hair from an early morning swim he’d decided to take on impulse. During one session he spent half the time in the water chasing after a loose board that got away, cursing loudly enough that a nearby family gave him dirty looks. “My bad!” he called back to them, then turned to you with a grin. “See? Even the ocean thinks I talk too much. What do they teach you in school about dealing with loudmouths?”

You were getting better though. Standing up on more waves, riding them farther. He noticed, adjusting your stance with that familiar hand on your waist. “Weight back a little, rookie. There you go.” After one solid ride, he met you on the shore with a cold can of soda, pressing it against your arm this time instead of your neck. “Not bad. You’re sticking around longer than I thought you would. Two months of summer? You planning to turn pro by the end?”

One evening after a decent lesson, the two of you ended up at the food truck again, this time splitting a basket of fries because he’d forgotten his wallet but the guy knew him. You sat at the same picnic table, watching the waves, while he rambled about a surf competition he’d entered last year and placed dead last in because he showed up late. You kicked his foot under the table when he exaggerated the story. He kicked back, laughing, then complained about the fries getting cold too fast.

The sun was still high most days, and there were plenty more lessons lined up across your two months off. You started taking the ferry more regularly, packing extra snacks in your bag that sometimes ended up shared when Gojo forgot lunch. He remained forgetful—leaving the first aid kit open one day, losing track of whose towel was whose—but the teasing mixed with those small things that kept you showing up. Sand stuck to your legs after every session. The sunscreen he borrowed without asking. The way he’d toss your towel and miss half the time, forcing you to chase it while he pretended not to notice.

Another afternoon, after the group was basically just you and a couple stragglers, Gojo stuck around longer than usual. The lesson ran a bit over because he got distracted showing off a trick to the remaining college guy. You helped gather the boards, and he tossed you yours with a grin. “See? Teamwork. Or whatever.”

You ended up grabbing drinks from a nearby stand—cold sodas again—and sitting on the sand a little farther down the beach where it was quieter. He stretched out, complaining about forgetting to bring his hat today and how the sun was going to kill him. You passed him the extra snack you’d packed, some chips, and he took them without hesitation, talking about a funny parent email he imagined teachers got during summer break. The conversation wandered—him forgetting the name of a local spot, you mentioning a chaotic field trip story from last school year. Nothing big happened. Just sand on your calves, the occasional kick at each other’s feet, and him spilling half his soda when he laughed too hard at his own dumb joke.

The summer stretched on, with more days ahead on the island. You headed back to the ferry that evening with wet hair and sandy flip-flops, already thinking about the next trip over. There was still more than a month left of your break, plenty of time for more wiped-out rides, more shaved ice, and whatever else came with showing up for lessons.

No one would have been able to resist him.

A few weeks into the classes, with the original group mostly scattered back to their real lives, new faces kept showing up. A pair of retirees from Texas who wanted to try something new before their cruise, three high school kids on a family trip who spent more time laughing than paddling, and a solo traveler from Seattle who kept asking Gojo for tips on the best poke spots. It kept things from feeling too quiet on the sand. Gojo still ran the sessions the same way—late half the time, talking too much, tossing towels that missed by a mile—but now there were fresh people for him to tease.

You were getting decent on the board by then. Not great, but you could ride most beginner waves without eating sand every time. Gojo noticed, of course he did. His hand on your waist during stance checks lingered a beat longer. The teasing had shifted too, lower voices when no one else was close, dumb jokes that felt aimed just at you.

It started after one lesson when the new group had cleared out. You were rinsing off at the outdoor shower near the shack, water cold against your shoulders. Gojo leaned against the post, watching with that stupid grin. “Not bad out there, trouble. Almost looked like a real surfer instead of a teacher on summer break.”

“Almost?” You shut off the water and grabbed your towel.

“Yeah. Still paddle like you’re grading papers.” He stepped closer, sand stuck to his legs, and tugged the towel out of your hands to drape it over your shoulders himself. His fingers brushed your collarbone. Neither of you said anything for a second. Then he tilted his head toward the rocks down the beach. “C’mon. Before the next group shows up.”

Behind the rocks, where the tide pools hid you from the main stretch, it happened fast. His mouth on yours, tasting like the cherry shaved ice he’d split with you earlier. The rocks were rough against your back but you didn’t care. Gojo’s hands were everywhere—sliding under the wet bikini top he’d tied too tight that morning, pulling the strings loose with one tug. “Been wanting to do this since you showed up looking all city-girl annoyed,” he muttered against your neck, voice rough.

