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You just didn't understand why your mom was so sceptical when you whined into the phone about the guy. Like, why did only you and your lawyer seem to take some random guy as a threat to your family's financial wellbeing? Oh god, did he try to charm away your mom too when she was visiting last summer?

And look, the ranch was actually, objectively, fine. Less impressive than you remembered from when you were twelve, but still pretty-ish. Green and wide, annoyingly picturesque, and okay, it had real potential. But that only meant getting rid of it would be easier.

You hauled your overstuffed weekender bag over your shoulder and marched up the steps of the wraparound porch. The wood groaned under your amazingly inappropriate shoes, but hey, slay was mandatory no matter where you go. You just needed to get inside, set up your phone hotspot, and start firing off emails alongside with financial and legal threats left and right.

You jiggled the front doorknob. Locked. Obviously.

You dug through your purse, aggressively shoving aside lip glosses and tampons on the loose, before you kinda realized that Shoko hadn't given you a key. She'd handed you a stack of folders, offered her condolences, and sent you on your way.

"Fantastic," you muttered. "Worth millions and I'm fucking locked out."

You dragged your bag down the steps again, heels clicking against the wood before sinking into the grass, and made your way around the side of the house. There had to be a back door. There was a back door, as far as you could remember. Maybe a loose window? You were NOT about to spend your first few hours of rural homeownership waiting on a locksmith in a town that probably only had one, if any.

You found the back door off a screened-in patio. You rattled that knob too. Also locked.

You knocked. Knocked again. Then you banged both fists against the peeling paint of the door.

"Okay, great. Perfect. I'll just sleep in the car. Or maybe I'll kick the door in. Who's going to arrest me, the local sheriff? Have some western-style shootout," you muttered under your breath, chuckling.

"Wouldn't kick that if I were ya, darlin'."

You froze. You spun around so fast you nearly rolled your ankle on the back door mat.

He was leaning against the corner of the patio, one shoulder against the wood, arms loosely crossed. Ends of his white hair were peeking under the hat. Canvas jacket and worn-in jeans that stretched across his muscular legs just right. And — you actually wanted to fucking scream — a literal stem of sweetgrass tucked in the corner of his mouth.

And someone fuck you, are we for real now?

He tipped the brim of his hat back, just a bit, almost cartoonishly, in the true m'lady fashion, revealing bright, entirely too-amused eyes. Gorgeous eyes.

"Door's solid wood," he drawled, his voice slow and warm, as he peeled himself off the post and walked over. God, he was too tall as well. Annoyingly tall. "You're just fixin' to break a toe. And them shoes ain't exactly built for it."

"How long have you been standing there," you said. It did not come out as a question.

"'Bout as long as it took ya to go around the front." He sent off one cheeky smile. "Front door's been sticky since April. Shoulda just knocked."

You looked at the door you had been knocking on for the past two minutes and then back at him. "And you are?" you crossed your arms, eyeing him down. Was this the sugar baby? Well, at least your aunt had taste, you gotta give her that. 

"Co-owner," he flashed you a proud smile and you just glared at him. Co-owner my ass. Not for long. "There's a trick to it," he added, and produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and held it open. What a prick.

"I did knock, m-multiple times —"

"Yeah, seen ya." He now leaned against the open doorframe, looking you up and down like he was confirming something. "Your aunt said ya were stubborn."

You stopped dead in your tracks. "Excuse me?"

"Pardon me for lockin' up," he continued seamlessly, ignoring your shock and shifting the sweetgrass to the other corner of his mouth. "Didn't realize her favourite city girl was fixin' to kick our door in."

"My door in," you hissed, and walked past him without another word, feeling a betraying flush spread across your cheeks. So he seemed to know who you were. And he was talking to you so crude and straightforward so no surprise some old lonely lady would get swayed by his sweet tongue. But you were not like that. You were young, smart, and knew exactly why he was trying to charm you. He was not getting your panties nor your half either.

He called out behind you, way too pleased with himself. "Gonna want different shoes, by the way."

You went in. The spare keys were by the front door, lying on the side console, mocking you. But you had plenty of time to actually look around.

The house itself was pretty average — ranch looking, kitschy decor pieces here and there, crocheted blankets galore. Apparently every room had been assigned at least one horse painting, and if you stared at the wallpaper long enough it would probably give you an ugly headache.

It was also surprisingly spacious. You claimed the master suite, settled in, and spent a good while beating the dust out of things before your stomach reminded you that you hadn't eaten since the gas station off the highway.

You followed your nose downstairs. The smell was offensively good. You were expecting the lingering scent of mothballs or dusty staleness. Instead, the kitchen smelled like garlic, butter, and seared meat. Why did your kitchen smell like garlic, butter, and seared meat?

You walked downstairs to find the hot, who said that, guy from the porch standing at your great-aunt's stove. He had ditched the canvas jacket, leaving him in a faded henley that did entirely too much for his shoulders. His infuriating hat was currently resting on the kitchen island, revealing white hair that was a bit slicked, a bit messy, and had absolutely no business looking that good unstyled. 

"What are you doing in here?" you demanded, pausing with one hand on the doorframe. "Do you live in this house?"

"Nah, not fully," he drawled, not looking away from the cast-iron pan as he flipped a steak with a pair of tongs. "Fam's got a place down the road. Usually head back there 'round sundown."

"Then why are you cooking in my kitchen?"

He finally glanced over his shoulder, flashing that same cheeky smile from earlier. "Our kitchen, ya mean? Figured a pretty city girl like you wouldn't think to stop for groceries. Auntie always said you practically lived on overpriced coffee. Can't have ya starvin' to death on night one, can we?"

You leveled him with your best hostile glare. "Stop talking about her like you knew her better than I did. And why exactly did my aunt give you half of this property? Who are you? ‘Cause you're using my house —"

"Satoru Gojo," he said easily, not letting you finish, man really was rude,  putting a perfectly seared cut of meat onto a plate. "Foreman. Manager. Owner of the other half of this ranch. Currently actin' as your personal chef."

The audacity of this cowboy gold-digger seemed to know no bounds. The man standing between you and your generational wealth, and you would not have that, thank you very much.

He set the plate on the table and gestured to the chair. "Take a seat, darlin'. Food's gettin' cold."

You crossed your arms, prepared to tell Satoru Gojo to pack up his steak, his cowboy hat, and leave, but then your stomach rumbled.

His smile only widened. It was infuriating. It was even more infuriating that five minutes later you were sitting at the dining table eating the best piece of steak you had ever tasted in your life. You refused to give him the satisfaction of a compliment. Last thing this man needed was to know his cooking skills were as superior as his shoulder-to-waist ratio. Instead you chewed, swallowed, and mentally decided to dismantle his little squatter dream right over the medium-rare beef.

"Just to be clear, Satoru," you said, pointing your fork at him across the table. "Don't get used to cooking here or whatever. I'm selling this place. Which means you are going to sign off on it. I'll make sure of it."

You waited for the panic. The sudden realization that his free ride was over. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, stretched his long legs out under the table, and rested his arms loosely across his chest. He looked like he had been expecting you to say exactly that.

"Sure ya are," he hummed, his eyes tracking the way you stubbornly cut another piece of meat. "How's the food?"

You stared at him. The sheer audacity. It was a small-town disease, it had to be. Some terminal inability to grasp how the real world actually worked. Let him sit there looking all smug and broad-shouldered in his little cowboy fantasy. Let him think his stupid, slow-drawling cowboy routine was going to stall a multi-million-dollar liquidation. You had a hefty folder of documents ready, a schedule, and an unyielding need to get out of your current life and no man was going to ruin that. Let alone some tall, thieving cowboy.

You shoved another piece of steak into your mouth, chewed aggressively, and refused to look at him for the rest of the meal.

You slept til ten. You would probably sleep til noon if the cows and whatever other animals outside wouldn't be so loud. Like, don't get me wrong, you loved animals, okay? You weren't some psycho. But you loved these kinds of animals mostly on your FYP through cute little short videos where you didn't have to be close to them. Beauty sleep was important, but also you hadn't had any hot yoga in the morning in so so long, so sleeping in felt appropriate and also important for the ruthless negotiation performance you were going to execute today. It was simply strategic.

You were going to assess. To start figuring out how fast you could get this place on the market and this man out of your life. You were going outside to take a slow and thorough assessing walk. To assess. Not because you were curious about what he looked like in daylight doing actual ranch shit.

You marched downstairs like a woman with a plan. The house was empty, a fresh pot of coffee on the counter, and a note on the table that said good morning <3 in handwriting that had no business looking that nice. Also a heart? Now c’mon. That man's intentions could be a glass house and you were standing outside with a rock in hand.

You were not going to say no to the coffee though. Even if it definitely wasn't the artisan blend you always bought downtown. You only scoffed at the note. Satoru Gojo did not deserve any other reaction.

It was a nice morning. The air smelled like grass and something warm, the sun already shining. There were people already working. You counted five of them, including Gojo, spread across the property doing various ranch-related things you probably did not even have vocabulary for. The first one to spot you was a guy with pink hair, who lit up like you were the most exciting thing that had happened all week.

"Oh, you're auntie's niece!" he said, jogging over, already grinning. "I'm Yuji. We heard an awful lot 'bout ya."

You were going to ask what exactly they had heard, and from whom, and in what context, but he was already pointing across the property. "That there's Megumi—" a dark-haired guy by the barn who was currently taking a break "—Nanami's over by the water trough, an' Nobara's in the stables—"

Five people working here? The ranch must be waay larger than you remembered. But the question kinda remained, and it was who was paying them? Because your lawyer had surely not mentioned any post-mortem fund to cover ranch workers. Look, if they weren't going to ask you for money, who were you to argue.

"Co-owner," you introduced yourself flatly, despite him already knowing who you were. "Nice to meet you all."

Yuji grinned wider, if that was possible. You're exactly like she described ya," he announced to no one in particular. You did not know what to do with that, so you did nothing with it. Were you supposed to be offended?

Over by the fence line, Gojo was with the horse currently chilling in the outside pen. He was wearing a white t-shirt today and his forearms on display like this were frankly disrespectful, but you didn’t hear it from me. 

He was soothing the animal, murmuring low, his gloved hands running over its flank. You shamelessly, SUBCONSCIOUSLY, okay, eyed him down, because you wouldn't do it CONSCIOUSLY. You were into finance bros, Wall Street kinds of guys, thank you very much. But you had read the cowboy romances. You in retrospect should not have read the cowboy romances.

The display was doing things. And you were NOT looking at things. But he spotted you before you could look away and cheekily waved in your direction, and you gulped, rolled your eyes, and looked at Yuji who was currently looking at your shoes.

"Them's some cool shoes," said Yuji. 

"Thank you," you said and smirked. How they all thought you were some inexperienced city girl who didn't know what shoes to wear, but take that, cowboys! You had worn your trusted hiking Salomons. The pink ones. You came prepared.

"Gonna get destroyed, though," he added cheerfully, and went back to work.

As if. They were waterproof. Or at least claimed to be. You had never actually tested them on a hike, because you didn't go on hikes.

You spent the next hour trailing around the property with your phone out, taking photos for the appraiser follow-up and pretending you were not keeping precise track of where Gojo was at all times. Because you were not. Because that was not what you were doing. You were doing a thorough and professional property assessment that happened to occasionally require looking in the direction where a man was doing something with a post and a mallet that you did NOT find interesting at all.

At some point Megumi walked past you carrying something heavy, looked at your shoes, then at your face, and said "hm" in a tone that was the whole opinion. Nobara, when you passed the stables, gave you a long once-over from where she was working and said "cute outfit". You decided to take it as a compliment and move on. Nanami simply nodded at you and then decided to ignore you all the way.  

At some point Gojo sauntered over to the fence when you walked past. "Mornin'. Sleep good? Bet ya must have, seein' as ya slept 'til ten."

"Ten AM is average waking hours," you clipped, aggressively tapping your blank screen. "Look, I need the exact acreage of the grazing pastures and a list of any structural issues on the property."

He leaned his forearms against the top rail. He smelled like sweat, dust, and actual physical exertion. It was fucking awful.

"Barn roof needs a patch 'fore winter. Pastures stretch 'bout forty acres back to the tree line."

"Great. And the soil quality? I need to know if the land is viable for commercial rezoning once we liquidate."

Gojo tilted his head, his eyes flashing with that same stupid knowing amusement from last night.

"Commercial rezonin'? Ain't exactly the most pragmatic approach for this topography, considerin' the watershed."

You blinked. Huh. "I'll let the appraiser decide that tomorrow."

"Sure thing, darlin'," he hummed, pushing off the fence and turning back toward the barn. "Just don't go wanderin' into the north pasture in them sneakers. Mud's deep today."

Sneakers. The absolute nerve of these people. These were premium quality shoes suitable BOTH for city and hiking, thank you very much.

You followed as he gestured you around the property. He pointed things out as you went — which pastures flooded, where the good water was, how many head they were running right now. You kept your appraiser brain running on a loop: acreage, fencing quality, water rights, how many rich city people would pay premium to play cowboy for a weekend. You could already see the listing. It was going to be soooo easy to sell. Please insert the money-tongue emoji. 

Except every time he turned to look at you the summer sun caught on his white hair under the hat and your stomach turned. He walked you back to the house and stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking down at you with that cute, annoying little smile.

"Still plannin' on bullyin' me into signin' by dinner? Tour didn't change ya mind, sweets?"

You crossed your arms. Sweets. So now y'all were on cute pet name basis? That man was moving fast, clearly a shameless veteran of the con. "By Friday if I can swing it."

Gojo tipped his hat back with one finger, eyes bright and way too amused. "Sure thing, darlin'. Just let me know how that goes."  Then he turned and walked back toward the barn like he hadn't just made your entire plan feel like a joke you were telling yourself.

You stood there a second too long, watching him go, heart doing something annoying in your chest. It was surely because of his condescending tone and the stupid, uncalled-for pet names. Trust.

"Asshole," you muttered under your nose, and went inside before you could do something even dumber like follow him and watch his back muscles coil behind the washed-out white fabric.

You made yourself busy in the kitchen. Lunch, or whatever could pass for lunch when the fridge did not contain avocados, prosciutto, and a hummus from the farmer's market, just farm things and one sad block of cheese. You were rummaging through the cabinets for something edible when you spotted a book.

It was just sitting there next to the coffee maker like it lived there. It was your favourite book. And it made your stomach turn in the best way. Oh my god, you didn't know your lovely aunt had a taste for good literature too. It suddenly made you a little sentimental.

The spine was cracked in three places, dog-eared every fifty pages or so, almost just like your copy back home. Aight, alright then. Time for a reread. You picked it up and took it upstairs.

It was strategic. Because everything you did here was strategic. You simply needed something to read before bed, and also your phone was at four percent currently, so you plopped down on your bed and started reading — the old bookmark falling silently onto your bedsheets.

The appraiser arrived the next afternoon, armed with the pictures you took yesterday and very long, very frustrated emails you had sent off since you arrived. You waited outside with your trusted thicc folder of the pre-eval from Shoko and a very clear agenda that did not include any Satoru Gojo.

But Satoru Gojo was hovering by the porch outside when the appraiser's car pulled up.

"Gojo," you smiled through your teeth, using your most professional voice that could still curdle milk. "You don't need to be here for this."

"Well I'm a co-owner, ain't I?" he said pleasantly, and pushed off the railing to shake the appraiser's hand before you could. "Satoru. Good to meet ya."

The appraiser was in his mid-fifties, clipboard in hand, shook it warmly. "Great spread you've got here."

"We're selling it," you interrupted as you shook his hand too.

"Might be," Gojo shrugged with the stupid smirk and gestured for the appraiser to lead the way.

The walkabout took about two hours. Gojo trailed behind you, next to you, hands in his pockets, answering the appraiser's questions before you could even try, pointing out things you hadn't even thought to mention. Making it extremely difficult to maintain the fiction that you were the one in charge here.

He knew where every fence line ran. He knew the load-bearing issue on the barn roof and the drainage pattern on the pastures and could rattle off the grazing capacity per acre without looking anything up. It was very annoying. It was also a little bit impressive, but that was all against your better judgment.

At some point the appraiser asked about the property's existing tax classification and whether you'd looked into agricultural exemption status for the sale. Gojo paused and looked over at you.

"That one's yours, darlin'," he murmured, stepping back slightly with his arms crossed.

So you answered. Answered well, actually better than well even. You'd done your homework the second you stepped out of your lawyer's office. Taxes, agricultural exemptions, the step-up in basis on inherited property, comparable county sales, all of it.

"Right," the appraiser said, making notes.

Gojo made a small sound of agreement. "Auntie said ya had a head for money," he said as he started to walk next to you again. "She was real proud of ya."

You furrowed your eyebrows and scribbled something in your tablet that made no sense, just so you didn't have to answer that one. You were not going to be sentimental about that. So why did it make you all woozy? That Yuji kid had made it clear that your great-aunt had a thing for talking about you, but why did it feel different coming from him? Because! it felt like a privacy violation! Exactly that. You were here to sell a ranch, not to stand in a dirt field and catch feelings about a dead woman being proud of you, relayed by the man currently standing between you and the money. That was manipulation, probably. Surely had to be.

"And this section here," the appraiser was saying, gesturing toward the east field, "good flat acreage, nice aspect. You thought about any alternative use options instead of selling? Agritourism's been doing well in this county. Glamping setups, farm stays, that kind of thing —"

"We're liquidating the full property," you interrupted. Last thing you needed was these men giving each other ideas. You wanted the money and to get the hell out, and you were going to repeat this shit until the moment it actually happened. It was called positive affirmations.

"Could be viable for a boutique rental operation, dependin' on how ya market it," Gojo interrupted you right back. Great. Now he was giving him an annoying idea. But also... huh.

You turned to look at him. Because huh. He was looking at the east field like he was already imagining it.

"Just a thought," he shrugged, and met your eyes briefly before looking back at the appraiser. "Carry on."

You were still looking at him, a little dumbfounded. Because that was a bit out of a cowboy's pocket. It was actually a legible idea, and you hated that you recognized ball when you heard it.

You were so busy trying to wedge yourself back into the conversation that had slightly gotten away from you, ping-ponging your attention between the two men, that you didn't notice the ground getting slick and spongy under your left pink Salomon.

A hand closed around your arm. Gojo redirected you gently, pulling you to his side of the path, and you could feel the warmth of him through his flannel.

"Watch where ya goin', darlin'," he murmured, low enough that it was just for you. "Can't have ya all wet n' muddy now, can we." He let go and kept talking to the appraiser like he hadn't been tracking exactly where you were walking for the past two hours. 

You looked at the puddle and it was a big puddle. You looked at him, a betraying flush already dusting your cheeks, and he glanced back at you just to check if you were okay. The expression was quiet, strangely real, and gone before you could name it. 

You both looked away. The skin on your arm was warm and tingling and your heart started to thrum in your ribcage, which made you furious. This man was trying to cause a cardiac arrest so he could have the entire ranch to himself. That was obviously what was happening here.

The appraiser cleared his throat. "I'll need about a week to compile the full valuation report. Some water rights questions I'll need to verify with the county, and the barn will require a structural engineer before I can sign off. I’ll return with the updated documents next week, and let you know which day."

"A week?" you repeated.

"Give or take. We will likely need to assess some things in greater detail."

You thought about your weekender bag left half-packed back in the master suite. You had packed only about three days of clothes, your skincare bag, and a laptop charger. You looked at the ranch stretching out around you, annoyingly large and annoyingly beautiful in the late afternoon light. You looked at Gojo, who was gazing at the middle distance serenely. So you were going to have to stay here even longer.

"And can’t we do like a Zoom call or something?" you demanded, scowling at the very idea of staying here with him and his annoying cowboy life.

"I’d appreciate if we could meet here again in person."

You bit the inside of your cheek, blinked down at your already muddied-up shoes, RIP, and nodded in defeat.

"Fine," you hissed. Now you were going to have to explain to your boss that you were taking more days off, and that no, you were not living out some cowboy romance fantasy, and that you had apparently chosen the slowest appraiser in the entire world.

"Fantastic," he said, winking at you before flashing that very sweet, very crooked smile. "Least ya got more time to try n' change my mind, sweets."

"I don't need more time, I will make you," you scoffed, narrowing your eyes. "We ARE signing."

"We'll see," he answered, still smiling down at you. "Least ya get a proper look at the inside of the house while ya here, darlin'. Plenty of space, ain't there."

You stood there by the porch again in your Salomons, holding up completely fine, for the record, and thought that you were going to need more underwear. Also possibly a therapist. But mostly the underwear.

Fuck. You didn't have enough clothes.

"Where is the closest mall?" you blurted out.

Gojo paused and looked back. "Mall?"

"I don't have enough clothes for a week," you answered, genuinely horrified.

"Relax," Gojo said, walking the appraiser to his car. "Got a washin' machine. And Nobara can lend ya some things." He glanced back at you over his shoulder, that infuriating not-quite-smile on. "Least they'll be more ranch appropriate."

You woke up to a small pile of clothes sitting right outside your bedroom door. Kinda on cue, because you had just officially depleted your clean panties supply and were more than ready for a small laundry day. You wanted to slap yourself because why did you only take three extra pairs of panties anyways? Whenever you went somewhere just for a weekend you took like two weeks' worth, just in case you would shit yourself approximately every two hours. This time, you were being way too ambitious.

You brought it over to your bed. There were two outfits that clearly belonged to Nobara judging by the sizing. But underneath them, three of Gojo's t-shirts. Soft from washing, faded, and obviously his because they were stupidly large.

Why though. You asked yourself as you INEXPLICABLY took a lungful of one of them. Was this kinda deranged domestication game he was trying to pull on you? Thinking that giving you his clothes would make you more pliable in his wicked evil squatting plans?

But two can play the game, as you pulled it over your head. Put on one of the two pairs of pants from Nobara and padded down. He was in the kitchen in the middle of making a fresh batch of coffee for you again.

"Mornin'—" he stalled as he turned around and saw you drowning in his favourite tee.

You braced for the smirk, the cocky comment and how you would retaliate even meaner. But he just blinked at the way the short sleeve was almost at your elbows and how the hem was hitting your mid-thighs. His eyes flickered and darkened, the corner of his mouth almost twitching, and then he swallowed hard and looked away first.

"Coffee's fresh," he muttered, turning his back to you.

You nodded, looking sideways, why was it suddenly so hot in here? And Satoru, I mean GOJO, started to wonder that too, as he caught his reflection in the microwave glass with a blush adorning his sun-kissed skin.

You took your coffee outside before either of you could make it weirder.

You spent the rest of the day doing laundry, arguing with your boss over the phone, finding signal to argue with your boss over the phone, then arguing with your mom over the phone, the good signal spots moving all over the fucking property like it tried to piss you off. Which guess what, it fucking worked. You then found the tree swing you used to play on when you were a child, so you argued from there too. You then watched Gojo and Nanami take the horses for a ride, rolling your eyes at the obvious hot cowboy shit, who said that again, and spent some time with Megumi, who showed you how to pet a cow named Betsy.

The next day started off fantastic. The appraiser called to say he'd powered through and would arrive in two days instead of five.

But the tall cowboy sugar baby was everywhere, unbothered, breathing down your neck. Surely because D-day was approaching and you were NOT yielding. You had resolve made out of titanium. You would be sitting at the island, dissociating in the appropriate i’m-on-a-ranch-and-have-nothing-to-do way over your filtered coffee, which was kinda growing on you now, which you hated to admit, and he would just stroll in, grab a wrench, fix the squeaky cabinet hinge you'd whined about the day before in under two minutes, wash his hands, and leave. It was vile, and the way his bicep and tricep flexed while he did it was even viler. Ugh.

By late afternoon you were sitting on the porch steps, holding your phone up to the sky like a sacrificial offering to the cell tower gods. Zero bars. You just needed one fucking bar to send this email.

Down by the fence, Satoru was working with Yuji and Nanami. He was hauling heavy wooden posts, his t-shirt clinging to his sweaty back. Yuji tripped over a coiled rope, nearly eating the dirt, and Satoru laughed.

He threw his head back, resting his hands on his hips, and the sound carried itself right over to where you were sitting. It was a booming, tingly sound that went straight to your belly and made you feel all warm. You lowered your phone and stared in their direction. The air was hazy in the early twilight light. Your chest did this weird little flutter, and for a second you completely forgot you were supposed to be liquidating his life. He just looked so—

"See ya watchin' him all the time." 

You jumped out of your skin, almost dropping your phone down the stairs into the mud. Nobara was walking past the porch, lugging two heavy buckets of feed.

"You like him, huh?" she added, casually dropping the bomb over her shoulder. And it felt like getting shot straight in the underbelly. Because it WASN'T true, it OBVIOUSLY wasn't true. You were just assessing the ranch workers, doing ranch work stuff on the ranch. Simple as that.

"Nuh-uh!" you sputtered, your voice cracking horribly as you scrambled up from the steps. "I was just—"

Nobara paused, turning back with a single judgmental eyebrow raised.

"I was just looking if anyone doesn't need any help!" you blurted out, speed-walking down the steps in a blind panic. "There is no signal again and I have absolutely nothing else to do!"

You marched right up to her and violently wrenched both of the heavy buckets out of her hands. Nobara didn't even resist. She just let her arms fall, looked at her empty hands, and then up at your manic face.

"Right," she said smoothly, smirking. "Follow me then, hard worker."

She continued walking, strolling toward the stables with you in tow, aggressively out of breath, holding fifty pounds of horse feed, which was fine because you frequented the gym, while drowning in Satoru's t-shirt.

Which in retrospect you shouldn't have done because now you were lounging on the couch, fucking sore day later. You were still wearing the t-shirt and it's nobody's business that it might have been the third day in a row. You were finishing the book you found prior, absolutely eating up the best part of the story.

"Well, well," Satoru suddenly appeared over your lying form, eyeing you again. And you're saying again because you caught this creep eyeing the way his t-shirt fit you every single time he came into frame. He looked at the book in your hands and crossed his arms. "A little book thief, ain't ya, sweets?" 

He pointed at the book and his bookmark currently lying flat on your belly. Huh. It's his book?

"I didn't steal it," you said, defensive, pressing the book flat against your chest to hide the cover. "It was left in a common area. I simply... took it."

"Took it," he repeated, tilting his head as he sat on the armrest by your feet. "That what we're callin' it?"

"I don't know what else you'd call reading orphaned books lying around. Clearly you're a bad owner."

That got a real laugh out of him, short and surprised. And instead of pushing the teasing forward, his bright blues dropped back down to the book clutched to your chest. The cocky, crooked smirk faded into something softer and more observant.

"At the chapter with the train station, ain't ya." 

You blinked, completely thrown off guard. "How did you—"

"'Cause yer white-knucklin' the spine,"  he said softly, nodding at your hands. "Best part of the book. Read it 'bout four times myself. Rhetoric in that monologue's somethin' else. 'Sides, can tell by where it's cracked open." 

You only blinked at him, surprised. He loved this book too? And you were reading his copy too… No. No. NO. Again this must have been some stalling tactic. Your entire family knew you loved this specific book, because you couldn't shut the fuck up about it over Christmas break back in freshman year. Auntie must have accidentally mentioned it too, and now he was using this against you.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. AND suspicious. "It's... yeah. It's really good."

"Take your time with it," he murmured, his eyes staying on your hands a second too long. "Ain't askin' for it back anytime soon, darlin'."

He stood and stretched, unfairly tall in the low afternoon light coming through the window. “Also came to tell ya, I'm headin' home early today. Dad wanted some help with somethin', an' one of our ranch hands got sick, so gotta help the old man myself.” 

"Yeah, uh, okay," you said, picking up the book from your chest again, looking up at him with unknowing puppy eyes. His expression softened even more at that. Fuck. "Tomorrow the appraiser comes back, at 11 am, so be back by then?"

He smiled. "Don't worry, sweets, I'll be back at eight sharp, like always. Don't miss me too much, will ya?" He tilted his head, cooed. Then he walked out the front door, the screen slamming shut behind him, leaving you lying alone on the couch. Your heart was doing a stupid tap dance against your ribs again.

You stared down at the book, then glanced down at his t-shirt.

Fuck indeed.

You realized that you were in so much trouble. Not even your titanium hard resolve could stay on the offensive forever.

The house remained quiet, and frankly, you became kind of bored and antsy. Nanami and Nobara had disappeared somewhere toward the far pasture with a truck full of fence posts, and Yuji and Megumi were off doing something with the hay bales that involved a lot of yelling and, from what you could hear, at least one near-death experience for Yuji.

You wandered out to the porch and looked toward the pasture. There were cows.

Megumi had shown you how to pet Betsy. It was basically just a large dog that ate grass. You marched over, zeroing in on a brownish cow closest to the fence rail that was aggressively chewing its cud. You climbed over the wooden rail and approached the animal with your palm out.

"Here, Betsy two-point-zero," you cooed, using your best networking voice, murmuring something you'd heard Gojo murmur to the horses. It surely wasn’t Betsy, because Betsy had a notch out of one ear and the general demeanor of a woman who gave about zero fucks. But a cow is a cow, isn't it? Yesterday went well. Great, even. You were basically a natural cow petter.

So today you were going to do it again. Because you were an adult woman temporarily owning large farm animals, apparently, and the cows were kind of soothing to be around.

The cow stopped chewing. It slowly turned its massive head, glaring at you with hostile, beady eyes. Uhh. Before you could even reconsider moving onto another, more friendly-looking cow, Satoru’s truck came tearing back up the driveway, parking half on the grass. You whipped your head around, but the sudden movement, combined with the car crunching the gravel, spooked the cow. It let out a demonic moo and lunged forward.

Being the sensible person with great reflexes that you were, you naturally turned and bolted instead of just calmly backing away from the charging cow. But the cow took it as a game of tag and started running after you.

You shrieked, scrambling backward as you tried to change direction, but your premium waterproof Salomons found absolutely zero traction in the mud and manure, still slick from last night’s rain. Your feet flew out from under you.

There was a loud whistle that spooked the entire herd, sending them running in the opposite direction including the gladiator cow.

"Gotcha!"

Satoru appeared quite literally out of nowhere. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, hauling you backward before you could literally eat shit. But his momentum was too fast, the mud was too slick, you were spooked too, and physics was a bitch. You both went down hard anyway. Yummy.

“Well,” he said, voice warm and way too delighted despite the fact that you were currently rolling in mud, “sure wasn’t expectin’ a rodeo.”

You flailed in a blind panic, wildly trying to push yourself up. Your elbow jabbed him in the ribs and your knee caught his thigh. You were in shock from the freezing cold mud and the smell, but also from how warm his body was underneath you, and how tightly his arms were still wrapped around your waist.

"Stop swingin'!" he groaned, shifting his weight to trap your legs beneath his so you wouldn't kick him again.

He rolled you off of him and ended up fully pinning you into the mud, his forearms planted on either side of your head, his chest heaving, his hair splattered with brown dirt. He hadn't wanted to get you dirtier, but oh well.

“What are you even doing here?!” you shrieked, violently shoving your muddy palm over his mouth to stop whatever smug comment was forming there. “You said you were leaving!”

His bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He didn't even try to move your hand.

"Forgot my wallet," he mumbled, his voice warm and vibrating directly against your palm.

He kissed the center of your muddy hand before gently prying your wrist away so he could speak properly. Oh god.

"Had to come back for it," he smirked down at you, chest still heaving against yours. "Couldn't risk ya stealin' my social security number and signin' shit without me knowin'."

He knew he should let you go. Your expression was somewhere between flustered and furious, because how dare he think you would do such a thing! Not that you hadn't thought of it yesterday when he was giving fresh hay to the horses, but still.

You had mud in your hair and everywhere else, wearing his favorite t-shirt and completely ruining it. Yet you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen. It was, in hindsight, a bit of a stupid thought to have about a woman covered in cow shit, but he was having it anyway.

Fuck, he thought, the realization hitting him so fast and so hard it actually knocked the remaining breath out of his lungs. He was in so much trouble.

Auntie’s photos hadn’t done you justice. Neither had her stories, told over coffee on the porch with that soft, knowing look she got whenever your name came up, like she already knew something he hadn’t figured out yet. He’d built you up in his head over two years of hearing about you before you ever set foot on this land. Then you’d walked in wearing heels and being an absolute bitch to him, and he’d liked you before you even said a real word. He’d been kinda fighting it ever since.

He really should let you go. But studying your pretty face now, feeling the frantic pulse in the muddy wrist he was still holding... he kinda didn't want to. And was he crazy for wanting to stay exactly like this? In the mud, with you pinned beneath him? It was pathetic.

He wanted you to steal his books, and wear his clothes, and yell at his, well, your, cows forever. But then your eyes dropped, heavy under his gaze, staring right at his mouth. Well. There it was. He was in it now, and no amount of good sense was gonna talk him back out of it. He was, after all, just a man head over heels for a woman.

He let his weight settle a fraction lower and your breath went shallow. Traitor lungs. The mud was already drying at his temple, one strand of white hair stuck flat against his forehead, and his eyes weren't doing the cocky thing anymore. 

"Darlin'," he said, low, breath fanning over your cheeks.

Your hand was still loosely caught in his, wrist turned up, his thumb tracing absent circles against your pulse point like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Every single working brain cell you owned had relocated its entire focus to that one spot on your skin.

He tipped his head. Not much. An inch, maybe less, could've been him just adjusting his hat if he'd been wearing one, except he wasn't. You could smell mud, sweat and something underneath that you already recognized as him, and you must have hit your head on the way down but you leaned in too.

But your brain caught up to your body about four seconds too late, the way it always did around him, and pure animal panic did the rest.

You slapped a muddy hand over his mouth.

Again.

His eyes went wide, startled this time, caught in the moment, and something that might have been a laugh got trapped somewhere behind your palm.

“Nope,” you said, breathless, voice cracking clean in half. “Nope. We are not. I am not. This is mud delirium. We hit our heads and probably inhaled some mud bacteria already eating our brains.”

He said something back, muffled completely against your palm, warm breath ghosting over your skin. You had absolutely no idea what it was and every intention of never finding out, because knowing would mean acknowledging that some small part of you had wanted to hear it.

You scrambled backward out from under him so fast you nearly went down in the mud again. He let you go this time, sitting back on his heels, and watched you flee toward the house at the speed of light.

“I need a shower,” you announced to no one, to the yard, to the traumatized cows, and speed-walked the rest of the way inside without looking back once.

You did not, in fact, need a shower nearly as badly as you needed time alone to NOT think about the fact that you’d wanted him to kiss you with mud on his face, in a field full of manure, and that some small, stupid part of you was furious he hadn’t managed to before you panicked. And that the kiss he’d left in the center of your palm was still burning.

You slept like shit, heart still erratic, dreaming weird-ass dreams, and had only about four minutes of peace before you remembered the appraiser was coming today.

Exactly in an hour. Which kinda gave you no time to figure out what you were supposed to do with your face around Satoru after yesterday. You felt like the cow might as well have run over you, actually, the entire herd might as well have. Every muscle ached, and your brain was a buzzing mess of mud, lips, pulse, panic.

Satoru's gray t-shirt, completely ruined and stiff with dried mud, was crumpled in the corner of the room where you'd thrown it yesterday.

You stared at it, feeling your cheeks heat up again. Then, looking around the empty room like you were committing a federal crime, you snatched it up, folded it aggressively, and shoved it at the very bottom of your weekender bag. You were throwing it away. Obviously. You just... needed to throw it away in the city.

He was already on the porch when you came down, coffee in hand like always, and for one horrible second, neither of you said anything at all.

"Mornin'," he said, testing the water.

"Morning." You didn't look at him directly. You couldn't bring yourself to. Your stomach hurt, and you couldn't tell if it was because you needed breakfast or because you were trying so hard not to look at his flushed cheeks.

The appraiser arrived thirty minutes early, his folder thick with the finished valuation. You sat across the kitchen table from him, determined to make today feel like any other Tuesday in your old life.

Numbers. Signatures. Clean.

