Elle

To anyone else this might not be weird, considering that it’s currently the dead of winter in Japan and he doesn’t hear the usual hum of the heater on. You’re in his arms though, both of you clad in hoodies and sweats under a horde of blankets, but despite that there’s a weird chill going down his spine, a feeling he usually gets when he’s at patrolling or on a mission and there’s something wrong about to happen. It’s a small noise, but it’s there: a shifting of one’s weight against the old floorboards.

Reasonably, Bakugou knows there isn’t anybody inside. All the windows are locked, the front door is locked, there’s no one aside from you and him (…and the stray cat you took a few months ago). Katsuki carefully untangles himself from you and covers you back with the fleece blanket before he quietly pads through your shared apartment to find whatever it is giving him that weird chill, or better yet find the noise. Each room is empty, as he expects but for some reason that doesn’t appease him. Bakugou sighs, massaging his neck while he tries to figure out what this gnawing anxiety in his belly means when he turns around and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Fuck! You- fuck you!” His hand lands on his chest hoping to calm his pounding heart. Katsuki takes in a deep breath and scowls, “What the fuck are you doing? I could’ve blasted you!”

You raise an eyebrow, “What am I doing? What are you doing? You’re creeping around like a weirdo! How is it that you’re the up-and-coming number five hero and I can sneak up on you?” You walk towards him and flick his nose.

“Shut up.” He crinkles his nose and pulls you in, pressing a kiss against your hair. “It’s nothing. I thought I heard something.”

“Mhm,” you hum noncommittally. “We have a cat, she was probably fucking around somewhere.”

“Talon is sleeping on the couch she wasn’t fucking around,” Katsuki murmurs before he looks around over the crown of your head. “She’s not even fat enough to make the floors creak.”

“It’s an old apartment! Things creak, windows shake, sometimes candles blow out and you hear someone whispering your name.” You laugh when he narrows his eyes, “Come back to bed. It’s cold without you.”

You emphasize this by twisting your foot up and pushing under the hem of his sweatpants, pressing your cold toes against his skin. With a hiss, he jerks away and rolls his eyes at your giggling, still following you down the hallway back to bed and scolding you for not wearing socks.

He forgets about the weird chill until it happens again the next morning. And again. And again.

“We are not keeping the apartment at 80 degrees, Bakugou!” Your attempts to push him away from the thermostat is futile, and his smirk only pisses you off more.

“Oh it’s Bakugou now? Last night it was, ‘Katsuki! Katsuki! Katsuki!’” He cackles through his poor imitation of your moans and wraps his arms around your waist. “It’s fucking cold and you’re getting sick, now move.” Easily, Katsuki reminds you of the strength he has as a pro-hero as picks you up and forcibly sets you aside.

“‘M not sick,” you pout and slink your cold hands underneath his hoodie.

Katsuki hisses and shivers from the feeling of your hands pressing into his warm belly, “Uh-huh. Guess that means you don’t want my sick day soup then, idiot.”

“Well I never said no to that.”

-(-)-

The ring burns in his pocket.

Originally he hid it deep inside the closet inside a coat that you never use, until the heater broke this morning. His hands sweat as he heard you digging around trying to find a warmer jacket while you both waited for the handyman to fix the goddamn thing. He’s thanking everything in the universe that you gave up so quickly and made him look for it.

So now it’s in his pocket of the ridiculously large down coat with the zipper zipped up to just above his nose.

“You panicked??” Izuku’s voice is tinny through the receiver.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou snaps at his phone. “I didn’t panic. I needed to move the ring and so I did. End of story.”

“Are you gonna propose soon then? How long are you gonna keep hiding it in your pocket, Kacchan?”

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Katsuki rolls his eyes and glances at the apartment building where you are still trying to get ready. He pauses before adding, “…Tonight.”

With a wince, he pulls his phone away from his ear at the sound of Midoriya’s early congratulations. “Shut the fuck up, shitty nerd. They haven’t said yes, yet.”

“Yet,” Izuku gleefully laughs. “Tell your fiancé I say hi tonight then.”

Katsuki’s cheeks flush and it’s then that he sees you walking out the lobby, “Fuck off. Congrats yourself for number four. Next time I’ll be in the top ranks though, shitty nerd.”

“We’ll see about that, Kacchan! See ya la-!” Bakugo hangs up before Izuku can finish.

“Took you long enough,” His words don’t bite as he reaches out to grab your mitten-clad hands with his.

“I think it’s colder in our apartment than it is out here,” your voice is nasally now that your small cold has set in. “Who were you talking to?”

“Ah stupid fucking Deku. He’s trying to get me to rejoin Endeavor’s agency again.” He walks you towards the car, already running with the heat blasting so you don’t have to sit on frozen leather seats.

“Why don’t you?” You warm your hands against the vents, hoping that they warm up faster.

“Ah, I don’t know. I reached five with my job now,” Katsuki shakes his head and starts to gnaw on the inside of his cheek. He’s thought about it over a thousand times, but to be honest he’s leaning towards Shitty Hair’s offer. It’s just like something is holding him back, and he’s hesitant to admit that it might be fear of the unknown.

“The repair guy called and said he’ll have it fixed by tonight. We might as well stay outta his way.” Bakugou knows he’s not being subtle about changing the topic.

“Did he say what blew it out?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer and pointedly looks straight ahead as he drives.

“Katsuki,” you turn to face him better and your eyes narrow when you see him biting his lip. “Katsuki.”

“The heat was set too high for too long…” He mumbles, hoping you’d drop the topic and move on.

“Katsuki!” You smack his arm and he scowls, tutting his tongue at you.

“It’s freezing, and you got fucking sick because of it. How is it my fault our shitty heater couldn’t do its job??” Katsuki furrows his brows and glances over at you, watching you hold back from sniffling for the nth time.

“It’s your fault for trying to fix it and melting the fuse box,” you huff and sit back in your seat with crossed arms, discreetly wiping your nose when he looks away.

Katsuki looks at you again, not helping the upwards tug in his lips when he watches you pout. The ring burns in his pocket and he imagines you wearing it, showing it off to friends and family, you carrying his last name. Fuck it he’d take your last name if that’s what you wanted. He wonders what kind of wedding you both would have, if it’ll be small and private. Unfortunately with his ranking and you already in the public eye as his partner, his managers are going to expect a big ass party with all the most esteemed and honorable heroes. Lots of reporters. None of the food will be picked out by you. No. Fuck that. It’ll be whatever you want. He’ll fight heaven and hell for you and everyone knows it. What you want, you’ll get.

“Marry me,” he murmurs under his breath. The light turns red.

“What was that?” Your voice is congested and you don’t look up from your phone, still mindlessly scrolling through your social media feed.

“Marry me,” Katsuki repeats louder and more confidently. He watches as his words wash over you, until you finally snap your pretty little head up at him with eyes wide.

“What?” You blubber, locking your phone in the process. “Kat-Katsuki the light is green.” Your eyes nervously track over to the traffic light as it tells traffic to go, waiting for Bakugou to drive yet he doesn’t.

“I don’t care,” he smirks and takes out the velvet box from his pocket. He snaps it open with his fingers, ignoring the car horns blaring behind you both.

The gem matches your eyes, he thinks. Especially how they look in the sun. The same eyes that’re watering as you struggle to process this. Angry cars pass by you both with the drivers’ hands on their horn, and the ones who don’t pass make their annoyance heard as the light turns red again.

“Marry me,” He gives you that smile again. The one that’s only for you, the one that is soft and shows off the dimple on his left cheek, the one you see when you wake up and when you fall asleep.

“Okay,” you laugh and hold out your hand as he slips it on your finger. “Okay! Fuck!” You laugh and cry, not knowing if your nose is running because of your stupid cold or because you’re crying but you really don’t care. He kisses you sweetly, grateful for the few seconds you both have before the light turns green again.

He wasn’t planning on proposing to you in the middle of Musutafu’s streets, and he was also hoping you both would have a clean bill of health at the very least. But your hand is in his and he can feel your ring, he can feel your fingers squeezing his, cold as ice still. You keep this piece of news within the car, for at least a little longer before you both decide to tell close friends and family the news. You want this sliver of news between you both before the gossip catches on and reporters swarm you two with questions and photos of the happy couple. You want him, just him. And him, you.

Thankfully the heat is fixed and you both can keep this bubble going just a little longer. The apartment is warm again, even Talon is enjoying the heat by sitting her butt right on the air vent. The repairman is long gone, his invoice set on the counter that Katsuki is pressing you against. He deepens the kiss while stripping you of the many layers you wore to combat the cold. Katsuki swallows your soft noises and tries to shake off his own jacket before pressing into you again, his hips flushed against yours and you can feel the heat of his groin.

“You’re gonna get sick,” your words are muffled against his lips as you feebly move away from him.

“So I get a sick day,” Katsuki shrugs, leaning in again and keeping you in place with his warm hands on your cold cheeks.

Both of your jackets and hats and scarves pool around your ankles. You softly laugh when he pushes you onto the counter, settling in between your plush thighs as he starts to kiss up your jaw. His scent fills your senses as he works his way down your neck, floral and minty from the aftershave he used this morning. Everything about him makes you feel warm and your thoughts fuzzy. His lips and wandering hands grabbing at the fat of your hips and thighs, his tightening pants only growing tighter as you both desperately rut into the other.

“Bedroom,” he mutters more as a warning than a statement before picking you up. His words roll over your skin, prickling with excitement as you hear his deep voice cracking with lust.

Your sheets are still cold when you land on the bed, yet you barely can shiver before Bakugou starts to hold you close to him again. Declarations of “I love you’s” and what you’re going to do to each other linger in the air, until you’re gasping at the stretch of his fingers.

He nips at the curve of your neck and shoulders, laughing as you try to kick off your leggings so you can properly spread your legs for him.

“Katsuki,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

“Just a bit more, baby. Gotta make sure I can fit inside your sweet pussy.” He curls and pumps his fingers inside your gummy walls, wondering why he didn’t just warm his hands this way hours earlier and jealous that his cock isn’t feeling the way you’re squeezing his thick fingers. Just a bit more, he thinks. When he finally does squeeze through, his pressed flush against yours and your hands fisting in his hair, he knows what it is making his belly warm inside.

It’s love that makes him quiver when he thrusts inside you, love that peppers across your skin as he kisses all your freckles, and it’s love that is shown in his eyes when he looks down at you. He moans your name in love, he makes you cum over and over out of love, and he holds you close in love.

With your ear pressed against his chest in the darkness of your shared room, you hear his heartbeat and know it’s yours. His fingers gently pop your knuckles and massage the tension in your hands as you both catch your breaths. The ring catches in the moonlight, winking at you both.

“Where did you hide this?” You whisper, your words muffling against his tacky skin.

“Don’t worry about it,” he scoffs. “There ain’t another one for you.”

“So romantic,” you laugh and nestle closer against his side. Bakugou only hums, not even realizing there’s a soft and dopey smile on his face still.

“I’m just saying that if you hid this then what else are you hiding- stop laughing!” He doesn’t take you seriously when you’re laughing at yourself, only rolling his eyes again at your attempt at mind games.

“Oh whatever you brat-” Katsuki’s laughter is cut short when he snaps his head towards the direction of the hallway. “Did you hear that?”

“Don’t change the subject,” you giggle and kiss up his jawline.

“Mm-mm, I’m serious.” Bakugou starts to untangle himself from you, grabbing his sweats and slipping them on over his bare half. “Stay here.”

“It’s Talon, stay in bed with me!” You take hold of his wrist despite both of you knowing he can pull away, and give him your best pout.

“Talon is on the bed, she’s been there the entire time. I couldn’t kick her off,” He keeps his eyes fixated on the closed door, waiting to hear the strange noise again.

“She’s been here the entire time?” You scoff and sit up, watching your orange tabby blink slowly at you.

Another floorboard groans and he makes his mind up. “Stay here.” His hand reaches back and grazes your fingers as he starts to slip on his sweats.

“Katsuki-” But he’s already quietly stepping out of your bedroom into the dark hallway.