You laughed, breathless, and yanked at his board shorts. “You’re still annoying.”

“Good. Means you’ll keep coming back.” He lifted you against the rock, one hand steady on your thigh. It was quick and messy, salt on your skin, his laugh turning into a groan when you bit his shoulder. Sand got everywhere. Afterward you both sat there catching your breath, his arm loose around you while waves lapped nearby. He tossed your towel at your face like always. “Don’t say I never clean up after class.”

That became the pattern. Lessons during the day with the rotating crew of new students—Gojo showing off for the high school kids, helping the retirees with their balance in that sneakily kind way that still got to you—then sneaking off after. Sometimes right there behind the rocks if the timing worked. Other times you took the ferry back together and ended up at the little apartment you’d rented for the summer, a studio with a view of the harbor and a bed that creaked under both of you.

One afternoon after a rainy session like the old days, the new group bailed early. Gojo drove you to your place in his beat-up Jeep, windows down, complaining the whole way about forgetting his keys again. “Left them in the shack. Again. You’d think I’d learn after the third time.”

Inside the apartment it was slower. He pushed you against the kitchen counter first, hands on your waist like he was correcting your stance, only this time his fingers dipped under your shorts. “You looked good out there today,” he said, mouth on your jaw. “Steady. Made me want to skip the rest of the lesson.”

You hooked a leg around him, pulling him closer. “Then stop talking and do something about it.”

He did. Lifted you onto the counter, dropping to his knees right there with the fridge humming behind him. His tongue worked you over until your fingers were in his white hair, tugging hard. When he stood up again, board shorts shoved down, he fucked you right on the edge, one hand braced beside you, the other gripping your hip. The cold can of soda from your fridge pressed against your neck at one point—he grabbed it mid-thrust and held it there, grinning when you shivered. “Brain freeze prevention, remember?”

You came hard, legs shaking, and he followed right after, messy and loud like everything else he did. Afterward you both ended up on the couch, half-dressed, sharing the rest of the soda while sand from your legs dusted the cushions. He rambled about a dumb tourist story from that morning, forgetting the punchline halfway through. You kicked his foot and he kicked back, laughing.

His penthouse was different. A few nights later he talked you into staying over instead of taking the last ferry. The place was nicer than you expected—big windows overlooking the water, but messy as hell. Boards leaned against the wall, empty soda cans on the counter, a towel draped over the couch like he’d forgotten it there days ago.

“Welcome to my palace,” he said, kicking clothes out of the way. “Don’t judge the decor. I’ve been busy.”

You didn’t judge. The place was a mess—surfboards propped against the wall, empty soda cans on the nightstand, a pile of board shorts and towels on the floor—but the second the door shut you were on each other. Gojo backed you straight into his bedroom, hands already shoving your bikini top up, mouth latching onto one tit while he palmed the other roughly. “Fuck, these have been teasing me all day under that top,” he muttered, sucking hard enough to leave a dark mark right where your bikini would hide it tomorrow.

He pushed you down onto the unmade bed, sheets already tangled from whenever he’d last slept. You yanked his board shorts down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking at the tip. Gojo grinned that cocky grin as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand. “Look at me,” he ordered when your eyes fluttered shut, sliding into you in one slow, deep thrust. You were soaked from the day’s tension, and he groaned loud as your pussy clenched around him. “That’s it, trouble. So fucking tight for your annoying instructor.”

He fucked you like that for a long time—slow and deliberate at first, hips rolling deep so his cock dragged against that spot inside you with every stroke. His free hand slid down to pinch your nipple, then moved lower to rub your clit in tight circles. You arched up, legs wrapping around his waist, but he held you right where he wanted, controlling the pace. “Say it,” he teased, voice low and rough as he ground against you. “Who’s the best instructor on this whole fucking island?”

“You’re the only one, idiot,” you gasped, trying to move your hips faster.

He laughed, dark and filthy, then flipped you over onto your stomach without pulling out. He gripped your ass with both hands, spreading you open as he started pounding harder. The wet slap of skin filled the room, his balls hitting your clit with every thrust. “Fuck yes, take it just like that. Been thinking about this pussy since you fell off that board the first day.” He reached around to rub your clit again, fast and rough, while his other hand fisted in your hair. You came hard, crying out into the mattress, pussy pulsing around his cock. Gojo didn’t stop, fucking you through it until your legs shook.