The guy talked about the process, spreading topographical maps across your kitchen table. He droned on about riparian water rights, soil degradation, and grazing easements. You tried to focus on the numbers, nodding along like a shark smelling blood. But you couldn't really lock in. Not when Gojo leaned over the table, planting a hand next to your coffee mug to casually correct the appraiser's boundary lines. He effortlessly traced the east pasture, tossing out phrases in that drawl of his that, you finally had to admit, made your toes curl. Damn those unreasonable cowboy romances that had apparently planted weird shit into your subconscious.

You sat there, spine rigid, staring at a pie chart you weren't actually seeing, aggressively ignoring the way everything he did was sending weird, electric tingles straight down in between your thighs.

"Report's solid," the appraiser finally said, sliding a copy of the finalized valuation across the table. "Given everything we assessed, you're looking at a strong number either way—as a straight sale or if you wanted to explore the other angles we talked about. If you two have reached an agreement on the buyout or liquidation, I have the preliminary sign-offs right here."

This was it. The moment you had been plotting since you got the lawyer's call. Your fingers were tingling with anticipation. Your rich city-girl dream was just a few letters and a signature spot away.

You turned to Satoru, your heart hammering against your ribs, giving him the widest eyes.

"Well," you said, your voice tight and overly bright. "We're liquidating. Satoru is signing his half over for the buyout. Right?"

Satoru looked at the appraiser, then slowly looked at you. And god fuck him, because why did you choose this moment to finally call him by his first name, the exact second he was probably about to crush your heart?

"No," he shook his head.

The appraiser's pen paused mid-air. "No, as in—"

"No, as in I ain't signin'," Satoru said, his voice low, and devoid of its usual teasing lilt. "I ain't sellin'. Not today, not next week. The ranch stays."

You blinked at him. Once. Twice. Waiting for the joke, for the crooked smile, for him to say gotcha again and produce a pen from his back pocket like this was one more bit in a week that had already had way too many bits for your personal liking. The appraiser looked awkwardly between the two of you, slowly closing his folder and clearing his throat like he wanted to be literally anywhere else on the planet.

"We talked about this." Your voice cracked upward and you hated it instantly. "You knew this was happening today. You knew the appraiser was coming with a report and sign-offs and you just—what, let me sit here? Let me say all that in front of him? You couldn't have told me before I—"

"Talked 'bout it when, exactly?" Satoru interrupted as he furrowed his eyebrows. "When ya were tellin' me yer sellin' without even askin' what I actually wanted?"

"Are you kidding me?!" you yelled, pushing your chair back so hard it screeched against the floor. You didn't even care that the appraiser was practically shrinking into the wallpaper. "You are literally holding my life hostage! You're just being arrogant and stubborn—"

"Ya think that's what this is? Think I'm holdin' ya hostage out of spite?"

The appraiser, wisely, had begun quietly gathering his papers and backing away.

"I want to go home!" you whined, your chest heaving, the sheer panic was making you cruel. "I want to go back to my actual life with this entire thing done, and you are standing in my way because you want... what? To win some stupid game? To have this house all for yourself?"

He flinched at that. And whatever raw thing that had been sitting behind his eyes since yesterday disappeared as quickly as you put it in there. The warmth completely drained from his face as he bit his lip and his eyes dragged over the papers again. His eyes returned to you and searched yours. He wanted, no needed, you to realize that his refusal to sign had absolutely nothing to do with acreage or payouts, and everything to do with the fact that the second you both signed, you were going to walk out the front door and never come back.

"Fine," Satoru said. He stood up slowly, frustrated and upset that he couldn't make you stay if you were this determined to run. "Go home, then. But I ain't signin', sweets."

You were shaking. You were so furious at him, and even more furious at the sudden, horrifying thought that maaybe you didn't actually want to sell. Panicking at the sight of the usually bright blues losing their glint, and the cowboy hat sitting at the table suddenly looking less annoying than it ever did. But your pride was a titanium trap, and it snapped shut, locking you inside.

"I am leaving," you hissed, backing away from him, your pink Salomons, which were pink no more, but rather a crusty, dirty brown from the mud, loud against the wood. "But I will be back. And I will make you sign that paperwork, Gojo. Even if I have to blackmail you to do it."

You turned on your heel, marched upstairs to grab your weekender bag, left his book still unfinished on your nightstand, and practically ran out the front door. You threw your car in reverse, spitting gravel everywhere, and drove away without looking in the rearview mirror once.

The first thing you did when you arrived home, finally, was throw the stolen t-shirt in the washing machine on the heaviest cycle you had. Twice. You told yourself you were killing whatever mud bacteria had survived the first wash. The second time was just to be sure, before you would eventually throw it away.

It still ended up in your bed three nights later. All your silk pajamas were at the dry cleaner, and you were tired, and it was right there and clean. Purely coincidence. The fact that it still smelled faintly like him was irrelevant. Coincidence, again. You kept wearing it every single night out of pure spite, because you were being just practical.

Your usual eight-dollar oat milk latte suddenly tasted like burnt dirt water, which made no sense, because it was from the good place, the place with the little chalkboard sign, and you'd loved it for three years. Now all you could think about was the cheap drip coffee Satoru brewed blindly at seven in the morning.

You caught yourself hovering over the search bar. What brand of coffee do ranches use. You deleted it fast though. You were just curious, and the curiosity just dissipated. Don’t search for anything behind it!

And on top of that, work was even shittier than usual. You stood in the breakroom and watched some guy from acquisitions spend three full minutes trying to lift and flip the new water jug onto the cooler. He was panting, his shirt was wrinkling and making annoying small sounds every time it slipped. Ugh. Stupid incompetent men. For whatever reason you thought of Satoru effortlessly hauling fifty-pound wooden fence posts over his shoulder, his big triceps flexing in the sun. You actually had to leave the room because you were viscerally angry at nothing in particular!

And no amount of meditation, pilates, or the cowboy romances you suddenly kept seeing everywhere in your favorite bookstore would flush out the paranoia and this weird feeling from your mind.

You kept thinking about him. You kept assessing him, that's what it was. Trust. TRUST. Okay? Because thanks to your dwelling little sessions, sitting on your couch in his t-shirt and zooming in on the pictures you took over the week for the appraiser, in which he MIGHT have been in a corner or in a distance, you cartwheeled into the realization that Satoru wasn’t just a stubborn cowboy, he was a manipulator. Surely. He wanted you off-balance. Gave you his clothes to trojan horse you. The pet names were calculated to disarm you. A man that competent didn't tackle a woman into the mud by accident. It was strategy, retention. Keep the city girl soft and stupid and sentimental long enough that she wouldn’t push the sale.

It all made perfect sense.

You did not fantasize about him standing in your kitchen, making you coffee from the drip machine you might have recently bought, out of pure coincidence again. You did not wonder what it would have felt like if you had fallen and pinned each other to your plush living room carpet instead of the cow shit mud. You did not miss the way he said darlin' and the way he would smile at you. None of that. Obviously.

He was trying to emotionally manipulate you into backing off, just like he’d manipulated your great-aunt. But you were not going to fall for it.

And then, to forcefully snap you out of it, Shoko called you into the office. Hallelujah. Your mother wasn't exactly nice to you when you told her you tried to sell the ranch, and then nicer when you told her the buyout stalled, and then not nice again when you added FOR NOW.

It was just you and your lawyer against the world. She then lowkey dropped a nuke on you, explaining that if Satoru refused to sign, a forced legal sale would take three to five years, require endless court appearances, and bleed hundreds of thousands of dollars out of the estate in legal fees. Three to five years. You would be a cautionary LinkedIn tale in three to five years.

Panic set in, quickly followed by a manic spite. If you couldn’t force the sale from here without wasting money and time you didn’t have, then you needed leverage. Something that would make him tap out without dragging this through the courts.

So you then spent days locked away in your apartment. You went through every note from the appraiser. Every line about barn repairs and property tax increases and the financial reality of running a ranch that wasn’t printing money. You cross-referenced county zoning laws and agricultural exemptions and cost projections until your eyes burned.

By the end of the week, you had a about forty-page murder-binder. Color-coded, tabbed, and legally terrifying. You were going to corner him with the math until he had no choice but to fold and cry. 

This was about winning. And stalling the buyout, not cashing your paychecks, wasn’t really winning. This was about proving that whatever game he thought he was playing, you were better at it. And you sure as hell will die on this hill.

You were going back. You washed your pink Salomons, which miraculously became somewhat pink again, repacked your weekender, and off on a hitman mission you went.

You showed up the next week with the paperwork shotgun and even colder smile. The car crunched to a stop in the same spot as last time, but everything else felt different. It made you feel sick. You’d practiced this in the mirror. Rehearsed it on the drive. You were not going to let proximity or pet names or whatever the hell had happened in the mud get to you again.

Satoru walked to the front of the house when he heard your car pulling in, which felt, annoyingly, inevitable at this point—like he had some kind of internal radar that went off whenever you crossed the county line.

"Back already, sweets?" he said, not moving from the rail of the porch. He was in his chaps, probably interrupted him mid-ride when you pulled up, and you hated that you recognized that already.

You didn’t bother with small talk. “I had my lawyer look over everything. We need to talk.” You took the binder off the passenger seat and started walking to the front door.

"Do we?" he asked as you walked into the house, his arms crossed over his chest as he tailed after you.

You walked into the kitchen and immediately went for the filtered batch that was, again, sitting on the counter. Fuck, you needed this. Finally some good coffee. Satoru had to bite his lip to prevent himself from smiling. He could smell blood on you.

"Alright, what're we talkin' 'bout," he sat at the table, and you dropped the binder on it with a loud thwack! You sat opposite him, your mug, your favorite one, in hand.

You walked him through the numbers — barn repairs, property tax jumps, zoning restrictions, thin profit margins. Going through your tabs, your notes with total precision, acting like something didn't just lodge in your throat when you glanced at him and saw he was actually listening with  a little furrow between his brows. You kept your voice steady even when you glanced up and saw the small dirt smear on his jaw, or the way his hair was still damp with sweat, or the way the smell of him hit you again and made something in you feel both uneasy and strangely calm.

You waited for the pushback, for him to cross his arms, lean back, and call you darlin' in that stupid, condescending drawl. You had a rebuttal prepared for everything. For anything. But he only took the binder, flipped through it, and asked a couple of clarifying questions about the tax projections and the structural engineer’s notes.

"Okay," he said quietly.

You blinked. Your brain stalled. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Numbers look thorough." He closed it, sliding it back toward you. He looked up, his blue eyes so uncharacteristically polite. "I'll run it by my lawyer, see where it actually holds up. Math's as airtight as yer sayin', we'll go from there."

It was somehow worse than if he’d laughed in your face. Fuck. You felt it strangely in your chest, and your stomach plummeted. "You're... you're just going to send it to your lawyer?" you asked, hating how your voice lost its sharp edge.

"That's standard procedure for a buyout, ain't it?" he replied smoothly, already reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Shoot me the digital copy. I'll forward it to him this afternoon so we can get ahead of it."

"Right," you managed to choke you, digging your own phone out of your purse with numb fingers. "What's your email?"

He rattled off a standard, boring gmail address. You typed it in and pressed send. It felt like a business transaction. It was awful.

"Got it," his phone buzzed in his hand. He stood up and grabbed his hat. "Nanami's waitin' for me by the stables, we're goin' on a ride. Make yerself at home." He paused at the door. "I'll have 'em reach out to yer side directly. Don't reckon I'll be back tonight. See ya ‘round, sweets."

You stared at him. “That’s it?” And you weren't exactly asking about the negotiation process, either. "What'd ya want me to say?" You didn't have an answer to that, which was, in itself, infuriating. "For now," he said, fixing his chaps. God, why did they look so good on him? "I'll holler once I hear somethin'." 

And then he left, leaving you in the kitchen staring at the empty space he was in just seconds ago, feeling a flush adorn your cheeks, but not from him saying something stupid this time around.

By late afternoon, you found yourself standing on the back porch, a cup of his coffee warming your hands. It was your fourth cup of the day, and it was no one’s business if you would be able to fall asleep, because you probably wouldn't be able to anyway, watching him out in the round pen. 

He and Nanami had returned from their ride and were working one of the younger horses. The one Yuji was struggling with the entire day, the one Yuji waved you over to pet again, even if his voice wasn't as warm as the last time you two spoke.

Satoru’s voice carried over the quiet yard, low and steady as he directed the animal. The late day sun caught the lines of his shoulders beneath his faded henley.

You felt like an intruder in a house that you legally owned, and it felt fucking terrible. The cool summer wind bit your skin as you hovered there, not knowing what to do with all of this. You had braced yourself for a big fight, an ugly shouting match, some resolution from the last time you saw him, but certainly not him giving zero flying fucks about you. Giving you nothing to push against. Last time he had hovered close to you as much as possible, even if the blatant flirting with you made you sick. But the sick you were feeling now was so completely different from what you felt when he still thought he had you.

Later, when you went upstairs, you found the book, his book, the one you didn't get to finish last time, still on your nightstand. It made you bite your lip so hard it almost bled. He didn't take it back. You lay on your bed for a long time. You'd come here to strong-arm, and could not, for the life of you, remember why that had ever felt simple.

The next morning you packed slowly, suddenly realizing you might have overpacked, perhaps thinking you would get stranded here like last time. Dragged your bag out to the porch and left it by the steps. Then you made yourself one last cup of his coffee, because apparently you were a masochist now.

You stepped out, walking over to the chilling cows by the fence. The gladiator cow was already watching you, but this time it let itself get petted finally. It felt like even she was mocking you.

She started to lick your hand, and her coarse tongue was tickling you when Satoru walked up to you from the stables, a coiled lead rope slung over his shoulder. He was in his chaps again, probably working intensely with the horses this week. He looked at the porch where your packed weekender sat, and he bowed his head like it confirmed something he’d already expected.

"Mornin'," he finally said, his voice softer than it had been yesterday. "Takin' one of the mares up to the east ridge. View's real nice this time of day." He paused, his blue eyes searching your face, offering one little olive branch. "Wanna come?"

The offer landed like a trap. Your mind immediately started spinning. Alone with him. Close to him again. Being friendly when you were supposed to be hostile and fighting. The panic rose fast and ugly. It mixed badly with the flutter in your chest, making you stammer over your words.

“I…” You swallowed. “Uhh-perhaps... perhaps next time.”

Satoru nodded once. The small warmth in his voice vanished completely. It was enough for him to know. "Right," he said, his voice dropping all of its color. "Next time."

Satoru reached over your hand and petted the cow's head too before stepping away, adjusting his hat. It had no business making the fluttering feeling intensify even more. He looked past you toward your bag. "Lawyer'll handle the rest from here. Ya don't gotta stay on my account. Nothin' holdin' ya here now that we've talked the paperwork through." He paused, putting on his gloves. 

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He gave you only a small, humorless smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Won't be actin' out my sugar baby dreams while yer gone, promise."

It hit like a slap. Well, it was meant to hit like a slap. You stood there frozen as he turned to walk away, the words still ringing in your ears. 

"Satoru—" you started, the panic seizing the opportunity to break through your self-imposed trap. You hated how small your voice sounded.

He stopped but didn’t turn around. "Safe drive back." 

"Wait,” you stepped forward in his direction, "I don't — I don't wanna. Can we just talk? Actually talk, not — not through lawyers, just—"

His shoulders were stiff and his head bowed, watching his boots. "I think," he said, turning only his head a bit, "ya oughta go home."

You saw the tired, the hurt in his pretty blues, and it stopped you frozen in your pink shoes over the dirt. It wasn't cruel, but it was final, and that made the knife twist in your gut. He only kept on walking until the barn door swung shut behind him, and you stood there with a half-finished cold cup of coffee, and one hand slick with cow spit outstretched as if reaching for him. And the worst part is that if you would see yourself like this just a month ago, you would slap the fuck out of yourself. And then you would slap your old self right back. Going slap for slap.

You'd won the negotiation, yes.  He was letting you win. He was letting you leave. His lawyer would confirm it, and the partition case was going to be a serious problem for his side.  But why did you feel like a massive loser right now?

Which, you weren't the only one who felt like that. Satoru tossed the lead rope onto a hook and braced both hands against the rough wood of the stall door, dropping his head as a heavy breath shuddered out of him.

You’d said next time in that clipped voice that was so, so painful to listen to, like you were declining a date invite from someone you didn't want to offend. He knew what that was. He'd been watching you do it all week. Reach for something real and then pull back into whatever that felt safer. He'd done it himself, to be fair. He didn't have a lot of room to judge.

Your aunt had warned him. “She's gonna fight you on everythin’,” she'd said, watching the livestock, with that cheeky smile of hers. “Stubborn as anything. Gets it from my sister, same as her mom. It runs in the family.”

He had laughed it off back then. “But she’s worth the headache, I promise you,” she had added, giving him that infuriatingly knowing look.

Satoru closed his eyes, the memory of you stammering, looking so panicked and pretty in your expensive, stupid clothes, burning a hole in his chest. Auntie was half right, anyway. You were a headache. But he wasn't going to let you treat his, well, your, home like a real estate playground, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you play games with him just because you didn’t know what you wanted. 

He could see it in your eyes, which made it even worse. You were just breaking both of your hearts in the process. But if you wanted out, who is he to hold you off? He just needed to find a way where you wouldn’t fully disappear now that you were finally in his life, and not just in his head rent-free.

He fixed his gloves on and straightened up. You weren’t ready to be honest yet and that was fine. But Satoru wasn't going to let you practice being dishonest on him until you figured it out, but that wasn't the same as giving up. Satoru was locked in and ready, he just needed you to be that as well. 

Pretty silly thing.

Your favourite coworker from marketing left a succulent. You stared at it from across the open-plan office before your monitor's screensaver kicked in and you realized you hadn't typed anything in half an hour.

That was the week you came back. By the next week, two more desks had been quietly emptied. By Friday, HR sent a company-wide email with the subject line “Exciting Organizational Updates!” aka the corporate equivalent of someone saying “now don’t panic” right before they ruin your life.

You were not panicking. You were, however, sleeping like shit, actively losing your appetite, and refreshing your bank account every morning just to remind yourself the safety blanket was still there. But the looming dread of the layoffs wasn’t the only thing keeping you up at night, and you refused to talk about the rest of it with anyone.

If they let you go before you could quit on your own terms, the ranch money kind of stopped being a silly little get-rich-quick plan and became a necessity. Because you knew you wanted to quit, but that's where the rest of the planning went. 

You didn't know what else to do other than working, and you were dead set on not spending more years in corpo than you already had. You would say shit like time to become a trad wife since you already own a ranch, but since the possibility wasn't that far from reality anymore, you didn't find it exactly funny this time. Yikes.

You couldn’t tell anyone you actually needed the money. So far you’d acted like selling the ranch was about freedom and city socialite fantasies, not a fucking lifeline. Least of all him. The idea of Satoru knowing you might need that money, that you might actually need him, made you want to literally crawl out of your own skin.

You were still sleeping in his t-shirt. You’d kind of stopped pretending it was by accident. It was nicely  soft and it made you feel safe in a way that pissed you off. You still put it on every night like some kind of fucked-up security blanket. The cheap drip coffee maker you'd impulse-bought now sat on your counter right next to your expensive espresso machine. And you must have hurt your head somewhere, because why were you considering buying the horse painting you'd seen in a thrift store last weekend?

You'd kind of reached your personal low. White-knuckling life while all you could think about was Satoru's cold eyes. Fucking awful, if you ask me. Why was it YOU who inherited this ranch? You had cousins! Why couldn't it have been anyone ELSE? But at the same time, thinking about Satoru wrestling in the mud with any of your bitch-ass cousins made your stomach turn. Ugh.

If only he'd agreed to sell, perhaps the guilt wouldn't be eating you alive. You were pulling overtimes just to stay employed, while trying to come up with another plan — one where you wouldn't need the money or the job anymore. If only there would be someone rich who wanted you... Should you buy some get-rich spell from an Etsy witch, just in case?

So you did get the spell… Just in case.

And then, after a few weeks of silence, Shoko forwarded you an email.

Subject: Gojo/Estate — Request for Joint Counsel Meeting

Your eyes darted over the text. Satoru’s legal team was requesting an in-person meeting. Holy motherfucking shit, you almost jumped out of your office chair. He was folding.

THE SPELL WAS WORKING. Everything would work out after all! You just needed to make Shoko convince them to meet in the city, because you probably wouldn't be able to think straight coming back to the countryside anymore. It was only fair to do it on your terms, in your space, because that's what winners deserved after all!

It took her a hefty email thread to just agree to meet in her office. Home turf through and through. We are oh so coming home.

But then you got nervous. Because alongside it coming home, it was also Satoru coming here, and that felt even weirder than you just going to the ranch.

And the nervousness got even worse by the time you arrived there twenty minutes early. You bounced your leg under the table, fiddling with your fingers in your lap as you darted glances between the door and Shoko, who was watching you with a weird expression on her face. You wanted to believe that you didn't look crazy right now, that your heart almost didn't pound straight out of your chest, that you hadn't been stress-buying cowboy boots and Etsy witch spells for the past month just to force the man who was about to walk through this door out of your mind and see him only as someone who was holding you back. And bet he was! You'd written it over and over in your manifestation notebook, so it must have been true. And not like a man you wanted to wear your cowboy boots for. Not that you wanted to. You got the boots because they're trendy right now! 

And when he and his lawyer arrived, you wanted to scream. He was wearing a suit and a cowboy hat, and for some reason it made your toes curl in your heels to the point you almost tripped over your own feet.

"'Been a minute, sweets," he murmured, shaking your extended hand, his calloused grip completely swallowing yours. He gave you a once-over, the corner of his mouth ticking up. "Lookin' real good, as always."

You absolutely did NOT blush and squeezed his hand back. "Likewise," you managed to choke out in a voice that definitely did NOT crack, to which he gave you a very small private smile, to which you certainly did NOT blush again, and sat back down. The fact that his hand was so warm and the ghost of his touch lingered along your palm, and that he smelled like himself, and that you kind of caught yourself inhaling more than you should, because you certainly did NOT miss the smell, were all irrelevant information.

The meeting started and it lasted four hours. Full of documentation, counter-documentation, revised assessments, and sub-clauses that seemed to breed more sub-clauses every time someone closed a folder.

His lawyer was not difficult, which made it even more annoying. Every figure your lawyer produced, he had a newer figure. Every assessment from your side, they had a follow-up.

You weren’t fighting, which was kind of a relief but also a bummer, because that would at least explain why you felt so hot all over the entire time. Especially whenever you caught Satoru watching you across the table, his hair messy from the hat even if he’d tried to smooth it out, tilting his head at you when he caught your eyes darting to him.

Though he stayed mostly silent the entire time, read what the lawyers handed him, nodded at stuff that needed nodding at, just like you. Then, somewhere in hour three, Satoru leaned forward slightly and asked one question about the watershed boundary relative to the county’s updated flood plain mapping from last spring.

Both lawyers paused. The appraiser flipped back three pages. Neither of the lawyers could produce a legible answer, and the appraiser just shrugged because he deadass didn’t know either.

So long story short, hours in and with no signs of resolution, both lawyers just closed their folders in unison and reached a general consensus that enough was enough and that the meeting was postponed until further notice.

“We can reconvene next week,” his lawyer suggested. “That gives both parties a week to review the adjusted figures.”

You looked at Satoru in absolute horror. 

"Works fine by me," he said softly. "Ain't in no rush."

The meeting adjourned and you felt like a failed experiment in Mythbusters. You wanted to cry into your useless papers, drink your drip coffee that still tasted like shit, and piss off, instead of going to a joint dinner the lawyers proposed to ‘lift the parties' spirits’ or whatever. The only spirit you needed right now was to spirit yourself into oblivion and not spend more time in his general cowboy vicinity.

You went because saying no would’ve looked weak. And you WEREN’T emotionally weak. To hell with that. You were waiting for the cringe, for the inevitable, for Satoru to squint at the menu's French terms and ask the waiter if they had a burger, or a Bud Light, or do anything that would confirm your narrative that he was a simple, uncultured cowboy. You needed him to fumble. You needed to feel superior again.

Instead, Satoru ordered the duck confit and then asked the sommelier for a specific bottle of Nebbiolo, discussing the vintage notes like he did this every fucking Tuesday.

You stared at him. Shoko stared at him. The sommelier fucking stared at him.

Satoru caught your eye and flashed a smile, dimples and all. "What? Auntie liked the good stuff. Taught me a thing or two."

You ordered the steak, because you needed protein and for the first time in weeks you genuinely felt hungry, and you weren't paying so might as well.

"How's the food?" Satoru asked casually, just as you stabbed into the meat and it was definitely not medium rare, just how you'd wanted it. You hated that it didn't taste like the steak Satoru had made you the very first evening on the ranch. And then you hated that you were even thinking about it at all.

"Fine," you said, chewing through the not-so-tender cut with a completely straight face.

So you did the only reasonable thing and tried to get drunk on the wine he ordered, downing your glass every time he smiled at you just so you'd have somewhere to look. It wasn't exactly working in your favour. 

Your lawyer, who happened to also be your friend from college and who had clearly decided somewhere between the entrée and the dessert to, not only financially, but also personally ruin your life, put her hand on your upper back. "What about one more drink?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at you. "To toast the progress. You've been uptight the entire day, we need to loosen you up a bit."

You oh so obviously needed to get shitfaced. Your life was falling apart, so of course the right response was to poison yourself with enough alcohol alongside your hot enemy, like some plot of a below-average manhwa. You were just being… well, not exactly strategic. But that was all beside the point. You had been psychologically manipulated by that shitty steak and the wine Satoru requested.

So off to the bar, you even helped to choose, all of you went. You slid into the booth in the back and Shoko immediately ordered tequila shots. Which, bless her, but you already knew you would wake up with a terrible hangover tomorrow and have to call in sick.

“To successful negotiation!” she toasted. The shots clinked, the awkward polite social-cue eye contact entailed, and you spilled the burning liquid down your throat like there was no tomorrow.

You cringed and washed it down with the drink you’d ordered, which didn't make it any better. But it loosened you up a bit, which made the conversation less stiff. Your lawyer was complaining about her clients, Satoru complained about some of his, well, yours, horses. 

“There are cross-departmental lay-offs happening, the fucking worst timing imaginable,” you added, waving your hand like it was just another annoying email from HR. You had bitten your lip and had that little frown on your face, the one Satoru already recognized you used when you weren't exactly joking.

"Well, that's why the buyout's gotta happen, so take that, Gojo," you deflected, toasting your glass and looking at him expectantly, half-serious, half-joking. The table chuckled at that, because you were the queen of comebacks and whimsy.

"Can't promise ya anythin', sweets." He tilted his head and took a sip of his beer, then flashed a quick, uncharacteristic look at his lawyer.

Now what was that. You didn't like it. You narrowed your eyes and turned your head to Shoko, who just shrugged, obviously clocked out of the lawyer-doing-lawyer-shit factory for the evening. You weren't drunk enough or sober enough to pry further, so you let it slide. For now.

The conversation loosened even further as the drinks stacked up. Shoko was clearly dead set on getting home on all fours—nth drink in, complaining about a client who kept CCing her on emails she had explicitly asked not to be CCed on. His lawyer had a counterpart story about a property dispute that had somehow involved a neighbor's goat in the middle of downtown. 

Satoru turned to you and said something. Over the course of the evening the music had gotten louder, the crowd had gotten louder as well, and you had apparently gone partly deaf, because all you caught was the vague shape of a question. The lawyers had drifted back into their own orbit, something about agricultural legislation, an amendment that had apparently been deeply controversial in circles you did not run in, and the conversation forked. Shoko and his lawyer turned toward each other with great purpose, absolutely ditching you, which left you sitting there like a spare part. And there goes having a nice evening when you're an adult.

"What?" you said, probably too loudly.

He leaned in slightly and repeated it. You caught the gist—something about the horses, one of the mares. The one he liked to ride. It was, yet again, infuriating that you already knew this detail. He must have used some kind of Etsy witch spell as well, because why the hell were you retaining so much? You were there for nine days total. Nine! You leaned in a little more to catch the rest, close enough that his scent hit you properly, warmly enveloping you.

"Hold on," you said, shutting your expression down and snapping the fuck out of it. "I gotta piss."

Very smooth. Very ladylike. Extremely elegant. Yes, that was you.

You stared at yourself in the dim bathroom mirror, eyeing the stickers plastered on the inside of the door. Right at eye level there was a fuckass sticker that said this ain't my first rodeo in bold western font, a little illustrated cowboy hat sitting right on top of the O.

Your eye twitched. You had the upper hand. The buyout would finally happen and soon you would be the big city socialite you were always meant to be, completely free of ranches and their foremen and their specific, nice smells and the way they looked at you with those panty dropping blues. Out of sight, out of mind. The sooner this evening ended the better as well.

That's why you smoothed your hair. Then decided it looked like an ugly cowlick, so you fluffed it back out again. That's also why you uncapped your sparkly lip gloss, the good one, the bad bitch one, the one which you certainly did not save only for dates. It simply happened to be the only one in your purse. Trust.

That's also why you stopped at the bar on your way back and picked up two beers. Purely strategic. You were marginalizing your enemy by handing him alcohol, loosening him up, extracting information. An evil plan, completely airtight, totally unprovable.

That's why you slid back into the booth a little closer than where you'd been sitting before. Tactically. Obviously.

Satoru picked up where he’d left off, repeating the question for about the fourth time. Something about the mare. He'd apparently been thinking about breeding her. There was a stallion his parents recently bought, good bloodline, good temperament, but the timing had to be right and he wasn't sure yet.

And you were following along, which was the horrifying part. You were already imagining a little baby horse trotting around doing whatever it was baby horses did.

"Why are you asking me?" you said, when he paused. "I don't know anything about horse breeding. Well, about horses in general."

He considered that for a second. Looked down with that small, cheeky smile and took a sip of his beer. "Dunno." A small shrug. "We were sittin' in silence an' I guess I just wanted to talk to ya, sweets."

Well, now. You took a swig of your beer and pursed your lips, because you had absolutely no idea what to do with that, and you already hated that the butterflies in your stomach had gone and responded to it instead. He was watching you be flustered—sitting so close, close enough that you were acutely aware of how warm he was, his scent hitting you even more aggressively than before—and all you could do was look him in the eyes and then, helplessly, drag your gaze down to his thighs, very nicely filling out the slacks he was wearing, and then immediately curse yourself for doing it.

He tilted his head. Something in his expression shifted, went a little softer, a little more serious. 

"Aren't you supposed to be angry at me?" you dared to look back up at him, curious why he is always so nice to you. 

"Bein' upset an' hatin' are two completely different things, darlin'." The corner of his mouth ticked up. "Thought ya were a big girl an' knew that."

Before you could gaslight, gatekeep, or girlboss your way out of that one, Shoko resurfaced from whatever legislative rabbit hole they had disappeared down. She turned to face the two of you with an expression that meant absolutely no good.

"Okay." Her voice cut straight through the music as she leaned forward. "I have to ask."

You already didn't like this.

"I don't wanna sound unprofessional," she said, in the tone of someone who had fully committed to being unprofessional, "but I have been dying to ask this the entire day." Her eyes darted quickly to you and back to him. "I've never actually talked to a real cowboy before, so I have to know—is it true what they say? That cowboys have insane stamina? From all the riding?" she giggled. "Like, do you work out, or does it just naturally come with the hat?"

"Shoko—" you gasped, because it was indeed unprofessional, all of you were supposed to keep working together, where had this come from, what was happening—

"Well," Satoru bit his lip, like he was trying to make it less awkward, or perhaps just awkward in a completely different direction.

He looked at you instead though as he picked up his beer. "All I'm gonna say is... with the right horse, a cowboy can go all night long."

Shoko absolutely fucking lost it, fully cackled, hand flat on the table. And you love—NO. Hated. You hated the implications. Obviously. What was even happening right now, for real, genuinely, someone please explain this to you—

You picked up your drink and put the whole thing away in one go.

"That's what I thought," Shoko said, giggling away as she turned back to his lawyer like nothing ever happened.

His lawyer left right after he finished his drink. He missed his wife, had a court case tomorrow morning, and had clearly reached his absolute limit for sexual tension that didn't involve him. Handshakes, and off he went. You almost envied him.

Shoko did not have a wife at home or an early morning, and she had decided she was not done yet. She ordered one more drink with the confidence of a woman who had started a fire and intended to watch it burn. She told a long, winding story that had somehow, gradually become about horses. You weren't entirely sure how. Then she stopped mid-sentence, looked at both of you and stood up, not entirely steadily, and gestured at you to follow her. You slid out of the booth and she hauled you toward the door, just far enough that the music covered your voices.

"You didn't tell me Satoru looked like that," she turned to you with the expression of someone personally betrayed. "I can't blame you, girl, though I don't entirely understand your restraint."

"The fuck you mean? And wait, let me grab my purse, I'll leave with you—"

"Nuh uh, you stay. You get the D. You two have been eyefucking each other the entire day anyway."

"What?! No, that's not true! And I can't sleep with him, he's the opposing party, have you lost your entire mind?!"

"You will lose yours if you don't rodeo the fuck out of his dick," she whispered fiercely, pointing a finger at your chest. "Relax. Y'all are on a property case, not a murder trial. Easy. I won’t tell anybody."

"Wait—"

"Text me,” she knowingly winked at you and it sounded more like a threat than a suggestion. The door swung shut behind her and gone she was. You stood at the edge of the bar for a second, staring at the door swinging shut behind her. 

"She's a menace, yer lawyer,"  he murmured as you slid back into the booth, next to him. "She is a great lawyer," you argued weakly, staring at your empty glass. 

“We can leave too, ya know,” he said, his voice dropping sweet and low right by your ear, effectively moving the conversation elsewhere. He draped his arm over the back of the leather seat, caging you in—inviting and annoying. He could see the slight unsteadiness, the flush on your cheeks that wasn't exactly only from the alcohol.

He was being a perfect gentleman, which was honestly the most infuriating thing he had done all day and he had done a lot of infuriating things, like looking at you nicely. He cleared his throat, his thumb gently, experimentally brushing the curve of your shoulder. He was giving you the out.

"It's late. Don't wanna keep ya if—" 

You squeezed your shoulder blades at the touch, leaning a bit closer, chasing the warmth. You eyed your empty bottle, his half-finished one, and Shoko’s words uncharacteristically ringing in your ears.

“One more drink,” you blurted out, not even letting him finish. And then your treacherous mouth added one desperate "please" for grand effect. You didn't mean to say it, and you couldn't take it back. His thumb instinctively went a little rougher against your skin. He stopped, fully taking in your flushed face, the way you were leaning into his space, and trying to understand exactly what that please meant.

"Yeah," he murmured softly. "Okay."

It was the closest you had been all evening. It was also the warmest the night had felt. Satoru, without further questions, went to the bar and returned with the last round. What the lady asks, the lady gets. He caged you in again, perhaps on instinct, as he handed you your drink. You, already tipsy and feeling dangerously floaty, gleamed up at him.

The conversation flowed naturally after that. Who would have thought that when you stopped being a deliberate bitch, he was actually incredibly nice to talk to. He talked about the ranch, about Yuji doing something incredibly stupid with a tractor, about Megumi delivering a devastating insult to a feed supplier in five words or less.

You listened. Not just listened, you talked back. You told him about the time you spilled an entire coffee down yourself on the subway right before an important meeting, about the traffic jam where you almost peed yourself. You realized mid-sentence that you hadn't even told Shoko that one. Yet here you were, offering it up freely to the man who was actively stalling your dream, giggling at him with your head tipped back against his forearm on the seat.

Satoru was watching you with something careful and warm in his expression. Maybe regretting getting the last drinks. Grateful for them all the same, because he was finally seeing you like this — unguarded, easy, your pretty smile doing something genuinely unfair to him from up this close.

“You coming back to the ranch?” you asked, turning your head and subconsciously nuzzling your cheek against the sleeve of his suit jacket. Satoru had to bite his tongue. You were being so fucking adorable, it genuinely hurt him.

"Nah," he said, once he trusted himself. "Gonna stay in the city 'til we get it resolved. Don't wanna be goin' back an' forth." 

“Then you left our house unsupervised?" you gasped softly, pulling back slightly. "What about the animals? Already told you you were being a bad owner.”