There’s a certain mindset a pro-hero goes into when they’re working. Patrolling, missions, rescuing, combat. There’s a zone that they learn to hone while they’re children up until they’re licensed adult heroes. All their senses are heightened and honed to detect even the smallest of abnormalities. To not do so can be a matter of life or death. Bakugou thinks back to high school psychology when they had a lecture on the concept of “thin slicing”. Your brain recognizes patterns in your life, collects them, and memorizes them, and then compares them to other experiences you’ve had before. This all happens in a fraction of second, so fast that as human beings you aren’t even aware it’s happening until you feel it. The gut feeling everyone talks about.

“Listen to your gut feeling,” Aizawa had told them. “Better to be wrong and alive, than being right and dead.”

He moves stealthily through the apartment, his hands warming in preparation for the worst. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as he quietly moves from room to room. Nothing is off center, nothing has been moved, not even by a centimeter. The feeling doesn’t go away.

When he’s circled the apartment twice, Bakugo’s eyebrows pinch and he frowns. Your cat, having left the room now, starts to circle around Katsuki’s steps, nearly tripping him. With an annoyed exhale, Katsuki refills the cat bowl with kibble and returns to you again.

“What was it?” You whisper.

He shakes his head, still unable to shake off the gnawing feeling of anxiety and alarm in his lower belly. “Nothing. I’m gonna get us a better alarm system though. Can’t trust this shitty building,” he crawls back into bed with you. You’re wearing his sweatshirt now, and the worry between your eyes doesn’t leave even with him back in bed.

“Sorry,” he nudges your nose with his. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine, Katsuki.” You cup his cheeks and look into his scarlet eyes. “What’s been going on? You’ve been acting strange lately. Is it work or…”

He’s quiet before he decides to lean into your hands, eyes fluttering shut before he shifts to rest against your chest. He tries to think of an answer, on why he’s been on edge lately like this. Work hasn’t been stressful, not any more stressful at least. In fact, with the new rankings Bakugou feels that everything is finally coming into place. The city feels safer, civilians have started to lean their trust onto heroes again.

He can see a brighter future. One with you in it, one where he takes the number one spot, one with a family and little brats running around.

In his mind’s eye, everything in his future means you're there beside him.

It’s why listening to your heart right now calms him.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou answers truthfully, his voice is gruff and muffled in your sweater. “Sometimes work follows me home.”

“Not literally I hope,” you chuckle.

He peaks up and smiles again, “‘No not literally, idiot.”

-(-)-

Work has been shit all day. A blizzard is coming in and it might hit the city sooner than what the reporters are saying, it’s all hands on deck with the exception of the top five. Bakugou has been held from patrolling and working on his active cases today, all so that the top five ranked heroes can interview with Japan’s most elite magazine publisher. Sitting in front of a camera crew across from an interviewer isn’t how he wanted to spend his day. He was asked to come in with casual wear. “Be prepared to be dressed and made up over and over,” his manager warned him. Annoyance doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling right now.

Bakugou’s interview was first, as number five in the hero ranks. Everything went smoothly, he answered the stupid questions, he played along with the idiocy and obsession with his physical appearance. What he couldn’t stand was the implication that his success was based on the prestigious connections to his old teachers and mentors: All Might, Endeavor, Best Jeanist.

“You’ve been so lucky to have gotten their help over the years-,” The woman (Suzuki? Katsuki can’t seem to remember her fucking name), crosses her legs before being interrupted abruptly.

“What does luck have to do with it? I didn’t ask for their help, they sought me out because I’m a fucking goddamn good hero- no scratch that. I’m the fucking best. I don’t need any old bastard to try and take credit for my hard fucking work!” Yeah… he knows he fucked up.

The poor interviewer is shell-shocked, her stupid professional smile frozen and twitching across her face as she tries to keep herself composed. “Ah, sorry. I- Congratulations on your rank, Dynamite. And good luck- I mean-!” Oh her name is Sasaki, Katsuki scowls, and that seems to only make her more nervous.

He rolls his eyes, catching a glimpse of a stiffened Deku watching the mess of an interview unravel. The others are wide eyed as well, bones stiff with second-hand embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for those who pushed me,” Katsuki grumbles and looks down at his hands. He thinks about the myth, Vena Amora, the vein that leads straight to one’s heart right from the finger. The promise you both made wrapped around yours, maybe he should get one too…

“It was my hard work and them pushing me to go further,” He looks ahead and watches Sasaki regain her composure, sitting up straighter as his response settles in the air. “It ain’t about luck.”

His assistant is no help, either. He’s a nervous, quirkless man who can’t multitask, and has been more of a wreck lately. And now, he spilled coffee all over Bakugou’s suit. So now Katsuki’s changing for the upteenth time, his jaw clenched as he tries to remember his breathing exercises.

Katsuki is lacing up his combat boots when he sees his phone light up with a message from you. He leans in and swipes to read your text, a faint smile already spreading across his lips.

you:

i put away all the supplies you got btw!! almost made me late to work! if this blizzard doesn’t come we are going to be eating in every day to get rid of this shit :P

You’ve sent a video attachment, and the moment he hears your voice it seems like the weight on his shoulders is already lifting. He watches you with a tiny smile, finding it easier to breathe again. You’re showing him all the little pottery projects that a third grade class on a class field trip had finished, laughing as you try to explain each student and their creation.

“They’re so fucking bad at throwing pottery! So cute!” You giggle and flip the camera back to yourself, you’re wearing a medical mask to protect your cold from the school children. Katsuki’s smile grows and he laughs softly to himself as you talk about which pottery piece is your unofficial favorite.

“Anyway! I hope today doesn’t suck ass. I have a commission to work on tonight, so I’ll be up when you get home. Okay bye!!”

Before Bakugou can text back, there’s a timid knock on the changing room door. He slips his phone in his pocket and pauses, taking a deep breath to try and dampen his annoyance. On the other side is his assistant, the man his agency thrusted upon him. He’s small, just like his employee file since there isn’t any quirk to input in the system. High school education, went to Tokyo University for a degree in public relations and Hero Statistics, and other things that bored Katsuki. He’s not sure why he would settle for being an assistant of an arrogant up-and-coming pro-hero, Bakugou has nothing to teach or offer him.

He tries to be patient with him though. Especially now that Akui is offering him another cup of coffee as penance for the one he spilled all over Bakugou just five minutes ago.

“Thanks,” Katsuki grumbles and takes it from Akui’s bony hand.

“Was that your fiancé on the phone?” Akui offers an awkward smile and his voice is wobbly as he tries to keep up with Bakugou.

“Yeah, playing with mud with some bratty kids. What’s this?” He glares at the stack of paperwork handed to him, and flipping through he groans. “Why is the commission so interested in this?”

“I- I don’t know, sir? They told me to hand it to you.” Akui stumbles beside Bakugou and glances at the paperwork, “It seems like they just want to know how you reached your ranking this year.”

“Because I fucking worked hard,” Bakugou scoffs. The warmth you left inside him is starting to grow cold, replaced instead with annoyance as the technical side of hero work starts to anchor in. “What’s so hard to understand?”

His assistant is silent as they stand together, watching the camera and stage crew adjust once again. The busy-body crew members zip back and forth as the number three hero takes her seat in the interview chair. Nejire Chan chats happily with the makeup artist touching up the blush on her cheeks, nothing that Bakugou can understand. To Katsuki’s left he can see the other two-thirds of UA’s infamous Big Three, Suneater and Lemillion, watching Nejire’s interview start.

“There’s a theory that was developed by some mathematicians.” When Akui speaks, Katsuki glances down at him, his assistant looking almost past the two heroes as he stares seriously into the distance. “It’s to help determine the predictability of a hero’s ranking. It’s supposed to be fairly accurate. Apparently, another hero was supposed to be in your place. Yet you defied those odds.”

It takes a moment for Katsuki to respond as he mulls his words over, “You studied statistics.” It’s spoken almost like a question, but Akui looks over at Bakugou, stunned that he even knows that fact about him.

“Y-yes!” Whatever reverie Akui was in, snaps.

“Do you agree with them?” Bakugou looks over at the man and wonders if he ever gets any sunlight. His pale skin makes him shiver just looking at him, and Bakugou wonders how someone could look so translucent under these lights.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, firmly. “You shouldn’t have won.” An emotion Katsuki doesn’t recognize flashes across Akui’s face, too quick for him before he settles back into the Akui he recognizes. “But- but that’s good! You defy odds, it makes you an amazing pro!”

Katsuki stares at Akui for a moment, a question lingering on his tongue before Izuku beats him to it. “Kacchan!”

“Get the fuck off me,” Bakugou shakes off Izuku who only holds on tighter.

“I’m getting calls for you from your agency, you shouldn’t have said that-!”

“Oh fuck off,” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “They got a good sound bite at the end, it's fine. This is all bullshit, anyway. We should be out there working. Not here getting pampered for doing our fucking jobs.” Izuku only hums back, obviously not agreeing with his behavior still.

Akui is called away, leaving behind the two younger pro-heroes to watch as Suneater nervously takes his place in the spotlight. A silence falls over the set as he speaks, everyone drawn in by his quiet voice and subtle, quirky charm. There’s a soft scratching of pencil on paper, and Bakugou doesn’t have to look to know that Izuku is taking notes.

“By the way, when the fuck did you tell people about Mud and I?”

Izuku stops his notetaking and looks up with a flash of confusion before he realizes who “Mud” is. Ah, your pottery. He smiles confusedly, “Uhh I don’t know what you mean. Everyone knows you two are dating.”

“You told people we got engaged though,” Katsuki glares at Deku who only grows more confused by the second.

“W-wait! You proposed? When the fuck did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me??” Izuku squeaks and his eyes grow large.

“Huh?! Since when do I have to tell you anything?!”

“I’m your best friend-!” He’s interrupted by a crew member scolding them both, leaving Deku to be blushing furiously and bowing in apology.

“Whatever,” Katsuki scoffs to himself. “We can’t really celebrate anyway until after the storm.”

“Are you guys all prepared?” Izuku is absent-mindedly playing with his hands as the two men watch the new number one hero step in his seat.

“Yeah, you?”

Deku nods, both of them are itching to get back on the field. Their agencies are in full emergency lockdown status, trying to get the city in lockdown to minimize casualties. Katsuki remembers clearly what the Endeavor agency’s procedures were for something like this, he’s certain that it’s killing Deku to be out of those plans now. Katsuki can’t say the same of his new agency, though. He’s a little perplexed by how their operations run for emergencies like the oncoming storm. Bakugou offered his services for an entire week before today, knowing that it’s an all hands on deck situation for pro-heroes to help. Yet his agency shut him out. They gave him fake smiles and assured him that his services should be focused elsewhere.

“You should come back,” Deku quietly tells Bakugou.

Katsuki only hums in reply, knowing how much he’s aching to go back. His gut tells him otherwise, it’s telling him he’s close to finding out who his employers actually are.

“Katsuki,” Izuku is staring at Bakugou, watching his eyes harden as he holds back something he can’t even tell his oldest friend. “Is everything okay?”

Katsuki can’t answer, because the obvious answer is yes. Everything is okay. This agency was able to make him go up higher in the ranks. Yet there’s this gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that he’s been forced to wear blinders, forced to look ahead and not at the man behind the curtain. He’s determined to pull it apart.

-(-)-

The ride home is quiet with the exception of the car radio playing softly in the background. Bakugou is exhausted, his shoulders carry the weight of the photoshoot and the interviews even more than they do on his normal patrolling days. Annoyingly, another pro is being interviewed right now. Katsuki turns the volume up a few notches, catching the familiar phantom pro-hero explaining her success in reaching the dead All Might’s ghost. Tch, there’s no one to prove her quirk even exists. Bakugou switches the radio station to a local channel that plays only classical and jazz music.

His manager gave him an earful about his outburst already, there was barely anything to salvage in his interview. An apology letter and an edible arrangement is going to be sent to the production crew, and one for just Sasaki, out of Bakugou’s next paycheck. He supposes he deserves that just a little. To be fair, though, Katsuki already privately apologized to her.

It’s been a long day.

He sighs in relief when your apartment comes to view, the street lights glowing serenely greet him up the sidewalk. Each step drags until he’s finally at your door, the bite of the wintery cold burns on his cheeks when he steps inside the hot apartment.