He pulled out, flipped you onto your back again, and shoved your legs up toward your chest. He thrust back in deep, hips snapping. Sweat dripped down his chest as he railed you, talking the whole time like he couldn’t help it. “Gonna fill this cunt up. You’re gonna feel me leaking out of you on the ferry tomorrow.” A few more brutal thrusts and he came with a groan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. He stayed there a minute, cock twitching, before pulling out and watching his cum drip from your pussy with a satisfied smirk.

You both collapsed, sweaty and spent, his arm slung over you while he complained about the sand still stuck to his back. “Found some in my ass crack earlier. Your fault.”

Even his car wasn’t off limits. One evening after a long lesson with the new retirees asking endless questions, Gojo pulled you into the Jeep parked behind the shacks. “Quick one before you ferry out,” he said, already tugging you into the back seat. It was cramped and ridiculous—your knee hit the door, his elbow knocked the seat—but he made it work, yanking your bikini bottoms aside and pulling you onto his lap.

His cock slid into you in one go, your pussy still slick from earlier thoughts about him. “Bet those Texas folks think I’m just giving extra pointers,” he grunted, hands on your ass guiding you up and down. “If only they knew I was balls deep in my favorite student.” The windows fogged fast as you rode him hard, the car rocking with every bounce. He sucked marks onto your tits, one hand slipping between you to rub your swollen clit until you were biting his shoulder to stay quiet. “Cum on my cock like a good girl,” he growled. You did, clenching tight around him. He followed right after, filling you up again with a low curse.

Afterward he wiped you both down with a random shirt from the floor, then drove you to the dock with his hand on your thigh, whistling like nothing happened.

The hooking up didn’t change the daytime stuff much. New students kept the lessons lively. The high school kids thought Gojo was hilarious when he did his handstand fails. One of the retirees brought extra snacks and shared them during breaks. Gojo still stole your sunscreen, still pressed cold drinks to your skin after hot sessions, still called you trouble or rookie when others could hear. But now there were these stolen moments—behind rocks with quick, desperate fucks where he covered your mouth so no one heard you moan; in your apartment where he stayed late and left his board shorts on your floor; in his messy penthouse where you woke up to him burning toast the next morning; in the car where everything felt urgent and stupid and perfect.

One afternoon with the group thinned to just you and the Seattle guy for a bit, Gojo kept the lesson short. Afterward he grabbed your hand and pulled you behind the rocks again. This time he bent you over a smooth boulder, yanking your bottoms down and thrusting into you from behind while waves crashed close enough to spray mist on your skin. His hand snaked around to rub your clit fast, mouth on your shoulder biting down. “Good girl, squeezing my cock so fucking tight,” he muttered when you came hard, clenching around him. He pulled out and finished on your back in thick stripes, then used your towel to clean it up, tossing it at you with a grin.

Back at the apartment that night it was lazier. You both showered together first, water running over sand and salt. He washed your hair without being asked, fingers careful, but it didn’t stay innocent long. He fucked you against the shower wall, your leg hooked over his hip, pounding deep until the water ran cold and you came again with his name on your lips. In bed after, he was half-asleep, arm around your waist, muttering something about forgetting to set an alarm for tomorrow’s lesson.

The summer kept going, weeks blending with lessons, new faces rotating in and out, and these hookups that left you sore in the best way. Gojo remained Gojo—late, messy, overconfident, talking too much—but you kept showing up anyway.

You zipped up the last duffel bag on the apartment floor, the sound loud in the quiet studio. Gojo sat on the edge of the unmade bed, legs kicked out, watching you like he was trying to memorize the way you folded your towels. The same faded blue one from the surf shack was stuffed in there somewhere, still smelling faintly of ocean and sunscreen.

“Two and a half months,” he said, not for the first time. “Every damn day. And now you’re just… packing.”

You didn’t look up right away. Your hands kept moving, shoving flip-flops into the side pocket. “Summer’s over, Satoru. I’ve got lesson plans due next week. Kids don’t care that I learned to stand on a board.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, white hair messy from the wind earlier. “Yeah, well. I got used to you showing up. Even when you were terrible at popping up. Especially when you were terrible.”

You finally glanced over. His usual grin was missing. He looked like a kid who’d lost his favorite toy—slouched, one foot tapping the floor. You sat on the bed next to him, shoulder bumping his. “I’ll come back. Teachers get three weeks at Christmas. And next summer’s already booked in my head. Maui again. Same stupid lessons.”