And now, fuck him. Our house? You might as well have stabbed him straight through the heart, because you certainly had a way with words and a thing for timing. It sounded dangerously natural and familiar coming out of your mouth, and he almost dared you, begged you, to fucking repeat it.

“No worries, sweets,” he finally managed, his voice coming steadier than he felt. “Nanami an' the kids are takin' care of it as we speak. Well, not now, they're dead asleep. But it's in the best hands possible.”

“Who are they, anyway?” you asked curiously. He always talked about them so sweetly, yet he had never given you anything else. Satoru’s gaze softened. He looked down at you, at the way your cheek was still pressed against his arm, and something in his chest actually physically tightened. He hadn’t expected you to ask.

“Known Nanami since high school,” he murmured, as he flexed his biceps under your head on reflex, maybe on purpose too, who knows. “He’s the only one who can actually put up with me for more than ten minutes. An’ got to know Yuji through auntie. She knew his uncle back in the day."

He took a sip of his beer, his eyes distant for a fraction of a second before focusing right back on your face. "We needed some new part-timers a while back, extra hands for the stables. So I just asked him. Kid showed up the next day an' brought Megumi an' Nobara along." 

He left it at that. Not that Satoru wasn't chatty, he just felt weirdly vulnerable talking about his life with you. You might have been giving him the most adorable, glassy doe eyes in human history, but you were still trying to take the ranch away from him. He still remembered the way you looked at him when he refused to sign the papers. But yet, being so close to him, feeling his warmth while he felt yours, your hands itching to touch him—it was so domestic, so impossibly intimate.

You blinked up at him, your alcohol-soaked brain trying to process everything. You wanted to ask more, get lost in his masculine voice, have him murmur into your ear more. You were dangerously close to letting yourself get entirely too attached to the idea of this man and his life. You were drunk. It was fine. A little fantasy, a little pretend before the sun came out again... Right?

But before you could open your mouth, the bartender came over to inform you the bar was about to close. And then, with the timing of all romcom timings, a sudden heavy drumming hit the front windows. You both looked toward the entrance. It was raining.

And there went your little horny fantasy.

"Uh," you sighed, blinking away the daze of the booth. You sat up, suddenly hyper-aware of how deeply you had melted into his side, and shakily reached for your purse. “I guess we should get going then. Lemme go pay—”

You tried to scramble up, fishing in your bag, but his large hand softly closed over yours, prying it away. “No need, darlin'. Already paid when I got the last round.”

"You didn't have to pay for that," you pouted.

"My treat, sweets," he said, already leading you toward the exit. He looked down at you, the faint, infuriatingly handsome smile returning. "Let's get a cab, alright?”

And something must have seriously possessed you, because under normal circumstances you hated the rain with a capital H. “I wanna walk home.”

“It's just five blocks from here, yeah?" he asked. You had apparently said that out loud at some point tonight.

"Yeah," you bit your lip. Your skin was buzzing, perhaps from the cold draft from the door hitting your heated skin, or from his resolve-killing blues looking down at you so, so sweetly.

You swayed unsteadily, looking higher, eyeing his Stetson, his white bangs cheekily sticking out from underneath. Without thinking, you reached up, yanked it from his head, and put it squarely on your own. He blinked at the intrusion, a faint, sudden flush adorning his cheeks as he watched you adjust it.

"Looks better on ya anyway," he muttered.

Though your silly little drunk idea of walking home was acutely crushed by the literally biblical downpour happening outside. Well, you said walking, so walking it is. 

One block over and both of you were drenched, shivering and mentally voting how much of your aura it would cost to beg for that cab after all. He shrugged his suit jacket off without breaking stride and dropped it over your shoulders.

"Satoru, you're going to freeze," you pointed out, gripping the lapels and pulling them closer to your chest anyway. It engulfed you so nicely, smelling like his cologne, a bit of clean air and so much like him.

"Well, better me than ya, ain't it? Ya were already freezin', just keep walkin', sweets."

You hated how good that sounded. You hated that you were letting him walk you home in the pouring rain like this was some kind of romcom and not the messy disaster your life had become.

The rain was relentless. His white hair was dripping, plastered to his forehead, and his shirt was doing increasingly interesting things in the rain. Somewhere between the second and third block your hand found his. Well, sort of. You hesitantly looped your pinky around his, testing the waters, waiting to see if he'd interlace his fingers with yours. You were feeling daring and dangerous — or maybe not. Surely not thinking entirely straight.

“C’mere,” he murmured, and tugged, bringing you shoulder to shoulder, his hand snaking away from yours to find your lower back instead. You were definitely too drunk for this. Or not drunk enough.

You stopped in front of your building. You dug your keys out of your purse, your fingers fumbling slightly as you stood under the awning of your building's entrance. 

"You're soaking wet. Just come up," you tried to tug him in.

He looked at you for a second, like he couldn't tell if you were joking or dead serious. Hell, you didn't know if you were joking or dead serious. "I'll grab a cab to the hotel. Already super late anyway. No worries, sweets, it's fine—"

"Please,” you pouted again, absolutely not knowing what had gotten into you. Why were you inviting this man up? Do we need to answer that though?

"Sweets." His voice was low, something in it wasn't quite steady. "Yer 'please' is gonna kill me one day, ya know that?"

So you went up, the elevator was warm after the rain, making the world tilt slightly. You swayed into his shoulder without meaning to, sleepy and damp and thoroughly done with your own defenses for the evening. Your hand found his, more confidently now, and your fingers interlaced.

Satoru went very still for a short moment. Then his hand closed around yours, and you watched his throat move as he stared straight ahead at the elevator doors.

You fumbled with your keys at the door. And then it was just the two of you in your quiet apartment.

It looked even better with him filling up your tiny entryway like this, and no daydream had ever done the image justice. You couldn't even be mad at yourself for thinking it at this point.

He swiftly glanced around and clocked your stupid pink Salomons lying near the shoe rack. You’d  thrown them there since you'd got back weeks ago, deliberately, maybe, never really bothered putting them away. The corner of his mouth ticked up at the sight. He turned to you. You were watching him half-expectantly, half lost in your own head. His hat looked so good on you. The suit jacket too. Well, any of his clothes did — specifically that t-shirt of his he didn't seem to be able to find. You bit your lip as he tilted his head at you.

His eyes were already blown out and hazy and fixed exactly on your mouth, just like yours were on his. It was now or never, because that’s what you say about kissing your supposed enemy. You took a step closer, then another, tipped your head up and crashed your sparkly lips against his. 

Satoru made a low sound in the back of his throat as your fingers tangled into his wet hair. The gentlemanly restraint he'd had going on clocked out. His hand flew to grip your waist, fingers curling into the soaked fabric of your dress, kissing you back,  because this was everything he'd wanted ever since your bloody aunt, may she fucking rest in peace, told him about you. Who would have guessed his dream would come true in your small apartment, in the middle of a property dispute, drunk. He finally had you and you finally had him. But that was exactly the issue. Drunk. And Satoru wasn't raised a dick.

He tore his mouth away. He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he cradled the side of your head. 

"Satoru," you breathed, chasing his mouth. He groaned at the needy tone of your voice — god, he wanted to hear more of it. Even needier, under him, and only for him. But he held you firmly in place, at war with himself and every moral he'd ever had, so you couldn't close the gap again.

"No," he rasped. "Not like this, sweets."

You froze, the rejection feeling like a bucket of ice water.

"Yer drunk," he murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. "An' yer not thinkin' straight. An' tomorrow mornin', when the sun comes up, yer gonna hate me for it. An' I ain't gonna be a mistake ya regret."

"I'm not that drunk," you informed him, trying to counterargument him, desperately clinging to him. And there went your bad bitch persona. 

"You were asleep on my shoulder in the elevator."

You glared at him. He slowly, reluctantly let go of your waist. He reached up and lifted his hat off your head, putting it back on his own. “I was just resting my head,” you muttered, pouting at him. He definitely could get used to that pretty expression.  

"Sure ya were." He looked at you for a second, something warm and certain in his expression. "Let's just put ya to sleep, yeah?"

"Wait," you blurted out, the sudden realization piercing right through the warm haze. "You're... you're leaving?"

Satoru tilted his head, the brim of the hat casting a shadow over his eyes, as he took your hands gently into his. "Not unless ya want me to."

You groaned into your pillow as you came to slowly. Your bedroom was nicely dim, the blinds surprisingly closed—you usually never bothered with them, you only got them because they were pretty, anyway.

You immediately registered the blunt pressure in your head. Ah. Hangover. But it was swiftly overshadowed by the unfamiliar warmth enveloping you, tickling your belly, and the god-like smell you were inhaling all around you. Satoru’s arm was slung over your waist, holding you in, and his bare chest was pressed flush against your back as he snored softly into the pillow behind you.

Wait. Whose hand is slung over you?! Holy shit— Did y’all…? No. No, you didn’t.

The actual going-to-bed part was slightly fuzzy in your memory. Him putting you to bed, him saying that he would sleep on the couch, you tugging him next to you anyway. Or something like that.

You let out a soft exhale and sank a fraction deeper into his arms. You decided to bask in it for exactly a little while before you would deliberately turn into the bitch you were supposed to be and say something like yesterday was a mistake.

You carefully turned around to watch him. He looked so peaceful, almost angelic in your bed, his mouth slightly open, faint freckles scattered across his unfairly pretty face. He stirred a bit and brought you snug against him, your legs tangling together. His body was all hard and soft at the same time, and you hated that you were already imagining yourself waking up like this more often.

But then your eyes drifted to your nightstand and  your alarm clock. It was ungodly late, and you were supposed to be at work today. Then, your eyes noticed a glass of water and two aspirin set beside it.

Another hazy memory resurfaced of him asking, his voice all low and soft in the dark. “Where d'ya keep your medicine, sweets?” He had actually pre-gamed your hangover. You bit the inside of your cheek, a betraying flutter going off in your chest. Asshole. How were you supposed to ruthlessly negotiate with a man who took care of your morning misery before you even asked?

You very carefully snaked away from the bed so as not to wake him, not ready to fully face him just yet. You downed the water with the pills and disappeared into the bathroom. You made a quick and miserable call to your boss to call in sick today, then went to the sink to brush away your post-night-out morning breath.

Then you looked in the mirror to assess exactly how much of a disaster you looked like. Uh. Eh. Ew. Not the best, not the worst, head still throbbing just enough that you couldn't fully dissect why your hair looked both greasy and like a bird's nest at the same time.

"Okay," you told your reflection. So. You'd kissed him, and he'd kissed you back. But he'd stopped it, but he still stayed. And now he was in your bed.

Oh, god. Oh, fuck.

You should have left with Shoko yesterday, but that felt almost worse than bringing him home. You still couldn't believe your drunk self, that you were so willing to jump his dick so vehemently. What happened to attract, not chase?

You washed your face with the coldest water possible, once, twice, scrubbing last night, the shame, the what ifs your off skin like that was something you could actually do. It helped approximately nothing. 

You buried your face in the towel and let out a pathetic, muffled groan into it. You were going to lift your head, look at yourself in the eyes, and remind yourself that you didn't do things you regretted. You were going to be rational, in control of —

Two arms came around you from behind. He was awfully quiet for someone his size.

He'd been already half awake when you'd slipped out of bed. Laid there for a minute in the warm space you'd left, staring at the ceiling with shit-eating grin, because what the fuck, and listening to the muffled sounds coming from the bathroom. He probably should have thought about this more carefully. He'd expected almost anything to happen yesterday. Like, you not talking to him at all, you being all cold and distant or just collegially friendly as far as the legal stuff went. But not you blushing the very first second you saw him. And especially not him waking up in your bed. You had no idea how much he'd had to physically restrain himself yesterday.

But god, he'd had you in his arms the entire night. You'd even cuddled him first! It was all he could have asked for, and he was pretty sure you knew it. Took you long enough — but then, maybe he'd been just impatient.

"Mornin', sweets," a sleep-heavy voice rumbled right against your ear. He was so warm and sleep-slow, his bare chest fitting so perfectly against your back as he nuzzled his face into your hair. It sent tingles down your spine and settled low in your belly, right where his hands were.

He let out a contented sigh, pulling you a fraction tighter. "Hidin' from me already?" he mumbled, sounding like he was about to fall right back asleep standing up.

"I'm not hiding," you managed, your voice muffled by the towel you were still pressing over your face to hide the blush.

"Could've fooled me," he hummed, his thumbs lazily stroking the sides of your waist, and it made you lean into him even more, against his— Oh. "Ya bolted outta bed before I could even say good mornin'."

"I needed to call in sick," you finally dared to lower the towel and turned your head toward him. His white hair was messy and sleep-tousled, his eyes still half-closed.

"Head hurt?" he asked softly, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your collarbone.

"A little," you whispered, completely forgetting how to be a bitch.

"Told ya." He looked at you through the minor, watching the beautiful timid flush spreading across your cheeks. "Should've let me take ya home earlier, big girl."

“We should talk—” you started, but the rest of the words never made it out. His fingers caught your chin, tilting your head back, and before you could utter another syllable he pressed his mouth to yours and kissed them right out of you.

Satoru let out a satisfied sound as you didn't even bother resisting, because why would you anyway. His lips were so soft, so much better than yesterday, though perhaps that was just because you weren't drunk anymore. He turned you around and pinned you between the sink and himself, cradling the side of your face, kissing you so reverently, so impossibly sweet.

“Mmm, soo good,” he mumbled against your lips, nuzzling his nose against yours. He kissed you like he’d been waiting months, years, for it. Which he kinda had, so you couldn't really blame the poor guy. Especially not when you melted so instantly against him, a tiny sound catching in your throat as your fingers curled into his bare shoulders and the kisses turned hungrier.

And you also got grabby fast. Hands sliding down his chest, over his stomach, reaching lower to palm his cock. He was already hard and straining in his boxers. Satoru groaned roughly, tugging at your hair as he pulled back just a bit to look at oh how nicely you were gripping him. A wicked, sleep-flushed smile spread across his face, because holy fuck, your hand was finally, finally on his dick, though his hands gently caught your wandering wrist, stopping your assault. He felt flattered that you simply couldn’t fucking keep your hands to yourself! But there were priorities.

“Nuh-uh,” he muttered as he caressed your blushing cheek. “Wait, baby. Gotta get ya in the shower first.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and chased his mouth again. “Huh?”

He chuckled at that and pressed a small kiss to the tip of your nose. "You'll feel better. Promise.” Then he started trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking softly, and it made your knees buckle. The inner bitch packed her bags and left for the other side of the world. But hey, you were all soft and into neck kisses, so who could blame you? His hands slid under the hem of your sleep shirt as he worked the fabric up.

“Been wantin’ this,” he murmured against your jaw as his fingers ghosted up under your breasts. “So sorry, wanna take my time with ya.”

He slid the shirt higher, his thumb flicking over your peaked nipple, and you both gasped at that. You immediately put your arms up so he could get rid of the shirt altogether.

Satoru’s eyes darkened as his gaze raked over your newly exposed skin, looking at you like you were the only meal he’d been allowed to eat in a decade. And do NOT even pity him, because it was all he ever wanted anyway.

"Fuck," he practically moaned. "Yer so fuckin' pretty." He lowered himself and kissed your sternum, fingers grazing the skin of your tits before his mouth closed over your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you whimper, before letting it go with a wet sound.

"Satoru—" Your fingers flew to his messy hair as he lowered himself to his knees, ghosting kisses everywhere he could reach. It was fucking maddening, it made your stomach hurt so, so much.

He hooked his fingers into your panties next, tugging them down slowly. He pressed a deliberate kiss to your hip, then the inside of your thigh, then higher, just barely, making you clench around nothing. Satoru had to bite his lip. He didn’t want to be a teasing fucker, but god, you were making it so easy and so hard right now. You were already soaking, your slick dragging down as he stripped your underwear, and he could taste you just from the kisses pressed to your inner thigh.

He looked up at you from the floor with an expression that was going to probably ruin you. You buckled your hips almost instinctively as you tried to bring him closer.

“Said shower first, pretty girl," he said, completely straight-faced, and stood back up.

You made a frustrated little sound but he just hooked an arm around your waist and into the shower you went. He kicked off his boxers and stepped under the overhead stream and you just needed a moment. A moment to shamelessly gawk at him, because holy motherfucking shit, he was so pretty, so hot, so big.

He pulled you under the water immediately. His hands ran down your arms, your back, washing off last night's rain, last night's bar, all of it. It was almost stupidly normal. You tipped your head back into the stream, closing your eyes and letting yourself just be there for a second, warm and clean, his hands moving over you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His mouth found yours again, pressing you flush against his straining cock. He rutted into you gently as he licked into your mouth, and you blindly reached for the shampoo before your knees could completely go out of commission before he'd even done anything properly to you.

"Let me," Satoru said, and took it out of your hand. He stepped behind you, his fingers finding your scalp, and you immediately understood that nothing in your life had prepared you for this. He was so gentle with your hair, working the lather through to your roots, and the sound you made was embarrassing and music to his ears. Your head dropped back slightly as you felt his cock grinding lazy and slow up and down your ass and lower back.

"Good?" he murmured.

"Mm," was all you had.

One of his hands started to wander around your body, caressing, positioning you better, while the other stayed tangled so nicely in your hair, massaging the crown of your head. You were getting absolutely lost in the reverence of his touch. His cock slid from between your cheeks to between your thighs, dragging through your slick folds.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all, as he tipped your head to the side and kissed your neck. “Can’t help it.”

He kept working through your hair, even as his hips started rolling more deliberately against you. His cock catching on your clit everytime he pushed into you.

"Hands on the wall f’me, yeah?" So you put your hands on the wall. He made a pleased sound and nudged  your legs a little wider and then the blunt cockhead was pushing into you, stretching you so open while his soapy fingers never stopped massaging your scalp.

"Fuck," Satoru groaned, his forehead dropping against your wet shoulder as he fully bottomed out. "Yer so fuckin' tight. Jesus Christ."

"Ngh — 'Toru—"

"I know," he rasped, loving the way that slipped out of you, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck as his mushroomy tip kissed your cervix. "Just take it. Doin' so good for me, pretty girl."

He rolled his hips into yours, every stroke dragging over that plush spot inside that made your walls flutter. You were already lost in it, his breath huffing warm against your ear, his hands stroking over your stomach and hips like he simply couldn't stop touching you, the hot water coming down over both of you, though it had nothing on the heat of your own skin under his hands.

It was too much. Infuriatingly too much, and you hated that your legs had started shaking. You could feel yourself clenching around him harder every time he bottomed out, feeling him so impossibly deep, and from the broken sound he made he could feel it too.

"There she is," he rasped into your ear, voice gone rough. "Feel how tight yer gettin' for me? Ah— baby—"

One hand snaked to your lower stomach and pressed firmly, right where he could feel himself moving inside you. "Feel that?" he moaned, filthy and soft at the same time. "That's how deep I am. Takin' every inch an' still tryin' to pull me deeper."

He pressed gently on your lower back, coaxing you to arch up for him even more, then leaned over you and stole another heated kiss from your sweet mouth. You moaned into it, grateful he was holding you up because without him you would have dissolved straight down the wall into a puddle by now.

He found his rhythm. Thrusts turning a little messy, a little desperate, but knowing exactly where to drag his cock while his palm kept pressing from the outside, adding to the assault.  And it was all—

Gosh.

You stood no chance. It demolished any fantasy you’d ever had about him and we are not going to talk about the fact that you’d had any.

“I—I can’t—” you couldn’t even finish that. You came hard and sweet, a broken cry punched out of you as your cunt clamped down around him, pulsing and absolutely milking him. Your legs nearly gave out completely. Satoru had to put both arms around you to keep you upright while he fucked you so nicely through it, letting you feel every second.

“That’s it… that’s it, baby. Just like that. Give it to me.” He lasted maybe eight more strokes before his movements stuttered. Couldn’t really blame him, you’d gotten so infinitely wetter, so impossibly tight and warm. And trust, he wanted to stay buried inside you like this forever, but his cock was a desperate bastard, especially when he had you like this, completely broken from what had barely even been a proper fuck.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder as he bit you there lightly and he groaned, grinding deep against your cervix as he buried himself as far as he could go and came. He moaned filthy little praises against your skin while he rode it out, filling you up so so nicely.

He stayed like this for a moment, just breathing you in, the smell of sex on your skin already becoming his favourite scent, while one hand still gently stroking your tummy like he was soothing both of you.

“Fuck,” he finally muttered, almost laughing under his breath. “You alright, sweets?”

Now, were you? He had just fucked you in your own bathroom, leaving you all needy and pathetic, but was it also the best fucking sex you’ve ever had? So, yes, and yes.

You frantically nodded as he slipped out of your still-pulsing pussy, the cum already starting to run down your thighs. He turned you to face him and cupped your cunt gently, feeling the sticky mess he’d left leaking out of you.

“Shit,” he murmured, almost in awe, watching it drip over his fingers as he teasingly slipped his index finger just a little bit back inside. “Look at that.”

Satoru kissed you lazily, feeling the water already getting a little cool. “C’mon,” he said quietly, reaching behind you to turn the water a little warmer again. “Let me get ya cleaned up before ya get cold.”

And he had just fucked you physically and was absolutely fucking you sideways emotionally, because why was he so nice, so careful, so genuinely caring — it was making your poor heart do things at the sight of his dazed eyes, his dripping wet hair, the soft expression on his face that would probably send you to an early grave and you would send him a thank you card from the afterlife for it.

He still insisted on washing you carefully after that. Gentle hands between your legs, rinsing his cum off your thighs, soaping your skin while you tried, heavy on the tried, soap his, but you felt like warm jelly floating in the afterhaze. 

But hey, good thing the hangover had completely disappeared! Perhaps the aspirin finally kicked in or perhaps Satoru just fucked it away. Both were plausible. Every now and then he’d lean in and kiss your shoulder or the corner of your mouth, like he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to.

Only when you were both clean and the water was starting to run lukewarm again did he shut it off. He wrapped a towel around you, rubbing your arms dry. 

Somehow you ended up in the kitchen, still wrapped in towels, hair dripping onto your shoulders and all over the floor. Your legs were a little unsteady, but it was such a nice feeling.

You took two mugs out of the cabinet while he leaned against the counter next to you. His towel was slung low on his hips, and he looked so unfairly good, so completely comfortable in your space, that you didn't know if you wanted to scream or just bury yourself in his arms.

You looked sideways at the drip machine. “Can you make the coffee, please?” you asked timidly, immediately hating yourself for sounding so stupid and small. You crossed your arms over your towel, shivering slightly in the cooler air, and looked away. The post-orgasm haze was absolutely ruining  your usual defenses in the best and worst way possible.

"I missed your coffee," you mumbled to the floor. "Mine still tastes like shit."

Satoru was quiet for a second, then he let out a soft huff of a laugh and when you glanced up he was looking at you like you just broke his heart, put it back together, broke and put it back together again. “Yeah?” he said, his voice dropping low. “Want me to show ya how to make it taste good, sweets?”

“Yes,” you nodded, bit your lip and he smiled and gestured toward the counter. “C’mere. Up you go.” And before you could prepare yourself his hands were at your waist, lifting you clean off the floor and setting you on the counter like it was nothing.

"Watch," he said simply.

So you watched. Satoru stepped right between your dangling legs to reach the coffee machine for absolutely no reason, gently nudging your knees wider with his hips. It made it infinitely more difficult for him to actually prepare the coffee when he had no business being that close, but he just couldn't help himself, and you weren't going to complain either.

He started messing with the filter, pouring the grounds. The kitchen filled with the smell of fresh coffee and something very warm and domestic. And once the machine finally started brewing, he caught the dazed way you were looking at him. You were still blushing so cute, hair damp, towel barely staying put. His hands settled on your bare thighs under the towel, thumbs stroking your skin slowly.

“Got it, baby?” he asked teasingly, though his chest was still super floaty from the fact that you’d admitted to missing the coffee he loved making for you. He nudged you closer to the edge of the counter, planted a soft kiss to your lips, and god help everyone because he loved, loved kissing you — the way your lips fit so perfectly against his or the way you tasted. 

"So, okay," you said, slightly breathless against his mouth. "But I still don't understand what you do differently because I took a picture of literally everything you use at the ranch. Same beans, same filter, same everything. And mine still tastes like burnt water. It's a filter machine, it's supposed to be—" He pulled back from the kiss and looked at you. "—idiot proof," you finished, somewhat even more breathless now.

The corner of his pretty mouth curled up. So you really did miss him that much. It made his heart and his dick jump all the same. Holding your gaze, he slowly loosened your towel. Let it fall open, pooling around your hips, baring you to the cool morning air of the kitchen.

His eyes dragged down you and back up and you kinda forgot what you were saying, instinctively moving to cover yourself. “What—” 

And before you could even form a coherent thought, let alone finish that question, Satoru sank to his knees right in front of you. He nudged your thighs wider and planted your feet on the edge of the counter, opening you up for him.

"Shh." He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, one on each side, and looked up at you through his white lashes. The coffee machine rumbled in the background, the warm scent filling the kitchen, as his hot breath ghosted right over your already swollen cunt.

"It's kinda simple," he drawled, blowing air against your slick folds, making your pussy throb in response. "Thought ya would've figured it out by now, big girl."

That man absolutely loved to tease you, even when that smug-ass mouth was hovering right between your thighs. And please, do not send help for either of you, because you were both exactly where you wanted to be.

He kissed the sensitive skin right above your slit, then your hips, making you shift impatiently against the cold surface. You didn't exactly know if you were dying to hear the answer or just dying to finally have his tongue on you.

"Ya just gotta make it with a little love.” And then he put his tongue on you, giving you both.

Your head instantly dropped back against the upper cabinet with a soft thwack! as you let out a shameless cry. Satoru purred in approval, the sound vibrating right against your sensitive flesh. He started with short licks first, right near your clit, making your stomach clench, so close, yet so far. His large hands gripped the backs of your thighs, pinning you in place so you couldn't squirm away even if you wanted to.

He went in broader this time, his flat tongue dragging all the way over your clit before he finally sealed his mouth around it and sucked.

“Fuck— Satoru—”

One of your hands flew to his damp hair, while the other flailed blindly around you, trying to grab hold of the countertop, the upper cabinet, anything to keep yourself upright.

Satoru let you grind down slightly against his mouth, giving you just enough, and then pulled back to press a teasing kiss to your inner thigh while you whined in utter frustration. He was cruel and relentless in the best way possible. He kept alternating between fucking his tongue into you and sucking hard on your clit until your thighs started actively shaking around his head.

He mouthed your folds, teasingly licking the blushing skin, and then he looked up. His mouth was completely covered in your slick, his blues were blown out, and the sight alone almost fucking finished you.

“Close?”

And you couldn't even play it cool and say no, because under normal circumstances you probably wouldn’t be, but this man was holding something over you that made you all dazed, woozy, and entirely soft for him. It was fucking terrible, truly.

Though he didn't get an answer from your mouth, your eager pussy answered for him by clenching over nothing, whining so prettily for him. So, the gentleman he was, he hoisted your legs right over his shoulders and fucked two of his long fingers into you. He swiped right over that gummy spot that made your walls flutter violently around him, pressing up from the inside while he went right back to sucking your clit.

This man truly loved a good double assault in any combination, huh.

"Please—" You were gripping his hair with both hands now, hips rolling shamelessly, completely beyond caring. "Please, 'Toru, please—"

He groaned against you at the please, like it did something to him every single time, and went a little faster, making you cum on your kitchen counter with his name in pieces on your tongue.

"That's it, yer just so pretty I couldn't help myself," he mumbled as he drank down your wetness. "Let it go fer me real good."

Your thighs clamped tightly around his head, which made him groan like he was the one getting off, and he licked you right through it. Slower now, gentler, dragging every last pulse out of you until you were trembling, oversensitive, and trying weakly to squirm away.

You were left panting and basically boneless. Satoru pulled away, licking his fingers clean and swiping the leftover slick from his chin with his tongue as he looked up at you like he’d just found religion between your legs.

He stood up slowly, pressing small kisses to your stomach, your sternum, and your collarbone before finally landing on your mouth again. You could taste yourself on him, which made you moan a little all over again.

He reached behind you without breaking the kiss and poured two mugs. "Coffee's ready," he drawled.

And the most infuriating thing was that the coffee was of course perfect. It was rich, smooth, and absolutely not tasting like burnt water in the slightest. 

You somehow found your very wobbly way to the couch, feeling completely spent all over again despite having just woken up and currently sipping on a strong cup of coffee. Satoru jogged back toward the bathroom to grab his discarded boxers, and on his way back, he noticed a suspiciously familiar-looking gray fabric slung over your armchair.

“So this is where that t-shirt went, huh?” he drawled. He picked it up with a fond smirk and strolled over to where you were sitting, dropping it gently right into your lap.

“Put it on, sweets. Can't be wrapped in a towel forever,” he said so sweetly, and you flushed hard, maintaining as much dignity as someone caught stealing their cowboy's clothes possibly could.

You pulled it over your head and he smoothed the collar down once you threw it on, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"Keep it, then," Satoru murmured, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at you. "Looks a hell of a lot better on ya anyway, darlin’."

You spent the next half hour just chilling. It was bizarre, but so peaceful — curled up on your own couch, nursing his coffee while Satoru lazily traced circles on your bare knee. The morning light caught the dusting of freckles over his nose, making him look unfairly soft and relaxed for a man who had just spent the morning fucking you stupid in two different rooms.

You padded back to the kitchen for a glass of water. Satoru leaned back on the couch, dropping his head against the cushion.

"Still can't quite believe it," he murmured out of nowhere, his drawl breaking the quiet of the room. You stopped midway back. "Believe what?"

"That I actually have ya," he answered, a sincere smile tugging at his lips. "Still feels like I'm dreamin'."

Your stomach tightened anxiously at that. Because he did have you, kind of, probably, in some unclear way. But he also had half a ranch you were still trying to figure out what to do with. The whole buyout thing was still unresolved, complicated, and looming over you, and either of you most likely even wouldn’t wanna start this discussion any time soon.

Oh, no. No, no, no. You were so not doing this right now.

He was so blissed out from this morning's fantasy that he had kinda forgotten you were supposed to be the cold bitch and he was supposed to still be at least a little upset with you, and not looking at you like you hung the goddamn moon.

"I — well —" you stammered, your face burning. Your panicked eyes darted around the living room, desperately looking for a way out. They landed on his hat sitting on your dining table, where he’d put it last night.

You reached for it before you could overthink it. Settled it on your head and tipped the brim up just enough to look at him properly. Deflection time, baby.

"You said a cowboy can go all night with the right horse," you said, voice light, almost careless. "Were you just talkin' shit for Shoko, or was that actually real?"

Satoru let out a short bark of a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. The couch shifted as you sat back down next to him. He saw right through your terrible attempt at a defense mechanism, immediately, but was going to let you have it anyway. 

If you wanted to play a game to avoid talking about your feelings, he was more than happy to oblige. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. 

"Talkin' shit, huh?" he raised his eyebrows as he leaned in and trapped you against the arm of the couch. "Darlin', I don't make promises I can't keep."

"I don't know," you challenged, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "So far, I've only seen you perform in the morning. Going all night is a completely different rodeo, cowboy."

Satoru's eyes flashed with absolute delight. Oh, you were so asking for it. If you always deflected by trying to get on his dick, he would let you happily deflect as much as you wanted, any time you wanted.

"Is that right?" He chuckled, his thumb coming up to trace a slow line along your jaw. "Seems to me you were the one whose legs gave out before noon, but suppose my memory could be just a little fuzzy."

You let out an offended gasp, swatting his hand away, but he just took your hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm. This time without any mud, though.

“I—I’m just saying that, statistically, all night is not really probable,” you stammered, but it came out more like a choked-out moan than anything.

He tilted his head and smiled, his unfair dimples finally arriving to the party, too.

"But hey," Satoru murmured against your skin, his eyes lifting to yours with a predatory gleam that made your thighs press together completely against your will. "If yer really doubtin' my stamina..."

He let it hang there, perhaps waiting for another smartass retort from you, as his eyes flickered lazily over to the wall clock before turning back to your flushed face.

"You did say you called in sick today, didn't ya?"

He took the hat right off your head and put it on himself. He didn’t even give you time to answer before claiming your mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue, all mean and demanding, raked over yours, swiping across your palate. You might have moaned at that right into his mouth, but that didn't mean you were putting the attitude to sleep. You apparently had no survival instincts whatsoever, because when he pulled back, you smiled.

“Well golly, mister,” you said in a terrible fake accent, chin tipped up. “You gonna keep talkin’, or you actually gonna do somethin’? And the hat stays on.”

Satoru scoffed, because now you were just mocking him. And he wouldn’t have that, especially with that shit-ass imitation of the way he spoke, thank you very much.

He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. “Turn around,” he ordered, his voice ice-cold as he guided you down onto your knees. His hand ran slowly up your spine, hiking the fabric of his t-shirt up, leaving your pretty ass and blushing cunt completely exposed for him. He kicked off his boxers again, settling right behind your perked-up cheeks.

“All that mouth,” he muttered, and spanked you, making you jolt. “Runnin’ around actin’ like you still don’t want this. Look at you now.”

Another spank, right where the first one had landed, harder this time.

“Stubborn as hell. Just like a horse that don’t know it’s already been broken in.” He traced the stinging red mark with his thumb, and you made a sound that had no dignity in it whatsoever.

"Gotta remind you who's holdin' the reins, darlin'."

You opened your mouth to snap something back, but he spanked you again, making you gasp and arch your back instead. Your fingers curled into the back cushion as the stinging sensation was making more than just your eyes wet.

He pushed in, sliding right into your sopping hole as he bottomed out immediately and stayed there. He ground against you in circles, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

"Fuck—!" you cried out, your elbows instantly giving out as you dropped flush against the cushions, making him go instantly deeper.

"Still so tight—" he rolled his hips, slow and testing. "Still tryna act like yer not fuckin' soaked for me." Another tentative roll.

Once he saw your shoulder blades weren't squeezing together in response to the tight burn, to getting used to the stretch, he started moving properly. Hard strokes that shoved you further into the cushions.

You still tried. Because hey, your pride might have been crumbling, but if the cornerstone was still intact, you weren't going down without a proper fight.

"I'm—" you gasped into the cushion. "—I've—ah—been wetter—"

He shifted, changed the angle and drove into you harder, absolutely railing you into the cushions, making your pussy clench and squelch around him — was it really any wetter? You moaned into the upholstery, face buried, completely betrayed by your own body.

"That so," he said completely conversational. Like he hadn't just rearranged something inside you. His hips snapped forward again, harder, finding an even meaner angle and locking onto it, because Satoru always did things thoroughly.

"Go on then," he said, breathless but steady, hips not letting up. "Finish that sentence."

You know your mouth opened, but what came out was like a half a syllable and then just a broken moan as he fucked into your cervix and you felt him in your stomach, which wasn’t exactly the comeback you had been reaching for.

"Thought so," he murmured, smug as hell, rewarding your shut-the-fuck-upness with a slow caress across your lower back. But you weren’t done. You were… just taking a breath. Trust. You turned your head to the side, fighting through the haze just enough to gasp out, "Gonna have to— try harder than that, Satoru—"

“Oh?” he murmured, his tone almost gentle. But you were kinda pissing him off right now. He knew exactly what you were trying to do—trying to goad him into absolutely railing you into next week, perhaps literally. But did you really have to be such a brat about it? What happened to just asking nicely? Though Satoru would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying toying with you like this, because he ceased all movement. 

His dick stayed unmoving, you could feel his veins faintly pulsing against your swollen walls, and you certainly did NOT feel the way your poor cunt kept fluttering trying to pull him deeper even though he refused to give you anything, because that was what was NOT happening.

You clenched on purpose, because the heated stillness was maddening. 

"I—" you tried to rally again, but your voice faltered, shifting your hips experimentally, trying to push back into him, but his hand on your hip tightened to stop you. "Wait, you can't just—"

"Ah ah," he said warningly, making your cheeks burn even hotter, if being a bitch gets you this, can't blame a girl for acting like one all the time.

“Move,” you whined and whined, white-knuckling your poor couch. 