“I’m home!” He shrugs off his jacket, ears straining to hear your voice. Bakugou sheds his many layers without hearing you call back out to him, instead he’s only met with soft music. He glances at the clock above the stove, wondering why you’re up so late.

Katsuki heads to your mini studio, really it’s just a second bedroom that barely fits your pottery wheel and kiln. You both worked hard to renovate it, and by you both it was mostly Bakugou, but he was determined to have your space be done within a day. It’s where you spend your time working when you’re not at your studio, halfway across the city. When you told him that you are a potter, he teased you for playing with mud so much he ended up nicknaming you that.

The first time he knew he was in love with you was when you showed him how to throw pottery, the patience you had in him that not even Katsuki possessed as he struggled to mold the clay between his thick fingers. He grumbled and cursed under his breath with each failed attempt to make a decent bowl, until finally he did it. A wobbly, lopsided bowl that even your hands couldn’t make perfect as you attempted to guide him. Yet you grinned, proud of him for that shitty bowl. You cheered for him, even glazed the damn thing and now it sits by the doorway as a bowl that holds your keys.

“I don’t usually make shit with my hands,” he grumbled with the tips of his ears growing red.

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed with your back turned to him. You were carefully putting away his bowl to be fired up in the kiln later, already wondering how you were gonna glaze it. “You've cooked for me before, that counts.”

Katsuki remembers realizing how you really view him for the first time. Not as the pro who’s explosions destroy and combust, not as the angry asshole who never learns to give up a fight. You didn’t see his hands are weapons of destruction. You saw him delicately plate food together, you’ve seen him make music with his hands, they’re the same hands who finds yours in the dark because he knows you’re afraid of what’s in the shadows. They’re the hands that slip through your fingers when he’s making love to you, they’re the hands that create wobbly bowls for you because you keep losing your keys.

It’s the first time he understood what being in love meant.

So he finds you now, totally entranced in another project that he assumes is the commission you mentioned earlier today.

“Playing with mud again?” He hears you snicker before you look over your shoulder, hands slick with wet clay as your creation spins before you.

“Mhm, ‘m almost done.” You flash him a smile and face your work again.

Katsuki pulls up another stool and sits right behind you, hooking his over over your shoulder to watch you work. Your ring finger is void of your engagement ring, although Bakugou doesn’t mind. It’s relaxing, mesmerizing even, watching your hands work so delicately to mold nothing into something.

“How long have you been workin’ on this, Mud?” Bakugou presses a kiss on your shoulder and stifles a laugh when your fingers dig a little too deep, collapsing the entire piece.

“Since noon,” you sigh and scrap the vase.

“You’re still not out of the woods just yet, why are you dressed like it’s still summer?”

“It’s hot,” you defend yourself with a laugh. An improperly timed sniffle escapes you and Bakugou snorts in reply, nuzzling his cold nose into your skin again.

“Can I help?” Bakugou moves in closer until his broad chest is pressed firmly against your back.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Put your hands here… yup, and then you’re just gonna get them wet before we start.” Your hands dip into the bucket of murky water beside you and you wet Bakugou’s hands in the clay/water mixture. Your fingers are messier than his since you’ve been working all day, but as you prep his hands he can’t help smiling as you guide him.

“Mhm, perfect.” You mutter, curling your fingers against the wet clay as you try to form the base again. “Now just let the clay slide between your fingers.”

Katsuki does as you say, all the while pressing lingering kisses against your bare skin. You get hot in your little makeshift studio, and end up wearing shorts and tank tops in the dead of winter. It’s perfect for these moments, Katsuki thinks. Teasing you with kisses where he knows you’re most sensitive, letting the mud slip between his fingers before gliding his hands higher. He makes a bigger mess out of you, his hands caressing your wrists and forearms, gently massaging you all while kissing up your shoulder and neck. You’re melting under him, shy giggles slipping out like gasps from your lips as you try to work.

Bakugou kisses the junction of your ear and neck, gently nipping at your sensitive spot. He watches you with amusement as you try to mold the clay, his hands going back to where you first had him start. “Like this?” He whispers against your ear.

You can only hum in reply, making him grin. Each of his thick thighs are beside yours as he presses in closer to you, trapping you in. The heat of his body is molding you, melting and reshaping you as you attempt to steady your hands. Until finally, when he can’t take it anymore, Katsuki manages to slip your hands away from the clay. Your attention fixes back to him as you turn to kiss him back, his tongue slipping through your lips to taste you. His hands hold onto yours, distantly he thinks back to when he first knew he loved you.

“It’s gonna take me another whole ass day to try and fix this,” you whisper between kisses.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Shut up and lemme kiss you. I’ve missed you all day, Mud.”

“Oh yeah?” You smile as he trails his lips down your jaw. “Wanna show me how much you’ve missed me?”

“With pleasure,” Bakugou smirks against your skin before gently nibbling at you.

-(-)-

“What time is it?” You whisper from on top of his bare chest, still breathless.

Katsuki glances at the clock and curses under his breath, “Is the trash still coming?” His arms tighten around your waist as you twist to look, feeling you deflate.

“Yeah, the news said that they’re coming overnight before the storm hits,” you groan when he starts to slip you off him. “Katsuki, don’t leave!”

“You really wanna be stuck in this apartment with trash rotting in every corner?” Bakugou flashes you a smirk and pushes you back down into the mattress, kissing you passionately all the while.

“Maybe,” you mumble against his lips. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him down again, hoping he stays. “Lemme get dressed, I’ll come down with you.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but if it’s the only way you’ll let him go downstairs he’ll take it. “I ain’t waiting on ya though, I’ll be back before you’re even got your slippers on.”

It’s a small exaggeration that leaves you huffing and him grinning wickedly. However, to be fair, by the time Katsuki has gathered all the trash, you’re still in bed putting on socks. “I’ll meet you downstairs!”

Katsuki skips the elevator and decides to go down the stairs instead, not wanting to disturb the other tenants. The cold air nearly steals the oxygen from his lungs, already the wind is picking up and chills him down to his bones. Bakugou pushes through, hoping you actually don’t come down now. You’re still fighting that cold, you don’t need to be dealing with this shit.

It’s a small walk around the corner towards the dumpsters when it starts to snow, clumps that immediately stick on their landing. Katsuki watches for a moment, mesmerized by the snow catching onto his hoodie and settling against his blonde hair. He pauses for a moment, staring up into the sky framed by the city apartment buildings. The cold air whips at him, cutting through his hoodie and sweats. Bakugou snaps out of his trance slowly, shivering as he throws out the trash.

It happens far too quickly.

He’s pushed hard into the cold metal dumpster, immediately thrown off balance by the slick sidewalk. Something stabs into his back, again and again. The sight of his blood pooling against the snow pisses Katsuki off enough for him to stand again. With wobbly legs he runs after his attacker down the street, cursing himself for not being faster and for not sensing the danger faster.

“Katsuki!” Your voice calls out to him. “Katsuki!”

“Stay- stay back!” He yells back, turning only when he hears your screams.

You’re lying next to the dumpster, hunched over and screaming. Katsuki furrows his brows, panic lurching in his belly as he runs back towards you. The absolute horror settles into his bones colder than the air around him. You’re crying on top of his body, whimpering and crying out for help as your hands try to stop the blood from his wounds.

“Mud…” He tries to touch you but his hand slips through your face.

“Somebody! Somebody help me!” You scream louder and louder, voice cracking as you try to cradle his body closer to you.

“I’m- I’m right here! Goddamn it, I’m right here!” Katsuki screams right by your ear, trying to touch you.

“You can’t leave me, don’t you leave me- Help! Somebody help me!”

A pro-hero he doesn’t recognize arrives on the scene. And then the ambulances.

Katsuki stays by your side, desperately trying to stay by your side. He catches on to your whispered pleas, begging him to hold on even though he’s right next to you trying to do the exact same thing.

He doesn’t look at the body whose hand you’re holding, it’s not him. He’s right next to you. He's right next to you, please look at him.

The doctors tell you he was stabbed by someone who’s quirk turns blood into poison. That’s how he…

“I’m not dead! I’m right here! I’m right fucking here!” Katsuki screams into the doctor’s face, all the rage boiling over inside him until he’s red in the face. “I ain’t fucking dead!”

He tries to stop them from telling you that he’s gone, he tries to cradle you against him when you curl into yourself. He just helplessly falls through the molecules instead.

“Are you ready?” He waits for you to reply, watching you cry as the doctor awkwardly pats your shoulder and gives you the space to grieve.

“Are you ready?” The voice asks again, this time there’s a tap on his shoulder.

Bakugou turns, unable to think. “Me? You’re talking to me? You can see me?”

“Yes of course,” it says. Whatever it is, it’s dressed in dark robes with a hood. The face is static aside from their eyes, yellow and bright as it watches him. “Are you ready?” They ask again.

“For what?” Katsuki steps back when they step forward. “Ready for what?” He spats out, scowling when they step closer again. “Back the fuck up!” He lunges forward with his palms outstretched, ready to attack. The usual sparks of an explosion are gone, nothing happens.

The being stares at him unimpressed. “Are you done? I don’t have all day, I kinda have a quota to meet.”

“N-no, I ain’t- I ain’t going with you!” Katsuki lurches back, heart aching that he isn’t near you anymore as it steps closer to him.

When those blue eyes hit yours, you don’t like that fucking feeling, not at all… whatever the fuck he does, his snowy lashes flickering as he drinks the sight of you in curiously. You have curves now, you’re taller, you’re not the same girl you were at thirteen than you are at twenty one. You tremble just a bit on the inside, but on the outside?

Bitch face on.

You just look at him, raising a brow curiously, the preppy football captain staring at the goth girl in the stands, it’s the shit movies make fun of, bright and popular Gojo, and bratty emo you. You look down quickly at the book in your hands, leaning back against the metal bleachers, but you feel them lingering along your skin.

That gaze burns into your skin – Satoru Gojo’s gaze – the one that was once behind thick tortoiseshell glasses, the boy who bumped noses with you and apologized. The one who was a blushing mess for you, now instead is surrounded by his teammates, by the cheerleaders, all flocking and complimenting their star player.

Just who was Gojo these days, and did you care?

You hastily go back to your book, earbuds just blaring music at you, trying to keep out the noise, the cheering, the whistles, sketching the scene just a bit. That was the assignment – draw the football practice, something for ‘school spirit’ apparently. Your fingers brush along the parchment, shading and fading the pencil marks a bit, before pausing.

Fuck, you’re drawing Gojo.

Your eyes go back over to him now, to where he’s downing some gatorade, snapping a selfie in front of the team, earning their playful shoves. It’s hard to take your eyes off that familiar face, god he got even taller? You were a taller girl yourself, but Gojo was towering over even the bigger football players, a good head taller than most of them.

Oh, and he’d gotten buff too. You can’t help but notice that fact, he was still lanky and maybe the shoulder pads from his football jersey were adding to it, but it was just impossible not to notice. The things it did to your tummy, the way that it fluttered just watching him run across that field made no sense.

Weren’t you finally over it?

You’d moved on from a middle school love, you had a part time job, college, responsibilities out the ass. You had boyfriends and breakups, a whole life since then – making it feel so distant, so far away from that girl. Yet all it took was just observing him to make you long for something you never really had.

You’re a realist, cynical, not some day dreamer despite being an art school major, you painted and drew what you could see, of course your interpretations came into play, but your head wasn’t in the clouds.

Or was it?

You soon pause and notice you’re drawing glasses on Satoru – a very detailed rendition of Satoru – before you could stop yourself, chuckling a bit diabolically as you make him look more nerdy. You likely look batshit insane to anyone else. You really can’t say that you care much, the opinions of others never really bothered you once you got old enough to practically hate everyone.

So how did you kiss Gojo back then? Nerdy rich-boy Satoru and you, even back then it didn’t make sense, but you could swear your teenage heart fucking felt something. Only for him to blush and avoid you, to practically hide away after it until he moved on, that day he’d given you the first heartbreak, and become someone you avoided like the plague.