He snorted, but it sounded forced. “You better. Who else is gonna chase my towel when I miss the toss?” His hand found yours, fingers lacing tight. “I’m gonna be bored as hell. New groups every week, all of them asking dumb questions. No one to call me an idiot after I forget the first aid kit again.”

You squeezed back, throat tight. The last few weeks had been a blur of lessons with whoever showed up—more retirees, some honeymooners, a bachelor party that Gojo mocked relentlessly—and stolen time in between. Behind the rocks, in his Jeep, in this apartment where the bed still creaked from last night. Now it was quiet. Just the hum of the fridge and the distant harbor noise.

“I’m not exactly thrilled either,” you said, leaning into him. “Honolulu’s gonna feel small after this.”

Gojo pulled you closer, arm around your waist like he did during stance checks. “Stay one more night. Ferry tomorrow instead.”

“You said that yesterday.” You turned your head and kissed his jaw. “And the day before.”

He sighed, dramatic as always, but stood up anyway. “Fine. But I’m driving you to the airport. No arguments. And I’m stealing one of your sodas for the road.”

The drive was mostly quiet. Gojo’s Jeep rattled over the roads, windows down, his hand on your thigh like always. He complained about forgetting his sunglasses, then about the traffic, then about how the next instructor rotation was some guy who talked even more than him. You let him ramble, watching the island scenery slide by. Every now and then he’d squeeze your leg, like he was checking you were still there.

At the airport drop-off, he parked illegally for a minute, hazards on. You grabbed your bags from the back while he hovered. “Text when you land. And when you unpack. And when you remember how much you miss my shaved ice.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “I will. Promise. Christmas break, okay? I’ll book the ferry or whatever.”

He nodded, then cupped your face with both hands and kissed you. It wasn’t quick. Deep and a little desperate, his thumb brushing your cheek. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Don’t forget the instructor who taught you to surf. Or whatever.”

“Hard to forget.” You kissed him once more, quick, then stepped toward the doors. He watched until you were inside, hands in his pockets, that sad-slouch still there. You didn’t turn around again until security, and by then the Jeep was gone.

Two months later, you trudged up the stairs to your Honolulu apartment, keys jingling. The school day had been long—parent conferences, a kid puking in class, endless grading. Your shoulders ached like after a bad wipeout. All you wanted was a cold drink and to kick off your shoes.

The door across the hall was propped open. Movers carried in a surfboard and a pile of random junk—empty cans, towels, a familiar backward cap. You stopped, staring.

Gojo stepped out, wiping his hands on his shorts, white hair sticking up. He spotted you and grinned like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Hey, new neighbor. Took you long enough to get home from work."

You blinked, bags slipping off your shoulder. “What the hell?”

“Surprise.” He leaned against the doorframe, messy as ever. “Penthouse was too quiet without you yelling at me for being late. Figured Honolulu needed a surf instructor. Or at least one annoying one. Lease is month-to-month, so don’t get any ideas about me being permanent or whatever.”

You stood there, heart doing something stupid. The hallway smelled like his sunscreen already. “You moved here? For real?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were bright. “Had to. Couldn’t wait till Christmas. Plus, I forgot my favorite towel in your bag. Needed an excuse to see you every day again.” He kicked a box aside. “Come on. Help me unpack before I lose my keys in here. Then I’ll make you a shitty toast dinner like old times.”

You laughed despite the long day, crossing the hall. Sand from his shoes already dusted the floor. “You’re still impossible.”

So of course when you needed a friend, Satoru was there. And when your back was aching from sleeping in a weird position last night, rubbing your neck just a bit and gasping in pain? He was more than ready to offer you a massage.

"Toru, are you sure," you're blushing a bit when you slip off your top, laying down on his bed, feeling pretty blue eyes study you behind thick glasses. Your tits are just in a little bra, the material so thin he can likely see everything. "You don't have to rub my back."

"Studied massage sweetheart," he slips his fingers down your spine. "I know all the pressure points."

Being oiled down and massaged by Satoru Gojo felt a little too good, you may be arching into it more than a friend should. Your hands grip his soft blankets, you feel his cock pressed against your ass when he straddles you, running his fingers down your spine, unknotting those tight muscles.