“Ask me nicely then, such a pretty girl but so so impatient,” he tsked and put one of his arms on the backrest like he was taking a break, it was so hot and so infuriating, you hated it made your pussy throb. Ugh.

You made a sound of pure outrage into the cushion. "I am not — you can't just — this is so unfair—"

"Mm," he said again, but his hand left your hip, as it snaked up your back and into your hair. Satoru pulled back gently, forcing you to arch your spine and lift your chest off the cushions. 

"Can't just what, darlin'?" he murmured right against your ear. He finally rolled his hips again, tickling your insides.

You made another broken, frustrated sound. “You can’t just— stop like that—”

"I can," he said simply. "And I will." His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Until ya say what I wanna hear." And with another shallow roll, his fist tightened in your hair, pulling, making your spine curve.

“Wha-ohh!” He didn't even let you get another stupid remark out. He thrust upward with more power this time, the sharp arch of your back making you feel him so, so deep.

"Say ya want it, baby," he cooed, impossibly sweet for a man actively trying to rearrange your spine. His lips grazed your ear, your jaw, the side of your neck. "Stop hidin' behind that mouth, sweets. Tell me what ya want." A pause, another slow roll that made your toes curl. "Tell me ya want me."

What a jerk. You knew he was a jerk from the very beginning, you were aware. And now he was trying to emotionally manipulate you into admitting something that might have been the truth, but for legal reasons, you were NOT going to examine it right now. He was basically holding your poor orgasm, which was already forming so embarrassingly quickly in your lower belly, hostage.

"No—" you started. You expected another shallow roll, but the fucker started to pull out, making your poor pussy spasm at that in protest, because what the hell NO?!

"Fine, FINE," you gasped, completely past caring, this was psychological torture and you had nobody to blame but yourself. "Fine. I want it. I want you. I've wanted you, okay, I've — for a while, I've wanted you for a while, but — I want you. I want this. Please, Satoru, please—"

You would ramble like the absolute desperate whiny mess you were for longer, but you ran out of words.

"Yeah?" Satoru praised, or perhaps teased, you weren’t entirely sure. He let go of your hair, letting you plop face-first back into the cushion like a very undignified sack of potatoes. His large hand slid down to caress your spine again. "That's my good girl. 'Bout damn time." He thrust forward. "And—ngh—ya said it so nicely." A slow roll. "Guess I can go back to work."

He shifted his weight, because now it meant business since you'd finally decided to be good. Satoru planted one foot firmly on the floor, giving himself the leverage he needed, and pinned you back down with one hand. The other flew up to hold his hat in place, because he meant business now and intended to demonstrate exactly how much stamina he had.

Although he could feel, that the demonstration wasn't going to need to last very long at all. Your pussy was weeping so, so much around him, clenching and fluttering and sucking him in like it was trying to keep him there permanently, and he could feel you coiling tighter with every single movement. So, who didn't have stamina now, huh?

The wet sounds immediately filled the quiet apartment, skin slapping against skin, the squelch of your wet hole drooling every time he shifted. You had absolutely nothing, face pressed into the cushion while he used you exactly the way he’d wanted to since you put the hat on his head in the first place.

"Fuck — look at ya," he rasped, not slowing this time. "Takin' it so well now that ya stopped bein' a brat."

His hand released your hip and slid underneath you, pressing flat against your lower stomach, feeling himself move inside you again.

"God," he breathed, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he drove deeper. "Feel that? Feel how perfect ya take me?" His fingers found your clit. "This pussy was made for me, sweets. Nothin' else fits ya like I do."

Was it the words, was it the way he rolled your throbbing clit around his fingers? You couldn’t really tell,because you fucking came hard again. A broken cry punched out of you, getting partly muffled into the cushion as you turned your head to look at him. He looked so fucked out, so smug. His stupid cowboy hat still on, that smile spreading across his flushed face, and you squeezed around him harder just out of spite.

"For such big words," he rasped, still moving through your aftershocks, "didn't last that long, sweets. How am I supposed to prove anythin' when ya turn into a sobbin' mess so quickly, mm?"

A few more deep thrusts, and then he pulled out suddenly.

"What—" you protested weakly, though it didn't have much effect on anything. He grabbed your arm and guided you gently down onto your knees while you were still seeing stars behind your eyelids.

Satoru stroked his cock over your face. He looked down at you with those pretty blown-out eyes, his chest still heaving. "Now look at ya," he murmured. "Kept lookin' down at me. Pretendin' yer above all this." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Who's under who now, sweets."

You watched him with completely glassy, dazed eyes, gaze darting between his darkened blues and his slick pink cock in his hand, your mouth already watering, wanting to taste him—

"Ah—" he moaned, his hand moving to cup your jaw. "Open up for me."

You didn’t have to be told twice. He pushed into your mouth, one hand steadying the back of your head while the other cradled your cheek like he didn’t just hit the back of your throat until you gagged. He kept your head in place, gently fucking your mouth, deep throating your poor mouth.

Just like that, pretty girl. Just — yeah, exactly like—" 

His hand tightened in your hair, your cheeks hollowing as you swiped your tongue across his length, tasting yourself on him.

"Been thinkin' 'bout this," he rasped, barely audible, his head dropping back as his thumb kept brushing your cheek. “Ever since ya walked onto our porch in them heels of yours with that condescendin' expression... God, how I wanted to fuck that attitude right out of ya then—”

He cut himself off. His hips stuttered forward. "Sweets," he gritted, "I'm gonna—"

You sucked harder, your hands gripping his muscular thighs to bring him even closer, your nose burying into his white happy trail. He came hard, heavy pulses of his salty cum hitting the back of your throat as he held you firm and snug until he finished completely.

He dragged his thumb across your lower lip again, collecting a stray drop, and pushed it right back into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured, feeling you suck on his thumb. “My pretty girl.”

You didn't talk about the buyout that morning. Or the next. Or the next after that.

You two silently agreed to pack the word ranch into a box, wrap it in caution tape, and shove it somewhere dark. It was a haze of stolen touches and the smell of actually good coffee that you shamelessly started bringing to work too. It was his hands lazily tracing your spine while something played on TV. It was the weight of his arm thrown over your waist in the middle of the night, holding you against his warm chest. It was him fixing your creaking bedroom door without being asked. 

But he tried to bring it up. Of course he did, because unlike you, Satoru actually had a spine. He would pick you up from work and start saying something that began with "look, about the meetin'—" and you kissed him stupid on the sidewalk so he would forget what he was even trying to say. He would try again in the morning, you getting ready, still sleepy and usually with your defenses down, him leaning against the kitchen counter with his phone in hand. He would start again with "my lawyer sent over—" and you would shut him up by dropping to your knees right there.

And yes, it is said that you should not fix what isn't broken. Even if it was a stupid game of avoidance, you were a coward who would rather experience the sweetest week of her life wrapped in the thickest blanket of delusion rather than come clean with reality. The reality you had also kind of self-imposed, by the way.

You knew you were playing the stupid game. You were its best player, afterall. But god, the prize felt so good. But what were you supposed to do when the timer was finally up and Satoru was giving you the same eyes across Shoko's meeting room table that he gave you whenever he cuddled you? You hated that you didn't know where you stood now that you were finally standing where you'd wanted to be all along. And suddenly, looking at him from across the table, you didn't really see a villain anymore.

Shoko had her professional face back on, even if she suspiciously glanced your way multiple times, because you were wearing a turtleneck.

But look, self-imposed or not, in this reality you were supposed to be the shark smelling blood. The one with the upper hand. The one who was going to get rid of the ranch and— Wait. Did you want to get rid of him too, though?

"Shall we begin?" Shoko said, voice perfectly even. So you did. The discrepancies from last time got cleared up, everything explained, all the points covered again in order. You breezed through it to the point you were buzzing with petty anticipation, just because you had apparently become a full masochist.

But as Shoko moved to pull up the revised final valuation figures, Satoru's lawyer held up a hand. "If we could pause before the final numbers," he said, sliding a folder to the center of the table. "My client would like to present a new proposal." He looked around the table. "A full buyout of your fifty percent stake. Fair market value, sixty-day closing, clean transfer."

Huh.

Satoru held your confused gaze and there was something in his expression that wasn't quite an apology but was in the same neighbourhood. Something like I tried to tell you and I know and I'm sorry it's happening like this all at once, without saying any of it out loud.

"Additionally," his lawyer continued, "in the interest of full disclosure, Mr. Gojo has been personally funding the ranch's operational costs for the duration of the estate dispute. Staff salaries, equipment, general maintenance. All out of pocket." He glanced at Satoru. "Which should all be taken into account when we get to the final figures."

You had been calling this man a freeloader for months. In your head, out loud, to Shoko, to your mom, in your affirmation notebook! Gold-digging freeloader. Sugar baby. Village bumpkin. And he had been paying everyone's salaries out of his own pocket the whole time. Yuji. Megumi. Nanami. Nobara. All of them. His people. Funded entirely by the man you were trying to evict.

Your face felt suddenly very warm and you became aware that your grip on your pen had gotten extremely tight.

"We'd of course welcome the opportunity to look over the figures in detail," his lawyer added smoothly, sitting back. "But we wanted the proposal on the table before proceeding."

Shoko looked at you — though she looked at you now more as a friend than as someone who was supposed to be professionally winning you this case. Oh god. You felt stupid. You felt betrayed. You felt unsteady. But you didn't, wouldn't, feel like a loser.

She cleared her throat. "We appreciate the transparency regarding the operational costs," she said carefully, clicking her pen. "That context is certainly relevant to the overall—"

"It's a generous offer," Satoru's lawyer politely interrupted, nodding. "We're confident the figures will reflect fair—"

"And we'll of course need time to review the proposal thoroughly," Shoko continued, reaching for the folder, "before my client can make any formal—"

Satoru said something then. You didn't catch what, because the blood was very loud in your ears as the conversation steadily got away from you while you quietly experienced a very embarrassing implosion of your entire narrative of everything that was, is, and would be.

The plan had been to say something sharp. Something professional that would reestablish the hierarchy in this room. Lean back, politely decline the immediate offer, remind everyone who was steering this ship. But trying to be the captain doesn't really work when you feel handled, managed, and like you're about to be tossed overboard.

"Just because we slept together," you blurted out, absolutely sinking your composure and the ship alongside it, "doesn't mean you get to write me a check because you feel like it's the righteous thing to do."

Satoru stood up immediately, hands raised slightly, voice low and careful. "Sweets. This didn't come out of nowhere, I promise. I tried to talk to ya about this all week. It's why we proposed the meeting altogether—"

"I—" you started.

"Perhaps," Shoko cleared her throat, hastily gathering her things, "we should give the parties a moment." She looked at you with an expression that was equal parts girl what the fuck, good luck, and I will be charging you extra for this. She picked up her coffee and followed his lawyer out without looking back.

"You played me," you fired off once the door shut.

"I didn't play ya," Satoru said, his voice stupidly calm. He stepped away from the table and took a step closer to you.

"You used the entire week to soften me up!" you accused and paced a line behind your chair. "You played dumb and then you played house with me and let me think—let me think we were actually... and the whole time you had this sitting in your back pocket!"

You pointed at the damn folder still sitting on the table. 

"I tried to tell ya," he reminded you gently. "Every single day. Ya didn't wanna hear it."

"Because I didn't know you were trying to get rid of me!" you shot back immediately, feeling how your throat was tightening. You felt betrayed and humiliated, all of it stinging your eyes. "All the flirting, all the sweet talk.. It feels an awful lot like you got exactly what you wanted out of me, decided what was best for me without asking me. It felt like you used— And now you're just trying to be decent to pay me off to do that!”

Satoru physically flinched at that. "Is that really what ya think this is?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" you demanded, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to keep your hands from shaking. "You played the struggling cowboy for months. And now, suddenly, you're dropping buyouts and funding payrolls like it's nothing. So what is it? Some trust fund  you're using to push me out because you want the ranch all for yourself?"

"It's my savings," he answered, though the hurt was visible in his face. "I emptied out my own accounts to make that offer."

Okay, now you were the one who flinched, taken aback.  "I wasn't tryin' to push ya out," Satoru continued, he took another slow step closer. "I was givin' ya an option, sweets. Not an ultimatum. I wasn't gonna let ya be trapped in somethin' ya clearly didn't want just because ya felt obligated."

"I thought if I proposed this ya'd agree without—" he faltered at that, suddenly looking at the floor.

"Without what," you coaxed him and your jaw was tight. His head snapped back up and his eyes were glassy with desperation.

"Without fuckin' leavin' me behind, okay?!”

He never raised his voice like that. It felt like a gunshot going off. Oh my god. No. No. No. This wasn't supposed to go this way. In your little mental script he was supposed to say something… something vile, something ugly, something that would justify you being a bitch and him being the villain. You couldn't handle him being the good guy, because if he was the good guy, that meant you were the villain of your own story.

"Then why didn't you just tell me?" you demanded, still reaching for any possible crack. "Why let me come down there for months and fight with you tooth and nail over this— this mistake?"

"Because it wasn't a mistake,” he said, his voice dropping so low it was almost inaudible.

"What?" you breathed out.

"Your aunt left us both this place on purpose, sweets," he bit his lip. "Because she wanted us to find each other.”

Okay, what the fuck now? Not only he really wasn’t what you’d spent months trying to paint him as, now apparently your own dear great-aunt played you both by playing some fucked up posthumous matchmaker. Legally tying you to a man she’d oh so graciously picked for you herself, via inheritance law. You felt trapped in your own lie, in this entire situation, under the weight of his pretty, now sad-looking eyes.

“I wasn't tryin' to be pushy. I gotta admit I was smitten with ya the second I saw ya," Satoru confessed. "But I knew ya were upset. With your aunt, with the whole inheritance situation, with me. So I didn't say anythin’ because I thought ya didn't like me back anyway. Figured it was irrelevant.” He took a breath. "Your aunt was real important to me. She took me in when I had a fallout with my own family. I started helpin' her out and we got close. She was like my own grandmother. And then she started talkin' about her one niece that was my age." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Painted ya like this brilliant, driven, beautiful woman. And I was gone before ya ever set foot on that property. And yeah, sounds stupid, I know."

What the FUCK now, for real?! So that was why she had wanted you to visit, more so often these past few years. She wanted you to meet Satoru. That's why she made sure to see this through even after her death. And you couldn’t tell if this was totally fucked up or the best, and the most stubborn thing someone had ever done to you. Probably both, to be honest. You hated her for it and adored her even more.

But here’s the thing. You hated NOT being in control. And this entire situation, for its entire duration, had never been under your control, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it was. Satoru had known, he’d had time, and he’d had opportunities to tell you. But he’d let you live your delusional little of a story, because he thought the truth was irrelevant. He let you think he was a dick. And somehow, right now, that was what made you the angriest.

“Y-you—” you stammered, looking out the window. Tears were starting to well in your eyes, and crying in here would be the last thing needed for your completely crumbling resolve. "Keep your damn money," you spat out. Your somehow voice steadied itself, which was the only victory left available to you in this damn room. "I'll find a way to buy you out and sort this myself. I never asked you to do any of this in the first place."

“Okay,” he said quietly as he ran hand through his hair. You gathered your shit and walked out. The door shut behind you and it was the loneliest sound in the world. The spell was supposed to work, but the witch said don’t fish for fortune upon someone’s downfall, and now the one who fell down was you, for fuck’s sake.

The last cherry on top was receiving THE dreaded email from HR a few weeks later. So, yes you did get fired on top of everything, exactly how you didn’t want! And they dared to write it so politely, too, “role elimination”, while your entire existence felt thoroughly, physically, and emotionally eliminated in every other way, too. But what a great way to finish off this particular arc of your life. Honestly? Served you right. Served you absolutely, completely, and justifiably right for being a bitch.

You always thought you would absolutely freak the freak out if you ever got fired. Full meltdown, floor-level, calling your mom in tears. Instead you were kinda... chill? You already felt like your life was over for completely different reasons, so what was not being financially secure going to do to you damage-wise at this point?

You almost felt relieved. Scary, I know. You thought about calling your boss, like, to give them the option to reconsider, but you thought about this for like a minute and then just accepted it. You wanted to quit sooner or later anyway, so what a little sooner than expected was going to do. 

The universe had just beaten you to it, which was annoying, but fine. That was apparently just how things went for you recently. You made a plan and then the plan changed without your knowledge and went in a completely different direction, and you ended up standing in your kitchen in a dead man's t-shirt with no job, no strategy, and the worst cup of drip coffee you had ever tasted sitting cold on the counter next to you.

And the worst part was you couldn't even tell if you were the loser or the winner of the situation anymore. You win some, you lose some, but lately these things had started to blend together that you kinda couldn't tell which was which anymore. 

So you had tried to seek validation from the one person biologically obligated to give it to you. Your own mother.

A few days prior, you had called her, desperately looking for emotional comfort. 

But instead of being unconditionally supportive, like any good mom should and would be when their child is clearly in the wrong, she had decided to fully cement the fact that you were actively ruining your life to make it even clearer for you. Thank you very much, mom.

Long story short, it turned out she had actually met Satoru last summer, and was now describing him as a perfectly lovely young man who had even fixed the flickering light on her car for free!

She admitted she hadn't wanted to interrupt your little inheritance warpath over the last few months, but she graciously took the chance to let you know that trying to sell the ranch out from under that sweet boy would make your great-aunt incredibly disappointed. And that you should definitely not talk about this in front of your grandma, because she would curse you out for trying to sell her dead sister’s house. So there was that. Great.

Oh! And apparently he also had wonderful shoulders and cute dimples, so she simply didn't understand your decision-making process and told you to fix this mess immediately.

So, yes. You were not only at the rock bottom of your entire life, but also being actively humiliated by your own mother, who had been on his side long before you even knew who he was. You really couldn't make this shit up. What would come next? Your landlord deciding your request to fix the non-working doorbell was unjust and not in alignment with your tenancy agreement and kicking you out? 

Shoko called you into her office later, so you dragged your ass all the way downtown. As you sat in the waiting area, you couldn't help but glare at the frosted glass of her door. Did she find more shit to bill you for? She had just bought a new car, shit must have been expensive, so of course she was dragging you in to squeeze a few more billable hours out of your misery.

When you trudged inside and slumped into the chair like the dignified lady you were, she immediately slid a folder across the table your way. The same folder. THE folder. Satoru's lawyer's new deal proposition, sitting there on Shoko's desk like it hadn't already caused enough emotional damage to your life.

You glared at it. "Get that thing away from me. Did you call me in here just to torture me?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, calm down," Shoko rolled her eyes and flipped it open. "Did you even read the full proposal?"

You shook your head. "Of course not. Why would I? They made it pretty clear when they said buy me out. You were there."

"I know. I'm still charging you for the emotional damage of whatever the fuck that was." She flipped to a specific page and turned it to face you. "But if you had bothered to read past the first page before deciding to be the victim, you would have seen the addendums."

"Fuck off," you said, but you straightened your posture. "What addendums?"

"The operational roadmap," Shoko said, tapping a nail against the page. "Read it."

So you read it once. Then again. Then some specific parts a third time just to make sure.

Turned out he wasn't offering you the buyout so he could turn the place into a bachelor pad or whatever. The dude had a plan. Real hospitality plans. Landscaping blueprints for the east field to host events. A very rough but preliminary draft of a proposal for boutique rental cabins — just like he'd floated to the appraiser all those months ago, the idea you'd been pissed about because you were too busy trying to wedge yourself back into the conversation to properly clock it. Plus, a clause regarding profit-sharing for the original stakeholders.

And you hated that it was good. You hated that it made sense. And you hated that it wasn't your idea, and that you had lowkey stifled it for months just because your ego was bruised. He was thinking about a future while you were only thinking about the present. About money. About an exit.

"Babe, he wasn't really trying to kick you out," Shoko said softly, sounding dangerously close to pity. "He really isn't the bad guy. And I know you like him. Losing—"

"No, stop," you interrupted, still reading the same paragraph over again. You might have been dumb about a lot of things lately, but you were NOT stupid.

You sat in silence for a while. When Shoko wasn't allowed to speak she at least had the decency not to send you nonverbal pity vibes. You finally looked up, catching her eye as the lightbulb finally went off in your head. "I need you to draw something up for me." 

You already had the ranch's address saved in your navigation. And unlike last time, you were armed with your well-trusted pink Salomons, your overstuffed weekender, and a folder that hopefully wouldn't sever your connection to him this time, but rather, hopefully, save it.

What a turn of events.

The drive felt like it took both ten seconds and ten years. The GPS, regardless of the saved destination, kept recalculating anyway like an old habit, because you still hadn't switched to Google Maps like you'd told yourself you would.

When your tires crunched to a halt in the exact same spot you always parked, you killed the engine and just sat there for a second, hyping yourself up. Because you were haunted by the very real possibility that he wouldn't want to see you after what you'd managed to theatrify back in the meeting room. But look, you were already here, the legal stuff still needed to be dealt with anyway, and it was now or never, baby.

It took just a few awkward steps around the back porch before Yuji spotted you from the stables, where he was doing something with Megumi again. He paused, squinting against the afternoon sun, and when he recognized you he sent off a very friendly wave in your direction, like you hadn't recently tried to financially ruin their boss. 

Nobara was tending to the cows and Nanami was washing off his horse near the pen. But Satoru was nowhere to be seen, and you were too embarrassed to ask, because what the hell were you even doing here anyway.

So you went to pet the cows. Betsy was by the fence again and you needed your hand to be licked for emotional support. It was a reasonable thing to need. And as you stood there, you noticed that the barn roof was fixed. It was now neatly patched with fresh shingles. And while Betsy actively worked on trying to dissolve your sleeve into a wet mush, you looked out toward the east field and suddenly, you could picture it all. The future he had been quietly building, while you were busy trying to tear it all down.

"Didn't think I'd be seein' you around these parts again so soon."

Your heart dropped directly into the mud under your feet. You spun around, yanking your soggy sleeve away from Betsy's sandpaper tongue.

Satoru was standing a few feet away, a little further back than he usually stood, with a smudge of dirt across his sun-kissed cheek and wearing his chaps again. How could you be reasonable when you just wanted to kiss him stupid for looking so pretty? And yeah, you're putting this on the record. You had always wanted to do that while he was wearing them, so fucking what.

You had a speech prepared, like you always did—an explanation of the new legal parameters of your partnership alongside an epic but logical apology, and it all instantly went out the window the second you looked at his thighs.

He stood there with a little frown on his face, like he was bracing for another fight, probably waiting for you to hand him the promised eviction notice.

“I—uh—I,” you very beautifully stammered as you bit your lip, feeling the blush creep terribly up your neck and all over your face. “I—” Okay, forget the speech. You had also apparently forgotten what words were.

He only raised an eyebrow, rested a hand on his hip, and patiently waited for you to produce a legible sentence. You absolutely panicked. Reminding yourself what you held in your other, non-salivated hand, you shoved it his way. “I—I stole the book last time. I’m s-sorry. I just wanted to return it because I finished it and I d-didn't return it when you were over.”

You looked at the ground, idly kicking a small stone between your shoes.

"Sweets, what—"

"And I got fired," you continued. "Or, technically, my role was eliminated. And my mom hates me. Well, she doesn't hate me, but she loves you, and she thinks I'm a terrible person for trying to take the ranch from you." Aaaand full word vomit sequence engaged. "Which I'm not doing anymore! Because at first I hadn't read the proposition, because I was dumb, but then Shoko made me read it and then I saw all the plans and I'm an idiot, okay?!"

Satoru just stared at you, his mouth slightly parted, but you couldn't stop talking if you tried.

"I'm not buying you out—or, like, not trying to," you babbled, shoving the papers you and Shoko cooked up at him next. "I had Shoko draft a new agreement. You get full operational control. I'm keeping my stake though, because my grandma would kill me, but nobody is selling anything, and you don't have to give me your savings! And I understand if you hate me after how I acted, and I'm not asking you to forgive me, I just needed to fix this mess because I was wrong and—"

He didn't let you finish that one. He took a step forward instead, not even glancing at the documents you were currently using as an emotional shield, letting them drop alongside the poor book into the dirt, and caught your face in both hands.

"Sweets."

"—and I'm sorry," you finished, as his thumbs brushed your cheekbones and he gazed down at you with very soft eyes for a man who was supposed to be very upset with you.

"God, sweets." He exhaled, biting his lip as he searched your face for something that might tell him to stop himself. "I love you. What are you even talkin' about?"

Oh.

OH. 

You looked shocked, but not shocked the way you'd expected to be. A cheeky smile with a few tears slipping down your cheeks finally broke through the panic on your face. Because after all of this, all of that,  and everything, you were standing here in your trusted pink Salomons, completely in love with a cowboy.

"I—" you started.

"The papers are fine," he interrupted again. "We'll sort the papers." His thumb moved slow and tender against your cheek, catching the few stray tears. "That ain't why you drove out here, is it?"

"Well, kinda," you admitted shyly, and shrugged, which he dignified with a small chuckle. "But also not."

You finally brought your arms around his neck and looked at all of him for a moment, the hat, the dirt smear on his cheek, the chaps, and suddenly remembered something.

"Does the horseback ride offer still stand?" you said. Your voice came out slightly trembling, which was fine, because you'd told yourself to finally be honest and you felt slightly wrecked now, so what. "Since it's — you know. Next time."

Satoru laughed  and pulled you flush against him. The wet and slimy sleeve could be damned. "Yeah, darlin'," he murmured into your hair, inhaling you, planting a small kiss there. "Offer still stands."

It was a few months later when you found yourself zipping your, at this point, threadbare weekender back up. Only this time, instead of your pink Salomons, you packed your bad bitch heels instead. 

"You're really leavin' me alone again?"  Satoru was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, wearing the most obnoxious, unfair pout.

"I have meetings in the city, Satoru," you answered, tossing your laptop in and pulling the zipper shut. "Somebody has to secure the funding for phase two of the boutique cabins, and they refused to do it over Zoom"

"Thought you were supposed to be takin' a day off."

"I will take a day off when I’m sure the east field is fully funded," you countered, grabbing your bag and marching toward him. He caught you by the waist, not letting you through the doorway.

"Ya know, under the new operatin' agreement, I got full day-to-day authority," he drawled, his nose brushing against yours. "I could formally request you stay put."

"And as your financial stakeholder," you whispered and hugged him back, "I have veto power. And I am vetoing your request until Friday evening." He chuckled and kissed you until you almost forgot your own schedule.

Or it was when you were both stuck in your car in the middle of a traffic jam on the way back from said meetings.

"How folks can live in this kinda chaos is beyond me," Satoru groaned, gripping the steering wheel as he glared at the endless sea of red brake lights. "We've been stuck in the exact same spot for twenty minutes! The damn cows move faster than this!"

"It's just rush hour, babe. Normal weekday experience," you said softly from your passenger seat, typing away on your laptop.

"Normal weekday experience, my ass'," he grumbled, leaning his head back against the headrest. "I just miss my tractor."

He looked so stressed, sporting the same cute pout he always did when he didn't like something. He looked so adorably out of place, and was only putting up with it just to drive you back from your meeting. You suddenly felt an uncomfy pressure in your lower tummy, and you couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up in your chest. You widened your eyes, giggling harder as he narrowed his eyes at you. "What's so funny, darlin'?"

"Oh shit," you snickered, closing your laptop and clutching your stomach. "I kinda need to pee."

Satoru's head whipped fully toward you, absolute horror flashing across his face. "Do not tell me this right now—"

"I don't know, twenty minutes is a long time," you teased, laughing harder at his panicked expression as he desperately started looking around for a gas station that definitely didn't exist on this block.

And look, you win some, you lose some. But no matter where you were, if it was being stuck in traffic, covered in mud, in a boardroom, on the ranch, or in your apartment — having this beautiful cowboy by your side? Yeah. You had definitely won both.

A single, soft "Oh" fell past your lips as you took the key from beneath the old mat.

It was the first time you'd been to this place since Yuki recommended it to you last year. It's very serene, she assured you. Quiet, lonely, and fun, with a lake nearby and no other soul in the forest. A perfect house if you want to rest a bit from university during the summer break.

Yet you thought that a cabin described by your friend sounded like the perfect place to start a little project of yours that's been burning your wicked mind for a while.

"You want to be a pornstar?" Satoru raised his brows and let the pen fall onto your dorm's carpet as you studied for the finals. "Like, a real pornstar? A person who makes porn?"

It's not as if he didn't know you were a campus sweetheart. A slut, more like it, yet your idea nevertheless left his mind in a daze.

You nodded, putting your pen down. A question for radiative physics class scribbled messily, as your eyes shone almost evilly.

"Are you really surprised?" A scoff slipped past your lips, eyes narrowing. "Besides, you're no better whore than me."

Satoru leaned against your roommate's bed as you both sat on the floor. A tiny table between you, two cups of coffee, dirty black, and mock exams not even half finished.

"Well, yeah. But I want to work in astrophysics, and if I remember correctly – you do too." He tapped his pen against his pouted lips, a deep thought clearly bubbling behind his ocean eyes. "I mean, if you'll keep your face away from the camera, it should work."

"Of course I will," your eyes curled into a cheeky smile, something malicious already bubbling in a pretty mind of yours. "Actually, I already have an idea," you crawled closer to Satoru, sitting right in front of him with a raised hand. "You know the recent boom in slashers, right? Okay, imagine me, the poor sweet virgin, being chased by two killers in the woods, before they tie me up and fuck me senselessly. With all the artificial blood and stuff, after they killed all of my friends, I went on a summer camping trip with."

Satoru listened with arched brows, clearly amused by the gory, slightly concerning plan. He knew you were a hardcore freak. A nerd too, always shining brightly in your shared classes. But the freak first.

A weirdo, almost a lunatic, finding heat and bliss in the weirdest things, yet always meeting his needs during sex. Because sex with you, dearest heavens, was mind-blowing. A heavenly ecstasy, pleasure wrapped at his fingertips, bursting together with the sweetness of your sly tongue. Skin, fingers, the wetness, that always dripped all over him in such an–

"Why are you hard?" you hummed, eyes squinting gently. He didn't react quickly enough as your foot found its way to press against his bulging sports shorts. "You thought about me moaning like a bitch on a tape, huh?"

He chuckled, long fingers wrapped around your ankle, then pressed your foot closer. "I did, sweets. In fact, I wouldn't mind being on it with you."

Tilting your lovely head, the sole of your foot brushed the full, fat shaft of his cock. "That's good to know because I've been meaning to ask you to play one killer."

"And the other?"

You giggled. "Your friend, Suguru, from the arts seems quite lovely. I'm sure I could do a lot with his tongue piercing."

Satoru's head tilted gently, and a soft scowl formed between his brows as the pressure became almost painful. His teeth gritted, fingers clutched tighter around your ankle, yet he did not push you away.

"So you'll play a virgin, huh?"

A wide grin twisted your lips. "Your sweetest one."

And thus, a few weeks later, after all the exams had been passed with a pure blessing, you found yourself inside the cabin.

Naoya, your dickhead friend from the film department, agreed to take part in your little project and arrived a day early with you to prepare everything. Suguru and Satoru were due to arrive tomorrow afternoon, so you had time to wander restlessly around the house while Naoya set up all the filming equipment.

The inside of the cabin seemed even lovelier, warmer, with the last threads of sun slipping through the small windows, basking the creaking floor in flame. The smell of wood, dry and clean, drenched in the sap of forest leaves, danced in the slowly setting darkness right over the high porch.

The fireplace was there, cosy and filled with logs, yet the sweat still clung to your spine, as if the heat of the journey hadn't yet rinsed away with the slowly falling evening.

Naoya put your suitcases in the hallway, then took a deep, tired breath. "I need a shower. And something to eat."

The owners supposedly left you some food, so you opened the small kitchen's fridge, the flickering light casting your face in cold light.

"Hmm, bread with peanut butter and jam?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at his scowl.

Always so mean, so spoilt, yet unfortunately, he was the only one who agreed to take part in your wicked project. The only one who hated the idea to the point of feeling no sexual attraction to you.

"What jam?"

"Strawberry, of course," you furrowed, taking the jar from the fridge.

"Fine," he said, looking around and spotting the small stairs leading to the upper floor. "We should have two bathrooms, so let's hop in first."

You giggled, taking out the rice cooker. "We can shower together, if you wish."

But he didn't say anything, leaving you with a snicker and a low, "Slut," that met your grinning cheeks.

The shower was cold, sweet, wetting your body pleasurably as you pinned your hair up. The sweat clinging to your skin, dust, and heavy air dirtying it, swirled together in the drain of the small shower. It wasn't the cleanest you've ever seen, but compared to your dorms, everything seemed better.

Leaving the bathroom in nothing but tight shorts and a skimpy top, without your bra – everything just to give Naoya another reason to measure you with his nasty gaze – you saw the sandwiches ready on the table.

"Ah, thank you, my dearest househusband," you giggled, sitting down by the wooden table.

The warm light of the old lamp bathed his dirty-blond hair in yellow. Snake eyes, always so priggish, narrowed to two almonds. Yet he didn't comment, joining you at the table with his own sandwiches.

"We need to choose the bedroom for filming. I'll set up the camera today. We can also go around the house in the morning to check the whole plan for the script," he started, and you nodded, your mouth glued with peanut butter. "Let's change the sheets for ours, because there's a chance the artificial blood won't come off. Ah, and I can't film their faces, right?"

You hummed, wrapping your hair with a clip. "Well, they'll have the masks, so it doesn't matter. Try to avoid mine."

"No cock sucking then?"

Your head tilted, brows furrowed, as you thought for a moment. "I guess, unless you can do a super close-up of my lips. My pussy's much prettier anyway."

He trembled, as if shivers smooched down his spine. "I can't believe you got accepted for astrophysics."

You giggled, licking your fingers clean and tapping two on your temple. "That's because I have an amazing mind."

He looked at you for a moment. At your lovely, sly grin. Cheek with a hint of reddish jam. Eyes mingling devilishly. Hair pinned up in a clip, a few strands falling gently along your warm cheeks. You were almost irritatingly ethereal, smart, beautiful, and such a pervert that Naoya truly couldn't comprehend how someone like you could have the mind to study astrophysics at the most elite university in the whole country.

"Sure you have," he muttered, taking another bite of his sandwich.

When the evening had finally fallen deep and the darkness had fully slipped into the warmly lit cabin, you decided it was time to go down and check the basement. Although finding the key proved more difficult than you'd thought it would be, as if the owners wished to keep whatever wickedness was locked there.

And this only made you crave going down there even more. Naoya waved his hand and went upstairs to work on the cameras. Leaving you with a, "Just scream if something happens, but don't expect me to go down there," as the single look into the unfathomable darkness of the basement made him shake his head.

"Coward," you giggled, turning a small lamp on.

It flickered once, twice, before finally burning out and leaving you with a sigh. So, with the flashlight in your hand, you went down. Step by step, careful and slow, as the old stairs creaked beneath your feet. The darkness wrapped you, a faint light bathing the long descent that seemed never-ending.

Until you finally touched solid ground and found yourself in a small basement. Spider webs hung from the ceiling, a few shelves filled with old books sat serenely in the dusty corner, and a small table nestled against the wall. It looked plain, rather uninviting, yet you had nothing else to do until tomorrow, so you walked around, checking each book. Some old tales, long-forgotten romances, dusty history books, a few classics…

"Oh?" fell curiously, as your fingers bumped the skin–clad book.

You pulled it from between other volumes, feeling its weight in your palms. It was thick, old, almost ancient, and wrapped in a thick leather belt, as if whatever it held were utterly unkind. It felt soft beneath your fingers, almost human–like, yet its cover was sewn with nasty, crooked stitches. Long, dirty, yet real, you traced them with your fingers, each bumping against your skin.

So you did the only proper thing and laid it on the table. With a small flashlight between your teeth, you pulled the old belt, trying to fight its strong grip. It must've sat here for a long, long time, as the dust swirled right in front of your lashes, sticking nastily to your freshly washed face. The belt was long and thick, almost like tree branches, yet softer to the touch.

It finally gave in, letting you unwrap the book from its snug clutches.

Demonology, was written inside, without any other information. No author, no publisher, no date, only crooked, ink-spilt letters bending on the front, yellow page.