Yet still even after those years and all the boys since then, something about him always bothered you, it always got to you, lingering in your mind like the most annoying pest. Just last night you’d dreamt of him so randomly – not how he looks now, no, the skinny nerdy brat that made you cry, not this popular jock with a blindingly straight white smile in the middle of a bunch of cheerleaders.

He’s flirting right back with them, earning your eye roll, as you decide to draw braces along his teeth, and a digimon on his football jersey.

Just as he should be.

You’re laughing and so lost you barely notice Satoru walking up to you, not until he’s blocked your natural sunlight with his huge body, shade covering your notebook. You frown, earbuds still in, lips turning down a little bit at the sudden shade, while Satoru studies your notebook and the drawing, snatching it up and making you gasp.

“What the fuck?” You yank out a earbud, glaring up and standing, fuck he’s even taller than he was before, you don’t usually have to look up at many people, but he’s got a good six inches or so on you.

He’s smirking at the drawing, taking it in and stepping on a higher bleacher, holding the pad from you. “Look at that, aww!”

“Give it back, you little brat.”

He snorts, looking down at you, blue eyes glinting with the way the sun is hitting them. You won’t admit how fucking pretty they are to yourself, instead glaring up at him. “Me, a little brat? Have you seen yourself?”

“Psh,” you’re standing and reaching your arm up as he looks at you, blue eyes running over you with a curious expression. “Seriously go away.”

“You drew me?” He asks, tilting his head to the side and assessing you, you’re not sure if he recognizes you at that moment.

You’ve changed a lot too.

Would he remember some dumb crush he maybe had on you? It was nowhere close to what you felt, clearly. No, that’s nonsense, as is his effects on your physiology being too close. Your heart is pounding in your chest, you’re so fucking embarrassed at being caught doodling him, but you don’t let it show.

You’re not that girl anymore, not the one who cried over his little nerdy ass and his perfect, plump lips and his -

Stop that!

No, you’re tougher now.

You snatch your notebook back, but only because he lets you. “Yeah, so? It’s for an assignment, I needed to draw school spirit.”

He snorts. “School spirit, you, yeah I don’t see it.”

“Well I’m not peppy like you, no, you’re the big football star, right?” You say with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.

Satoru just chuckles. “You’re brand new here and assume I’m the star, I guess I am that amazing,” he runs a hand through his strands, snowy white and so soft you can’t help but want to reach out and tug at them at the roots.

When did his chuckle get so deep?

When did his fingers get so long?

Fuck stop thinking that!

“I know you,” he says suddenly, eyes narrowing slightly. “You used to live down the street from me.”

“Me? Uh, no way,” you look down, brushing silky locks behind your ears, doing something to Satoru Gojo then. “Don’t know who that girl is, nope.”

“No?” You shake your head, a pink decorating your cheeks, hair falling just a bit in front of your face, making him want to brush it back – but you make him feel so nervous, as if he’s just a fucking teenager again. “Ya really tryin’ to play it off?”

He remembers it all, even as he’s trying to play it off, like he hasn’t dreamt of what would have happened if he didn’t get so shy, so nervous around you after you both kissed. How he could have maybe just asked you out, or at least told you he liked the damn kiss – but Satoru at that age was a nervous little mess, and you were too damn pretty.

Fuck you got hotter, curves filling out in places that drives him to distraction, your slutty little outfit doesn’t help either. He can’t help but notice the hint of piercings where your pierced nipples were clearly puckered up from the cold, making him throb from just that. Satoru isn’t some little nerdy virgin anymore, but precum is leaking from the sight.

If he wasn’t such a conceited little shit he’d immediately simp for you, but he pulls himself together, smiling down at you, snowy lashes lowering. “You’ve not changed that much, and I know you remember me.”

Your heart skips a beat then –

He remembers.

You look away quickly, pretending to be busy packing your stuff to suddenly leave, bending over so he gets a nice view of your ass. God, if you were his? He wouldn’t let you bend over in front of fucking anyone at all, nor would he let you out of the damn door like that, not because he was a man to tell a girl how to dress.

No, the reason would be he wouldn’t be able to let you walk out without filling you with so much cum you’d drip him, you’d remember who you belonged to.

Fuck, thinking like that is insane, it’s not even in his nature – whatever psycho, obsessed ass thoughts that just ran through his head. Your hips are just begging for his hands, your eyes looking up at him like you need to get off, and get off all the time, he’d take care of that for you.

Sinking to his knees on these fucking bleachers runs through his head – all star football, frat leader, most popular guy in college Gojo, reduced to that, to simp behavior.

It's not like he’s hurting for women, they’re all over him, but you’re… 

Different. He supposes you always were, the stark contrasts to the girls that were just all over him, the ones that have left their cotton candy body spray clinging to his clothes, you’re not smiling all cute and giggling, not flattering him with little compliments– nah, you’re fucking scowling.

It’s so hot on you.

What’s wrong with him? A blast from the past and he’s down that bad again? Palms sweaty, stammering Gojo?

“Fine, okay – I am. Just… that was a really long time ago. I didn’t think you’d remember,” you finally mumble, like the vulnerability itself hurts. Satoru steps closer, watching your lips part, hearing a sharp intake of breath.

You could act normal all you wanted, but he sure the fuck could read that body. Curvier, taller, but still uniquely you, that scent that has been burned into his senses gently filling his nostrils, while the wind of the fall whips your skirt around. It shows far too much of those thighs, which he can vividly imagine being pressed on either side of his head as you press them together.

“Something got ya excited, sweetheart?” He taunts with a grin, his voice lowering to a seductive tone that makes you wet.

Fuck him for that.

“Hah, me? No, I’m annoyed and…” You peer down at your nipples cursing internally. “And I’m just like cold, okay you perv!?”

“They’re distracting as fuck,” he said that out loud, shit, shit, shit. Play it off, Satoru. “Hah – at least they seem to like me.”

“They do not!” Your glare just makes him wanna know how you look with your mouth open and drooling, with your eyes rolled back in your skull. “Neither do I.”

“Well,” he draws out that word, laughing softly then. “I remember everything about you.”

Oh shit.

“Especially that kiss.”

You freeze, your cheeks flushing despite yourself, trying to seem unbothered, god he’s gotten cocky, the girls are shouting his name like his own personal fucking cheer. “They want you,” you clap your hands and throw em in the air – “Gojo, Gojo, he’s our man!”

You’re mocking him, mocking them, earning his eye roll. “Ah, so you’re just avoiding the answer? You are her…”

He says your name, and just that almost does you in, though you roll your eyes, scoffing.

“Yeah, so what if I am? That kiss it was…” The best you’ve had, and you hate his ass for it, so badly your fingers itch to smack the nerd back into him. “That kiss was like just a peck, really. You know.”

“Ah, so you do remember?”

“Barely!?”

He grins, that cocky jock smile that makes you want to punch him even more. “Then why are you blushing like that?”

“Hah, blushing, me? Nev-”

Before you can finish your comeback, his coach calls him away and whistles, waving at Gojo to come back. Satoru sighs, then winks at you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

That’s what he says!?

“Hey!” He turns and raises a brow, smirking. “I’m not your sweetheart!” You shout out, earning the looks of everyone, but Satoru just fucking grins like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

You watch him jog back to the field and look far too good doing it, your mind racing, seeing him gather up with the team. When did his shoulders get so damn broad – No.

You better stop thinking that way, looking right at him in the damn open like that, and you can tell he’s loving it, especially when he blows you a little kiss and earns your middle finger. Not like it bothers him, he just raises those white brows, wriggling his stupidly long fingers at you.

What the hell just happened?

And why does your heart feel like it’s about to beat out of your chest?

You sink back onto the bleachers dejectedly, your fingers trembling as you flip open your notebook again. Staring at the sketch of Gojo, you realize you’re in for quite a fucking reunion with him, feelings simmering under the surface that you hoped were long, long gone, but now he’s there – in the flesh, looking far too fucking good, suddenly back in your life.

Popular, perfect, pretentious.

He’s nothing like the boy you remember.

*****

Satoru remembers that night vividly – the night he ran away from you.

It all smacks him in the face as he lays in his bed that night after running into you again. The guys from the team all wanted to go out but he couldn’t bring himself to, instead he laid there and pictured you behind his gaze. He saw you across the hall the other day for a brief moment, but before he could even approach you, you turned a corner and dipped.

You’re not really what he remembers any more than what you likely remember – no you were a nerdy little thing just like him in middle school, shy little thing. You were sweet – shit, you even smiled. Now you just have this bitchy, mean look on your face – one that makes him throb just looking at if he’s honest.

You look so fucking angry at him, at everything.

Closed off, that’s the word, your guard up high, leaving him to just wonder exactly what was in your mind, what you’ve been through all these years that he’s missed. He had tried to somewhat explain himself in high school to you, but you weren’t having any of it, already becoming closed off, your eyes just didn’t glimmer the same way, and he can’t help but feel responsible.

You say it was nothing, but he remembers all of it.

“Satoru, I really like you, more than a friend…” his heart had hammered in his thirteen year old chest, his palms were sweaty.

Satoru had planned to ask you out that day officially, but last night his parents had found his note he’d written – immediately recognizing your name. You weren’t from a ‘prestigious family’ no, far from it. You weren’t the ideal girl that they’d eventually want their son with, even this young they’ve damn near planned everything, down to the three other families he would likely marry.

How could he have anything with you knowing they’d potentially make that choice for him? How could he break your heart like that, even if he knows that he is falling for you, there was too much pressure on him as a Gojo – you already had enough pressure too. He couldn’t just do that to you, bring you in on this world of his.

You were crying that day, and he didn’t know how to say the truth, no, instead he cupped your face and softly kissed you one more time. A brief press of his lips before he had to pull back. His glasses were fogged from his breath and the chill in the air that morning as you looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say in response before stepping back.

You’d blinked back tears of confusion, your hands clenched at your sides. “Satoru, I can just be your friend, if this is too much,” you mumbled, but he was backing away even more from you. He watched as your lips trembled and tears fell from your eyes. “Do you not like me back?”

No, Satoru loved you.

Enough to not have you anywhere near his family, to fall for a boy who would one day have everything chosen for him.

“I really am… sorry,” he said again, turning and hearing your little sniffles, it had broken his heart. “I have to go.”

“Go where? Satoru, come back I didn’t mean it, okay? Satoru!”

He’d run off, and he’d never forgotten it.

Now, far from his parents' bullshit, finally having told them he’d make his own path in life and that they couldn’t dictate his every move anymore, he’s thought of the girl he sacrificed all those years ago. The one he let slip away because he was too afraid to stand up to them back then.

In a way, his parents ultimately have some control still, their expectations linger – but he’s made sure to pave his own way. Got better at telling them to fuck off, decided to make his own path forward, even if it meant doing things the harder way. The guilt about that girl still eats at him sometimes, late at night when he can’t sleep, but at least now he’s living on his own terms.

His eyes drift shut and he pictures you, the way you bent over, the way you looked at him, and fuck if it doesn’t just make him ache. Was there some way to get you to even talk to him again?

*****

You’re headed to your art class when Satoru Gojo happens to walk by and just slams right into you – you can’t make this shit up. Your pencils go flying, scattering and clattering to the floor in a mess.

“Shit,” you grumble, snatching up what you can, Satoru bends down to help you, chuckling. “What's so funny!?”

“How much are you gonna draw me, hmm?” You curse as a little chibi Satoru lands in his big ass hands. “Aww look! I have a tail here in this one, how cute.”

“It’s not you,” you snatch it back, crumbling the paper ever so slightly, scowling in his direction. “It’s not!”

“I’m your muse,” he flutters his fingers around dramatically, garnering looks in the hall. “I feel so special.”

“You’re not,” he pouts all cutely. “You're always just… in my way.”

“You smacked into me, sweets,” he tilts your chin up right there in the damn hallway, smirking as people around you whisper. “I'm flattered you find me to be such an inspiration for your art, but you do know you could just ask me to pose for you.”

“Hah. You're not at all,” you gather everything with haste, slipping them in your book bag. Satoru's grin is as attractive as it is obnoxious, but when two girls come up to him when you walk away, your head feels dizzy.