"Feels s'good, mnh," you're whining out so fucking sexy Satoru leaks pre in his Digimon boxers. He bites back a moan, moving his hands lower, until be eases down your shorts just a bit.

"This okay? You have a lot of tension in your lower back."

"Mm, yes it's fine, oh... nghh..." Satoru pauses, his fingers are brushing over the dimples right over the curve of your ass.

You're moaning, fuck. His cock is twitching now, that pretty pink tip spurting so much it's leaking onto his pants. His hands brush lower again, pressing into the curve of your ass, each cheek gripped by his hands.

"Hmm," the wine hits now, you're soaking wet and that warmth is spreading from your body. "Y'know what's funny, Toru?"

"What sweetheart," he murmurs, easing your shorts down more. "This okay?"

"S'perfect," you sigh, reaching down to slip your shorts even further, Satoru’s pulse jumps just like his cock when you're only in a thong, pretty ass on display. "Sukuna always said he was gonna fuck me there."

"Fuck you... oh..." Satoru runs his fingers down your slit, pressing against the fabric. "In your pretty pussy?"

"No," you giggle and look back at him, seeing his cheeks dusted with a pretty pink. "The other hole."

"Your ass huh," he laughs softly, furious he ever touched you. "He didn't?"

"No, guess he's fucking his new girls ass but... I'd be down to try? Is that super-"

Satoru darts off of you.

"Toru?" You lean up and blink. But Satoru's back with five different bottles of lube, holding them out and grinning at you.

"I have warming, cooling, this one is flavored, this is silicon based -" he pauses, seeing your flustered state, before sitting down, tilting your chin up and kissing you. "I should kiss you first, before I talk about lube huh?"

You bury your face in his chest, eyes shutting as he rubs your back gently. "Are you sure you wanna try this with me?"

Oh he's dreamed of fucking all your holes forever.

So that's how Satoru Gojo - your best friend - ends up with you arched in front of him, lapping at least two stripes from your clit to your ass first - he's a gentleman after all - and then pulling your cheeks apart. He bares your cute holes to him, watching them clench so adorably, before he spits right in you, watching the bubble clear mess trickle out and down to your pretty cunt.

"Oh y-you... ah!" He spreads his spit around, up on his knees now, when you feel a cold squirt right on it.

"I'll take such good care of you pretty," his fingers slip right inside your hole. Stretching it with their thickness, you whine out at the sensation, Satoru rests over you, a hand gripping your hair at the base of your neck. "Can you arch that pretty ass a little more for me?"

Fuck.

Satoru Gojo - your nerdy best friend - is curling those fingers with a mean precision, the pressure is so intense you almost pull back from it.

"Ah ah, don't tighten up, you're already doing such a good job," he leans over you, swiping your hair off one shoulder to place soothing little kisses. "You're taking them so well."

"Toru..." He grins when you relax, when it starts to feel so good, ass gripping his fingers so tight he can't imagine how good it'll be when it's strangling his cock. "Feels good... so... ah..."

"That's it," he chuckles then, pulling back and squirting more lube on your hole, you hear the sounds of his zipper and look back, blushing when you see just how huge his cock is, leaking streams of white that drip down the bed. "Good girl."

The first press of Satoru's pretty pink tip burns your unused hole, he's squirting even more and pulling your ass cheeks apart with the other hand, exhaling. And that's when it starts to feel so good. you may or may not have completely forgotten Sukuna when he's shoving his thick length in you deeper, easing so you feel every fucking inch.

Satoru has studied extensively for this very moment - and wastes no time in burying his cock to the hilt, his heavy balls ready to breed you smacking your empty cunt. He leans over you, reaching around to rub your clit, feeling you clamp down on him, the spurts of lube dripping down his inner thighs.

"Ah! S-so deep I... s'much, Toru..." Your head falls back against his hard chest, hands clinging to the blankets as he sits there buried, pelvis flush against your ass, letting you adjust.

"Takin' all of me, god I can't wait to breed all your holes," your eyes roll back when he begins to move, fucking you so deep - the burn so intense you're close with a few strokes and rolls of his fingertips.

"Breed me?"

"Mhm," he grins against your neck, fucking your ass harder, pulling back off your clit to take your fingers and put them right there so you feel it twitching. "There you go, touch yourself for me."

Sukuna who?

It's hard to remember that man when Satoru Gojo's cock was pummeling your ass, with messy smacks, all while your phone keeps going off. You're screaming into the blanket when your cunt drools and spasms around nothing, orgasm smacking you so hard, the squelches and slaps of skin echoing in Satoru's room.