Your eyes glimmered in the faint lightning, heart suddenly skipped a beat as you clutched the book tighter. Oh, it felt as if you'd just discovered a long-lost treasure, a rare gem, almost a groundbreaking archaeological find. It was amazing, wicked, and scary, and as you flipped a few pages, a small gasp slipped past your wrapped-around-the-flashlight lips as you saw the old, yellow pages, carefully filled with various demons and their descriptions.

Oh dearest, Naoya would faint just from seeing it.

So you quickly closed the book and went back upstairs. You ran through the hall and living room before storming into the largest bedroom to scare the man hunched over the camera.

"Fuck! Can you please at least knock?" His palm fell on your quickly falling chest, snake eyes much larger than usual.

The little camera was set on the tall tripod, facing the king-sized bed. The room was rather big and cosy, with wooden walls and a large window directly above the bed frame, overlooking the deep, dark forest.

Naoya sat on the bed, yet his head shot your way the moment you stormed like a nightmare.

"Look!" Walking his way, you held the heavy book right in front of your chest, presenting it full to his bulging eyes. "Do you have any idea what it is?"

His straight brows furrowed. "Do I wanna know?"

Flipping the heavy cover, you showed him the first page. And the second, and the third, each one scribbled messily, with handwritten notes and crooked pictures of demons.

"Where did you get it?" he asked softly, taking the book from your hands. He read the pages with a frown, his finger brushing the old, crumpled paper. "It's at least a thousand years old."

"Oh, I found it in the basement. Locked with some old leather belt. I barely managed to open it, but here we are."

Naoya looked up, eyes almost stormy, a deep sigh and a wish to wig you from head to toe already bubbling in his chest. "You saw a fucking human-skin-bound book, bent shut, and decided to just open it? Without even thinking why it was secured like an artefact from the deepest corners of hell?"

You walked around the bedroom and looked at other shelves. With many more books than you expected, yet they seemed to have been read by the travellers and owners themselves. Nothing truly interesting that piqued your interest.

"Why not? I was curious. It's not as if anything will happen. And why do you think it's bound in human skin?" You shrugged and popped a squat to check the lower shelves filled with board games. "Oh, they have a monopoly. How about doing oral sex instead of paying rent for stepping on the property?"

Naoya closed his eyes and took a deep breath. One breath after another, through the nose and past the mouth, as he tried to calm himself.

"Have you seen it? It's clearly human skin. Don't you think it's fucking terrifying?"

Your head shook as your fingers traced an old, dusty box, deeply hidden beneath other games. "Hm, I think it's fascinating. You know, maybe it was made by some wicked witch or, oh, a cult. Do you think it was made from someone who was sacrificed to the devil?"

Naoya began to regret agreeing to your pleadings. The image of your pouted lips and plush breasts beneath the skimpy top still swirled in his mind, yet every part of him, every sense, was screaming in alarm to get himself away from his peculiar friend.

Although a friend could've been far too strong, as you loved teasing him and he somehow easily gave in to your haunting whispers.

"That's it, I'm taking it ba-"

"Oh my god!"

His heart nearly stopped in dread as you discovered something he was desperately trying to hide from your sight. He hid it deep beneath the heavy board games, covering it with a flimsy tablecloth he found on the shelf, just to prevent you from seeing this devilish thing.

"I can't believe they have a Ouija board!" you gasped in awe, quickly joining him on the bed. The board was already unpacked, clutched in your fingers, as you looked all around it and finally set it down.

And then…

And then something flickered behind your eyes. A sinister, ominous plan, blended with the lovely – or rather, malevolent – smile that made your cheeks swell. Naoya could read your mind with an almost horrifying precision. Knowing you for the past year, he could pinpoint each of your perverted thoughts.

So he quickly shut the book and smashed it against the board. "Absolutely not."

Your lips pouted as one hand swiftly grabbed his wrist to stop him from rising. "Oh, come on! You have no idea what I wanted to do!"

Naoya gritted his teeth, trying to free himself from your grasping fingers. "Truly? Because I think you considered summoning a demon from this book using this devilish thing."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the laughter that was barely held back in your throat.

Naoya was seething. Oh, he was so, so furious, and you could see faint grey smoke swirling above his scowling head as he tried to pull your fingers apart, one by one. But you held him in an almost unbelievably tight grip, eyes fixed on his face.

"Actually, I thought about summoning a demon and fucking him on camera."

You laughed when Naoya let out a low, tired groan, and instead of lifting the book, he simply leaned over and banged his forehead against it. Until your crackling filled the dim bedroom, lit only by the warm bedside lamp and moonlight spilling past the thick trees.

There was something warm in the way excitement clung to your spine when Naoya finally gave in. You could see it in the way his shoulders hunched, and a sigh of surrender finally escaped his lips.

"Why do you need to be like that?" he asked, voice muffled because of the book.

"Like what?" you hummed, brushing his dirty-blonde hair. "Just imagine how famous I'd become. That's, like, oh god, the perfect way to boost my career. And don't you want to be known as the first director to film a fucking demon?"

There were many things Naoya wanted. But summoning an ancient monster wasn't one of them.

And yet, he muttered a quiet, "Fine," and took his hands off the book and the board. "But you know there's a chance this thing isn't even working?"

"I know it is," you giggled, opening the book again. "I just feel it."

"And you know that there's a low chance that demons actually exist?"

"No, they do."

Naoya grimaced, yet still flipped the book over to you. "How can you be a physicist and believe in such things?"

You hummed, reading the description of each demon carefully. "It's fun."

And that was truly the simplest way to describe it.

Fun.

Being slightly obsessed with creatures and demons was fun. Spending nights preparing for exams, then watching horror films on your old, self–bought TV, neatly hidden in your tiny closet. Reading erotica about monsters, spectres, and vampires just to feel a thrill that tingled your spine in the most pleasurable way.

During the day, you've learned about the mysteries of the universe; at night, you've bent all your beliefs just to get yourself off to the dream of fucking with a monster.

Your dirty little secret, neatly concealed behind a mask of a simple campus slut and a nerd. Because you enjoyed being a weird girl, with perverted fantasies and wickedness always lurking around your lovely face. You loved sex, yet finding people who could truly satisfy your craving was difficult.

And so, among all the men you've slept with, Satoru was the only one who always agreed to your devilish scenarios. The obsessive ex, stalking murderer, a clown chasing you through the haunted house with a knife. His teeth on your skin, yours on his, until, sometimes, you've drawn a bit of blood from his lips, cherishing the metallic sweetness on your tongue.

Him, eating you out during the period, waiting for your shuddering climax, kissing you deep and filthy, with your own blood smeared all over your fucked face.

But Satoru also wasn't a thing. A creature, a monster, who would satisfy your most wicked, carnal pleasures.

And Naoya only needed to know that it was fun.

"Oh," your voice dropped as you turned to a blank page. "Ryomen Sukuna," you read aloud, yet found no description or sketch of the only demon, only his name and DO NOT SUMMON written in crooked, wicked letters.

Naoya looked up, seeing the same sinister flicker behind your eyes. "No, absolutely not," he said, his finger immediately falling on the warning. "Let me help you translate it. It means that, under no circumstances, no matter what happens, we mustn't summon this specific demon."

But he knew, he saw, that you were dead set. Your lower lip caught between your teeth, eyes shining sweetly, as you looked up and nodded.

"This one. I have a good feeling," you giggled, already placing the book and the Ouija board on the bed in front of you.

"Don't you think there's a reason he's the only one marked like that? Without any description, not even a sketch?"

You hummed, scanning for any information about the demon. Only its name, the warning, and something dark and smeared on the paper, ending just at its edges. Blood, perhaps, yet you quickly hid it with your hand to prevent Naoya from seeing.

"I think no one has ever seen him, and it's our duty to step into uncharted territory," you giggled, seeing as Naoya nevertheless stood behind a small camera.

Straight eyebrows still slightly furrowed, dark eyes rolling. "You're an astrophysics student, not an archaeologist."

"Demonologist."

He scoffed. "Anyway, the camera is ready. Do you want to change or…?"

You looked over the skimpy, whorish enough outfit and shook your head. Tight shorts curled just beneath your cheeks, perked nipples visible through the top, lingerie long gone. Cute, perfect for an innocent, porn-style look.

"No, it's good," you plucked at the scuff of your top, lowering it gently. Letting the camera capture the fuller view of your breasts. "How is the angle?"

"Below the neck," Naoya murmured, adjusting the camera slightly. "In case of something, we can cut the recording. You know, that video of your face would probably bring you more fame, right?"

You corrected the pin-up and smiled cheekily. "I believe my body is hot enough to guarantee success."

Naoya didn't say anything, but simply hummed and raised his eyebrow.

It was time.

The warm light from the lamp cast a gentle halo over your body. Basking in its warmth, you let the rays spill around your naked arms, breasts, and thighs, pressed together as you sat on your heels.

With a nod of your head, Naoya raised his thumb and a little red dot of recording lit up.

"Hi everyone," your low, seductive voice wrapped around the camera's deep lens. "It's so late already, isn't it? Well, how about I keep you company and maybe have some fun, hmm?"

The camera dropped slightly onto your hands, then zoomed in on the Ouija board. Fingers clenched around the heart-shaped planchette, with a glossy eye in the middle.

"By having some fun, I mean, what do you think about playing with a few demons? Sounds cool, doesn't it?" Your giggle mingled with the sharp, flickering sound of a lighter as you lit a candle. Putting it on the bed, where the mattress felt most stable. "Mhm, let's hope we summon a sexy demon. I'm sure he could take such good care of me."

Your thighs basked in the candle's warm glow as you pressed two fingers to the planchette and took a deep breath. Excitement and stress mingled, bubbling in your chest, the familiar, thrilling throb deep in your lower belly already pooling in your shorts. If you parted your legs right now, Naoya could clearly see a small, wet patch just beneath your moist pussy.

With a wooden heart in the middle, you started, "Is there anyone with us tonight?"

There was a brief moment of silence, the dim room lit only by a flickering candle and a warm bedside light. Naoya stood behind the camera, visibly troubled. His lips were pressed together, and eyes looked slightly uneasy as he nervously glanced around the room before finally looking back at you and shaking his head.

The plachette didn't move either.

"It seems our demons are a bit shy tonight," you laughed, biting your lower lip. "Hm, how about we call for the specific one? Maybe it will answer to my sweet pleadings."

You took another deep breath, pressing the index and middle fingers tighter against the heart-shaped wood. "Ryomen Sukuna, are you with us?"

Naoya gripped the metal frame of the bed, crystals of sweat already beading on his smooth temple. The owl's muffled hoot echoed deep within the forest, and a gentle wind stirred the curling branches that tapped at your bedroom window. The silence remained thick and still, and even though it was midsummer, a cold sweat kissed the back of your neck.

"Hm, Ryomen Sukuna, would you like to visit the sweetheart tonight?"

The shivers of excitement ran down your spine, as if something unfathomable and bloodcurdling were about to happen. Yet the room remained dusky and chilly, with only Naoya's shuddering breaths mingling with the candle's flickering flame and the hum of crickets beneath your porch.

"I don't think he's–"

But then the flame flickered. Gently, curling and twisting in the still air before finally dying out. Grey smoke from a vanilla-scented candle curled over the glass, and you both watched it with wide eyes.

You, biting on the inside of your cheek to muffle the giggle.

Naoya letting a low, "Fuck" slip past his lips as he started looking around the room.

"Don't worry," you said, clearly trying to lift his spirits. "I moved on the bed and–"

"No."

His voice… you've never heard it like that before. Low, yet edged with a high note. Trembling and groggy, he stepped back and fixed his gaze somewhere over your shoulder.

"Behind you," he whispered, not daring to point his finger. "The corner. There's…"

You quickly turned your head, eyes searching for the thing that frightened him so.

And… oh.

He was monstrous, enormous, and tall, nearly touching the ceiling with his head. Four crimson eyes gleamed brightly from the dark corner, reflecting the warm flames. Four arms stretched long and high, while his body crackled and bent as if awakening after years of sleep, fully straightening from its cocoon.

The breath caught somewhere between your lungs and throat. Lips parted as you saw a monster up close. If you reached out, your fingers would almost touch the hem of the white robe around his hips. It was like petting a tiger, meant to be watched only from a tightly closed cage.

He was revolting. Monstrous, terrifying, yet strangely beautiful. With muscles rippling along his back, a broad torso, and a grinning mouth in his stomach that made you swallow hard.

Sharp jaw, now scratched by one of his hands as he looked around the room. Crimson eyes glinting between you and Naoya with a squint.

"Call him away," Naoya whispered, slowly stepping further into the room. Away from him, from you. "Fuck, do something."

Coward.

"No," you smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. "I can take him."

Naoya cursed under his breath, eyes fixed on the monster without ever looking away. His narrowed, almond-shaped eyes watched you both carefully, as if gauging the room's atmosphere.

Two upper arms crossed over his chest, lower ones hanging loose.

"What year is it?" His low, scruffy voice sent shivers down your and Naoya's spines.

"Nineteen eighty-five," you said.

The monster, Sukuna, chuckled, ruffling his pinkish hair. "Thousand years, huh. Who set me free?"

Naoya didn't even try to take the blame; his hand immediately pointed at you. And you, pointing at yourself with your index finger.

"Hm, aren't you a dove?" Sukuna stepped closer, and you could almost feel the floor trembling beneath his heavy body. "Do you have any idea what creature you have summoned?"

Naoya backed away, taking careful steps towards the door, before he suddenly stiffened as if remembering that you were still in the room.

Closer to the demon than he was, with eyes shining brightly as if bewitched by a monster in front of you.

Your head shook, a few strands of hair slipping from the clip to brush the flame-kissed cheek.

The monster lifted his fingers, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You could see just how enormous he truly was. Naoya looked next to him like a twig. Yet his figure, towering over your seated form and casting long shadows across the bedding, somehow made you squirm. As the shorts suddenly felt wetter and tighter, you wondered whether Naoya could see a damp patch pooling beneath your pussy from behind.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He gritted, trying take a few steps closer.

You were mesmerised, mind lost in awe at seeing a demon in real life, after years of masturbating to the mere idea of fucking with it.

Naoya drew closer, step by step, carefully, his fingers trying to grab your arm. "Fuck, we need to leave. Now, or else it–"

But then, Sukuna waved his hand, and something wet landed on your arm. It soaked your skin in a sticky, muggy substance, giving off a distinct smell reminiscent of rusted metal.

The one you knew all too well, and as your eyes drifted down to your right arm, your breath caught once again in your throat.

A long streak of blood trickled down your skin, together with something thick. It was quite similar to a tissue, thick yet soft, reminding you of a swollen cheek. The more you looked at it, the more certain you became that it must have been someone's cheek.

Sukuna brushed something from your chin, his thumb damp in something crimson.

Naoya didn't say anything. He simply couldn't, because he wasn't there any more. When you turned back, your eyes fell on the large, dark puddle of flesh and blood pooling around his shoes.

The walls of the bedroom seeping with his burst body, long strings of blood rolling down the wooden planks onto the old, soft carpet. Half of the room, the one behind your back, fully basked in metallic, crimson darkness.

"Oh," was the only thing that could slip past your lips, before Sukuna pinched your chin and brought you back. "He–"

"Was talking too much," he whispered, now squeezing your cheeks with two fingers. "Answer my question, dove. Do you have any idea what you have done?"

And to his surprise, you nodded.

Sweetly, almost shyly, yet he noticed this flame – a flicker – that burned behind your blown-out iris. He noticed your plush lips fallen open, the body wriggling on the bed, thighs clenched tight, until the droplets of sweat beaded between the brushing skin.

And he could smell you too – the sweetness of your arousal that soaked the flimsy, slutty material of the thing you dared to call a cloth.

From where he came, your attire wouldn't even suit a nightgown. Back then, women dressed modestly and humbly, always lowering their gazes before the King of Curses, trembling at the mere sight of his grinning belly-mouth.

Their eyes always slightly swollen, a little too worried, as mercy did not visit his household and the walls seeped blood far more often than they should. His fingers broke necks effortlessly, feet stomping on piles of bodies of those who dared to bother the King of Curses, whether he was trying to soothe his mind or to haunt.

But then a shaman of sorts, a sorcerer, trapped his body within a cursed book. For the next thousand years, it remained buried deep beneath the shifting layers of a changing world. In the darkness underground, it moved and travelled through countless other fingers of curious, heedless humans who seemed to take pleasure in calling forth demons.

But not him. No, as no one dared to call the most wicked, as if utterly rational it was to avoid the creature of his rank.

And yet, after thousands of years of being trapped, he suddenly appeared in a dimly lit room, with the warm smell of the human body wafting through the air and a little, pretty dove sitting on the bed.

Now, looking at him with flushed cheeks and a lovely glimmer behind her wicked eyes, as he brushed the soft lower lip.

"I should kill you," he murmured, pressing a thick thumb against your lips. You parted them gently, inviting it in with eyes curling into a smirk. "Such a foolish girl. But I owe you for setting me free."

With a nod, you gently sucked on his finger. It nearly filled your mouth, pressing heavily against your tongue as you coated it with sticky saliva. Your lips hollowed, eyes fixed on the demon's face as if trying to memorise all his devilish features. The small bump on his nose, tattoos carved into his skin with almost uncanny precision, pinkish hair falling over his forehead as he leaned forward, the second hand releasing your hair from a clip.

He pulled his finger, once again clutching your cheeks with his now wet digits. "So tell me, what do you wish for?"

He held you in a tight grip, pressing right against your jaw until you felt a sharp pain. "I want you to use me."

Sukuna tilted his head, eyes narrowing into two almonds. "Use you?"

You nodded briefly and raised your fingers to press against his thighs. The muscles bulged, bent, and shifted beneath the long, creamy tunic he wore as your hand slid upwards. Higher and higher until your finger tugged at the cloth wrapped around his hips. Your own wriggled messily on the bedding, just to feel the slick pull of your shorts brushing against your already swollen clit.

With a single pull, the cloth fell, revealing…

"Oh," you gasped, as the musky, heavy smell of his two fat cocks suddenly hit your face.

Red, long, with veins curling around their swollen shafts and all the blood already dripping down to feverish tips.

His hand slipped to the back of your head, clenching a fistful of hair and pulling you back. "Do you know what you're asking me for?"

You nodded, long fingers digging into his beefy thighs. "Do whatever you want with me," fell playfully, as you bit your lower lip. "Fuck me for the camera. Please?"

Sukuna's eyes slipped to a little something turned at you two, the red light watching him closely.

"This thing?" He asked, taking it with one of his lower hands.

The small, black camera, with its lens now pointing at you. The need to cover your face was quick, and, unfortunately, as it would turn out, you pushed Sukuna away, trying to cover yourself with a hand.

"Wait, no, my face–"

But you didn't finish, as he suddenly pressed you against his heavy, leaking cocks. Muffling your pleadings, nose buried in his black hair as you took a deep, moany breath and let it leap off his skin.

He hummed lowly, the camera in his hand looking comically tiny. The lens pointed right at your face, to get a clear view of the glossy, sly eyes.

"Push me again, and I'll break those pretty fingers of yours," fell in a rumble that tickled the deepest, warmest flesh of your lower belly. "How about putting your mouth to use, hm? I'm sure you can do more than just look like a whore."

There was simply no way to take both of his cocks into your mouth. Your fingers curled around one, feeling the leaking, creamy precum stick to the pads, lips smooching kisses down another. Too heavy to even stand and cling to his abdomen, yet hard enough to become too big to wrap your lips around it.

You kissed the first shaft. Licking, sucking, biting into the bulging veins, till finally catching wetly on the plump head. Where the smell was the heaviest, oh so manly, forcing your mind to spiral into a thoughtless state, with a heavy pall of lust clouding your vision, as your lips finally wrapped themselves around one cock.

Fingers pumping another, yet your hand was simply too small to wrap it whole.

And your mouth, oh dearest, you took it in, cheeks bulging and tongue pressed beneath his shaft, allowing it to slide in with a sickly, filling pressure. But he was simply too big.

"I can't," you whimpered, pulling gently away. His fingers still gripped your hair tightly, crimson eyes narrowing at the sight of your flushed, sweating face. Utterly lovely.

"You begged," he snapped, a finger from his third hand catching the corner of your lips and stretching them harshly. "I'm sure this filthy mouth of yours sucked on thousands of cocks."

You chuckled, giving a firm squeeze to his second cock. "It did. Yet never on monster's one," instead of taking it back in, you wrapped another hand around it. "But my pussy's stretched enough to take you in."

Gaze fixed on Sukuna's face, a slight heat already creeping up his cheeks. Jumping between Sukuna's face and a small camera held tight in his hand. Well, if NASA will not accept your application, at least you'll have a Plan B.

Your lips traced kisses along his abdomen, with tongue licking the happy trails and teeth biting into veiny skin, before finally reaching his lower mouth. Wet, salivating, grinning just as he did, as you placed a soft kiss against it.

His low chuckle echoed off the wooden walls, the smell of Naoya's blood still heavy in the air, swirling your mind senseless.

Sukuna's lower mouth parted, a fat, wet tongue licking your small lips before forcing its way down your throat. His free hand quickly grabbed your top and tore it off your chest. Your shorts were next, but he didn't let them fall to the floor.

No, instead, with eyes following the way your small mouth sucked on his tongue and both hands took care of heavy, leaking cocks, he pressed the drenched part of your shorts to his face.

Taking a deep, filthy breath, tongue sticking out to lick your creamy cum that stuck to the cloth. Sucking it dry, tasting the sweetness of your cunt and groaning almost pathetically around the flavour that seeped through his body.

You moaned around his tongue, softly sucking the muscle as you felt your taste slip down your throat.

"Delicious, hm?" Sukuna chuckled, brushing the hair from your lovely, flushed face. "Can't believe your pussy is the first thing I taste after a thousand years of starvation. But hell, you taste so fucking good."

Your eyes rolled back as the teeth of his lower belly bit on your lips. Pulling a line of blood that filled both your mouths.

His cocks weighed in your palms with drenched squelches, as you pumped them all this time. Thumbs smearing the precum around the two swollen tips, palms trying to squeeze that fatness that emitted heat against your naked breasts. His lower belly devoured you sweetly, long tongue pressing against yours whole, and you wondered how it would feel deep inside you pussy.

You felt that was close. His both cocks leaking heavily, balls constricting and shafts pumping blood right into the mushroom tips, as your nails grazed their bulging surface.

He suddenly pushed you away from his mouth. With a single, sharp move, he squeezed both of his cocks, pressing the tips against your lips.

You knew what he wanted, so you parted them with a smile, sticking out your tongue. Letting it smash against the underside of his shafts, eyes fixed on his face.

Narrowed, cheeky, curling in the most slutty way Sukuna hadn't even seen among the courtesans.

In fact, he had never met a woman like you, driven by a true passion and lacking any fear towards a monster like him.

You must've been slightly off your head, he tried to reassure himself, before pressing his lips into a tight line and finally letting the long, bubbling pleasure spill all over your tongue.

Splashing it with long, filthy ropes of heavy cum, that stuck in the swollen balls for far too long. Cumming all over your face, lips, breasts, as you moaned and licked both reddened tips. Your tongue pressing to his swollen head, curling around the small slit as if trying to pull more cum out of his warmth. Lips wrapping around them, licking clean, and thighs rubbing against each other until your skin ran a fever.

His eyes narrowed, one of the hand pushing you slightly back, till you fell on your elbows. With a grin and tilted head, as if knowing what he wanted.

"Hmm?" You cooed, parting your legs slowly. Painfully, straining slowly, as he watched your drenched, sticky folds open up with strings of cum sticking to your sweet, swollen hole. "Is that what you wished to see?"

Your fingers scooped his hefty cum coating your face, chin, breast, before pressing it against your pussy, mixing it together with your own juices.

Finger played with your clit, before slipping down to push inside the gaping hole that only waited for Sukuna to fill it with his cocks. Your thighs spread wider, head fell back as you moaned, pulling drenched squelches of his cum mixing with yours.

"Fuck, why don't you join me?" Your tone fell soft and silky as you looked at him with a doe-like furrow. "I think she's missing you. I feel so-ngh-empty here." You pressed your hand to your lower belly.

Something almost predatory bubbled behind his eyes. Almond-shaped eyes that stayed fixed on your face, frozen, as if he didn't dare let his gaze slip down. Through your breasts, soft belly, to the parted, fully drenched thighs that you spread for his massive body, wide open.

"Even whores aren't as wicked as you," he muttered, eyes finally falling down. "Such a fucking slut."

He followed the roll of your fingers. Clit, swollen and drenched, pinched by your pads as you pushed two digits in. Too short to feel any pleasure, yet enough to show him how tight your cunt was.

"I am," you giggled, the sweetness of your voice kissing his warm ears. "And I always wanted to fuck with a demon, so you can use me as you wish."

His knees finally met with the mattress. Camera left on the bedside table, angled to look right at the side of your lovely face.

Two upper hands spread your thighs wider, lower wrapping around your hips to lift you up and press against his lower mouth.

Fat, drenched tongue slipped past the grinning lips, to give your pussy a long, filthy lick. Forcing your fingers out and instead stuffing your hole full, till the creaminess of your cum wrapped around its heavy muscle.

A soft, moaning breath slipped past your lips, eyes rolling back as you gripped the hem of the bedding.

"Fuck, that's, oh my fucking-" His teeth caught on your clit, the painful pleasure washing over your spine as you let him press you to his belly closer.

"And you, foolish woman, think that you can take me whole with this weeping cunt?" He chuckled, trying to force his fat index finger into your whole. The skin stretched almost painfully as he thrusted it alongside his tongue. "I would rip you in half."

Your hips lifted from the mattress, back flush against it, as you wept beneath his filthy body. Your tight walls clenched around his tongue, slick and curved, with the tip already pressing against your sensitive spot, making your toes curl.

"I-I, fuck, I can take you. Mhm, there are two holes for a r-reason."

Sukuna chuckled and scooped a bit of your creamy cum, just to poke with his finger your puckered, tight hole.

"Truly? Because it seems to me that…" He pressed the pad against your ass. But surprisingly, the tight ring of muscles gave way, allowing him to slip a finger inside. "Oh? So you stretched yourself even there?"

Your eyes glimmered with sweat, tears, the pleasure your body was overwhelmed by, and this wicked cheekiness that made the demon's grin widen in an almost ominous sense.

"I know how to take a monster cock," you giggled, wriggling your hips on his finger, tongue, just to feel him deeper. "So why don't you stop treating me like a dolly, hm?"

Your hands slipped down your body. One, wrapping around the perked nipple, squeezing it tight to draw a lovely moan from your pouted lips. Another meeting his tongue pushed deep inside your cunt. Small fingers catching on the tight hole wrapped around it, just to slip in with the nasty squelch.

"Unless you want me to be one?" A cheeky grin flattered as his tongue bumped your plump spot, bursting stars right in front of your eyes. "Nghh, unless you want me to be your sweet virgin girl, hm? I can act innocent, if-"

But one of his hands left your hip to squeeze your cheeks. Lips pulled together, jaw tight, as he lowered himself and locked a filthy strap around your pouty lips.

"Don't fucking do it. Don't act all cute and innocent on me while stretching your ass just to fit my cocks," His crimson eyes met yours – slightly glossy, fucked. "Acting innocent? Are you a child? I fucking hate it."

You grinned wider, biting down on your lower lip, as if trying to muffle, to ignore, the threatening bubbling in your lower belly. The splashes that filled your pouch, heat creeping up your neck as another fat finger slipped inside your ass. Now, two of his fingers pumping you fully, spreading you open as the walls eagerly yielded to the wetness of your cum and allowed them to slide past the muscle rim.

His tongue deep, pressing your small fingers inside against your walls, before you pulled them out and crushed against your trembling clit. Rolling it in slow circles, gently pinching as you sensed the sizzling beneath your skin. Biting your muscles feverishly, as you felt the sudden tightness spreading through your stomach.

"I–I, fuck, I'm going to cum soon," slipped in a moan, as you rolled your hips harder against his tongue. "Sukuna, I–"

But you didn't have time to finish.

Not when he suddenly pushed you away, taking tongues and fingers from your weeping holes. A gasp escaped your throat a second later, when something big and swollen pressed against them.

And as you heard a low "Deep breath, dove," the sharp, drowning pain pinched every nerve in your trembling, tender body.

Your back fully pressed to the mattress, hip slightly elevated, thighs sticking wet to your heaving breasts, as he sunk both of his cocks in your puckered, swollen holes.

Without warning, only a sinister, wicked grin and crimson eyes, cherishing the pain that mingled with pleasure on your lovely face. Teeth biting your lower lip, harsh, drawing blood. Eyes going white, head pounding, as you felt the stretch you'd never even imagined in your wildest dreams.

You pictured yourself getting split on a monster's cock. Fucked senseless, till your spine would arch painfully and its heavy, massive body lay on yours, taking away your breath.

You thought about how bulging your belly would be, but when you looked down, the sheer sight of the plumpness seething through the pouch made your head spin.

"Fucking hell," Sukuna groaned, feeling the sudden tension in your holes. "You'd better fucking relax, dove, because I'm not waiting for you to get used to it." A finger gripped your face, forcing your foggy gaze to meet his. "You were running that pretty mouth of yours all this time, so take it without a complaint."

His cocks snugged against the tight muscles warmly, yet he could barely thrust them fully. His upper hands on the back of your thighs, lower ones spreading your cream–coated folds, just to see the way your poor, weeping pussy tried to swallow him in.

As, oh, she tried, and so he pressed your puffy clit to help her take it full. Inch by inch, as both his cocks sank deeper, sliding through the wetness of your walls till the skin beneath your belly button bulged.

Sukuna giggled, pressing his massive hand against it, pushing both shafts deeper into your squishy insides.

"What's wrong, dove?" he asked, watching the dark, mascara-stained tears slide down your cheeks. His palm cupped them in an almost loving manner, his fat thumb resting on your lips. "Is that not what your silly head dreamed about? Huh? You thought fucking with a monster would be easier?"

His shaft slid painfully slowly, and you knew that, despite all his words, he was trying to stop himself from splitting you in half.

Because he could – of course he did – but there was something about you – wicked, restless, biting deep into his marrow – that somehow made him want you to last a bit longer. The insolence of your working on his nerves, the cockiness and the blush that kissed your cheeks in a wicked manner.

He hated women of your sort.

And yet, right now he couldn't forget the taste of your honeyed pussy on his tongue. The flavour still coated his throat with muggy drops as he savoured it while sliding his cocks deeper through the wetness pooling beneath your hips.

"It's not," you whimpered, taking a deep breath as he finally sank himself fully. He thought you would beg him to stop, push him away, and cry and weep in pain. Yet your hand wrapped around his neck, tugging softly at the pinkish hair. "It's better than I have ever imagined."

It must've snapped something within him.

Because the moment his balls met your ass with a wet smack, he pulled both cocks till nothing but red tips stayed snuggled inside your gaping holes, and thrust back in. And again, again, again, forcing your breath to stay locked deep within your lungs, as he didn't give you a chance to take anything but a shallow weep.

His massive body pressed you deep into the mattress, pussy coating his fat cock with creamy strings of cum, linking your soppy folds with his pubic hair.

No sex you've ever had could be compared to this. No fantasy of yours that slipped wickedly into your mind at night, while you fucked yourself senseless on some jock's cock could meet the reality of taking a true monster's dick.

The musky heaviness that filled your belly was overwhelming, as was the heat he filled you with.

And when he pulled again, you've noticed something dark coating his veins, bulging skin. Crimson, fresh liquid that glimmered beneath the warm glow of the bedside lamp.

"Fuck," you groaned. That's why you felt a cock smack against your cervix that achily. "I'm on my period."

But Sukuna grinned. His cock pulled from your pussy, another one staying still in your ass, as his fingers slipped down and thrusted inside your hole, to swap on the blood-drenched walls.

"Hm, and here I thought you lied to me about being a virgin. I'm afraid I would need to kill you, dove," he groaned, dragging the fingers out. Hefty liquid covered them, the droplets of blood thick and clotted, as he pushed them into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. "Fuck, still just as sweet. But I might like this taste even more."

You moaned, feeling the head of his cock again at the entrance of your pussy. This time, shoved deep till the mushroom tip kissed your bloody cervix, pushing painfully past the swollen muscle to stab the creamy womb.

Your scream was immediately muffled by his lips. Carnal, sweet, his bloody saliva mixed with yours in a raw, sensual kiss. Although difficult, it was to call it a kiss, as he devoured you fully. Lips pressed against each other's tongues, falling past the rim of your mouths as he licked, kissed, bit your face hole, smooching wet, heavy kisses over your sweat-drenched skin.

Like a dog, yet you cried out in pleasure as he folded you in half, his massive body completely pressed against yours.

The splashing in your pouch filled the room, leaving nothing but your heavy breaths. Your sweet moans as he pierced you with his cocks, till your womb was full of everything but his cum.

"Inside me," you cried, wrapping yourself around him. "I need to feel your cum, fuck. I need it inside."

Sukuna chuckled into the crook, one of his hands reaching for the long-forgotten camera. The lens was pointed directly at your crying, pleasure–twisted face as his pace quickened.

The tongue of his lower belly slipping past the monstrous lips, to flicker your puffy clit. To suck on it cruelly, bite softly, as he felt your walls squeezing tight around his cocks. Swallowing them in, letting both drenched shafts, one smeared fully blood, snug into the warmest plushness of your body.

Your eyes rolled back and your lips fell open as the orgasm crept up your neck. Kissing down the spine, splashing low in your belly as his belly mouth pressed its tongue against your clit.

"Smile for the camera, dove," Sukuna chuckled, savouring the pleasure of the view unfolding before his eyes. "Such a beauty, aren't you? Letting yourself get spilt on the monster's cock, huh. A fucking slut," His hand reached for your cheeks, forcing you to look straight into the lens. "Come on, you wanted to do it. Don't leave without showing the climax."

The gushing in your belly was perilously close to spilling. His lower tongue pressed against your clit, cocks swelling even bigger deep in your pussy, as you saw your belly inflating with the fatness of his shafts.

And when his bloodstained lips smashed against yours, as he angled the camera to look directly at your faces, you finally came. "Sukuna, f-fuck, I-I–nghhh–"

Squirting all over his abdomen, wetting the bed and his lower belly, which lapped up your splashing juices and swallowed them all with a groany moan. Your walls clamped around him in maddening tightness, and soon you felt the heavy warmth spill deep into your womb. And ass, with ropes and ropes of milky creaminess, growing your already stuffed belly, till the splashing of your squirt was changed for his cum.

The sleepiness suddenly settled over your mind. Your tired body melted beneath his heavy touch. Yet before your eyes could relax for a moment, he suddenly lifted your balm and bit your thumb, drawing a few droplets of blood and pressing the finger against the old, yellow paper of the book.

Right next to his name.

"Now, dove," he chuckled, pressing his own bloodstained finger beside it. "We're making a pact. You can summon me whenever you wish, agreeing to use you however I wish." He looked at your fucked, swollen face for a while, then cupped your cheek softly. "But after your death, you'll be joining my side in hell."

You nuzzled into his warm skin, licking his thumb sweetly. Eyes mingling, bewitching wickedness that sent shivers down his spine.

"You promise?"

He chuckled. "Of course. Who else could ever handle you?"

Your eyes fell on Naoya's body, or whatever was left of him. But Sukuna quickly turned your chin back to his face and kissed you slowly, raw, with the still metallic sweetness of your blood.

"I'll take care of him," he muttered, finally letting his cocks slip from your cunt. The mix of blood and cum pooled beneath your hips before his lower mouth drunk it fully, pushing the rest back inside your whole. "And now. Let's see how much blood I can draw from this sweet pussy, shall we?"

You giggled, nodded with a grin, and turned the camera off.

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

The book cover was inspired by the Evil Dead movie series heheh (one of my fav horrors ever)

art by @/kcokaine_

dividers in order @uzmacchiato (red line), @annahasabighead (blood droplets), @strangergraphics (tape)

miyanolovessasaki

i’m…a little confused…

alienqueen

Rip the bandaid off and tell him girl, because what happens when y’all get there and he’s not down?

jetblackwings

RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES (nta.)

s.geto

I have a question.