Why would you care if his arms are around their shoulders, throwing his head back and laughing just a bit. Yet he looks back at you, those eyes slipping over your baggy shirt and sweats, you couldn't be bothered today to dress up.

Not when you spent all damn night dreaming of dumbass Gojo.

“I can't wait to see another drawing, I really am looking forward to the next drawing, maybe I’ll have some ears too.” He teases you, your damn cheeks burn in embarrassment, before he turns, you flip him off. His damn chuckles echo in the halls, mixing with the little giggles of those cheerleaders.

“Hehehehe,” you mock their laughter to yourself with your fingertips to your lips, echoing in the halls and earning more looks around you. 

Great, what an amazing first week, you're really living up to the weird art nerd dream so well. You just glare as meanly as you can – at damn near everyone. “What are you looking at?”

They see, to scatter, you’re trying to shake off the feeling of his damn fingers brushing against yours when you see a sweet girl who's been really nice to you so far, waving your way. You knew her a bit from school and she wasn’t too in your face about making you socialize, just enough to make you leave your room.

“Utahime,” your dorm is right next to hers, she has been trying to get you to hang out but you're a tad introverted. And Satoru running around being all… hot and shit is just annoying. “How are you?”

“Good! Ugh, exams already though,” she shakes her head and sighs. “Listen I know you're not a party girl, but there's a really good one this weekend. You should come!”

You sigh. “I don't know…”

“Seriously there's the frat yeah, but they're like… a nerdy frat? If that makes sense.”

“It does not,” you both walk through the halls and outside, you take a little hint of sunshine, eyes shutting for a moment as you suck that in. “Nerdy huh?”

“Very, the mathletes of the Fratboys,” you can't help but laugh a bit. “It's at eight we can go together?”

“Sure,” she almost squeals, you shake your head. “Don't get too excited, I may go in there then run out.”

“No way it'll be fun!”

*****

Fun.

Fun is not a word you'd use to describe this party, seeing Satoru and all his friends – many of whom unfortunately recognize you – with girls all over them, chugging their drinks from their red solo cups. It smells far too much like axe body spray and victoria’s secret perfume, aside from Satoru’s fancy fucking cologne that permeated the heady atmosphere, straight to your senses.

That cologne that’s three hundred dollars a spray likely, that intoxicating scent that damn near makes you salivate, seeing his blue eyes over that cup, his lips pressed against the white edge of that cup. Everyone is surrounding him, he’s throwing his head back in that perfect laugh, blindingly white teeth glinting underneath the strobing led lights overhead.

You sip your drink as a guy comes up and tries to hit on you, but your mean little scowl makes him back up, Utahime is laughing as she watches them all run off.

“You really do hate parties, huh?”

“Just don’t want some loser touching all up on my ass,” you mumble, feeling the gaze of Satoru damn near burn you across the room. “But yeah, I do.”

“You should let loose and have some fun,” she teases, seeing where your gaze is headed, pausing. “Oh god, Satoru huh? He’s so pretentious.”

“Right?” You pause then, frowning a bit.

It was one thing for you to think it, to say it, but for some reason hearing anyone else say something bad about Satoru made you irritated, like you should defend the boy he was, not knowing the man he’s become. Would you ever really know, it’s not like he likely wanted more than a hook up judging from what you’ve seen and heard.

Yet you remember a different Satoru.

Or is he the same?

‘Look, this constellation is called Sagittarrius,’ Satoru’s thirteen-year-old voice echoed in your memory as clearly as if he was standing beside you now. His thick glasses slid down his nose, his Digimon t-shirt swallowed his lanky frame, the two of you sitting up on the roof of the school.

‘Like the sign?’ You asked curiously, you loved hearing Satoru talk about the stars – you just loved hearing him talk about anything.

There was a meteor shower that night, and a lot of students were coming up to join you all, to catch sight of something that you all would likely not see again until you were good and old. Satoru had his telescope set perfectly, looking down to see you sitting on the floor, pausing.

‘You’ll get cold,’ he had nervously snatched his sweater up off the railing, then knelt to you and slipped those sleeves up your arms. The warm fleece of the backwards hoodie made you tremble just a bit, your heart had been racing. ‘There.’

‘Oh, thank you Toru,’ that’s what you called him all those years ago, when you were hopelessly in puppy love with a boy that had his head in the clouds. Yet you were so sure maybe he saw you, too, especially in moments like that.

You had leaned close, wondering if that was to be your first kiss, only for him to awkwardly brush your hair back like you’re a puppy and he’s petting your damn ears.

‘You look cute like this,’ he’d said, his blue eyes were glowing behind those spectacles, and that was when you knew -

Gojo was it for you.

The dissonance between that boy and the man that was in front of you was hard to explain, Utahime didn’t likely know about the Satoru who’d cried when his favorite character died in his favorite anime, nor did she likely know that Magic card collection he used to have. How could someone meld the two versions together?

“Definitely pretentious,” you murmur thoughtfully, trying to act casual when you can’t take your eyes off him, and you hate that. Utahime snorts in laughter, snapping you back to the frat house’s chaos, away from your daydream.

“Oh god, he’s coming over here,” she grumbles, your fingers tightening around your plastic cup as he suddenly breaks away from his little fan club, blue eyes so goddamn bright they’re hard not to look at.

“Why’s he coming over to us!?” You panic, heart racing as he walks over, one hand with a cup in it, the other tossing a pong ball up and down.

Why was Gojo doing things with just one hand so damn attractive!? Why was he so attractive?

"Still allergic to fun?" Satoru asks Utahime with a mean little smirk, then looks at you. “The two most un- fun girls at my party, aw.”

“Un-fun isn’t a word,” Utahime says, snorting. “I’m just allergic to you.”

Satoru laughs at that, tossing the ball up and moving his hand behind himself to catch it, grinning right at you, earning a roll of your pretty eyes. God they’re pretty, he’s lost in them for a moment even as he puts on his show, plays the role of the frat leader that everyone loves so much.

He was having fun in this role, until you.

“So…” he tugs at a lock of your hair, you smack his hand. He tries to ignore the overwhelming desire to pull it as he hits it from the back.

Or with your lips wrapped, that dark lip shade he wants to smear with his tip, leaking pre from whatever scent that was you’ve always had… vanilla, sugary, something so… homey. He can’t describe it, but it’s nowhere but on you, he’d smelled that scent across the entire field the first time he locked eyes with you again, wondering if it was in his imagination at first.

“So what?” His gaze slips down to your fishnets, imagining the sound of them when he ripped them in half.

“Beer pong competition, are ya up for it?” He tosses it again, swirling the little ball between fingers too big to make sense, ones fucking you up.

“I’m not gonna stay here long,” you grumble, eyeing the large table surrounded by drunk college students. “I just… don’t do parties.”

“A game or two then, hmm? Or are you too scared to lose?”

You snatch the pong ball from his hand, earning his big grin.

“Not at all. Game on.”

If there’s anything you are – it’s competitive, and Satoru Gojo clearly is competitive from birth. Even when he was a nerdy boy, he had no problem decimating anyone in any subject, whether it was debate team or the mathletes, and beer pong was no different.

Pleased smirk on his face, he’s tossing the ball only for you to smack it out of the way on its bounce, making him fucking glare over at you. Satoru’s jaw sets when you bounce one and he flicks it so hard it smacks into the wall, making you glare right back. He tosses another and lands it right in your front cup with a splash, grinning diabolically in victory. 

You roll your eyes, leaning forward just a bit, making his eyes dart to those pretty tits in that lacy bustier that fucks with him to distraction. Satoru practically can see those nipples about to bounce out, imagining how perfect one of those peaks would be in his hungry mouth, fingers damn near itching to grip one.

God he hates whatever this effect is you have on him.

He fumbles the next ball because of the sight of them, earning your said tits bouncing, pointing at him and laughing like the little fucking menace you are. Everyone around you both has gathered, starting to place bets, making Satoru even angrier when several men check out that ass.

It’s not like you’re his, fuck you don’t even like him – and he knows it’s probably due to back then. But he’s pretty sure his mouth could make you like him, if you just gave him enough of a chance. Satoru clears his throat, shouting your name across the pong table, giving you pause now.

“Guess what?” He says, walking over to you, holding his hands up to signal a break, you walk to him, crossing your arms, the little open hoodie falling off a shoulder.

He runs his fingertips across the bare skin, making you tremble just a bit, eyes dilating from just that – that’s when he knows, despite all your shit talking and avoidance, you want him too. Maybe not as badly as he wants you, but it’s there, goosebumps on your skin, making you tug it up and raise a brow.

“What, scared I’ll beat you?” You demand, he just chuckles, shaking his head and yanking your messy ponytail too hard again. “You’re such an ass!”

“A bet, best two out of three wins,” he challenges, sipping his drink, a little bit dripping on his plump lips, making you ache to swipe it away with your fingers, but you hold yourself back, flushed now. “Ya up for it?”

“I’m up for anything,” he grins deviously, and you curse. “Shit what’s in that head, lemme guess – public humiliation?”

“Well it’s in my head now,” he sips that drink again, as if to torture you. Why do you have to be ovulating and also buzzed around him!? “But no, sweets.”

Your eyes roll. “What’s the bet, then?”

“Well…” His fingers slip across the line of your jaw, your breath catches in your throat at how good they feel. “You said anything, right?”

“Out with it.” You smack his hand off. “You’re a menace to society, truly.”

“Says you,” he steps too close – why is this fucker so tall by the way!? – making your head tilt back a bit, but you luckily have on heels, making you a little closer to his height.

Satoru loves that.

He loves that he could bend you over in those heels and stuff you so full of his cock, sure he’d have to bend down a bit, but you’re goddamn near the perfect height for it. Except his thoughts right now aren’t necessarily of him fucking your surely pretty cunt… no.

“If I lose, I’ll eat your pretty pussy out,” you gasp now, hating that his husky words in a voice that’s too sexy to belong to this nerd makes you throb around nothing. “What, haven’t you done it yet?”

“Sure I have,” Satoru scowls. “What, you think I’m a virgin?”

“No…” He wishes he could have it first, it’s a fucking batshit thought and nothing he’s ever felt.

He didn’t want a virgin and doesn’t care about a girl’s past, never has, he likes experience. But he’d love to have slipped inside your cunt first – came inside it, made sure it only knew his shape. Toxic nonsense but how can he not when it’s you, the girl who’s been in the back of his mind for most of his life?

“Then why are you blushing again?” He touches your cheek, lips curved up, you just narrow your eyes at him.

“M’not…”

“You always do around me,” his thumb slips down your jaw line. “I’ll eat you better than anyone, you won’t even be able to stand up when I’m done.”

“You’re the most conceited, cocky ass man ever I swear…” You trail off just a bit though, thinking about it, his long fingers inside you?

Fuck….

“Conceited, hmm?”

“Will you finger me too?” Satoru blinks in surprise, and you blush more. “Can’t use both at once? Amateur.”

“You’re a slutty little thing, aren’t you?”

He tilts your chin up, your silky locks falling partly out of that ponytail over your pretty face. God he’s leaking too much pre, sticking to his jeans to the point that anyone could see his huge dick print at this point.

“You want my fingers?”

“They’re… well, long, okay?” His laugh is deep ass, seductive ass way that isn’t even fair to your fucking ovaries. “Don’t get too flattered.”

“All right, I’ll use them both, since you’re greedy,” your walls clench just picturing those thick fingers, damn him. “If I lose, that is.”

“And if I lose?” You take a sip of your drink, and his face is devious. “Oh god, you want a blow job, huh?”

“You’ll still cum, sweetheart,” he taps your nose and it scrunches up, making him think how cute you were for an evil succubus. “You’ll get my fingers then too, but not my mouth.”

“Well…” That sounds like a win either way, it’s not like you don’t want that thick cock in your mouth, looking down at the outline then.

If you can fit it all, that is.

“If you lose I won’t get you off,” you just smile all meanly at him. “You can jerk it in front of me though.”

“You’re so evil,” he sighs, god he needs you – mean thing that you are. He’s shaking his head, snorting – as if he wasn’t going to jerk his cock eating your pussy. “Deal.”