"Hmm, wanna get that sweetheart?" he leans over, shoving his cock deep and bottoming out, you scream out then, as he grabs your phone, chuckling again.

Was he a nerd really or a psycho?

Maybe both.

"Ah, seems his coke dealer isn't good at head, tsk," he hands you the phone, as if your fucked out self can function or see, leaning over you with his blue eyes focused on the messages. How Satoru unlocked your phone you'll have to figure out later. "Should tell him who's fucking your ass, huh? Should we answer the facetime?"

"You're ins-sane..." But you look back, smiling and nodding.

Sukuna is furious when he sees Satoru fucking you from the back, but nothing makes him madder than when you moan out -

"Oh f-fuck, Toru! Be easy, you know I've n-never been fucked there!"

"The fuck!?" Sukuna is furious, but also you look sexy, he's still high off coke so he can't help but feel his cock twitch.

"You really fucked up, God she's taking me so well," he shoves in deep and Sukuna has to watch your eyes roll back. "Don't worry, I'll take real good care of her."

Feeling Satoru's cum flooding your hole has you gasping, his fingers pumping in your cunt and curling, having your ass just milk him for all he's worth. His balls contracting as he floods you with all that cum he's waited so long to, watching it pour out in milky streams down your needy cunt was just too perfect.

Sukuna may call you over and over, he may jerk off and snort so much coke he passes out - but Satoru is wide awake. After washing you up carefully in the shower, he makes sure to let you feel his cock in your cunt, fucking you on the shower wall, pouring even more cum, he's just kept so much for his best friend.

So much he doesn't stop when you're in bed with him, and when you're just too sore, you decide to give Gojo his first blow job. <3

****

Gojo Satoru, The Country Star, Makes You Swoon in "Backseat Serenade"!

"Well, well...look who snuck backstage and decided to come crawlin' back to her favorite country boy. Guess city life wasn't as pretty as me, was it, darlin'?"

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse AU; Second Chance Romance; Unplanned Pregnancy; Famous Ex/Baby Daddy!Gojo x Baby Mama!Reader; Old College Romance; Exes to Lovers; MILF!Reader; Public Sex; Outdoor Sex; Pussy Eating; Gojo is a Munch; Tour Bus Sex; Mating Press; Riding; Tongue Piercing; Dick Piercing; Deepthroat; Breeding Kink; Creampie; Switchy!Gojo x Switchy!Reader

Read HERE!

Choso Kamo, The Farm Boy, Ruins The Friendship in "Good With His Hands"!

"I've always stayed your friend 'cause you're at the top of the social latter and me? I'm just the farm boy...but now that you're here, there ain't nothin' stoppin' me from tellin' you how I feel."

Warnings: 18+ (MNDI); No Curse AU; Shy/Nerdy!Choso x Popular Girl!Reader; He Falls First Trope; Social Class Difference; Childhood Friends Trope; Hand Kink; Lowkey Flirting; Sexual Tension; Friends to Lovers; Skinny Dipping; Crush/Love Confession; First Time PIV; Virgin!Choso x Experienced!Reader; Mild Sweat Play; Switch!Choso x Switch!Reader; Sloppy Toppy; Spitting; Sneaky Outdoor Sex; Pussy Eating; Fingering; Standing Missionary; One Leg Up; Almost Caught; Mild Choking; Tongue Piercing; Raw Creampie; Aftercare

Read HERE!

Nanami Kento, The Rancher, Tastes Your Goodies in "A Sweet Lil' Temptation"!

"I know I shouldn't feel these things for you. This primal need...but God, angel...you just entice me. Your heavenly cookin' don't make it no better for a man like me."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING 6/20/26!

Geto Suguru, The Outlaw, Steals Your Heart in "A Love Outlawed"!

"You ain't a bad lil' rider, partner. Maybe you can teach me some of your tricks sometime? Can't have ya outdoin' the best at his game."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

Sukuna Ryomen, The Gangster, Shows You One Hell of a Time in "In the Arms of Sin"!

"You think you can just come here, interrupt my beauty sleep, and order ME around? Nah, angel; ya ain't gettin' whatcha want 'round here till ya give me a reason to give it to ya."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

Shiu Kong, The Pimp, Wines n Dines You in "A Price For Paradise"!