Eijiro was working out when you came to him with the…proposition.

Yeah. You.

“Hey, Eiji,” you ask, poking your head into the room. Eijiro doesn’t hear you, but he sees you, and takes a headphone off before racking the weights.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Eijiro still sweats anytime you’re in his relative vicinity. He’s gotten better at it, but you make eye contact like a motherfucker—staring past red irises and into his soul, perceiving all the secrets he keeps safe, in little boxes with little organized titles. You make him want to spill his guts.

“Kat and I are going to Hawaii in a few weeks, and we're wondering if you could come,” you smile, unassuming and confident, like Eijiro doesn’t know what’s in a few weeks. What date it is.

The two year anniversary of his fucking suffering.

(Technically, you’ve only been moved in for a year, but his suffering began the day you and Katsuki met, so.)

“Oh, um, are you sure?” Eijiro wipes clammy hands on his basketball shorts as you enter the room and take a seat on the exercise bench. You literally have clothes on, a casual sweatsuit fit, and Eijiro’s already drooling. He needs to get a grip.

(Or a girlfriend, his brain helpfully supplies, but that’s not fair to his hypothetical girlfriend. Not when Eijiro has yet to find anyone that measures up to you, holy shit—)

“Yes,” you giggle, like his response is strange. Eijiro’s brain is busy reeling, busy trying to decipher what this invite really means, that he misses your next sentence.

“Sorry—what did you say?”

“Just that it’d be more fun if you were there,” you wave your words off like they’re unimportant, but they are so, so important. Eijiro still doesn’t know what to make of it, though, and eventually gives up. He licks his lips and nods dutifully. He shouldn’t go—it seems like a very bad, not so good idea to go, but will he? Absolutely.

He can picture it now: you and Katsuki, late at night, getting down and dirty in the bed across from his, as quiet as you can, while he squints through closed eyes and jacks himself off into a pathetic state. And then, he sleeps in it, because what the fuck is he going to do—get up to clean himself off? Tell on himself?

“Okay, then I’ll go,” he smiles, and tries his best to hide the myriad of emotions pressing in on his lungs. Excitement, nervousness, confusion. Misery. It’s like Inside Out, but worse.

“Okay, great!” You clap twice, adjusting to, for some reason, get more comfortable in your seat. “Do you mind if I stay to watch?”

Eijiro waits for the other ball to drop. For you to explain that Kat is in the shower, or not even home, and you’re overwhelmingly bored—but, no. Nothing. That was the end of your sentence.

What the fuck.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little breathless and a lot confused. You stay for the duration of his workout, quiet as a mouse, and just…watching…

Eijirō nearly drops the barbell on his toes.

s.geto

I have a question.

cyberch!ck69

i have an answer.

s.geto

What do I do in this exact scenario if I’m the boyfriend?

The resort is so nice.

The lobby is open and airy, with poles instead of walls, and leads straight to the beach. Eijirō can see it. Can smell the salt in the air and hear seagulls squawking over food. As Katsuki talks to the concierge and checks in, Eijirō looks out to see calm and blue waters, poorly tamping his excitement with an impatient, bouncing foot. He, also, promptly pushes the last time he went to the beach out of his mind. Nope, not even thinking about it.

“Race you to the sea?” You ask, saddling up beside him. Eijirō shrugs.

“Sure.”

Immediately, you take off—leaving your bags behind and everything—and out the opening that leads to the water.

“Wait, right now?!” Eijirō squeaks, and looks to Katsuki, who isn’t paying either of you much mind, too busy barking at the concierge about something, probably their organizational practices, or another thing equally as trivial.

Eijirō makes a break for it.

He sees you weaving and cutting past cabanas, tripping over blankets and children, and follows the path your feet left in the sand, stomping them five sizes bigger. You’re both still sweaty in airplane clothes that are in no way conducive to these temperatures, but he makes it work—even if he ends up with sand in his sweats in the process.

It isn’t difficult to catch up to you, all things considered. Eijirō feels bad, debates on letting you win—until you turn around and stick a tongue out. Then, it’s fucking on.

“Gotcha!”

He snatches your waist just before the sea, swinging you around in tight arms before you can cross the imaginary finish line. After putting you down, he steps both feet into the ocean and cheers at your pout, doing a little victory dance.

“Aha! I win, I win, I wi—hey!”

Eijirō gets a face full of salt water, drenching him down his side and deepening the shade of his grey sweatsuit. The water is warm, but he chokes from shock regardless, and turns to look at his perpetrator with a new challenge in his eyes. You gulp.

“Wait, I didn’t—fuck!”

You whine when he pours a handful of water over your head. You accept your fate, sighing with your head down and hands open. Your white shirt sticks flush to your body, giving Eijirō the pleasure of revealing your bra underneath, and that’s—

“Oi, the fuck are you two doing?!”

Katsuki comes storming up to the shoreline, shaking sand out of his slides and grumbling with every other step. You and Eijirō stand in the water, white wake pooling around your ankles as the tide starts to recede. Katsuki huffs.

“It was his idea!” You point at the redhead to your right, who gapes at your audacity. For that, you get another handful of water over the head. “Wha—c’mon!”

“No, you both c’mon,” Katsuki hisses, pulling out three cards from his back pocket. “Got the room keys. You Dumbasses can frolic in the ocean afterwards.”

You two grouse, but agree. Because, Eijirō’s sweatpants stick to his thighs most uncomfortably, starting to stiffen from the salt—and you need a better shirt, preferably one that’s not white and wet and doesn’t highlight your bra beneath. So he can be sane again.

(He can’t help but feel like that sentence was all ‘Eijirō, Eijirō, Eijirō’ but also, guys, please—)

Katsuki walks to the hotel room with two soggy cats in his wake.

The pathways are just as open and airy as the lobby, with no walls on one side to provide a proper outlook to the ocean, and numbered rooms on the other. Theirs is on the top floor of the hotel, and luckily, not much of a shuffle from the elevator.

The room is just as nice as the hotel.

It’s spacious—Eijirō wouldn’t even classify it as a room, but a small apartment. There’s a kitchen and living room, all matching in a calming mahogany wood. Wood floors, wooden ceilings, wooden…wood, until everything but the soft furniture melts into one cohesive image. A pair of sliding doors lead to a balcony spanning the whole room, including the one bedroom—

Um.

“There’s only one bedroom,” Eijirō asks, because the hotel must have made a mistake. Not only is there only one bedroom, but one bed. The bed is big, sure—like, an Alaskan fucking King, more than enough to fit three comfortably—but this isn’t his anniversary, too.

(And yes, he knows his earlier fantasy is contingent on him technically sleeping in the same room, but the same bed is just—)

“Mm,” Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement. That’s about all he gets before you two drag your suitcases inside the bedroom, leaving Eijirō hovering in the doorway. He can sleep on the couch. That’s fine.

“What’re you waitin’ for, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki grumbles as he starts folding his clothes away, and to be honest, he isn’t exactly sure. Maybe for someone to tell him where to go.

“Yeah, c’mon! Feel the bed, it’s so comfy!” And, you’re jumping onto it back first. You hit the pillows with a muted pfft, and Katsuki immediately jumps into action.

“You’re all fuckin’ wet, get off,” he swats at your feet in encouragement, but you kick his hands away, and snuggle on top of the covers. When swatting fails, Katsuki starts to lightly tug at your legs. You don’t budge, and he stands over you with a warning in his eyes, hands on his hips.

“Babe.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No, Kats, I’m comfy.”

You wiggle deeper into the mattress, and Katsuki growls. He goes for your legs again, but a foot shoots out to kick him in his knee, his bad knee, leaving his leg to buckle. He catches himself before he falls with hands on either side of your head. This feels like a very intimate, very domestic situation that Eijirō should not be privy to, and yet, he is. Every day.

He’s okay. He’s fine, really.

“Move your ass,” Katsuki says after a long inhale through the nose, carefully, voice low and words over-enunciated. “Or, I’ll move it for you.”

You groan, but loop your arms around Katsuki’s neck like you aren’t going anywhere. With a laugh in your eyes, you bite back a grin. “No.”

“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, picking you up by the waist. You squeal, legs wrapping around his torso as he carries you to a desk in the corner of the room and drops you rather unceremoniously. You don’t let go, though. He doesn’t make you. “You piss me off.”

“Wow, my boyfriend is so big and strong,” you whine, completely overexaggerating, while caressing Katsuki by his shoulders. You giggle when he sighs.

“Shut the ever-loving fuck up. Please.”

“Why?” Your hand snakes from his shoulder to tangle in the nape of his neck, and Katsuki shivers. Eijirō lingers in the doorway. “Like it too much?”

Katsuki stands there for a second, relishing the feeling of your hands. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers card through his hair with something precious, and his next grumble has a lot less fire in it. “Do you wanna go to the beach or not?”

Finally, he unsticks you himself, with fingers around your wrists. You squeal at the sheer mention of the beach, squirming off the desk to start getting ready. “Ooh, yes! I’m gonna get all the Piña Coladas!”

“Let’s start with one,” Katsuki says, pressing a kiss to your temple before he resumes his unpacking. Why he insists on moving into every hotel he’s stayed in is lost to Eijirō. All he knows is that he’s happy his torture is over. For now.

“Are you gonna keep standing there like a weirdo?” Katsuki says, eyes focused on his activities. Eijirō knows it's directed at him—he’s the only one lingering. The only one ‘standing there like a weirdo.’ Eijirō grabs his things.

“Right. Right.”

cyberch!ck69

talk to them? 

s.geto

You’re useless.

cyberch!ck69

fine then, suffer in silence idgaf

When Eijirō finds time to get over himself, he realizes there is something about this that feels way too natural.

“That lady is staring at me weird—I’m gonna fight her.”

“No, you’re not,” Katsuki grunts, and grabs your hand before you can even consider getting up. Eijirō doesn’t really expect you to—you only say these things to give Katsuki a hard time, and he always falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. To the point that Eijirō is starting to think maybe he wants to. That maybe, that’s the whole point. “That’s just how old people look. They forget it’s fuckin’ rude to stare.”

Despite the all-inclusive resort, you three spend the first night eating out at a small restaurant not too far away. It’s a quaint and quiet barbecue spot, with cheap liquor and decent food. You insisted on going out, seeing the town, doing something, and despite Katsuki’s passionate argument—‘the whole point of an all-inclusive is to go fuckin’ nowhere’—he caved quick once it was two against one. (What? Eijirō wants to see the town, too—and he has a soft spot for cute girls with even cuter pouts.)

“I think that would count as elder abuse,” Eijirō says, once swallowing his food and getting a look at your newly proclaimed enemy. Empty shot glasses litter the table, some in stacks of three to make room for the food, and everyone sways a little from it all.

“Definitely does,” Katsuki sniffles and nods. He’s the most obviously drunk at this table—face flushed a bright pink and shirt collar askew. “Definitely would go to jail for it, too. I dunno how to get you outta Hawaiian jail, Babe.”

“Boo! Bribe them,” you heckle, throwing a big thumbs down in Katsuki’s face, and getting in the way of his barbecue chicken sandwich. Katsuki grunts and swats at the air twice until your thumb goes away. “Ooh! Or we could tunnel out, like El Chapo, or those guys from Alcatraz—”

“Those guys tunneled from the inside-out. ’M not going to jail with you.”

“Well—wait, no,” Eijirō says, gesturing to you. “What if we tunnel from the outside, and you tunnel from the inside, and we meet in the middle—”

“Omg, omg, I need spoons and a poster—”

“And, people are naturally corrupt, y’know, I’m sure there’s someone we could find to smuggle it inside—”

“You’re not goin’ to jail,” Katsuki groans through grit teeth, pointing at you, before his finger shifts to his friend across the booth. “And you’re not helping her escape from jail.”

“Oh wow, my boyfriend hates me,” you nod, picking at your food with a fork. Katsuki snatches a cherry tomato off Eijirō’s plate and stuffs it between your lips to keep you quiet. You spit it back out. “Would you even love me if I was a worm?”

Katsuki chucks his head back like this is a question you’ve asked many times before, and groans with nothing but pure frustration. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means ‘would you love her no matter what,’ Bro!”

“Thank you, Eiji,” you nod solemnly, suddenly, like this is a life-or-death conversation. “See? He gets it.”

“I’m gonna,” Katsuki incenses, looking at you with something heavier than just annoyance, something Eijirō, unfortunately, has seen too often to not understand—arousal. Suddenly, Eijirō feels like he’s shifting in the doorway of something unknown, again. Katsuki grabs your cheek and pinches. “You’ve been pissin’ me off all day.”

“Oh? And what’cha gonna do about it,” you smile smug past the distortion. Katsuki lets go of your face, and pats the sore area twice. Eijirō looks down at his plate. He’s not even here. He doesn’t even exist. (But, is he watching this entire interaction with one eye open? Perhaps.)

“You don’t wanna know,” Katsuki grunts in passing as he returns to his sandwich. Eijirō lets out a soft breath. This is going to be a rough trip.

“Well,” you say after a few moments of silence, clapping your hands together like they’re cymbals, calling to attention. “Now that I have a sufficient amount of liquid courage in me, it’s time to tell Eijirō the thing.”

Katsuki freezes—as does Eijirō.

“You didn’t tell him the thing,” Katsuki grumbles, looking at you like you’ve grown two heads. “I thought you told him the thing.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” You argue, but when Katsuki’s look doesn’t budge, you deflate a little. “…I chickened out.”

“Again,” Katsuki adds with a sigh, running a hand over his face. Then, he redirects his gaze to Eijirō. “No wonder you’ve been acting weird.”

“Um,” Eijirō releases his own food to put hands in his lap. Would ‘the thing’ explain why he’s here in the first place? Because, if so, he’d like to know. “What thing?”

As you steeple hands in front of your face, Eijirō takes a sip of his Sprite. Sprite always tastes better when it comes in a cup instead of a can. He doesn’t know why—something about the fizziness, the freshness of it all. Honestly, he prefers Cherry Sprite, but that’s because he really likes cherry, and strawberry, and honestly, most things red, now that he thinks about it—

“I wanna watch you fuck her.”

Eijirō spits out his Sprite—he’s sure some came out of his nose with the propulsion, Jesus fuck—and possibly soaking his shirt in the process.

“I’m—sorry, what?”

Despite Eijirō’s respiratory distress, Katsuki watches with relative bemusement. You pass him a napkin, and Eijirō takes it thankfully.

“What part of that didn’t you get, Shitty Hair.”

“No, no, I—” Eijirō gives himself a few more seconds, a few more deep breaths, and slips half a grounding technique in there, just in case. “Just, like—I think I heard you correctly, but I’m—but I’m really not sure—”

“I wanna watch you fuck her,” Katsuki just…repeats, like Eijirō’s entire world hasn’t flipped on its axis. Like Atlas isn’t officially hanging upside-down, with his legs in the sky like a dying bug, flailing for any sort of friction to upright himself.

“So—” Eijirō starts, and coughs twice into a napkin before redirecting his question. “Why.”

“Because he thinks you’re hot,” you whisper, cupping a hand over your lips so Katsuki can’t read them. Not that it matters—you’re not muttering very quietly. “And so do I.”

Eijirō’s not sure if his face gets red, but he feels it, that heat. That overwhelming sensation to burn and melt away into nothing, and he’s simply trying to tamp it down, keep it safe, so he doesn’t end up making a fool of himself in this very nice, very clearly family-owned establishment.

He nods, though. You bet your ass he fucking nods.

He’d be stupid as fuck to pass this up, and Eijirō Kirishima does not take his curse words lightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

jetblackwings

RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES

kusuo_saiki

why are you everywhere i go

jetblackwings

fate, bro

Your energy is endless, and the next stop is a club.

It goes how it always does—you want something, Katsuki says no. Eijirō says it’s not that bad. Katsuki says fine.

The club is more packed than he expects. It’s not too far from the hotel, the place is full of foreigners, tourists looking for a good time on vacation, and then some. The theme is somewhat tropical, with warm orange lights, a smoke machine, and tree ferns in every corner. You hold onto Eijirō’s thumb and Katsuki’s wrist, yelling over your shoulder and above the heavy afrobeat that makes the floor rattle under his feet.

“Let’s go to the bar!”

“Where they sell overpriced shots?!” Katsuki yells back, almost immediately. You roll your eyes. “Absolutely not!”

And yet, you drag both of them closer to the bar, and further from the front door.

“I just want one,” you holler, and pull out that irresistible pout Eijirō loves so much. Fucked. He’s fucked. “If it’s really that deep, I’ll buy them!”

The bar counter is vaguely sticky, and the four working bartenders look a mess, screaming over the music to grab something, but no one can hear. There are two seats open—Eijirō takes one, Katsuki takes the other, and you take Katsuki’s lap.

“’M not letting my girlfriend buy me a shot,” Katsuki huffs, and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket. After waving a bartender over, he grumbles, “Three shots of Kauaʻi Coconut Rum.”

“Oh, boohoo,” you whine, dropping your head back on his shoulder. Then, with one eye open, “Eijirō would let me buy him a shot.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this,” Eijirō chuckles, resting a forearm against the counter. Sticky. Immediate regret floods his system, but he’s made his bed and proceeds to lie in it.

“Am I wrong?” You lift an eyebrow. Eijirō stutters.

Because, if a pretty girl bought him a shot, would he let her? Yeah, probably. And, if you bought him a shot, would he let you? Absolutely.

But, that’s neither here nor there.

“Shitty Hair…”

“Guys, I’m not a part of this,” he whines, and as if on cue, their shots slide across the counter. Everyone grabs hold of theirs.

“Okay, wait, wait, I wanna do a toast,” you sniff, a little wobbly. You lift your shot glass, waiting for the rest of them to follow suit. Eijirō doesn’t hesitate, and while Katsuki grumbles, he raises his own. Then, with your chest, you yell, “To me, getting plowed!”

Katsuki drops his head on your shoulder. Thank God you made the toast before they took shots to the head, or Eijirō would be choking all over again.

“Baby, you can’t just—”

“Why would you even—”

You pay their plight no mind, chucking your head back as you swallow the shot. Eijirō follows; he needs one after that, and is wildly unsatisfied when he realizes it’s watered down.

Katsuki sets his glass down with a clink and a growl.

“’Kay, can we fuckin’ go, now?”

“No!” You bark, sliding off his legs unceremoniously. You slip a little, and Eijirō catches you by the waist before you can stumble into him, and tries not to think about how well you fit. When he lets go, he still feels your warmth burning into his palms. His fist opens and closes on his thigh. “I wanna dance!”

Katsuki leans his head back, and groans.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Eijirō!”

You both say his name at the exact same time, like he’s been deemed the official tie-breaker—like it’s his fault you two argue like an old married couple, and he needs to fix his mess. When Eijirō shrinks in his seat, looking at Katsuki, both of you know what his answer is.

“Fuckin’—fine,” Katsuki huffs and stands almost as clumsy as you. You giggle a yay, and take Eijirō’s hand before he has a chance to stand.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” you bounce. Eijirō comes stumbling behind you—because, for someone with little feet, you move real fast—and you find a corner of the dance floor to make your own.

The beat grows in volume and aggression the closer they get to the dance floor. With a steady grip on both of their hands, you start jumping up and down, yanking at their arms to bounce with you. Katsuki grumbles something with a straight face—Eijirō starts hopping along, until it’s a two-person mosh pit, with Katsuki’s unimpressed shoulders jerking under the weight.

“C’mon, Kat!” Eijirō yells over the music. Katsuki looks at him, but his feet are firmly planted on the ground.

“Please,” you whine when he doesn’t budge. Eijirō thinks that Katsuki’s arms would be crossed if they could. “You’ll have fun!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. His heels rise and drop, slowly, completely against the beat, and without the balls of his feet separating from the tiled floor. “This is not fun.”

“Because you’re not doing it right!” Eijirō says, tugging him closer. Katsuki stumbles forth. “You gotta jump!”

“It’s too late for this shit,” Katsuki huffs, but jumps. Once. “I don’t know how you two are grown-ass adults with this type of energy.”

You quit your jumping, chest heaving in a pant, and sweating skin glistening under halogen lights. Eijirō follows suit, a little less out of breath, but you were going hard. Katsuki exhales, thankful his torture is over, for now.

The song changes into something slower. Not too slow; a trap beat still hides underneath, but slow enough to calm his hammering heart. Eijirō has always loved clubs—enough alcohol to make people friendly, the humid atmosphere from too many bodies in one place, the way the music is all-consuming enough to block out the buzz of the world…

Eijirō shakes himself out of his reminiscent stupor to see Katsuki draped over your back. His hands hold your hips steady, swaying, and while you aren’t grinding, you’re pretty damn close.

You grab Eijirō by his shirt.

The redhead takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s not sure whether it's the alcohol or the sight that makes his head spin. Maybe, it’s the fact that he’s included, for the first time.

All he knows is that he really, really does not want to fuck this up.

No pressure.

His hands find your hips, running over Katsuki’s. He looks at his friend, double-checking if this is okay, if he’s crossing a line. Katsuki’s nose is in your neck, brushing against your jaw, utterly unbothered. He takes it as an O.K.

You hum, arms wrapping around Eijirō’s neck to the best of your ability. He’s not sure you’re even standing, simply leaning your weight against Katsuki, and trusting Eijirō enough to keep you from falling forward. There isn’t much space for you to, anyway. Your chin is pressed flush against his chest, looking up at him like he has something you want, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.

He lets a ‘fuck’ slip, quiet enough to fit under his breath and completely involuntary. It’s not his fault—your lip gloss glistens in the shifting light, and he can’t stop looking at it. Katsuki mutters something into your neck, and you giggle, hips shifting forward so you can grind against Eijirō, too.

He’s losing his mind, a little.

Because, this feels better than he could’ve imagined—you fit better than he could’ve imagined. The alcohol, the lights, and the faint fog soften the edges of everything, to the point where it feels like he’s walking in a very vivid dream, like he’ll wake up at the most inopportune time, sweaty, sad, and probably rock hard. Katsuki groans under his breath, and Eijirō finally peels his eyes away from your face to notice that his friend isn’t doing much better.

“God, this is fuckin’ hot,” Katsuki grunts, and you giggle with a bottom lip tucked between your teeth, eyes way too bright with excitement. Eijirō huffs a laugh.

“Cool, ‘cause I was thinking the same thing.”

Katsuki grunts again, and grinds into you harder, heavier. You don’t stumble forward, but you would’ve if the redhead weren’t there to take the brunt of the blow.

One of Eijirō’s hands starts to wander.

Completely of its own volition—he was totally content to keep them at your sides, swear—it caresses your waist, running up and down, contemplating the feel of your skin under your dress. He takes another deep inhale, for his sanity.

Katsuki, on the other hand, lost his sanity a long time ago.

One of his hands leaves your hip, too—the one that’s not still trapped under Eijirō’s own—sliding up your stomach, over your breasts. Eventually, it comes to rest at your neck. Eijirō knows when he squeezes, because as his wrist flexes, your eyes bulge, then melt. Eijirō simply tries to memorize it all—the wild look in Katsuki’s eyes, the entreating one in yours—just in case this is a one-time thing. Or, if you change your mind.

(This isn’t a one time thing, nor are you going to change your mind.)

While Eijirō doesn’t hear your whimper, he does feel it. Which is torture to someone who’s heard your moans through the walls for the past year.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Katsuki hums to himself, shaking his hand on your neck until your head bobs. Then, carmine eyes turn to Eijirō, piercing through the aimless float of smoke. “Ain’t she?”

Eijirō remembers the first time Katsuki asked him this question a couple of months ago, at the beach. He had an answer then, but didn’t want to say it. And, he’s got an answer now.

“Yeah,” he breathes, watching your body curl in between them. His thumb comes to pull at your lip, smearing lip gloss across your cheek in the pattern of his fingerprint. “Bet she’d look even prettier with something in her mouth, though.”

“Fuck.” Katsuki groans like the sound is punched out of his gut, and his hand on your waist tightens. Eijirō feels it and follows suit. “I wanna fuck. Like, now.”

Eijirō laughs, throat tight and voice hoarse from arousal. “That can be arranged.”

And, you—you’re just happily swaying between the two of them, eyes lidded and humming along to the music. Like you were built for this, built to handle both of them at once, and, that thought is—

Eijirō takes another deep breath, squeezing your side once more before stepping away.

“Hotel?” He asks. You and Katsuki nod and respond at the same time.

“Hotel.”

geordo.s

fascinating. is this how peasants live?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?

kurapika.chu

You're slightly the asshole—not because of what you did, but because you didn't tell him beforehand.

eren.exe

mmmm idk if you’re the asshole tbh

When you three get back to the hotel, though…

“I don’t wanna fuck tonight!”

Katsuki’s got his shirt halfway off his head, cloth still stuck around his elbows, as he looks at you like you’re clinically insane.

“Fuckin’ what.”

“You heard me!” You giggle, collapsing into the bed with your club clothes still on. Everybody is reasonably drunk, at this point—and Eijirō starts to wonder if you’re having cold feet. Katsuki is quick to put that worry to rest, though.

“No,” he huffs, taking the rest of his shirt off, before he starts pulling your legs like he was earlier and wagging a finger in your face. “No—no, we’re not doing that shit again.”

You lift your head, voice gargling from the awkward position of your neck. “What ‘shit’?”

“You’re fuckin’—you’re fuckin’—” Katsuki stutters in the way he always does when immensely frustrated, and growls at the ceiling steadily, before starting again. “You’re fuckin’ ‘oh, let's wait, it feels so good if we wait.’ I’m not—no.”

Katsuki mocks your voice, as nasal and high-pitched as he can muster, and it earns him a hearty pillow to the face. He snatches it away, reddened face growing deeper in frustration. And Eijirō, who’s still a little confused as to where he’s going to sleep, lingers in the doorway once again.

“Like…edging?”

“Yes!” Katsuki points at his friend, now borderline pacing. “Except—except it’s fuckin’ worse. She’s a tease—it’s teasin’, that’s the fuckin’ word!”

“I’m glad we could come to that conclusion together, Katsuki,” you sit up with a bright smile. Then, kicking a leg out, “Now, help me take my shoes off!”

Katsuki groans, and looks at you with deflating shoulders. His pacing stalls.

“Are we really not gonna fuck tonight?”

“Nope!”

“Fuck!”

“Well, we are here for about a week,” Eijirō tries to placate with a shrug. “We have time.”

“Plus, when we get back,” you nod, kicking the heels of your feet against the bed. Eijirō didn’t know ‘when we get back’ was an option, but he’s most definitely not complaining. You lift your foot again. “Shoes.”

Katsuki grumbles something else that Eijirō can’t quite hear, and gets down on one knee. Your shoes are confusing to look at—they’re heels, with straps that wrap around your leg and end just below the knee. Yeah, if Eijirō wore those all night, he wouldn’t have the energy to take them off, either. As Katsuki starts to undo the bow at the top, you look at Eijirō, and lift your other foot.

“Shoes.”

“Oh, you want me to—”

You nod. “Shoes.”

Eijirō passes the threshold and mimics his roommate—gets down on one knee, and pulls your foot to his thigh. You let out a satisfied hum, nodding your head twice, like somehow, Eijirō’s added presence satiates something. What that something is, though, he isn’t quite sure.

“You happy?” Katsuki grunts, halfway done unlacing. He glares at you, but you just smile lazy and pat both of their heads.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Very. My good boys, taking care of me…”

You sound tired, and Eijirō snorts as Katsuki’s blush deepens. “Don’t fall asleep on us, now.”

“’M not,” you slur, resting a head on your shoulder. Katsuki slides off one shoe, and Eijirō takes the other. You wiggle your toes.

“Y’still gotta change outta this, though,” Katsuki grunts on his way up, snapping the strap of your dress. You whine, collapsing back into the bed with an exhale.

“No! I’m sleeping naked!”

“And, that’s fine,” Katsuki snorts in a soft voice, leaning over you. “Y’can’t sleep in this, though.”

You whine. “Why not.”

“’Cause,” he tugs at the bottom of the dress, “this shit was expensive. I know, ‘cause I paid for it.”

“Ugh,” you groan, loud and drawn out, before sitting up again. “Fine. Someone’s gotta unzip me, though.”

Katsuki runs the zipper down the back of your dress. Eijirō just…turns around, unsure where to put himself, opting to change as discreet as possible. You huff once free, hobbling towards your suitcase with your dress still on but unzipped, only to realize—

“Uh oh…”

Katsuki, who’s already gotten ready for sleep—no shirt and grey sweatpants—looks at you and huffs. “What.”

You turn to both of them with a guilty smile, still uncomfortably hunched over your suitcase.

“I forgot my pj’s.”

Katsuki sighs long until his Adam's apple pops. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

Your awkward grin just widens. “Oopsie?”

“Well, I don’t have a fuckin’ shirt for you to wear,” Katsuki drops arms at his sides, and proceeds to fold his clothes from today and put them away. “Like, literally. I brought fancy ass vacation shit—I didn’t bring a singular t-shirt.”

“You can wear one of mine!” Eijirō says, a little too quick for comfort, but what can he do about it? He already blurted it out. Your eyes light up, though.

“Really?”

“Yeah, one sec—”

He stands from his seated position on the floor (don’t judge him; he doesn’t know where to sit), knees popping, as he makes his way to his own suitcase. He files through the plethora of t-shirts he brought— that’s all he wears—and tosses one over his shoulder without even looking at it. You catch it with your face.

“Thank you!” You sing-song. Eijirō looks over his shoulder to give you a thumbs up, only to realize you’re fully stripped save for your panties, and very quickly looks away.

“Yeah, no problem,” he mutters weakly. When he closes his eyes, he still sees you naked, so he starts folding his clothes back into his suitcase like he’s Katsuki Bakugō, instead.

“Ooh, this is soft!”

Eijirō finally deems it okay to look—hoping you’re not just, like, feeling his shirt in your hands, but actually wearing it. Except, this sight isn’t much better. You’re only in his shirt, the Crimson Riot one. It’s beyond oversized, collar loose and hem ending mid-thigh. Eijirō tries not to think about it too much.

(He’s thinking about it. Oh, he’s totally thinking about it.)

Katsuki’s already on the bed, propped up on an arm. When he sees the shirt's design, he snorts.

“When are you gonna get over that comic book character?” He grunts, like Eijirō’s hair isn’t still red.

“When are you gonna start being nice to strangers?” Eijirō asks as he gets up, brushing stray carpet lint from his basketball shorts. Katsuki barks a laugh.

“Fuckin’ never.”

“Exactly,” Eijirō nods. You flop into bed right beside Katsuki, who wraps a steady arm around your waist. Eijirō takes a deep breath. Someone tell him where to go. Please.

It’s like you hear his internal battle. You pat the open space next to you, enough room for one more person, and Eijirō swallows. Wait, so like—

“Are you comin’ to bed or not, Shitty Hair?”

Yeah, okay. Yep.

Eijirō slides in right next to you, slow and awkward in case either of you wants to change your mind. You don’t. Katsuki reaches behind himself to turn the lamp off, and suddenly, everyone is plunged into darkness.

“Hi,” you giggle as Eijirō lays his head on the pillow. He snorts.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bye, goodnight—if we’re not fuckin’, go to sleep!”

You swat Katsuki’s bad attitude away, looking over your shoulder where his head nestles. “Okay, okay. Got it. G’night, Katsuki.”

“Good fuckin’ night,” he grumbles, but when you purse your lips, he meets them with his own. Then, you turn back to Eijirō, who’s lying uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, putting enough space between you and him to fit a tiny person.

“G’night Eijirō,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his waist to tug him closer. He lets you, sliding an arm under the pillows, right along Katsuki’s.

“Goodnight.”

Then, you purse your lips again, waiting for a kiss.

Eijirō hesitates.

And, apparently, you don’t like hesitation. Your puckered lips turn into a pout. “Kiss.”

Eijirō stifles the butterflies in his belly, and leans in.

Your lips are soft, warm from alcohol and the evening’s activities, and then, they’re gone.

Eijirō lays his head back on the pillow, rightfully worn out. A long flight, a beach race, a dinner, a club, new information—his head is still reeling, trying to catalogue it all, but he’s only focused on one thing. You.

With a yawn, Eijirō gets comfortable because he’s allowed.

“Night, Ei.”

Katsuki’s voice rings low through the quiet room—quiet enough that Eijirō sort of assumed both of you had fallen asleep already. The hand running on the underside of his arm squeezes it, three times.

“G’night, Kat.”

Eijirō squeezes him back. One-two-three.

t.kageyama

i have yet to decide whether im too old or too young for this app.

geordo.s

fascinating. is this how peasants live?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?????

Eijirō wakes up to you and Katsuki whispering like little conspirators.

“Ugh—who let me drink so much last night?”

Sunlight escapes through thick curtains, cut into thin lines and scattering the room in patterns. Eijirō’s slightly startled for a second, before remembering where he is and, more importantly, the events from last night.

‘I wanna watch you fuck her.’

Right. Right.

“I don’t wanna hear shit,” Katsuki yawns beside you, scratching his stomach. “We tried to cut you off. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t tell me what to do, I’m a grown ass woman.’”

“Oh,” you say softly, dragging hands down your face. “Yeah, I kinda remember that.”

Your back is facing Eijirō as you pillow talk with your boyfriend, and in a way, it feels like he’s looking through the crack in the door again. Except, he’s allowed to look through the crack, maybe step through it a little, and does just that.

Eijirō nods his bird nest against the pillow and lifts up a sleepy fist. “Work hard, party harder.”

“Hell yeah,” you nod, looking over your shoulder to fist bump him properly. While unconscious, he scooted closer, leaving you squished between two hard bodies. You aren’t complaining, though. With a voice raspy from sleep and screaming over club music, you smile, “Good morning, Eijirō.”

Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, coffee-less and therefore relatively silent. Eijirō beams. “Morning, everybody. How’d we sleep?”

“Ugh, great,” you say, melting deeper into the covers. “Like a baby.”

“No, you slept like a menace—kickin’ me and shit,” Katsuki grumbles, placing hands on your waist to tug you closer regardless. And, it’s a little weird—seeing Katsuki so overwhelmingly unguarded. So soft.

“Oh, that’s what that was?” Eijirō wakes up feeling bold this morning, and tests the waters, wrapping an arm around your waist, too. It runs along Katsuki’s until it dips below, resting just above your belly button.

“Maybe,” you say, a little guilty. “But, it’s not my fault! I picked up the habit because Katsuki starfishes, so I subconsciously kick his legs back together. See?”

Eijirō has never seen someone kick so hard laying down in his life.

It’s actually pretty impressive—how you manage to know exactly where Katsuki’s foot lies, and aim with utmost precision. He sees Katsuki’s leg reel under the covers as he hisses in pain.

“Ah—the fuck? You’re not the only one with a hangover, y’know.”

You let out an evil little cackle, but kiss Katsuki on the forehead to placate him. He hums in satisfaction. Placation: successful.

“How’d you sleep, Eiji?”

“Like a rock,” he huffs, and snuggles closer. For warmth, he tells himself. Because he’s allowed.

“Good, good,” you wave over your shoulder, and yawn. “’Kay, well I’m gonna go back to bed—”

“Hell no. We’re fuckin’ now,” Katsuki grunts, eyes still closed and face still swollen. He’s half awake. You pout while Eijirō snickers, and the blond peeks an eye out. “Fuckin’ what.”

“Nothing,” Eijirō hums, shaking his head. He presses his chin into your shoulder to see Katsuki better. “You just seem impatient.”

“I am,” Katsuki makes a pained groan. “I’ve waited a whole goddamn year. Now, Baby—strip.”

A year?

You whine again, giving Eijirō absolutely no time to do the math, to understand the repercussions of what Katsuki confessed. Shit, maybe he should go back to bed too. Just to, like, sit on that information for an hour or two.

“I don’t wanna,” you pout, dragging out the last word in the most obnoxious tone you can muster. “My head hurts. Later.”

“When is later,” Katsuki over-enunciates, clearly hanging on by a thread. You shift under the covers, ass pressing against Eijirō’s crotch, and—oh. Is that morning wood?