“But just know… we aren’t cool, just…”

“Just you wanna fuck me?”

“Hah – no!? I’m horny and competitive,” you shove him now. “Go on, you’ve got a game to lose.”

“Psh,” Satoru thinks he’s still as in love with you as he’s always been, when you were a sweet little thing. God, maybe he’s more in love. “Practice working that jaw, you’ll need it.”

You scoff and shove his big ass again, running back to your side of the table, shaking your head and throwing another ball before he can register, landing another and grinning. “Hah! That’s three.”

“Lucky shots for an amateur,” a girl comes up to Satoru, whispering in his ear, making your heart sink.

Why?

He doesn’t even acknowledge her really, bright blue eyes glinting, throwing the ball and landing it, making you have to drink again. “What is it, sweets? Kinda busy beating the new girl.”

“Well, I just thought…” She trails her fingertips across Satoru’s abs over that thin white material, he grabs her wrist and stops her, shaking his head. “Oh, maybe another time?”

Not if he gets a taste of you, no – you’ll fucking ruin him – he can already feel it, but he smiles, she has hooked up with him before and is a sweet girl. He doesn’t know what happened but since the moment he locked eyes with you at the football practice he’s been far too obsessed with you.

Constantly thinking of how and when he’d see you again, obsessive insane thoughts running through his head, how you’d look bent over, those tattoos right on the backs of those thighs begging for his hands. Leave prints all over your bratty ass, littering you with marks – bites, lip prints, suck the skin on your neck until you’re bruised with him.

“I’m busy for the rest of the evening,” he says, shrugging at her, seeing the way you look at him from his peripherals. “But thanks.”

She frowns and walks away, you smirk like you’re fucking thrilled he sent her off. Satoru tosses the ball and it bounces, you smack it away easily. “Aw, ya jealous?”

“No!? Why would I be?” You lie to yourself as much as you lie to him, and he knows it, tossing another ball and landing it in your cup with a little splash.

“Drink,” he orders, you roll your eyes and pick up that red solo cup, putting your lips to it. “That’s one.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“I know,” Satoru blows you a kiss, and you flip him off, earning the whispers and laughter around you both, mingling with the loud thrum of the bass, the music playing. “You’re losing, aww look how many cups you have!”

“Shut it,” You toss the ball again, and it lands right in his cup, making him glare. “Okay, it’s on.”

“Distracted me, just a lucky one.”

Do you think she can beat Satoru?

No way, he’s always the winner.

Satoru wins at everything!

Do you think they want each other or… hate each other?

Hmm, both.

Both of you are drinking again as each ball lands, and Satoru notices those hips of yours swaying a bit to the music, the slutty pleated skirt riding up just a little when you lean forward. He’s grabbing a ball that’s fallen on the floor, far too close to those thighs, imagining ripping those fishnets before he buries his face.

He looks up at you while he’s down there, almost under your skirt, you gasp and shove him. “You perv!”

“Can’t get a glimpse before I lose?”

“So you admit you are gonna lose,” you’re snickering, and he can’t help but wonder – are you wearing a thong or boyshorts? He saw a hint of black lace. “Get back over there, stop staring.”

He presses a sneaky kiss on your thigh, grinning all boyish and cute, making your heart hammer, thighs pressing together at his proximity. It’s hard to remember all the differences between you both – the pretty boy, popular jock and you – the social outcast. Once, you both weren’t so different, and in that moment he looks like a nerdy little teenager.

Is he still in there, the boy your little pre teen heart fell for?

Satoru’s back on his side, throwing a ball and missing on purpose – for once he was okay losing if it meant drinking your pussy. He can’t help but imagine pressing his tongue against your wetness through the fabric, eating you over those panties until they’re a mess. He’s sure it’s soaked, he just wants to fucking get drunk on you, if he loses or not he’s planning on licking all that angst right out of you.

He tosses the next ball, making another horrible shot, he’s too distracted thinking of your pretty pussy. You laugh and toss yours and he catches it.

“Shit!”

“Drink up,” he grins, tossing another and landing it. “Two, sweetheart.”

“Ugh m’not your sweetheart,” you drink quickly, tossing it down your throat, feeling dizzy. You’re fine either way getting Gojo’s fingers, but the way he’s licking his lips makes you crave winning even more. You toss the ball and land it in his cup, making him just grin. “That’s three.”

“I’m still winning,” he says cockily, leaning forward again. “You’re not gonna win, baby.”

“You don’t know that, and I’m not your baby either,” you toss the ball, missing and cursing, he lands another one. “No fair, you were yapping too much!”

“Such a sore loser, drink.” Satoru leans on the table now all casual, just smirking at you all victorious. “That’s three, you’re about to lose.”

“No the fuck I’m not,” you toss the ball, missing again, he laughs. “Damn it!”

You change tactics then.

Leaning forward, breasts almost spilling out of your little cami top, fluttering your lashes with a pretty pout and looking right at him. “Satoru…”

Fuck, when you call him that? His heart hammers, already so warm from the drinks, he can’t stand what your eyes are doing, your lips still somehow swathed with that dark lipstick he wants to kiss off you, wants it dragged across your cheeks and smeared as you drool on him. He…

“You little…” He realizes you distracted him on purpose with your mean little smile, sinking another, now two up. “Your slutty tactics won’t work on me again, trust.”

Shit, she’s winning?

Putting twenty on her.

I’ll put twenty on Satoru!

It is best two out of three, and each of you has won a competition, making it go down to the last couple throws, the beer pong is so fucking serious it’s like it is some damn sports match. People have money exchanged placing bets, you’re surprised when people start chanting his name – not yours though, they just go – 

New girl!

“Distraction won’t work this time, sweetheart,” Satoru puts more emphasis on that word just to fuck with you. You sigh, rolling your eyes, throwing your shot in, sinking it then.

Oh shit.

You sink another, the alcohol making it even easier, laughing maniacally like an evil succubus, which he’s convinced that you are. You’re throwing those balls over and over, and he’s missing all his damn shots, as the entire frat and most of the sorority – along with many other students and all their friends, watch Satoru Gojo lose to a damn art student goth.

The Satoru Gojo!

Before you cognitively realize what’s happening, he’s got you up the flight of stairs in his room at the frat, and he’s kissing you so differently from back then, when he was clumsy and your noses hit, when his braces brushed against your lips. No, he’s messy and filthy with just that kiss, possessing your mouth, tongue fighting yours for dominance.

You both stumble in there, hungry and needy, you almost trip on your heels as you cling to him tighter than you should, cunt already dripping when his thigh presses between your. His hands are slipping down your body, plush lips drinking up moans you wish weren’t that loud, little desperate breaths as his lips trail down your throat.

“Fuck this is crazy…”

“Is it?” He asks, pulling back from sucking on your pulse point that’s fluttering frantically underneath your skin. “Do you want it?”

You swallow then, biting down on your lip, lashes lowering.

Fuck, that look almost does him in.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” your eyes lock up then, seeing the same boy for the briefest moment, even hidden behind the height, the broad shoulders underneath your fingers, the cocky attitude. “Bet or not.”

He was still Satoru somewhere.

Your answer is not in sweet little words, it’s taking those fingers and trailing them down your body, slowly letting his fingertips brush over your outfit, until they touch you underneath your skirt. He moans softly, feeling the soaking mess you’ve made them into, sticky as his fingers swirl around it.

“Your answer,” you manage to say, biting down so hard your lip almost bleeds when his fingers press up between your slit. “Mnh!”

“You’re not too drunk?” He asks quietly, you see it again, the care in his bright blue eyes, even when he clearly wants you.

“I’m not,” you answer softly. “A little buzzed, but in my right mind.”

“Don’t you hate me though?” He’s taunting you even as he’s sinking to his knees, huge hands pressing your skirt up, looking at you in a way that ruins you.

You did say it the last time you saw him.

‘I hate you for… breaking my heart!’ you’d run off in tears, not realizing the reason Satoru couldn’t be with you.

It was because he was scared of you being affected by the fact that none of his life – including love – would ever be his choice. Yet he stood there holding it all back, unable to say his true feelings, fucking tongue tied.

And the day you ran away he swore one day he’d make it right.

If making it right was done by him sinking to his knees in front of you, Satoru Gojo was ready for it – looking at the slick glimmering in your inner thigh, toying with the nylon of your stockings and grinning deviously then.

“Hmm, how much were these?”

You blink a bit, trying to act like you’re not trembling from his breath against your skin. “Like five bucks, why? Ah!”

Rip.

Satoru moans as he slowly rips himself a trail, exposing your overheated cunt underneath those panties, the dark spot there drooling. You’re shaking with need, head falling back against that door, pretending like you’re anything other than soaking wet and needy for him.

“Really? You could have just asked me to take them off!?”

“Not as hot that way,” he murmurs, lapping the slick off your thigh first like he’s thirsty, cursing softly then as your flavor hits. “Fuck…”

“Mnh!” That’s the only sound you’re able to make, nails pressing into his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself as his nose nudges you, as if he’s inhaling your essence, and then he opens his lips.

The first flick of Satoru Gojo’s tongue along your panties was torture, the way his pretty blue eyes looked up under those lashes was too much, him on his knees with his hands pressing into the meat of your hips. You gasp out, head falling back, your lashes fluttering shut, desperate little pathetic moan that doesn’t even make sense escaping your throat.

“Hah - cute little pussy,” he cooes those words, just endlessly annoying you even as he’s lapping at the cotton with his tongue, making it soaked. “Need something?”

“Y-you lost that bet,” you manage to whisper out. “So get to work.”

God, Satoru thinks he’s in love.

He tugs those panties to the side, looking at your perfect cunt, one he dreamed of jerking off so many times over the years it was just embarrassing, but nothing really prepares him for it. Glistening, puffy folds that are drooling for him, glossy and slick, your clit twitching when he lifts that hood and breathes on it ever so teasingly, making your nails press into his shoulders so hard they dig in and leave marks.

“Hah, you’re that soaked? I haven’t even started to touch you yet,” he taunts, swiping just his fingertip through the mess you’ve made, exhaling again and making your hips jerk. “Beer pong gets you wet?”

“Beating you at something did,” you whisper with a little satisfied smile, earning his glare, snowy lashes lowering. Then Satoru smacks your cunt, a sharp thwap echoing in his room, mingling with your panting breaths. “Ah!”

“You’re just so messy,” he’s grinning as you scowl down at him, hooking your thigh high now over a broad shoulder, so his tongue can tease your leaky hole for just a moment, groaning when your flavor soaks into his tastebuds. “You’re that easy for me, hmm?”

“F-fuck no m’not,” you’re trembling from a few flicks of his long pink tongue, hands enwrapping in those snowy locks. You don’t want to admit how good it feels – how good Satoru Gojo looks on his knees. “Will you just…”

“Just what? Ask me nice and I-”

You shove his face right against your cunt before finishing your sentence, and you feel that damn smile against your bare skin before he obliges eagerly, tongue slipping up your messy slit, gathering all that arousal that’s pooling. He drinks you up, his huge hands pressing on either side of the meat of your hips, picturing how good it’ll look when he hits it from the back.

Your eyes roll back in your skull – Satoru’s mouth had no right to be that talented, that hot and wet, he had no right to look so fucking good down there kneeling before you, his eyes locking so intense you can’t look away. Locked in the intimacy and rolling your hips as he moans from just your taste, your arousal pooling from your hole, already messy.

You struggle to cling to any sort of calm, you don’t want to act like you’re so affected, that long tongue slipping between your lips, flicking your little clit sharply. Fingers press into your flesh, parting your folds to open your hole for his tongue to fuck into, sticking the entirety of that pink muscle, letting those walls just flutter around it.

“Oh f-fuck…” Your back vibrates from the base of the music outside the little room the two of you are alone in, your lips still swollen from his kisses, mouth dropped open. “There, there!”

You’re not shy when you drag him where you need, Satoru moans, shifting on his knees and curling his tongue deep, spongy spot pressing and making you gush, so wet he’s missing rivulets, slipping down his pink lips, his chin. You’re rolling those hips like you’re riding his face, head slamming back hard with a thud, ragged gasps just urging him on more.