"You've got the beauty. The brains. The lifestyle. You're the pinnacle of a Southern belle, my dear...and yet here you are, splittin' those legs for a dirty man like me."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

Toji Fushiguro, The Bull Rider, Takes You For a Ride in "Buckle Up, Bunny"!

"Playin' pool and shootin' the shit with the likes me, eh? Ya got a thang for bull riders, lil' darlin'? What ever will your poor auntie think?"

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

Higuruma Hiromi, The Sheriff, Teases n Disciplines You in "Teachin' The Bratty Belle"!

"I should keep your ass here till you've learned your lesson, but I've got somethin' better for ya. Somethin' a gal like you might enjoy."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

⌗ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

barcelona, spain — ryomen sukuna :: it was only supposed to be a vacation fling. You'd spend a few weeks in Spain, have fun, and go home. The problem is that every day with Sukuna makes leaving feel a little more impossible, and summer never lasts forever.

⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓

rio de janeiro, brazil — toji :: caught in a sudden downpour, you're forced to share an umbrella with a stranger who looks far less thrilled about the arrangement than you are. Unfortunately for both of you, the walk home takes nearly an hour.

⌗ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄

sydney, australia — sukuna :: every morning, the same infuriatingly attractive man beats you on your beach run by a few seconds. What starts as a silent rivalry quickly becomes an obsession neither of you is willing to admit.

⌗ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀

marrakech, morocco — geto :: one wrong turn leaves you hopelessly lost in the winding streets of Marrakech. Fortunately, a local guide named Suguru offers to help you find your way back—though neither of you seems particularly eager for the walk to end.

⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒

istanbul, turkey — higuruma :: lost and exhausted after escaping your tour group, you stumble into a quiet tea shop overlooking the water. What begins as a conversation with a handsome lawyer working remotely turns into a summer routine neither of you expected to need.

⌗ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐌 28

lisbon, portugal — gojo :: every morning, you end up sharing the same crowded yellow tram with a blue-eyed stranger. Neither of you knows the other's name, yet before long you're saving seats, sharing coffees, and dreading the day one of you stops showing up.

⌗ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈

busan, south korea — sukuna :: after getting separated from your friends during a crowded beach festival, you're rescued by the last person you'd ever want help from: a cocky stranger with a sharp tongue and an even sharper smile. One night beneath fireworks changes everything.

⌗ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 #12

okinawa, japan — toji :: your summer vacation starts badly when the grumpy surfer next door keeps stealing your porch chair. The prank war that follows is supposed to prove how much you dislike him, but somewhere along the way, it becomes something else entirely.

⌗ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓

venice, italy — gojo :: when you arrive in Venice for a summer abroad program, the last person you expect to become part of your routine is the annoyingly charming stranger you keep running into on boats, bridges, and narrow alleyways. As your final day approaches, Satoru starts acting strangely—almost like he's counting down the days until you'll leave him behind.

⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

bali, indonesia — geto :: After one disastrous year, you travel to Bali hoping to clear your head. Every morning, fresh flower offerings appear outside your villa, and every morning you wonder who keeps leaving them there—until you catch a quiet café owner in the act.

⌗ 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐒

maldives — higuruma :: A post-breakup trip to the Maldives sounds perfect until you're accidentally paired with the same reserved man for nearly every excursion the resort offers. Neither of you wanted company, yet somehow Hiromi Higuruma becomes the person you spend every sunset searching for.

⌗ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐍

new york city — gojo :: Every Friday afternoon, the same ridiculously handsome customer wanders into your bookstore asking for recommendations he never intends to read. What starts as harmless flirting slowly turns into the highlight of both your summers.

⌗ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

santorini, greece — geto :: When a pushy group of tourists refuses to leave you alone, you panic and claim the handsome stranger nearby is your boyfriend. Suguru plays along without hesitation—and for some reason, neither of you seems eager to stop pretending.