“Later is…later,” you huff, tucking the fluffy hotel duvet under your chin. Then, with another wiggle of your ass, “You’re not the only one having a hard time, you know.”

Eijirō juts his bottom lip in a pout, and tightens his hand on your stomach to get you to stop, please. Because, Katsuki was right about one thing—not being able to fuck you is torture. And now that Eijirō knows he can, it only makes it worse.

“Hey,” the redhead whines, because, low blow. It’s a low blow from you, and a low blow from his body for telling on him. It’s a low blow from the gods, who put him in this situation to begin with. “Not cool, Dude.”

“Are you really gonna call me dude when your dick is pressed against my back,” you snort, and Eijirō hears Katsuki’s breath hitch. Feels the arm on your waist squeeze a little tighter.

“Yeah,” Eijirō licks his lips, watching your hips fall into a light and slow but steady pace. Katsuki’s hand slides to your back and drags a light line down your spine. “You’re being mean.”

Because, what’s the point of grinding if you don’t wanna fuck?

“I can be meaner,” you say, with a smile flashing over your shoulder. Eijirō whimpers as you push more weight into him, and keep pushing. He looks at Katsuki for help, but he’s busy watching your body curl, too.

“Kat,” Eijirō whines, actually pleads, because, “help me.”

“Nah,” Katsuki huffs, getting comfortable on the pillow, and pats your side. “Now y’get to handle what I’ve been dealing with for the past two years.”

All Eijirō hears is: at least it’s not me.

And, honestly? Fuck him for that.

“This is horrible,” Eijirō laments after a sharp inhale, rubbing his face into your neck like it’ll make him feel better. It doesn’t. If anything, he’s flooded with the scent of you, more than he already was, and it makes his dick jump in his shorts. Nudging you in the side, “Okay, c’mon—no more.”

“But, I thought you guys were horny,” you tease, the lilt in your tone undeniable. “I’m just taking the edge off a bit.”

You're pressed flush to Eijirō now—even the slightest grind, and he’d feel it. Except, nothing about this is slight. It’s heavy and hot and makes his breathing pick up in the way only one thing can.

“This isn’t—this is, like, sharpening the edge,” Eijirō reasons aloud, huffing into your shoulder. “This is like dangling me over the cliff, and being like, ‘oh, don’t fall.’”

You cackle at that, like you know. Another roll of your hips, then, “You can stop me if you want.”

Eijirō whines, loud and long and pathetic, because you don’t understand—he cannot. You feel too good, too real, too solid, and as someone who’s been dreaming of this all year, no, Eijirō cannot simply stop you.

You giggle when he doesn’t, when his hands scramble for your sides instead, sitting above Katsuki’s just like last night. And, at the thought of last night, Eijirō pulls you a little closer. He doesn’t know how long he can take this before returning to his natural state—weak, pitiful, and overall, severely down bad.

After a little longer, room filled with human humidity and heavy pants, you stop grinding. Sit up.

“Okay, I should probably get breakfast to help my headache,” you yawn with a hand over your mouth. “Before I fall back asleep.”

Katsuki gets up on an arm, hair still flattened on one side from sleep. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

You smile, innocent and polite, like you aren’t the bane of their existences. “Anyone want anything?”

“Fuckin’—you, the fuck,” Katsuki huffs, tugging at your midsection to bring you back under the covers, but you don’t budge. Instead, you peel his hands off your hips.

Then, you crawl out of bed, on all fours and face first, and Eijirō is forced to watch your ass move in his Crimson Riot shirt, panties slightly askew. He’s so close he can taste it, and just watches at the overhead fan. He won’t know if he can’t see. (And, if he knows, he’ll lose his mind.)

You throw on a pair of sweatpants, and you’re out the door with a click. Eijirō and Katsuki are left with the hum of the AC and a very silent room.

“Cold shower?” Katsuki grumbles, staring at the ceiling with something wistful. Eijirō nods.

“Yep.”

akira.aaaaaah

this poor guy, ik he’s stressed

zenitsuckthesenuts

oooh lemme be a fourth 

kid.death

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Eijirō doesn’t know why you left him and Katsuki alone like that. Also, cold showers suck.

So, they didn’t take one.

“F-Fuck, Dude, holy shit—”

Thanks to the wetness from constant running water, Katsuki’s hand slides easy. The tile is cold against his back, but Eijirō sweats anyway, arm pumping as his own hand glides smooth along a cock that isn’t his.

“Why the fuck are your hands so soft?” Katsuki pants into his neck. He has Eijirō pinned to the side of the shower, just out the way of the spray. This is a moment of severe weakness, and Eijirō hopes what happens in the shower, stays in the shower.

(Katsuki can always touch his dick, though. Not that part.)

“Lotion, Man,” Eijirō says past a breathless laugh, droplets sliding off the sharp ends of his hair and rolling down Katsuki’s shoulder. Eijirō’s face flinches in pleasure, and while he tries to keep his sounds to a minimum—this is still a little weird, this is still just his Bro—little squeaky whines slip from his lips. He was more desperate to get in Katsuki’s hands than he thought. “How are your hands so rough?”

“’Cause I’m a man that works with his hands,” Katsuki postures, and Eijirō snorts.

“Kat, you have a desk job.”

“Shut the fuck up, and cum already,” He grunts, lips moving against Eijirō’s neck in a way that makes him shiver, even if it’s accidental. Katsuki’s grip gets tighter, and so does his.

“You can’t rush orgasms, Dude,” Eijirō says, tries to say, but ‘dude’ turns into a really embarrassing whine he hopes was drowned out by running water. He knows it wasn’t. “That’s, like, Sex 101.”

“I’m not fuckin’ rushin’ it, she’s rushin’ it,” Katsuki says behind a deep growl, and Eijirō’s cock jumps. “We’ve got five minutes, tops.”

Eijirō knocks his head back into the tile, a little too hard, and winces at the feeling. Katsuki’s head falls off his shoulder. Shower smoke fogs the glass doors and curls toward the one canned light in the ceiling.

“I know, I know,” he whines. He’s not even standing on his feet anymore—fully leaned against the shower wall, with Katsuki keeping him upright at his front. And, Katsuki’s dick is so pretty. It’s curved and flushed and just as glossy and pale as his skin. Eijirō watches pre-cum bead at his tip before sliding down the shaft, running down Eijirō’s knuckles and disappearing in the slide. Katsuki’s cock jumps, too. With a weak grin and a lilt in his voice, Eijirō asks, “I turn you on, Dude?”

And Katsuki, whose eyes are trained on Eijirō’s own dick, finally looks away to huff in his face. “You already know the answer to that question, Dumbass”

Eijirō bites his lip. He wants to hold onto Katsuki, more than he already is. He wants a hand on his hip, gliding over those shower-slick muscles Eijirō remembers him working so hard to get, wants to see how easy it is to redden his skin, wants to see if his nipples are sensitive. He wants…he wants—

“Shit, I’m close,” Eijirō pants, eyebrows folding. He looks at Katsuki. “Are you close?”

“Stop askin’ stupid questions,” Katsuki grunts, but leans forward a bit. Incrementally—but enough for Eijirō to notice—like he’s melting. Then, an afterthought, “Not cummin’ before you, though.”

Eijirō wheezes a laugh, tight and bright and a little bit bitter. “Dude, now is not the time for a competition.”

Putting a hand next to Eijirō’s head, on the slippery tile, Katsuki’s eyes flit down to his lips. Return to his eyes. “Now’s definitely the time for a competition.”

“No, Bro,” he shakes his head, then licks his lips—because Katsuki keeps looking at them like he wants something. And, y’know, maybe Eijirō’s eyes slip a little, too. “’Cause then I’m gonna try to hold out. We don’t have time for that.”

“Then cum,” Katsuki says, like it’s easy, and suddenly much closer than Eijirō remembers. Katsuki’s smile turns cocky, and that’s the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Or, maybe it’s when Katsuki drags a thumb along his jawline. “Be a good boy for me, and cum.”

“Oh, that’s not fucking fair,” Eijirō whimpers, finally caving and grabbing Katsuki by his waist. “That’s not fair at all, Kat, I—”

“Awh,” Katsuki coos and clicks his tongue. The thumb on Eijirō’s jaw lifts his head, and he can feel Katsuki’s condescending breath on his lips as he says, “’S okay, Ei. Just let go.”

“I—”

Knock, knock, knock!

They jump apart. Eijirō slips on water and nearly falls on his ass. Katsuki catches him, though.

“What are you two doing in there?!”

Your voice is muffled by the door, but still sounds just as lovely. The hands Katsuki has around his waist tighten.

“Fuckin’ showerin’!” Katsuki hollers, voice echoing off glass and tile. He lets go of Eijirō, and turns the shower handle from hot to freezing. Under his breath, he grumbles, “Nosy.”

“I heard that!”

“Good!”

horihori

nta, GET THAT DICK BITCH

yurikatsuki’sno1hater

Yuri Katsuki is a professional figure skater from Hatsetsu Japan, certified by the JSF. At age 18, he moved to Detriot to train under Coach Celestino Cialdini, only to come back and LOSE TO THE MUCH SUPERIOR AND EXTREMELY HANDSOME YURI PLISETSKY SUCK MY DICK

cyberch!ck69

what does this have to do with anything i just said?

yurikatsuki’sno1hater

It doesn’t

Unfortunately, before they both realized you were going to be a tease, Katsuki signed everyone up for snorkeling after breakfast. And, he takes his reservations very seriously. Especially ones with thirty-dollar cancellation fees. Thirty dollars each.

“Move your asses, we’re gonna be late.”

(And, Eijirō is really trying—to move his ass. But, it’s extremely difficult to stuff a rock-hard dick into awfully short swim shorts, and then hide it. He’s trying.)

They end up arriving about five minutes late, which isn’t late for the hotel, used to dealing with people on vacation with lax schedules, but it is late for Katsuki. Being on time is late for Katsuki.

The instructor gives them routine warnings and directions—stay away from the coral reefs, keep within the buoys, don’t wear anything shiny, remember to avoid breathing through your nose. Katsuki thinks the last one is self-explanatory, but people are dumbasses.

Katsuki didn’t realize how much of a dumbass he’d look, though, in goggles too big and the snorkel a comical thing next to his face. Somehow, Shitty Hair makes it work, and that pisses him off even more.

Snorkeling was fine—it was fun. Though he’ll never say it aloud, Katsuki liked looking at the different types of fish while floating on the water's surface. Eventually, Eijirō returns to the beach, too tired from last night’s activities and probably a little horny, opting to lounge on a chair to catch a tan. The tide slowly pulls you and Katsuki into a small grotto, still within the buoy's boundaries, and that’s where you two take a breather.

“This is fun,” you smile, picking the goggles off your head and stuffing them into your hair. It leaves your snorkel in a wonky position. “There are even fish in here, look!”

You point to the shallow waters lapping at your feet from where you’re standing on the rock. Katsuki watches your ass protrude as you bend over.

He might’ve made everyone go snorkeling, but there’s still only one thing on his mind.

Katsuki hums, but he’s not even looking at the fish. He’s looking at you—how minimal sunlight bounces off your wet skin and makes it shine, how your fat bends and curls with every shift, how you turn to him with bright eyes, like you forgot the whole point of this trip in the first place.

When Katsuki pushes you against the rough cave wall, he doesn’t know why you act surprised.

“Wha—Katsuki!”

His mouth is on yours before you can get another word in, clammy hands gripping your sides as Katsuki gives you a taste of your own medicine. Your kisses start out soft, broken by giggles, but Katsuki very quickly brings you down to his level—fucking desperate.

“Kats,” you whimper, and Katsuki moves to your neck, dragging his tongue along your pulse point and making you shiver. You press at his shoulders, but it’s not enough to push him away. “Kats—we shouldn’t—someone could walk in, or—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Katsuki growls. One of the hands on your hips slowly snakes lower, grabbing the side of your swimsuit bottoms and tugging upward until you can feel it strain against your clit. You huff, looking up at him with that swell in your eyes he loves so much, so he tugs again.

“Kats—”

“I’m tired of your shit.”

His other hand slides upwards, wrenching your bathing suit top to the side and freeing a breast to tweak a nipple. He can feel your breath puff on his bare skin as you sigh, lolling your head to the right just enough to give him more room to work with. And, work with, he does.

After too much tugging and teasing, Katsuki dips a hand beneath a damp waistband. He needs to feel you—and groans when he finally does, because holy shit, how are you so wet.

“You drive me crazy, y’know that,” he grunts, fingers slowly rolling over your skin in a way you deem pleasurable. Your eyes flutter in response. Katsuki presses harder. “Prancin’ around in practically nothin’, and you still won’t lemme touch you.”

You let out a moan too loud for a public space, cracking against craggy cave walls and echoing through the grotto. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, wrapping around his neck in a way that almost chokes, but Katsuki barely feels it. No, all he feels is you, and the swell of his dick.

“And here you are, all fuckin’ needy,” he huffs a laugh, grin scraping against your skin, bending it in his wake. Your hips buck, so his hands still. “Ah-ah. You’re not cummin’ yet.”

You whimper, licking your lips and panting, huffing, with your askew top shuddering with every exhale. Goosebumps rise on Katsuki’s skin, flatten into nothing, then rise again.

“Kats, please—”

“Please ain’t gon’ get you anywhere, Princess,” Katsuki growls, free hand finding your chin to lift it, while the other continues its steady ministrations between your legs. “You played with me—now it’s my turn to return the favor, right? Like a good boyfriend?”

Katsuki’s words are mocking enough to make you shiver in the way he loves, and your nails dig into his shoulders tight enough to leave crescents in your wake. The sting runs straight to Katsuki’s dick, and stays there.

“F-Fuck you,” you manage to hiss, lacking vitriol and replacing it with ecstasy and an undercurrent of annoyance. Your hips hitch again, so Katsuki stills again.

“See, that attitude right there is the reason you’re cummin’ last, tonight,” Katsuki’s grip tightens on your cheeks enough to make them squish, enough for him to feel the groove of your teeth through the skin. His hand is wet with you, now—fingers fucking soaked, and all he did was rub your clit for about five minutes. You whine.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight,” Katsuki over-enunciates, hoping to bury it in your thick skull that you’re not getting an orgasm until the moon is high in the sky and everyone has returned to their rooms to knock out—you can sing with the crickets, for all he cares. Your face curdles into a pout between his fingers, the pout that lets him know you now understand that you’ve bit off more than you can chew. Katsuki clicks his tongue. “You’ve been actin’ a brat this whole damn trip. Y’don’t just get shit ‘cause you asked for it, y’get shit ‘cause you work for it.”

With that, Katsuki releases your face. You collapse against the cave wall, bathing suit still twisted and goggles hanging on your head by a strand of hair.

“I’m not being a brat,” you scoff, gathering yourself and your bathing suit, with a slightly unsteady voice and shaky hands. “I—I was…poetically and sexually inclined, okay, that’s not even—”

“Baby,” Katsuki grunts, and levels you with a look.

“…Yes?”

“Shut the hell up before I fuck you right here.”

s.geto

Okay, how do I ask them?

cyberch!ck69

YOU’VE COME CRAWLING BACK I SEE

s.geto

Nvm.

After snorkeling is lunch. After lunch is a lei-making class. Katsuki tore half the carnations with hands that aren’t built to handle delicate things, and you spent the whole time being a tease. Eijirō just tries to focus on his lei, because if he focuses on anything else, his mind drifts to you, and suddenly, the flower in his palm is missing a few petals. After that, staying true to Katsuki’s itinerary, is a dinner and a luau.

“Eiji—come take a picture of me!”

They’re getting ready for dinner, and per usual, Katsuki is the last one ready. You’ve had enough time to find and pick a hibiscus flower to tuck behind your ear, matching the same shade as your strapless wrap dress. It’s not as tight as last night’s—thank God—but just as revealing, especially when you bend over like that, holy fuck—

“Sorry, had to fix my shoe.” You stand, brushing off the bottom of your dress in two firm strokes. “Ready?”

Eijirō has a vice grip on your phone as you walk towards the balcony. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—

Now, the sun is setting, fingers of orange and pink receding past the horizon. The sun is setting, but it’s still hot enough to give you that faint sheen, sweat or sparkle, as you lift a leg and pose. Your eyes glint in a way that’s nothing short of teasing—and while Eijirō assumes it’s for the camera, it damn sure feels like it’s for him.

You go through a few poses, all against the balcony railing. Eijirō’s knees hurt from trying to get the perfect angle, and when he hands back the phone, you smile. His mantra remains loud and true:

Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—

“Wow, you take pictures so much better than Kats,” you amaze while scrolling through the images. Something akin to pride swells in his chest. Something also swells in his crotch.

Which is, like, totally not okay—drooling over the fact that he’s better than Katsuki at something. To you. When you’ve been the one dating Katsuki for the past two years, when it’s very clear you love him. But, Eijirō is stupid, and his brain is fried from severe blood loss over the past twenty-four hours.

“Thank you,” he smiles, and watches you swipe through pictures over your shoulder, pointing at one. “That one’s my favorite.”

It’s somewhat candid, of you in the middle of turning around to watch the sinking sun. The look on your face is nothing short of blissful—relaxed, at peace—and despite the looseness of the dress, your ass pokes out in something teasing, tantalizing, something—

Eijirō Kirishima needs to chill the fuck out. He knows this.

But, it’s hard. Hard when you drag your nails down his stomach in passing and say good job, hard when Katsuki grumbles at both of you to move it because they’re going to be late (like it’s not his fault), hard when he’s sat at a long table on the beach with strangers and dancers flanking both sides.

Eijirō is hard.

Fuck.

“Get your fuckin’ hand off my knee,” Katsuki grunts at you. You’re sitting between them, which is both the best and worst place to be—best, because Eijirō gets to be close to you. Worst, because Eijirō gets to be close to you.

And, he’s not the only one hanging by a thread—Katsuki has been pissy all day. He’s been mean and angry and a live wire just waiting for something flammable. (More than he already is.) And you, you’re starting to regret the grave you dug yourself, Eijirō thinks, because you wanted to fuck after snorkeling, wanting to fuck after lei making, but Katsuki keeps saying tonight.

“No,” you whine, and paw at Katsuki’s thigh in a way that you know will annoy him. “I wanna touch you.”

Your hand is also on Eijirō’s knee, but he’s not strong enough to move it. Just weak, and sitting in said weakness, feeling your drifting touch burn a hole in his skin. It’s a lot, honestly.

Katsuki grumbles, but doesn’t say much more, instead bouncing his other leg with an impatience that makes it seem like he doesn’t even want to be at the dinner in the first place.

Loud drums batter, accompanied by the patter of feet on sand and the swish of skirts. All of it falls into one noise, something steady and white, as your thumbs start rubbing circles on the inside of Eijirō’s knee. As it starts rubbing circles higher than Eijirō’s knee.

“What are you doing,” he asks. The food can’t come fast enough. The sun can’t fall fast enough.

“Nothing,” you say, in that tone that definitely means you're doing something. A lilt. Eijirō exhales sharp through his nose.

“Y/N…” he says warily and debates taking his leg away, knocking your hand off, anything. A stronger man might, but not Eijirō. Not today.

“What?” You pout in offense. Eijirō eyes the people next to him, then across, in hopes you get the message. You don’t.

Or, you do, but really don’t care.

“Baby, seriously.”

Eijirō looks at Katsuki’s lap to notice he’s not going through this alone. If anything, Katsuki has it worse, as you squeeze and pull at his thighs under his shorts, with no care for who might see or what they might say. There’s a sick sense of camaraderie that comes with the sight. At least he isn’t suffering alone.

“Oh, have I been banned from touching you guys, too?” You huff, a little bitter, a little like the thought is an impossibility. Where the hell is the food?

“At this point, yes,” Katsuki growls. He picks your hand off his lap and pins it to the table. The second he lets go, your hand falls back to where it belongs. His inner thigh.

Eijirō is tearing up the inside of his cheek. Soon, you’ve moved further up on his thigh too, drawing absentminded shapes that induce shivers. He whines.

“What if we…like…skip dinner.”

“We’re not skippin’ this shit, ‘m hungry,” Katsuki grumbles while crossing arms over his chest. Eijirō groans, but his stomach rumbles in agreement.

“Fuck.”

“So, I can keep touching y—”

“No.”

Both Katsuki and Eijirō take your hands and place them on the table. You giggle, but relent. The food doesn’t arrive too long after.

s.geto

Nvm.

cyberch!ck69

just TALK TO THEM

s.geto

Absolutely not.

s.geto

I need a five step plan, preferably one that doesn’t include me sitting them down and baring my soul.

cyberch!ck69

i give the fuck up

When they get back to the room, Katsuki slams you against the wall. Hard.

“Y’thought that shit was funny, huh,” he says in a low voice typically reserved for the bedroom—Eijirō knows, he’s heard it—and you bite back a smile and fail, wrists pinned to the wall above your head.

“A little, yeah,” you breathe, and Katsuki starts working his way down your neck. “You were the one who said ‘tonight.’”

“And you were the one who said no yesterday,” Katsuki huffs. He picks you up by your hips, tosses you onto the bed and, without a second thought, points and says, “Eijirō.”

Eijirō scrambles on top of you like there’s no tomorrow.

He presses you into the bed and kisses you heavy. Eijirō doesn’t even care about being polite at this point—he knows he’s allowed, you’re allowed, and takes what he needs because he can.

Your hands run up his sides to tangle in red hair, tugging, giggling when he whimpers, then tugging again. Everything fits so easy, like you were meant to be under him in the first place, made specifically to be slotted between his body and the bed.

So, maybe Eijirō’s treating you with all the impatience of an overzealous puppy, sue him.

Katsuki sits in the hotel’s standard cuck chair, slowly palming himself over fabric to relieve some pressure. Eijirō catches him out the corner of his eye, suppressing a grin when Katsuki lifts an eyebrow as if to say, what?

With a strong grip on your chin, Eijirō forcefully redirects your gaze to your boyfriend, the one impatiently writhing in the chair with a hand over his pants. Eijirō’s lips make their way down your neck, skating over a small hickey easily disguised as a bug bite that he knows wasn’t there last night—which makes him wonder what happened in those seven minutes you two disappeared during snorkeling.

(To say you came out of that grotto disheveled was an understatement.)

“God,” Eijirō breathes, mostly to himself, as his hand slides down and beneath your waist, arching your back just a little, just enough to be provocative. You get impatient when he doesn’t move fast enough, with lips still hovering by your collarbones and dress still on, and you yank his hair in admonishment.

“Hurry up,” you huff, and though it’s quiet, it rings in the vaguely silent room like a cry for help. Eijirō’s lips spread in a grin along your clavicle.

“What if I wanna take my time with you, though?” He pouts, and moves lower, but not by much. Just enough to give you false hope. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, lightly squeezing and tugging but never removing. Again, just enough to give you false hope.

You whimper, hips rolling into his stomach as you try to find some sort of friction. Eijirō tuts and pushes your knees down, one by one. He’s not gonna lie—a few more thrusts, and he might snap. With a deep inhale and exhale, determined to take his time because he doesn’t know when he’ll get this chance again, he starts moving down your body a little faster. A little.

He still has to get you back for teasing him all day.

When his hand finally dips under your dress, you sigh in satisfaction. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails scratching short hairs at his nape and sending light shivers down his spine. Eijirō’s eyes flutter shut as he mouths over a clothed breast, relishing the way your breath hitches underneath his lips.

“Respectfully, Shitty Hair, hurry the fuck up,” Katsuki grunts from the corner. Eijirō looks at him—there’s a flush running past the collar of his shirt, lips glossy with spit and chest heaving with impatience. Eijirō feels the balance of control shift, and grabs hold.

“Respectfully, Kat, I think I’m gonna take my time,” he smiles, and while the verb phrase I think gives room for argument, Eijirō hardens his voice until he’s sure Katsuki knows that isn’t the case. I think is a placation.

Katsuki snarls, but sinks deeper in his chair.

Eijirō unwraps your dress—unwraps his present, like it’s his birthday, his anniversary—and kisses down the valley of your chest. Both hands lift to cradle your breasts, shaking them on either side of his face and chuckling when you whimper. He thumbs over one nipple, obsessing over the way your body jolts, and takes another deep inhale like he can smell your arousal from here.

Eijirō takes your nipple into his mouth, next.

You choke out a moan, body strung tight from denying yourself the thing you want most, and your hips struggle to kick under the weight of Eijirō’s body, but they do try. He groans, hugging your waist to keep you from jolting, and sucks.

“Ah—fuck—”

You gasp when his teeth skirt your areola, light enough to soothe but tight enough to graze. Katsuki groans in his peripheral.

“Yeah? Feel good, Baby?” Katsuki pants past a clinch in his throat. You nod and whimper, eyes screwing shut, and he coos. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

You whine and tug at Eijirō’s head again. Not necessarily to instill pain, but to, “Move. Move, Eiji.”

Eijirō’s lips leave your breast with a pop, as he gazes at you with lidded eyes and a lazy smile. He’s exactly where he wants to be.

“Move where?”

You let out a strangled groan, something made of pure annoyance, as you try to push his head down. Eijirō doesn’t budge.

“You know where,” you huff, wiggling to work your knees out from under his body, to frame him and thrust up. ”My pussy, Eijirō—please, I swear to God—”

And, since you asked so nicely—

Eijirō keeps playing dumb, but runs a hand to cup between your legs. You're wet to the touch, through the panties, and he takes his third deep inhale of the night in an attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t work.

Eijirō is unwell.

He feels your pussy twitch under his palm, and he feels dizzy. The room spins, sways, does all the things a room is definitely not supposed to do—like the world kept spinning, but Eijirō stopped moving within it—and he drops his head to your shoulder in hopes it’ll stop. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

“Y’good there, Red?” Katsuki snorts, and honestly, Eijirō shakes his head.

He keeps playing with your pussy, though. A fucking war couldn’t stop that.

Eijirō sits up so his voice isn’t muted by your skin, so he doesn’t have to repeat himself twice. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“Oh no,” your face turns from ecstasy into worry in a second, and your hands let go of his hair to cup the softer angles of his face. Eijirō melts into the hold. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head, pinches your clit. Your body shudders. “No, no. I’m good.”

Eijirō takes another deep breath. His head still spins, but in a good way—a way he can lean into. So, he does, and rips your panties off in the process.

“My—hey!” You pout as Eijirō throws the useless cloth over his shoulders, forgetting about them the instant they leave his palm. He can’t look at your pussy yet, needing a breather and taking it, exhaling with his eyes closed.

“Someone’s impatient,” Katsuki grunts under his breath. Eijirō huffs a weak laugh. Opens his eyes. God, your pussy is pretty.

“You literally just told me to hurry up.”

“And?” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō hears the clink of a belt, the shifting of cloth. He looks up to see Katsuki working his jeans down to his thighs. 

“And nothing, Dude,” Eijirō smiles. Then, he touches you.

“Fuck,” he whines, melting on his knees as you whimper beneath him. It’s something simple—just running a finger through your folds, testing the waters—and you feel better than he ever imagined. On his fingers. He starts to get dizzy, again.

“She feels good, doesn’t she,” Katsuki groans, slightly more breathless than when he last spoke. Eijirō swallows, then nods.

“Yeah, I—” his breath shutters as his train of thought runs into a wall and smashes into a heap of metal. His thumb runs over your clit, lightly, seeing what makes you squirm and what doesn’t, but he’s half-busy reeling in the unbelievability of it all. You, the most unattainable woman he’s ever met, so far out of his league, his best friend’s girlfriend, is here, laid flat and naked in front of him because you want to. What the fuck. What the fuck. He bites back a moan as he watches your eyes flutter, hips slowly picking up their pace as you rock between his hand and the headboard. “How’re you feeling, Pretty?”

The pet name just kind of…slips right out. And, while he probably shouldn’t be calling his best friend’s girlfriend Pretty, he also probably shouldn’t be touching her like this. And Katsuki shouldn’t be sitting in the corner, touching his dick, like this is all perfectly normal.

Eijirō dips a finger inside you.

You flex and flutter around him, clenched, enough to make him wonder how he’s supposed to fit in the first place. It feels like you’ve cut off his circulation, but…to his head. Somehow, he’s getting no blood to his brain—maybe, because it’s all going to his dick—and Eijirō whimpers as he starts pumping a finger, only for you to grip tighter on his way out.

“Oh my God,” he drops his head, eyes fluttering closed as he realizes, “I’m not gonna survive this.”

“Chill out, Shitty Hair; you’ve only got one finger in her,” Katsuki snorts, enjoying the visual of Eijirō losing his mind when he hasn’t even done anything yet. “Just wait ‘til you make her scream.”

Yeah. Eijirō might need to speed things up a bit.

He inserts a second finger right next to the first, and groans. It’s tight. No wonder he could hear Katsuki’s moans through the walls.

Speaking of moans: you’ve been letting out quiet whimpers the whole time, body writhing and breath hitching all cute. But, Eijirō crooks his fingers, and then—fireworks.

Your eyes rocket open, round and wide, and your stomach flexes. You release a moan that’s punched straight from your gut, loud and wanton and exactly what Eijirō has heard through plaster. Your body squeezes and shudders as he focuses on opening you up instead of pleasure, because if he focuses on pleasure, he’ll—

“Rub her clit,” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō looks over to find him pumping himself with a slow and steady pace, dick exposed and looking just like Eijirō remembers from the shower. The urge to lick it remains strong. When he moves to pull his fingers away, Katsuki tuts. “At the same time, Dumbass. What, can’t multitask?”

Honestly, in this situation, Eijirō isn’t really sure.

He keeps his mouth shut, though—whatever embarrassing ramble that sat on his tongue is swallowed—and does as he’s told. The hand resting on your waist drops to your clit, and you squeal.

“There she goes,” Katsuki mutters, with all the predatory satisfaction of an animal at the top of its food chain. You splutter and kick a leg on reflex, and Eijirō sort of has to fight to keep his hands from slipping.

“Eiji,” you scramble for his shirt, holding on tight and keeping him close, “I need you to fuck me—like, yesterday.”

“Then you should’a had him fuck you yesterday,” Katsuki huffs, and Eijirō isn’t sure if he’d be a really good or really bad porn director in another life. Maybe both. “Put in a third finger.”

Eijirō does, and your eyes roll.

“Fuck,” you whimper, and your grip tightens. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Stop touchin’ her.”

Eijirō removes his fingers.

You groan, slamming a heel into the mattress in frustration, and glare at your boyfriend across the room. “Kats—I hate you.”

You’re too out of breath for your words to have any fire in them, so Katsuki just smiles, slow and languid as he rests a chin on his hand. “What’s wrong, Princess? About to cum?”

“You know I was,” you huff, glaring at the ceiling. And Eijirō is too busy looking at the flexing mess between your legs, because, holy shit, you were about to cum, like, all over his fingers—

Eijirō needs to see that. He needs to see that, like, now.

“That’s too damn bad,” Katsuki snorts, then his eyes cut to his roommate. “Keep touchin’ her.”

Eijirō does so, and with a renewed vigor.

He stuffs three fingers back in so quick you yelp in surprise, body curling into his as he works you open. The little sounds you make are heavenly, breathy and whiny and everything he’s dreamt of and more. Eijirō notices when you get close to the edge, this time—the way your eyes flutter, and you squeeze around him like you don’t want to let go.

“Stop.”

You whine again, and this time, Eijirō whines along with you. He wants to feel it, so, so bad.

After a few moments of panting, you lick your lips, “Kats, I—”

“Doesn’t feel too good, does it,” Katsuki grunts, but he’s still smiling just as wide as before. At least someone is having fun. Eijirō, meanwhile, is a hot mess, because all he wants is to feel what he’s heard (and seen) for ages. And, his dick hurts.

You groan, fists squeezing into cute little fists on your forehead. “Why do you have to be an ass?”

“Me?” Katsuki scoffs. “I’m just givin’ you a taste of your own medicine, Sweetheart. Eijirō, you can move.”

It takes you longer to reach the edge than the second time. Maybe, you’re holding back—or, maybe you know it won’t be allowed—but Eijirō’s arm is working overtime until it cramps. He’s sweating now, the shorter hairs sticking to his face in funny designs, but Eijirō Kirishima is nothing if a quitter. He feels it again—the tightness—and looks to Katsuki, who says nothing. Maybe, this time, he’ll let it slide. This time, Eijirō gets to see it, feel it, taste it—

“Stop.”

Eijirō groans louder than you do, and drops his head to your shoulder.

“Kat, let her cum,” Eijirō practically begs, eyebrows bowing and lips quivering against your neck. You feel it, and your breath hitches.

“What?” Katsuki acts like he can’t hear him, but Eijirō knows he does.

“Let her cum,” he huffs after lifting his head off your sticky shoulder, looking at Katsuki with the most pleading face—the most pathetic face—he can muster. “Please.”

Katsuki scoffs, eyes narrowing at Eijirō like there’s something to study. There’s not; the answer is obvious—he’s sitting in between the legs of a pretty girl, unable to give her what she wants, eyes wild and chest heaving like he’s had any friction at all.

“Why?”

“I wanna feel it,” Eijirō says, quick enough to be embarrassed about it later.

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

“Fine.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Eijrō sighs, hands officially moving with an end goal in sight. It would be cruel of Katsuki to deny both of you again, but Eijirō knows he’s not going to—the hand on his dick is moving faster, now. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Eijirō wonders how many times he can make you cum. He wonders what you’ll look like after the first, second, third—how much your body might quiver, what you could sound like without a wall in place. All it does is fuel the fire in his belly, running straight into his muscles until his hand moves at a numbing pace. As your voice pitches, so does the pace of your breathing.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for us, Baby. Cum for Ei, make a mess all over his fuckin’ fingers.”

Eijirō doesn’t even blink.

He just watches as you unravel, starting at your edges and ending in your middle, as your body arches and hips flick. Your pussy squeezes around his fingers tighter than he thought was possible, and your face—God, your face—contorts in ecstasy because of what he did, his fingers. Eijirō can confirm that it's better up close. So much better.

He kisses you before you can come down, out of pure impulse and want. You moan into his mouth, hands lifting to quiver by his cheeks, an attempt to hold them, and it’s just so cute.

Eijirō’s fucked. Though he knew it before, he definitely knows now. He’s not going to be able to exist without this, anymore.

Note: Never make Katsuki mad, like, sexually.

Because, when Katsuki can’t cum, nobody’s fucking cumming.

“Kat, Dude, please, c’mon,” Eijirō wheezes into your neck, but he doesn’t really care whether Katsuki can hear him. Katsuki will do what Katsuki wants—it’s like whining to the weather.

Your pussy is squeezing the life out of his cock. You’re on your fourth orgasm, and Eijirō is on none, even though he didn’t do shit. This is a type of torture he’s woefully unfamiliar with, like he’s getting punished for being attracted to you in the first place. He didn’t do shit.

Katsuki has moved from the chair to the bed, cock still in hand. Eijirō can’t even be cheesy about it, can’t even look to the right and ask, need a hand, because he’s gripping the sheets for dear life, like they might take pity on him. But, sheets don’t bargain, and if they did, they’d write a contract for him to get the hell off.

Katsuki coos, both at Eijirō’s strung-up state and your fucked out one. You’ve got no fight left in you, instead uselessly whimpering and clawing at his back like he can save you. Spoiler alert: he cannot.

Katsuki thumbs at the high points of Eijirō’s cheeks, “Awh, y’want it that bad? You’re cryin’, Red.”

Eijirō sniffles. Yes, he knows he’s crying—despite the heat in his face, he can feel it.

“Yes,” Eijirō hisses between grit teeth, “I’m literally dying, please—”

Katsuki chuckles something dark, grabbing Eijirō by his cheeks and forcing him to look up—and suddenly, he's drowning in carmine eyes. Is Katsuki closer? It feels like he got closer.

“Hold out a little longer,” the blond says, in a voice softer than the bed you lay on, and Eijirō really isn’t sure what to make of it. He’s close enough that Eijirō can almost feel the tongue licking his lips, feel his breath as he says, “Y’gotta make her cum two more times, at least.”