You’ve got him covered in your slick, his tongue lapping a filthy stripe with the flat of it, hands digging in and lifting your thigh higher and slipping a finger inside. “Oh my g-god…”

“You’re so tight, fuck…” He moans when he feels your cunt contracting on his fingers, spasming and drooling when he buries it to the knuckle, teeth nipping your clit with a sharp motion, you shove at him, screaming out now.

“D-don’t bite - oh m-my… gonna cum, gonna… stay…” You’re done trying to make sense of anything, you can’t remember why you were so hurt by him for so long.

You’ll think of that tomorrow.

Tonight?

You let Satoru swallow you, drink you up, hearing the slurp and the wet, messy noises echoing in your ears, fingers finding purchase in silky white locks and pulling at the roots.

“Oh yes,” he whispers, looking at you with blown out pupils. “Fuck my face, sweetheart.”

You’re doing just that, gliding your pretty cunt all over Satoru Gojo’s face – he slips two impossibly thick fingers inside you, buried to the hilt. You’re lost in it, cunt squelching and mixing with his own moans, his swallowing and gulping, you’re making noises you’ve never thought you could, screaming out and trembling as he pushes you over the edge.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, a little smirk on a face that’s embarrassingly soaked with your cunt, grippin’ his fingers so tight she’s sucking him in. “That’s it, lemme fuckin’ feel it, lemme see it sweetheart.”

You can’t remember exactly why you ever thought you ‘hated’ Gojo.

Deep down you know you’ll always love him, that he was it for you – terrified that this is just fun for him, and you’ll still go along with it. The way he makes you feel so fucking filthy yet precious, worshipped yet devoured, you lose all your senses but just how fucking good it feels.

Your thighs are shaky, he’s damn near holding you up while wetness drips down them, cumming so hard you can’t think, can’t see anything but white stars that blind you behind your closed eyes. “S-Satoru!”

Fuck, when you say his name?

Satoru palms his cock, throbbing and insistent, moaning at how fucking good your juices feel in his mouth, gulping them down – adam’s apple bobbing with every greedy swallow as he watches you come undone. He eases his thrusts of those long fingers, teasing flicks prolonging that orgasm until you lightly just squirt in little spurts down him.

“Look at you all fucked out,” you barely manage to open your eyes – Gojo looks positively ruined from drinking you, as fucked out as you are, his white hair sticking to his forehead just a bit, cheeks flushed pink.

How can he look that good?

He chuckles a bit – that cocky boy is still there – licking his lips as he pulls back slightly, fingers still buried deep inside you, curling just right, grinning as you jerk your hips.

“Too much, mnh!” You’re arching your back, tits bouncing at this angle he can’t help but imagine how you’ll ride his cock, which is leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his boxers.

He’s slipping those fingers out with a suctioned pop, the slick sound. Gojo brings them to his lips and slides the slick on his lips like a gloss, standing slowly, letting your thigh fall gently, you wobble.

“Aww, can’t stand? That fucked up from a little kiss?”

“Kiss!? You’re… so insane…”

Gojo is not just covered in you, he’s sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes dark aside from a light blue ring, and they’re fucking hungry. "So sweet for such a mean little girl.”

“Little girl,” you scoff, but you’re shaking, your own hands sliding up his chest, head falling back while he drinks you up, moaning. “You can’t call me that, m’not a little girl.”

“Bet you’ll call me daddy,” he taunts, you shake your head at him while he brushes your hair back gently. "Look at you, made such a mess of me."

You whimper – yeah you fucking whimper, damn him – clenching around nothing. "Not calling you that, but…”

He raises a brow, grinning. “But?”

You sigh. “You are… you do…”

“The best oral you’ve had?”

“Fuck you, yes,” he chuckles, for a moment his fingers brush your cheek, and you can’t help but lean close. You want him. “In this, you win. Not beer pong.”

“Tch, let you win,” you giggle – yeah you, you giggle then, the sound reminding him of a time long ago. He sighs now, studying your face carefully. “So, I’ll let you decide. You want more?"

Before you can answer, he leans in, kissing you deeply, you lean into it, arms wrapping his neck, sucking in a breath as you continue to pulse around nothing, nodding just a bit.

“Ah- ah,” he whispers, tilting your chin up, swapping your taste between you both. “You have to tell me.”

“Yes, I want more.” Satoru carries you over to the bed then with ease like it’s just nothing, the strong muscles underneath his skin bunching as he lays you on it, hovering over you and just looking then. “Satoru…”

“Want my cock to ruin your pretty cunt?” You didn’t expect that – the once nerdy, shy Gojo to say that, even now you’re at a loss for words, lips parting. “I have to warn you, no one will be able to hit it like me after.”

“You’re so conceited,” you mumble, but when he slips up your top and your tits bounce out for his view, you’re soaked all over again, still sticky from his spit coating your puffy folds.

That’s when Satoru is quiet.

Fuck your tits are so perfect, he can’t help but pause and grip them, feeling their weight in his palm, thumbs brushing them and watching the areolas tighten. “Oh just, look at how pretty they are.”

He’s not cocky then, no he’s enamored, lashes casting shadows as his mouth descends, sucking a nipple into it hungrily, flicking his tongue on that little piercing. You gasp out at it, his other hand gripping your left tit as he sucks your right, making you so sensitive. He moans, vibrating against your skin, your tummy clenched with hot need all over again.

“S’perfect,” his mumbled words mean way more than they should, your heart hammering in your chest like you are some little virgin again, all shy almost when he pulls back, kissing the soft mounds and pressing them together.

“Just fuck me, okay? Stop all… that.”

He chuckles a bit, sucking your other nipple with a messy pop, his fingers slipping over your trembling tummy to toy with your twitchy clit he’d just suck on, fingering the mess. “Stop what, the foreplay? Haven’t had much, huh?”

“Shut up - mnh!” He sinks a finger back inside, lips just an inch from yours, you taste the sweetness of him mixed with the alcohol from tonight, see his cheeks flushed with pink. “No, not really okay?”

“I’ll make up for it,” how could anyone get to touch your body, it makes him so angry, so possessive then that it’s nonsense. His hands glide over your curves before he flips you on your stomach, you gasp out. “Arch f’me.”

You do just that without thinking of a bratty retort, you’re not a submissive girl by any means and you still have so much hurt from Gojo, but you’re eagerly arching your ass, waiting for his cock. He unzips his pants eagerly, breath catching at the sight of your hole clenching around nothin’ in little spasms.

“She’s so needy,” his words mix with a trail of spit, spreading your cheeks wide, it slips from your puckered ass hole to your milky cunt in a bubbly trail. “Tell me what you want, use those words.”

“I told you, mnh! W-want you in me…”

“No,” he teases his fat cockhead through your glistening folds, huge hands gripping each ass cheek and watching them jiggle, mesmerized.

“What do you mean, no? Want your dick, okay?” Your words are slurred, about to cum when he slips his cock teasingly between your swollen folds, gliding with the mix of your slick and his spit.

The sounds are filthy as he fucks your thighs and nudges your cunt, not going in to torture you. “There, you have my dick.”

“I swear to – Gojo! Put it in,” you’re arching for more but he’s just pressing the fat of your cunt down so he can fuck your slit over and over, tip nudging your clit and making you gasp out. “Mmph!”

“What, did you want it inside you?”

“That’s what I s-said,” you’re close to cumming again from just his damn teasing, gripping those sheets underneath you. Your head falls back, Satoru leans on his knees and pulls it, making your spine curve.

“Want me to fuck your cunt raw, then? Cum inside her?” Satoru’s lost and pussy drunk, he’s never even fucked without a condom but he can’t imagine the barrier when he wants to feel those gummy walls on his cock.

“Y-yes,” you can’t believe you’re saying that shit then, but you’re too far gone, cunt still spasming, your nipples sensitive as they brush the soft fabric. “Just fuck me, god…”

“Impatient little thing,” his words are loving, his hands devotedly brushing up and down your waist, your hips. “I’ll give it to you.”

You look back at him, hair all falling over your face, Satoru pulls it into a pony tail, seeing the lightness of your irises swallowed by black, your lipstick all smeared off, revealing traces of the pink of your lips. You bite the lower one then, taking a shaky little breath.

“It’s just… mnh, sex?” You manage to ask, Satoru pauses then.

Of course it’s always just sex with him with any girl, he doesn’t get too attached, he doesn’t reveal all of himself.

Yet, for you? The girl who knew him way before, when he was just nerdy little Gojo playing DnD and a mathlete? You, whose eyes look drunk as you look back at him, your perfect ass arched in the air, fishnets ripped completely at the seams, the leftover material slightly pressing into your thighs.

You’re different, and he knows that, and it’s fucking terrifying, Satoru takes a breath then, gauging the situation, leaning over you to smack your ass, watching it bounce. He moans, smacking the other cheek, your cunt slips more and more sticky clear arousal out of it. He pulls at your hair, you eagerly arch.

You want him to dominate you – you, a dominant brat.

“Ya want me to make that perfect pussy cum? Over and over?” He asks softly, you swallow, nodding, hair tugging at the roots. “You want me to take you over, fuckin’ ruin you hmm?”

“Ruin me,” you gasp out, far past your usual act of hating Satoru. Maybe you do hate what he does to you, making a strong, dominant woman submit, beg, eagerly obey to his every command. But in that moment, you’d do anything to have that cock that he’s teasing deep inside. “Do it, fuck…”

“Say please,” you scoff, shaking your head.

“You say please,” you pull off and he drags you back, laughing softly, his teeth nipping your shoulder as his cock presses against your entrance. “Say it, – ‘please let me fuck your pussy’.”

“Hah, no,” when you clamp down on his tip that’s just barely popped into your hole, however? “Oh my f-fine, please, lemme fuck this pussy.”

You smile against the pillow he presses your head down on, arching impossible more than. “Then do it, Satoru.”

Satoru eases in at first, but then he fills you in three strokes, messy, filthy ones until your greedy cunt just sucks him up. “Oh my… g-god, s’tight baby fuck…”

“You’re s-so big I… mnh!” You want to be bitchy, you want to clap back, but all you can think of is just how full Satoru Gojo has stuffed you, how each drag of his cock is destroying your pussy, your mind, forgetting anything and everything but how good he feels throbbing inside of you.

“Perfect little cunt,” he mumbles, done for as he presses you down between your shoulder blades, easing back to watch your ass jiggle with every thrust, to see your greedy cunt suckin’ him up. “Look at you, takin’ me like this? Good girl.”

You want to laugh but…

You’re wetter.

Impossibly wet, every glide easier while Satoru Gojo buries his cock inside you to the hilt, hitting your cervix with every mean slap, his heavy balls hitting your clit as his fingers spread your ass cheeks, groaning at the sight. Your slick has coated all of his veiny length, every – fwap fwap fwap – sound echoing and mixing with the hum of the music lingering from outside the door.

Fuck any party, it’s just you, all you, surrounding and gripping his cock so good he can’t fucking stand it. He moans your name and it comes out like a whimper, but there’s no stopping anything from spilling from his lips, not when you’re taking him like that, not when he’s fucking your cunt so good all he can think of is making you his – all his.

Is it just sex? What a question, as if Satoru Gojo hasn’t been in love with you since he laid eyes on you, as if he didn’t jerk it to you the moment he saw you at that football practice with your slutty clothes, with those fishnets that still rest on your body, pressing into the flesh of your ass at the sides.

Ripped wide open he uses them as leverage, hearing your desperate shaky gasps around him, fucking into you so hard you scream out, head falling back. He moans and tugs at the black nylon, letting it press into your skin in little diamond patterns, cock twitching inside your slick heat.

That cock is so deep you feel him fucking everywhere, especially at this angle – bottoming out in your cunt finally and groaning in your ear, just the sounds of him alone are enough you’d record it and touch yourself to it. You don’t want to be so desperate, so needy, but you can’t stop it, not when he’s ruining you, not when his tip is pummeling your cervix.

The sounds echoing in the room are lewd, squishing, slapping, squelching, both of your whines high pitched and needy. Satoru’s grabbing your hips on either side now, drunker off you than off anything. He bites back nonsense like ‘i love you’ because he knows you still hate him, and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

Eventually, you’ll be all his.