⌗ 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍

phuket, thailand — choso :: A sudden tropical storm traps you and a shy stranger inside a tiny convenience store with nowhere to go for hours. Between shared snacks and quiet conversations, what begins as bad luck quickly becomes your favorite memory of the entire trip.

fem reader ✦ vacation romance ✦ strangers to lovers ✦ summer flings ✦ holiday romance ✦ slow burn ✦ mutual pining ✦ emotional angst ✦ long-distance themes ✦ airport goodbyes ✦ temporary relationships ✦ happy endings ✦ bittersweet endings ✦ open endings ✦ kissing ✦ mentions of alcohol ✦ travel mishaps ✦ grief ✦ loneliness ✦ fear of commitment ✦ fear of abandonment ✦ emotional vulnerability ✦ suggestive content ✦ explicit content ✦ discussions of moving away ✦ separation themes ✦ happy reunions ✦

⌗ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

barcelona, spain — ryomen sukuna :: it was only supposed to be a vacation fling. You'd spend a few weeks in Spain, have fun, and go home. The problem is that every day with Sukuna makes leaving feel a little more impossible, and summer never lasts forever.

⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓

rio de janeiro, brazil — toji :: caught in a sudden downpour, you're forced to share an umbrella with a stranger who looks far less thrilled about the arrangement than you are. Unfortunately for both of you, the walk home takes nearly an hour.

⌗ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄

sydney, australia — sukuna :: every morning, the same infuriatingly attractive man beats you on your beach run by a few seconds. What starts as a silent rivalry quickly becomes an obsession neither of you is willing to admit.

⌗ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀

marrakech, morocco — geto :: one wrong turn leaves you hopelessly lost in the winding streets of Marrakech. Fortunately, a local guide named Suguru offers to help you find your way back—though neither of you seems particularly eager for the walk to end.

⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒

istanbul, turkey — higuruma :: lost and exhausted after escaping your tour group, you stumble into a quiet tea shop overlooking the water. What begins as a conversation with a handsome lawyer working remotely turns into a summer routine neither of you expected to need.

⌗ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐌 28

lisbon, portugal — gojo :: every morning, you end up sharing the same crowded yellow tram with a blue-eyed stranger. Neither of you knows the other's name, yet before long you're saving seats, sharing coffees, and dreading the day one of you stops showing up.

⌗ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈

busan, south korea — sukuna :: after getting separated from your friends during a crowded beach festival, you're rescued by the last person you'd ever want help from: a cocky stranger with a sharp tongue and an even sharper smile. One night beneath fireworks changes everything.

⌗ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 #12

okinawa, japan — toji :: your summer vacation starts badly when the grumpy surfer next door keeps stealing your porch chair. The prank war that follows is supposed to prove how much you dislike him, but somewhere along the way, it becomes something else entirely.

⌗ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓

venice, italy — gojo :: when you arrive in Venice for a summer abroad program, the last person you expect to become part of your routine is the annoyingly charming stranger you keep running into on boats, bridges, and narrow alleyways. As your final day approaches, Satoru starts acting strangely—almost like he's counting down the days until you'll leave him behind.

⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

bali, indonesia — geto :: After one disastrous year, you travel to Bali hoping to clear your head. Every morning, fresh flower offerings appear outside your villa, and every morning you wonder who keeps leaving them there—until you catch a quiet café owner in the act.

⌗ 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐒

maldives — higuruma :: A post-breakup trip to the Maldives sounds perfect until you're accidentally paired with the same reserved man for nearly every excursion the resort offers. Neither of you wanted company, yet somehow Hiromi Higuruma becomes the person you spend every sunset searching for.

⌗ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐍

new york city — gojo :: Every Friday afternoon, the same ridiculously handsome customer wanders into your bookstore asking for recommendations he never intends to read. What starts as harmless flirting slowly turns into the highlight of both your summers.

⌗ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

santorini, greece — geto :: When a pushy group of tourists refuses to leave you alone, you panic and claim the handsome stranger nearby is your boyfriend. Suguru plays along without hesitation—and for some reason, neither of you seems eager to stop pretending.

⌗ 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍

phuket, thailand — choso :: A sudden tropical storm traps you and a shy stranger inside a tiny convenience store with nowhere to go for hours. Between shared snacks and quiet conversations, what begins as bad luck quickly becomes your favorite memory of the entire trip.

fem reader ✦ vacation romance ✦ strangers to lovers ✦ summer flings ✦ holiday romance ✦ slow burn ✦ mutual pining ✦ emotional angst ✦ long-distance themes ✦ airport goodbyes ✦ temporary relationships ✦ happy endings ✦ bittersweet endings ✦ open endings ✦ kissing ✦ mentions of alcohol ✦ travel mishaps ✦ grief ✦ loneliness ✦ fear of commitment ✦ fear of abandonment ✦ emotional vulnerability ✦ suggestive content ✦ explicit content ✦ discussions of moving away ✦ separation themes ✦ happy reunions ✦