At least? Eijirō’s going to die. Eijirō’s going to die from an arrhythmic heart and overexertion, and it’s going to be Katsuki’s fault.

(But, hey—he’s dying in Hawaii, with you below him, so how much can he really complain?)

Eijirō wheezes out a light and pathetic ‘ah’ in place of what was supposed to be a curse, but he really doesn't care anymore. Not when you blink up at him with watery eyes and palm at his chest, all weak like he did that.

“Eiji…” you whimper, exhausted and sweating into the bed. “Jus’ one more. Please.”

Eijirō’s hips stutter, but they don’t stop.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hands turning into fists in the sheets. He’s not allowed to touch you, not allowed to make this go faster—but God, does he want to. “Fucking fuck—this is so unfair.”

“She’s insatiable, ain’t she,” Katsuki says, letting go of Eijirō’s face to cradle yours, to thumb over your cheeks all soft while he plows into you with every fiber of your being. “’S one of my favorite things about her.”

You whine but don’t do much else, bottom lip sliding from behind your teeth to make room for the sound. As your pussy convulses around his cock, you gasp, soft fingers sharpening into nails to dig into the fat of his back and leave raised red lines in their wake. Eijirō’s going to look wrecked on the beach tomorrow, and that thought is just—

“One more,” he pants, hips dragging impossibly fast. “One more, right, Kat?”

Katsuki grunts with a nod. The hand on his cock starts moving with purpose, now. “One more.”

Eijirō wants to touch it.

He wants to touch Katsuki again so, so bad, but he can’t, not with his hands full with you—not when he can’t cum yet. The ball of arousal is already wound tight in his stomach; one wrong tug, and it will unravel.

“I can’t—” Eijirō wheezes, voice breaking as he falls forward, catching himself with a hand beside your head. The other hand is busy holding your hips up, because you can no longer do it for yourself. “I can’t—”

The room is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, pants heavy and hot enough to fog a warm glass, predatory groans and whiny whimpers. Eijirō keeps making sounds he’d rather not, but he’s too far gone to even register them. Katsuki’s saying something—his mouth is moving—but all he hears is the rush behind his ears.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Eijiro whimpers, in slight disappointment, but it was inevitable. He feels that tingle in his fingers that lets him know to pull out, and—

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

Katsuki’s voice snarls into focus, grabbing Eijirō by his hair and tugging so hard his back bends.

“I can’t, I’m not gonna—”

“You can, and you will,” Katsuki says with a finality that leaves Eijirō no other choice. And he’ll be damned if he loses this opportunity—he wants to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re properly satiated and leaking out of every hole you have. Eijirō whines through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, and another tear rolls down his cheek. Katsuki licks it up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t d—”

But then, you’re squeezing around him with shaky legs, and Eijirō’s shoulders sink in relief. One more second, and he would’ve—

“Oh, fuck!”

Eijirō cums so hard his vision blacks out—whether it's from closed eyes or pure blindness, he doesn’t know—and his hands scramble for something, anything to hold onto. One hand ends on your hip and the other on Katsuki’s thigh, digging bruises in his thumbprint as veins pop in his neck and he floods your system.

Eijirō pumps his hips a few more times, slow but sure. He’s sure he’s making noise—groans, whimpers, whines—but he can’t hear much except for the throb of his heart and Katsuki’s own orgasm, feeling something lukewarm splatter against the fingers still resting on his thigh. Eijirō breathes himself back into his body, through his nose and out his mouth, and finally, pulls out.

His dick jumps, and squirts twice like it’s got more in it. Eijirō can confidently confirm that it does not.

He collapses right on top of your body.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right,” you swallow, voice raspy and crackling on the edges. Katsuki collapses next to him.

“That was fuckin‘ good.”

You three blink at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Eventually, you squirm under the redhead, so he rolls onto your other side.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” you decide aloud, shaking your head. Your eyes are still closed—and you’re still coming down, body twitching every few seconds in places Eijirō didn’t even know you could. “You two are carrying me everywhere.”

“That can be arranged,” Eijirō huffs, still out of breath. Weakly, he reaches across you and taps his roommate. “…When I can walk. So, Kat, you got that.”

Katsuki groans, somehow also exhausted, like he did any of the work. “Fuck you.”

“No,” Eijirō shakes his head, neck still weak and loose from being tense for so long. “You made us fuck for hours. ‘S your punishment.”

Katsuki grumbles under his breath but doesn’t outright lament. Eijirō gives you a slippery smile, and lifts a fist. You meet it with your own.

A few more seconds of catching breaths, of opening pores for cool air and listening to the steady rock of the ceiling fan, and then:

“Hey, Eiji. Wanna be our boyfriend?”

Katsuki shoots up. Suddenly, he has energy.

“We’re not fuckin’ askin’ him like that!”

You don’t really have the energy to argue, so you raise a placating hand and push it into his face.

“How’re we s’posed to ask ‘im, then?”

You slur your words, and Eijirō doesn’t blame you. Tomorrow, he’ll panic about the new information—probably cry a little—but it’s the middle of the night, and he’s already half asleep from exhaustion.

“Fuckin’ properly, the fuck do you mean?”

Katsuki seems really stressed about this, Eijirō thinks distantly. He should probably answer before he knocks out, slowly sinking into a post-orgasm haze he’s not necessarily trying to escape anytime soon.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair—you’re not accepting it until we do it right. When we get back.”

Eijirō snorts weakly. “Okay.”

That night, everyone falls asleep with bone-deep satisfaction. The next morning, Eijirō does cry a little—but he promised Katsuki he won’t accept until you two do ask him properly, whatever that means. That doesn’t mean he’s not dying about it, a little.

This is going to take some getting used to.

© mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

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As the days of the new semester grew, you got more and more curious about the cute nerd in your Biology 101 class. He had a scar on his lips, raven hair, and these adorable glasses that definitely didn’t fit. You’ve only heard him speak a few times. He only ever spoke in class when he was called on, and when he was, he answered correctly, exuding confidence. The professor constantly applauded him for his work and even asked him to help out during her office hours. You considered showing up just out of pure curiosity, but decided against it. You didn’t want to stare at him like an obsessive loser. But an opportunity to talk to him fell on your lap on a random Tuesday afternoon.

During the third week of class, your professor announced something: everyone would sit alphabetically in the class for the next few days as she got used to everyone's names. This earned a few groans from the people who wanted to sit next to their friends, but she assured them it would be temporary.

“Everyone, everyone,” the room quieted down at her voice, “It won’t last too long. We just have one lab to complete then I should have everyone’s names down a few days after that. I’ve been struggling these past two weeks.” She looked down at her clipboard and moved to the first pair of chairs. “Now, let's start. Does anyone know if…” She called names one by one to show them their temporary seats. You didn’t know anyone in the class to begin with so you weren’t too bothered. Though, you’ve never heard of a college class that had a seating chart. That was definitely a first. And by the sounds of it, no one else had either. How bad could her memory be?

Lost in thought, you didn’t even realize when she called your name to be seated next. You blinked in confusion before realizing that she was assigning you to a seat. You mumbled an apology under your breath before sitting down. You exhaled, slightly embarrassed at your delayed reaction. Zoning out at the worst times seemed to be your strong suit. As you pulled out your textbook, you didn’t listen to hear who would be your shoulder partner. You looked up to see Toji, aka the guy you’ve been staring at for two weeks from across the room instead of paying attention to lecture, sitting right beside you. You quickly averted your gaze to recover from your shock. It was pure luck really, getting to sit next to him for the next few days, even if it was by force. He gave you a small nod of acknowledgement and you gave him an awkward smile back before quickly turning your head away.  Smooth, you thought to yourself, now he’ll think you’re creepy. Professor Nolan finished up the seating chart and brought up the upcoming lab.

“Our first lab will be tomorrow, and yes, your partner is who you’re sitting next to. It’s simple and it’s on everything we’ve covered this past week and a half. I’ll pass out the procedure.” She grabbed a stack of papers and started to give a small stack to each column. She handed Toji a stack and he handed you a packet. His hand brushed yours slightly, and your stomach lurched. His face remained neutral and he turned around to hand the rest of the lab procedures to the students behind you. You spent the rest of the lecture silently scolding yourself for getting so delusional over a guy that you didn’t know. The walk back to your car was one of shame. You hated how excited you got over things, especially since you got disappointed just as quickly. Sure, he was cute, but at the end of the day, he was just a guy. You reminded yourself of this and pushed it out of your mind. Tomorrow, you’d just focus on the first lab of the class. There was no need for unnecessary distractions.

You had spoken too soon. There was a need for distractions. They were very, very necessary. Especially if it entailed your cute lab partner walking you through the lab.

“You left your lab procedure on the desk. I tried to call after you, but you didn’t turn back.” He explained with a shrug. “No worries though, if you get stuck, I can try my best to explain it to you.”

You nodded, embarrassment creeping in. No way you were idiotic enough to leave your lab procedure behind. What a horrible first impression. “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually like this I—”

He shook his head and handed the packet to you. “No need to worry, I got you.” 

You nodded again, shutting up this time. Your eyes scanned the page, taking in what you had missed the previous night. It seemed simple enough, but it was your first lab. It had already started off on not the best foot… you couldn’t mess up again. A wave of determination washed over you. If he wasn’t bothered by your small slip up, why should you? The two of you prepared your station in silence before starting. It was a human cheek microscopic lab where you scrape the inside of your cheek, smear the swab onto a glass slide, add a drop of methylene blue stain, and cover it with a slip. You then observe under the microscope and take note of the structures. Simple stuff, really. The only annoying part was extracting the sample.

The two of you got to work immediately. You scraped your cheek with the toothpick, and in the process, poked it. You yelped and pressed your tongue against the spot. A metallic taste soaked your tongue and you groaned softly. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You were usually great at labs, always taking them on with intense focus. An easy one like this shouldn’t be tripping you up, but here you were. You shot a glance at Toji and found him laughing quietly to himself. You glared at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Not funny,” you mumbled, tongue still applying pressure to the area you accidentally punctured. 

His grin grew even wider. “I dunno…it kind of is…How does one even achieve that?” He pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing again. Your frown deepened at his reaction. He was actually laughing in your face. This was another level of obnoxious, this was plain mean. You went silent throughout the smearing and staining process, ego a little wounded at his blatant taunting. You didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or annoyed. You went with being annoyed; he said he’d help you out, not make fun of you.

When it was time to observe under the microscope, you let him go first. You watched him closely, the different expressions he’d make, the notes he’d take, and the small sounds of content he’d let out. You found it all amusing. He acted all mysterious, but the whole time, he was really just a weirdo that got very pleased when things went as he predicted. His drawings were so accurate, it was scary. He moved away from the microscope and gave you a cocky smile. There was no way you were beating that. Not that it was a competition or anything. You snuck a glance at him. He was watching you carefully. Maybe it was a competition and you didn’t know it. You swallowed hard before adjusting the settings as needed. The cells looked cool: their irregular shapes were highlighted with a vibrant blue from the stain. You zoomed in more to be able to see the cell structures better. From there, you could start to sketch your observations. You grabbed your pencil and lightly glided your pencil across the paper, careful to write lightly enough so you could correct any mistakes. You fell into a comfortable rhythm, looking into the microscope, and pulling away to add to your paper. You felt Toji watching you like a hawk from the side, but you still took your time. Within a few minutes, you were done with your sketches. You checked your work and grinned. Not too bad.

You felt someone shift behind you. You looked over your shoulder and found Toji there, sneaking a peek at your paper. He had a bored expression on his face and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, it was a sketch after all. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Huh?”

“I said, ‘not bad.’” He repeated before grabbing his notebook and walking off to start cleanup. You furrowed your brows in confusion. He was being nice again? What happened to being obnoxious and annoying? You scoffed and joined him. The two of you cleaned up your station and went your separate ways. You took the long way to your car, still in need of processing that entire lab period. The reassurance in the beginning, laughing at you making a small mistake, and giving you a half assed compliment to top it all off. You decided he was too cocky for his own good. He knew he was smart, he knew that he was better, and he let it get to his head. Sort of. He was still somewhat nice. Whatever it was, you only had to deal with him for a few more days. The first and only lab was out of the way. In retrospect, the worst had already passed.

Your stomach rumbled and you stopped in your tracks. After fumbling around in your bag, you realized you forgot to pack lunch today. You muttered curses under your breath as you turned around and headed to the college cafe. You weren’t this scatterbrained. Before today, you can’t remember the last time you forgot anything, especially of great importance like your lunch or schoolwork.

You walked into the cafe and went to the counter to order your usual: a grilled cheese sandwich with sourdough bread and the juice of the day. Today’s juice of the day was mango, Paige, the barista informed you. You paid and looked for a place to sit. The cafe was pretty much empty except for a few students on their computers. One person in the corner caught your eye though. You could recognize those scarred lips anywhere. His eyes locked with yours and you froze, quickly looking away. You snuck another glance and he was still staring. He raised an eyebrow at you and gestured for you to join him. You pressed your lips in a firm line before slowly walking over. Dropping your bag on the ground, you took the seat across from him. You felt his eyes studying you carefully again like they had less than an hour ago, making your stomach twist in knots. Trying to figure him out made your head spin. Never in a million years would you have expected him to invite you over to sit with him…it just didn't work like that. At least, not in your head anyway.

“You’re everywhere,” he said simply, taking a sip of his drink. “Oh, by the way, it’s good. Fresh and all.”

You shot him a bewildered look. “What?”

He pointed to his drink with a slightly annoyed look on his face. “The juice of the day? That’s the drink you ordered, no?”

You blinked at him, his words barely processing in your head. How long had he been watching you for? You just noticed that he was here. You frowned and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you responded flatly. You didn’t mean to be rude, but he was getting on your last nerves. That's what you got for putting a stranger on a pedestal, they’ll always end up not meeting your unrealistic expectations and disappointing you.

He sighed, deep green eyes boring into yours. “You know, for someone who stared at me for two weeks straight without saying a word, you sure don’t have a lot to say now that we’ve actually met.” Toji chuckled as you gaped at him, taking another sip of his juice. “But hey, to each their own.”

You were speechless. The entire first week, he was at one end of the room and you were in the opposite, in a corner at that. Same for the second. How he knew you’d look at him, you had no idea. His back was to you 99% of the time too…was he bluffing? No, that was way too specific and accurate to be a bluff. Maybe you weren't as subtle as you thought.

The barista called your name for your order and you shot up from your seat. You took your sweet time: making small talk with her again, checking to see if it was your name on it, if you got the right sandwich, and sipping your juice to see how it tasted. He was right—it was fresh, the tangy taste dancing on your tongue. You needed a second to mentally prepare yourself. Facing him after him confronting you and your staring problem made you want to puke. What do you even say to that? Do you just gaslight him until he believes you? You doubt he would though, he was way too arrogant to give you the benefit of the doubt or even just to let it go and move on. You slowly made your way back to your seat. He looked at you expectantly as you took another sip of your juice.

“It’s good, you were right.” You muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“I know,” he shrugged. You didn’t like this, not one bit. He was nothing like you had expected at all. Sure, it was counterproductive to fit people into boxes based on their appearances, but you've never met anyone that carried themselves like this. Though you hated to admit it, you were intrigued. Why did he call you over here? You were classmates, he had no obligation to invite you to sit with him. And you still didn’t know how he knew you would stare at him the first few weeks…

“You were staring at me too, weren’t you?” you blurted out. For the first time ever, Toji was stunned. He didn’t know how to respond to the question—or, better yet—the right answer to it. You watched as he struggled to approach your question. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“What makes you think that?” He finally decided on. Safe, yes, but playing dumb wasn’t always reliable.

“How else would you know I was staring at you?” You replied. Not your strongest point, you admit, but it was what was at the front of your mind. 

“Well, for starters, you aren’t the most subtle person to grace this Earth,” he shot back. You narrowed your eyes at his deflection, but this only proved you were getting warmer.

“Aw, are you saying that my presence makes the Earth a better place ‘ji?” You asked sweetly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that why you’ve been staring at me?” Your tone was so condescending you swore you saw his eye twitch.

“Don’t call me that,” he grumped. You giggled at his frustration and took a sip of your drink.

“Mmmmm,” you groaned dramatically. He glared at you from above his glasses. “Is this why you asked me to sit with you?” You stirred your juice with your straw, the ice cubes clinking together. His eyes followed the movement. Would he take the bait?

“...What do you mean?” He asked reluctantly. You could practically feel his discomfort. It loomed over his head, forcing him to engage in your shenanigans. It killed him to entertain your antics, but he couldn’t bear not knowing what you were going on about.  

“You heard I ordered the same drink as you, so you called me over to sit with you.” You replied. Obviously, that’s not what you believed, but you had to point out how ridiculous all this was. All this game playing, and for what?

“No, of course not. Don't be stupid.” He said with a scowl, mouth turning into a frown, like just the idea alone personally offended him.

“So you have been staring at me too then? I didn’t even notice you were here until I was looking for a place to sit,” you challenged. You were regaining confidence now, determined to pull this confession out of him. He wasn’t going to get out of this. You felt like you were going crazy before, you were glad to know you weren’t alone.

“Does it even matter?” He sighed, failing to meet your eyes.

“Yes,” you insisted.

“Why?” He countered.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Answer the damn question. Then I can tell you why it matters,” you hissed. You took a bite of your sandwich as he hesitated. You ate in silence, waiting for him to figure out what he was going to say. The sandwich was half gone and the glass of fresh mango juice completely empty by the time he finally cleared his throat.

“To put it simply, yes I was staring—when you weren't looking at least. That’s why I invited you to sit here. But—” He raised his hands up in surrender. “I swear I had nothing to do with us sitting together. That was pure luck.”

You laughed at how terrified he was. Like he actually believed you thought he blackmailed your strict professor or something to get you guys to sit together. This was ridiculous. You laughed over the stupidity of it all and he tilted his head at you in confusion.

“Well duh, I know that. It’s not like you built a time machine and changed my last name to be right next to yours on the roster.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Okay good. I’m not a creep. It was just a coincidence. So was the cafe, I assume?” He asked, now putting you on the spot. “Or are you stalking me?”

It was now your turn to be stunned into silence. You really hoped he was joking. “Give me the same grace. It was a coincidence. I was hungry, so I stopped here for a quick bite to eat. If you hadn’t called me over, I’d have left by now.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, smirking at your bewildered state. Reality finally crashed down on you—you guys have been playing eye tag this whole time, but you kept missing each other. Even though he got on your nerves—slightly—this was the best case scenario. You were both losers with a staring problem.

“So what now?” you asked before you could stop yourself. You regretted it immediately, especially as you watched his curiosity pique. He was either going to tease you beyond belief, or be completely honest with you like he had before. It was a gamble you weren’t sure you were ready to take, but it was too late. He studied the grimace on your face and nodded.

“I mean—based on this conversation, it’s safe to say there’s a mutual interest here so…I think it would be appropriate to ask you out.”

You blinked at him. Did he just ask you out without asking you? He winced at your unamused expression and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Er, sorry, I mean…would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“We’re technically out together right now if you really think about it,” you replied, pressing your lips together to suppress the smile creeping on your face. You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Who did you take you for?

“Well no shit, but like another time if you wa—”

“I’m just messing with you. Of course I would like that.”

He stopped his rambling and smiled at you, really smiled at you. It reached his eyes and you decided right then and there, you wanted to be on the receiving end of more smiles from this man. God knows they were scarce, but when they did come out, they made your heartbeat pound like a drum in your ears and caused butterflies to fill your stomach. You knew immediately that they didn’t show up for just anyone, and that alone confirmed any suspicion you had about him liking you too. 

“Hey, you never explained why it mattered so much,” he said suddenly. Your eyes locked with him and you swore time stopped. The noise of the cafe faded in the background as the two of you held each other’s gaze. Blood rushed to your cheeks, the intensity of his gaze being too much. You were the one to break eye contact, twisting your hands in your lap nervously.

“Because,” you said pointedly, but there was no real bite in your voice. “The feeling’s mutual.”

There it was again. Another one of his rare smiles. Your eyes landed on his scar and you instinctively reached forward. He didn’t flinch or move away. He stilled as you traced it, fingertips ghosting over his skin.

“How did you get this?” You murmured softly. He avoided eye contact and grabbed your wrist gently. 

“That’s a story for another time.” He said firmly, though, he didn’t remove your hand. “I’ll tell it to you though, I promise.” He swallowed hard and held your gaze. In the quiet of your own little bubble, you whispered to him softly, things only for his ears. The rest of the world faded away as the two of yours started to grow and blossom.

Your first real date was as soon as later that week after class. He walked you to your car and sent you an ominous text once you got home.

toji: I’ll pick you up at 4pm.

toji: It’ll be a little cold inside, so wear long sleeves.

toji: And pants.

You snorted at that text. Did he expect you to pull up half naked?

toji: As in long pants. Of course you’ll wear pants. Duh. 

toji: Don’t laugh, you know what I mean. Shut up, stop laughing at me.

You laughed even harder. Underneath all of his cockiness and arrogance, Toji was really just a huge dork and it only came out in moments like these. Whenever you’d point it out, he’d get all grumpy and insist he’s not a dork—but if he was—that they are over hated. You always countered and said that that’s something a dork would say.

At 4pm at the dot, he picked you up in his white sedan. The inside of his car was very tidy. You wondered if it was always like this, or if he cleaned it up just because you’d be in it. You imagined a timid Toji, scrambling to make his car look presentable for a first date. The thought made you smile to yourself. Dork.

“What’re you smiling about? Like my car?” He asked, his tone a little hopeful. You were no expert on cars, but despite being very beat up on the outside, it looked nice. It was obvious he took good care of it. “Yes, I do,” you admitted. “It’s quite nice.”

“Thanks. I know,” he grinned at you, knowing that would piss you off. You poked his cheek and he pouted before putting the car in drive.

“So where is this mysterious location?” You asked casually. You were staring out the window, trying to make sense of where you were headed. It was the general direction of town, which only narrowed down the options slightly. He could be taking you anywhere from a fancy restaurant to Dick’s Sporting Goods. You hoped it wasn’t the latter, you didn’t pursue jocks for a reason…

“It’s a surprise. And if you nag me about it, I’ll just give you hints that are misleading.” He chuckled to himself, sneaking a glance at you. He was met with you glowering at him. Even after giving you basically nothing to work with in picking an outfit, he had the audacity to keep his lips sealed. You hated to admit it, but it was cute. The effort he was putting in was adorable and pushed your #TojiIsADork agenda even further.

Finding out on your own instead of being fed fabricated information sounded more appealing, so you shut up. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar building. It was huge, you stared at the building in awe and Toji smiled, “It’s the new science museum. They have this one biology exhibit, I thought maybe we’d check it out?” He looked at you for approval, and that’s when you realized. He was nervous. The cocky guy you met was nowhere to be found. Instead, a slightly self conscious one stood before you. He kept stuffing his hands in his back pockets and removing them and you swore you saw him wipe his palms on his jeans. Interesting. 

“This was thoughtful,” you said. His mood immediately posted at your praise, lips curving into a smile and even more confidence in his walk. He held open the door for you with a wink. “Ladies first.”

“Cornball,” you rolled your eyes, but slipped past him anyway. The guy at the front desk smiled as you walked up together. 

“Tickets for two?”

Toji nodded and pushed up his glasses. “Does that include the new exhibit?”

“Yes it does.” He typed away on his computer. “That’ll be $19.18”

Toji fumbled for his wallet before handing over a $20 bill. He waved his hand for no change. The tickets printed out of a small machine and the worker handed them to you. “Enjoy!” 

“Thank you,” Toji replied and the two of you entered the exhibit. 

You had no idea such a cool place was in your city, and just right around the corner too. They had everything you could think of: dinosaur skeletons, glass cases with insects, human evolution halls, a whole planetarium, and so much more. You took it all in, glancing back at Toji to see how he reacted. He didn’t look nearly as impressed as you.

“I’ve been here so many times before already," he quickly explained.

“Oh, that makes sense.” You turned back to the exhibit and read the fun facts. After you exhausted every corner of the last exhibit, you headed for the one he was talking about.

It was centered around microbiology. The exhibit walked you through the different structures and explained their functions. Some of the things rang a bell and others didn’t. Either way, it was pretty cool to take what you’ve learned in class and apply it. 

“This is way more in depth than what we’ve gone over in class, or in our lab together, but I wanted to show you since you seemed super intrigued in the lesson.” He explained. “Other than in me, of course.”

You scoffed, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Last time I checked, you were in the same boat.” You bumped him with your shoulder playfully.

“I still am, but I thought it was important to remind you of your roots. Your staring problem might be worse than mine,” he teased, bumping you back.

“I didn’t listen for your cafe order and then bring it up later to make a statement,” you pointed out. “Now who’s worse?”

“Hm,” he grunted. “I mean, I guess.” 

“I’ll take that as accepting defeat,” you said triumphantly. He fought back a smile and took your hand. His large hand engulfed yours, squeezing it lightly before he guided you to that last part of the exhibit. The knots in your stomach only twisted more at his gesture. 

“You mentioned during the first week that microbiology really interested you, so I saved the best for last.” 

You blinked at him, a bit stunned he had remembered that. The two of you hadn’t even spoken then. It was a trivial comment you barely remembered making. Before you could fully process it, a video played on the screen. It was an animation detailing eukaryotic cells, specifically highlighting their functions in humans. The two of you watched in silence and listened intently. After it ended, he turned to face you. 

“Isn’t it cool that under all these layers, we're just that.” He pointed to the nucleus of a small structure on the screen. “Humans are so complex. There’s so many things that are overlooked that are fundamental for us to function. Makes you appreciate the little things, you know?” He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the ground. “But yeah, uh, the video wasn’t too bad.”

He dropped his nonchalant act temporarily to connect with you, but you feel like you just missed your window yet again. His walls went up as quickly as they had gone down. You liked his take, it was very insightful. Plus, he’d remembered such a small detail about you and it meant a lot. 

“The little things are overlooked often, you’re right,” you said quietly. Fear bubbled in your stomach, the weight of the conversation crashing down on you. Last time you checked, this wasn’t first date behavior. It was way too deep, way too soon. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable necessarily, you felt afraid of being judged. Being vulnerable, even if it was about biology cells, wasn’t your strong suit. Especially with someone you liked, you didn't want them to think less of you.

Toji nodded and inched closer. You looked up to look at him, really look at him. His hair was slightly mused, the polo he wore fitted him so perfectly it annoyed you, and his eyes. His green eyes were practically shining and you knew what was coming before it happened. He cupped your cheek before pressing his lips to yours. You kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair. It was tender; he stroked your cheek with his thumb as he kissed you like you were his oxygen. His soft lips captured yours and it felt like the rest of the world melted away. You pulled away, flustered, heart ready to leap out of your chest.

“We’re in public,” you reminded him, slightly out of breath. The museum was pretty much empty, and no one else was in the exhibit room other than the two of you. You turned your back to him to compose yourself. You had realized he was going to kiss you right before it happened, and yet, nothing could have prepared you for that. The rate your heart was beating at was alarming. You wanted to do that again, except in the privacy of a room where you could do whatever you wa—

“You okay?” He asked, interrupting your thoughts.

You turned around and found him looking at you with a concerned look on his face. His glasses were slipping off his face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He walked up to you, but still left some space between him and you. “Was that too much?” 

You shook your head. That wasn’t enough, but you couldn’t just say that. “No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry I—“ You paused to collect your thoughts. You liked him and it felt good to be here with him. But the pressure in your stomach wasn’t just butterflies. It was fear. You were scared of messing this up and it was eating you alive, preventing you from actually living in the moment.

“I think I’m just scared.” 

Silence. Your confession, short and brutally honest, was finally out in the open. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from your chest. You exhaled and met his eyes. They were sad. Droopy even. Was it from disappointment? Had you ruined the good thing before you even got to enjoy it?

“Me too.” His expression mirrored yours and his admission hung in the air as the two of you processed your mutual fear. It was ironic really—both of you were terrified of ruining a good thing with the other. You could pin yours to previous experiences causing you to have the doubt, but you wondered: what was his reason? The way Toji carried himself alone would make you believe otherwise…but the first thing you learned about him was to never judge a book by its cover.

“You look surprised.” He said it more like a statement than a question. You didn’t even realize you were letting your shock show on your face. You quickly made a neutral expression, but it was too late.

“Go ahead, ask me why that is. I know you want to.” You did want to, but part of you wasn’t sure if you should. Despite the obvious invitation, it felt like an invasion of privacy. Again, you reminded yourself, not first date behavior. But you were already way past trying to fit it into the box of how a first date should go.

“Why are you scared?” Your voice sounded smaller than you had anticipated. Still, you waited for an answer.

“I’m not good at this stuff. I struggled to pick a place for us to go out. I ultimately picked somewhere where I think would interest the both of us and where we could have fun, but I wasn't sure if that was the right choice I mean…” He sighed and his shoulder slacked. “I thought you’re supposed to have a fancy dinner. I wasn’t sure if you’d want that. And I doubt we could even afford it, us being broke college students and all—anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that I’m scared of doing this all wrong. It’s hard to pinpoint the balance between what I should do and what I want to do.” He was rambling at this point. It didn’t seem to bother him though. He seemed to be sorting through his thoughts verbally. “Is the expensive dinner the proper tone to set? Am I being a gentleman? Am I being too nice where it waters down our banter, but too rude where you think I might hate your guts? It’s a lot to wrap my head around.” 

That was a lot to take in at once. You didn’t know he felt this way. He acted so carefree about it all that he really fooled you. “All I know is that I like you, and I want to see where this goes.” He shook his head. “Wow what a first date. Feels like a therapy session.”

Your nerves calmed down and your face broke into a smile. “I like you too. And you don’t need to worry about how you think you should act too much. Just be. I like you for how you are. You’re unapologetically your authentic self. That’s something I admire about you.”

He mirrored your smile. “Oh? Well I guess saying my piece was worth putting everything on the line for,” he joked. You rolled your eyes and laughed. 

“Music to my ears.”

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Gross.”

“What? I can’t appreciate your laugh? And don’t say I’m being corny. Or a geek. I’m not a geek,” he argued.

“...That’s something a geek would say.” 

The two of you left the room and bickered all the way out of the museum, to the car, and the ride home to your house. He kissed you goodbye and drove off once you got inside.

A few hours later, you received a text:

toji: Okay, on a scale of 1-10, how was the first date? I’m open to criticism, but let it be constructive. No “geek” or “dork” nonsense.

you: 10/10 for the geek-ery

toji: I hate you

you: you really don’t

toji: Shut it

You giggled and rolled over on your bed. You were really happy with how the date went. You were beyond nervous, but it all worked out in the end

you: on a real note, i had a good time. thank you for nerding out with me

toji: Same, thanks for agreeing to go out with me even though I said it wrong the first time.

toji: Also, the hell is “nerding out?”

you: the nerd … doesn't know what.. nerding out is …

toji: Wearing glasses doesn’t equate to me being a nerd dumbass

you: quickly, who can recite the entire marvel series in order from memory?

toji: I don’t know but they sound pretty cool to me ngl

you: Dork.

It took a few more dates to get fully comfortable with each other, but when you did, it was amazing. He kept it up with the nerdy date ideas, which you appreciated. You got to dabble in each other’s interests along with tapping into your shared ones. You kept things in your science lab locker from each date: ticket stubs, receipts, and photos... lots and lots of photos. The more you learned about him, the more you fell for him. It was impossible not to love him, you decided. 

In class, you were eventually allowed to sit wherever, but of course neither of you budged. “These seats are lucky,” you declared one day. “We can’t move away.” Instead of teasing you, Toji agreed. There would be no seating changes since he was very happy with where he was at. He had said that last part pointedly and it made you grin.

Dating Toji was everything you’d imagined and more. He was attentive, noticing things you usually missed, and also kept you on your toes. He challenged you to try your hardest and be better. Whenever you needed help with school, he was the first person you went to. You couldn’t be more grateful.

And the sex was the best of your life. You remember your first time with Toji like it was yesterday: 

It was early morning and he had spent the previous night watching movies with you. He spent the night and slept in your bed. You woke up with him hard, pressed up against your ass…and you, soaking through your flimsy sleep shorts.

Of course, knowing Toji, teasing you was his first course of action. He spread your thighs open, teased your entrance with his tip, smirking as you whined for him to just put it in already. 

“Toji—” you whispered his name softly. His dark brows knitted together in mock concern. “Tojiii.” 

“Yes?” He asked innocently. The smirk on his face told him he was anything but innocent, but you were so needy you didn’t want to stall any longer. You closed your legs slightly and glared at him. He gripped your thighs to force them apart and your stomach dipped in excitement. 

“Stop teasing,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely, I will. Give me a sec.” He took off his glasses and reached to put it on the nightstand, but you grabbed his wrist. 

“No, keep them on,” you urged him.

He stared back at you for a moment before putting them back on. The look he gave you made the butterflies in your stomach swarm. You couldn’t resist that look and he knew it. You leaned forward and kissed him. He melted into the kiss, cupping your face gently, and groaning softly before finding his rightful place between your legs. You gasped as he entered you, arching your back. Each inch was more agonizing than the last. He was just too big to take all at once. 

“S-slow down.”

He stilled and pushed your hair out of your face. “I’m sorry I got too excited, you wanna take it slow?”

You nodded eagerly and he rubbed small circles on your clit with his thumb. He tried again, except slower this time. You bit your lip as you attempted to take all of him again. “So tight baby—shit—That’s all of me,” he groaned as he bottomed out. He felt so good like this—thick cock stretching you out and burying you to the hilt. You moaned his name into the pillow underneath you softly.

“Mm don’t hide from me, I wanna hear you.” You lifted your head slightly at his words. He started to move his hips at a steady pace and you let out your broken moans this time. He groaned too, lost in the way your velvet walls hugged him tightly. For the first time having sex with him, he felt heavenly. You clawed at his back, whining as you took him. 

“Holy shit you turn me on so much.” His glasses kept slipping slightly down his nose and he kept pushing them up, but he didn’t take them off. The lewd sounds of skin on skin filled the room as dawn settled in. The sun rising didn’t stop either or you. Everything you needed was right here inside front of you.

“You’re taking me so well,” he groaned, causing you to flutter around him. His glasses were slightly fogged by now, each stroke stripped him of his resolve. All of his focus was on chasing both of your highs. He snapped hips and picked up the pace. Your broken cries egged him on even further and he twitched inside of you at your pretty sounds.  

“Feels s’good,” you choked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “I’m close.” Pleasure was building up in your stomach. You were so close you could practically taste it. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he turned his hips slightly. At this new angle, he drove even deeper inside your poor cunt, fucking you with purpose. The head of his cock kissed your cervix every time he bottomed out and you clenched around his length, eyes screwed shut. 

“Yeah baby? You're close? Cum for me. I wanna feel you squeezing around me,” he breathed, “Give it to me. All of you.”

With one more thrust, you came, cunt squeezing his cock, milking him for everything he has, just like he asked. His name escaped your lips as your orgasm crashed over you and you shuddered at the overwhelming pleasure. He slowed down, thrusts becoming sloppier than the last, rigid before he came himself. His thick seed shot deep inside your aching cunt. You whined softly as he collapsed beside you with a low grunt.

The two of you laid there, chests heaving as you caught your breath. 

 “Toji…” 

“'m sorry, I didn’t plan this either.”

You lifted your head to glare at him. “Oh, really? Who was humping me like a hormonal dog in their sleep last night?”  You shot back. 

“Fair point, let me make it up to you?” He folded almost immediately. 

You perked up at this, curious to see what he had in store. “Making it up to you” entailed the best aftercare of your life, though he swore he always prioritized aftercare no matter the situation. Toji cleaned you up with a towel before taking you to the bathroom.  He ran a hot bath with your favorite body wash and made sure the temperature was just right. He climbed in with you and handed you with care. Afterwards, you snuggled in bed together with you as the little spoon.

“Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t forgotten my lunch that day. I wouldn’t have gone into the cafe,” you murmured.

Toji kissed your neck and sighed. “Yeah we wouldn’t have continued our little game.”

“I’m glad I did. I’m glad to be stuck with you.”

“Me too,” he murmured back, “I’ll always be right by your side.”