For now – he fucks you brutally, but you want it, need it, crave it. Walls clamping down around his thickness like a vise, Satoru groans as you do, rocking his hips and feeling you start to spasm.

“Gonna cum again? So easy,” he whispers, as if he’s not two seconds from busting in your perfect cunt.

“Fuck off,” you respond back hoarsely, as if he’s not right, cocky ass hole that he is with his huge cock curving up deep in your snug channel. “Make me cum.”

He almost says ‘yes mommy’ but bites it back.

“Make you cum,” he grins and lays on top of you prone, his knee on one side of you, resting on an elbow and dragging you down his cock in a mean angle. “Then go ahead, let your slutty little hole squirt on me.”

“Ngh!” You’re shattering for him when he fucks you laying on top, cock moving your stomach with every filthy motion. You feel Satoru’s cock twitch inside you as your cunt spasms around him, clenching down so hard he groans – pressing his forehead to your shoulder, damp with perspiration, groaning softly.

His hand wraps your throat, taking you over completely, your eyes rolling back in your skull just blinded by pleasure, head falling back against his chest. His cock is stretching you beyond your means, but you’re so wet he’s slipping in even easier, squelching wetness dripping down between your thighs and his cock, slipping onto the blanket as he bruises that cervix.

“Takin’ it like you’re made for it,” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing that delicate earlobe, you grip that wrist of the hand wrapping your throat, pressing. “Ah, want me to choke you? You’re a slutty, needy girl, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you just press and nod, giving Satoru permission, giving him so much trust with his long fingers that now encircle your neck. “D-do it.”

Long fingers tighten on either side of your windpipe, his length moving in and out of that messy hole, pounding harder, seeing what you can take as he squeezes just a little more. The pleasure is too much, taking over your entire body – that heady, fuzzy feeling addictive, making you chase that feeling, that release.

When he kisses you?

That’s when you lose any control or act you had left – pretending like this will just be once, like you’re not still hopeless for him, like you’re not about to spill your feelings if he doesn’t choke you more.

“Harder,” is your weak little command, mascara streaking down your cheeks as he slams his cock bruisingly inside your pretty cunt. “Please.”

“Sayin’ please, hah – you’re such a good girl,” he knows it fucks you up, damn him, you can just tell his conceited self loves making you like this. You’ll let him have an ear full later.

For now you just let his cock reshape your entire cunt to mold to his shape, just like he said, overwhelmed by every sensation that washes through you. You cum so hard again you choke – his hands gripping so tightly they’ll leave little bruises on your skin, a messy drool line spilling from the corner of your mouth.

“That’s it, so pretty, just a mess,” he whispers in your ear, letting go of your throat so you can gasp in greedy gulps, his thumb swipes off that mess and his lips press on yours, drinking your cries.

Those narrow hips of his that were in a perfect rhythm stutter at that kiss, thrusts becoming just a little messy and erratic, your walls quivering and pushing him over the edge. “Mnh, fuck…”

“Feel too good,” he’s so drunk off your messy hole, so fucking close to pumping everything inside of you, lashes fluttering shut when he whimpers.

Fuck, did you make him whimper?

You are too fucked out to notice, the smacking sounds of his pelvis hitting your ass cheeks echo louder now, those big hands sliding down to grip your hips, fingers digging in possessively. He murmurs your name like a devotion, his breath ghosting across a shoulder blade, teeth nipping the sensitive curve of it.

"Feel her," he rasps, voice thick with lust. "Take me s’good... aw, sweetheart you’re wrecked."

You whimper as he pulls out almost entirely, leaving just the tip inside, teasing your entrance and then pressing back in. "Please," you choke out, arching. "Back in me."  

He’s so close, taking a breath and pausing, turning your face to him. “You want all this inside you, or painted on that perfect ass?”

There’s no hesitation, your eyes looking back at his, lidded and dazed, sweat slicked skin brushing against each other. “In me.”

Satoru’s done for at your hasty little reply – slamming back inside so deep it hurts, busting his load so deep against your cervix, balls contracting as they fill you to the brim, leaking down him with how your muscles contract. “Oh f-fuck…”

He has no words for how perfect it feels cumming inside your messy little hole, flooding those walls and coating them in white, slowing his strokes and making you feel every inch as it drags on the spots in those spongy walls. He’s crying out softly, fingers dipping into the crook of your waist, pumping impossibly more inside, until you’re both so sensitive you’re just messes.

“Took me like that?” He whispers, easing out of you and looking at the mess you’ve both made, his chest heaving up and down with his breaths, fingers skimming your pretty ass and brushing over marks blooming. “Did such a good job.”

You take a moment, just trembling – Satoru watches his milky seed pool and bubble out of your hole, fingering the sticky mess and slipping it in his lips, moaning out. “Did you… taste us?”

“Mmm, of course I am. You should too,” he flips you on your back, leaning over you, your hands slip up his shoulders when the intimacy catches you, when he pours his own cum right back in your mouth. “Swallow.”

You obediently listen, before kissing him again, his still semi hard cock heavy against your inner thigh, even more spurts of white pumping hot and sticky. You’re shaking, breaths coming quicker and quicker, strings of saliva and white dripping between your lips. You taste his cum off him, the action so filthy, his fingers nudging the mess to shove it right back in your hole.

“Ah! Too much, j-jerk,” you huff, he chuckles then, shaking his head and sighing, lifting your thighs to spread them and eye that pretty sight of an utterly destroyed and puffy cunt. “You’re just… looking at it!”

“Yes I am, I beat it up,” he has the audacity to whistle, when there are knocks on the door. He glares back at it as you close your thighs, sucking in a breath at how sore you are. “What?”

“Gojo, they’re all saying you’re a little bitch for losing to a girl,” you snicker and Satoru scowls deeper. “Sukuna is saying he’ll stomp your ass at the keg stand record too.”

“Tch, he fucking wishes,” he sighs, not about to leave you, but you’re already standing, shaky legs having you almost wobbling. “Give me a bit.”

“You’re good, promise,” you murmur, grabbing your top and slipping it over you, he aches when he watches those tits gently bounce. “I should get going, I have a big ass test in the morning.”

“Leaving already?” He frowns, standing with his cock just hanging, your tummy clenches at the sight of it, with white and clear strands all around the thick length.

“I should,” you murmur, stepping back a bit when he comes close, leaning down over you. Your back against the wall, his palm on one side of your head. “You’re still naked, Satoru.”

“Sure am,” he nudges his cock again, slipping between your pressed thighs, earning a desperate little whine. “You don’t have to go.”

He hates how vulnerable he sounds, him so desperate, but he’s never felt anything like you, like that, the moments you took his breath away not just with sex, but with everything about you. “You don’t wanna win?”

“Of course I do,” you laugh, softly then, knowing if you stay – you’ll fall all over again, for this different Gojo who still has your heart. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay the night.”

“I don’t wanna make it weird,” he opens his lips and you lean up, a hand entangled in his hair. “I… Is this just once?”

Satoru swallows nervously, looking at you carefully. “I don’t know, is it?”

You both just stand there, you don’t know how to answer his question – with so much left unsaid, but you press a quick kiss on his lips before you talk yourself out of it, and then just run out of the room.

He leans his head on that door, fists clenching, trying to think of anything he could say. He could say – no, it’s not just sex, not with you, how could it be?

But he froze.

You’re leaning against that door – heart hammering in your chest, a palm on it to feel it racing, head resting for just a moment until people start running around, too close to you. You try to gather your bearings, try to remember that it was likely a hook up for him, and you couldn’t do it again.

No way, when he almost casually fucked an I love you from his lips.

That night you dream of him, waking up in a cold sweat, staring at the mirror and seeing how fucked up you were off him.

Surely, he went back to playing games.

That night Satoru lays there, sighing and swiping a hand down his face, turning in bed that night, touching the rumpled sheets, inhaling your scent off that pillow.

This can’t be the only fucking time.

There’s never really been anyone but you, but especially now he realizes, he’s ruined from you.

*****

“Need a ride?” The voice echoes outside, and you know exactly who it is.

It’s piss pouring rain a week later, you’d avoided Satoru like the plague since then, you didn’t even have a number if you wanted to reach out.

What would you even say – oh hey, childhood crush of mine, I apparently got fucked so dumb I’m prety sure I’m still in love?

No way.

Yet there’s his voice, there’s his presence right next to you now, too close – when you stand under the awning in front of one of the college buildings, the sound of it pounding on the metal makes you almost tired, looking up to see Satoru with an umbrella in his hand.

“I’ll wait it out,” you mumble, the last thing you need is to jump him the way you keep thinking of, to say dumb shit that’ll make him run away again.

That’s your biggest fear, really, that he’ll just run off like he did that year after your kiss, that he’ll move on and this was just fun, a challenge, a fling. A guy like Satoru could just have whoever he wanted, he’s so unserious, you’re sure you’re the one who is concocting it all inside your mind.

“It’ll be raining all afternoon,” he says then, thumb slipping up the screen on his phone, raising a brow at you. “And all night.”

“Shit… I mean I don’t have too far to go, maybe you can… be generous and just lend me your umbrella?”

“Or maybe,” he leans close now, silky white locks falling over his brow, cupping your face. “You can stop being so stubborn and take a fucking ride.”

Your heart is racing, you’re ovulating and you shouldn’t be near Mr. Broke your heart, Mr. Three hundred dollar a spray cologne, especially with the rain enshrouding you both, with his heat too close. You clear your throat and press your hand on a chest that’s too hard, too muscular, too warm.

“I’m good.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow at you, a vein pressed up underneath his skin. “Just take a ride, I won’t… try shit if that’s your concern. You pretty much made it clear you only wanted it once, I get it okay?”

You blink then, stepping back. “You think… I don’t ever think you’d try something, okay? That’s not it.”

“It’s not?” His brows draw together. “You don’t regret it?”

“No,” you shake your head, sighing then. “I didn’t know you were thinking that way about it.”

“How am I supposed to think?” There’s a harshness to his words then, your hands still resting as he steps even closer. “You haven’t said shit since you darted out of my room, drippin’ my cum.”

You almost whine out then and there, shaking your head again. You can’t say the truth – that it scared you, the intensity, the feelings.

“I had fun that night,” that’s an understatement. “A lot of fun, yeah? You felt… good in me.”

He almost moans out loud, looking at your pretty lashes lowering, this long pointed line of eyeliner just a little smudged off each eye. He runs a hand down the small of your back as people rush off to their cars, hidden under umbrellas or jackets over their heads.

“Yeah?” He asks softly, you roll those pretty eyes at him.

“You already know I liked it, it’s just… do we do it more or… do we just forget it?”

“Forget it?” His brows lower then, the thunder clapping from the distance. “You think I’d forget?”

“It’s probably not shit to you,” he glares, his jaw setting now. “You should go before the storm gets bad.”

“And you’re coming with me.”

“You can't just tell me what to do –” Satoru is already grabbing your hand, pulling you toward the parking lot. His umbrella pops open, a big clear one that you instantly recognize.

It's the same he had the day you met all those years ago.

Affection tears at your chest though you feign the irritation when he's tugging you under it, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close. The proximity makes you too warm, tugged against his lithe frame while the rain pours, wind picking up.

You weren't dressed for soaking rain clearly, shivering when your boots rushed across forming puddles on the road, cold droplets hitting your bare legs. You're still firmly pressed against his side, feeling the heat of him through his letterman's jacket, smelling that familiar expensive ass cologne mixed with rain. Thunder cracks overhead, making you jump just a bit, and his grip tightens.

“Almost there,” He's calming when he speaks, almost soothing actually, you swallow nervously, heart hammering as you remember the last time you saw him.

Underneath him.

His fingers pressing into your throat, cock wrecking you. Fuck you hadn't been able to even walk the next day, you'd taken a day from classes to just soak in the bath. He had every right to be cocky when it came not just to his size but how he worked it.

It makes you blush thinking how he'd been inside you, you hardly can focus on anything but the burning memories in your brain as you get to his pretty silver sports car.

"Shit it's gonna get bad, let’s go," he mutters, fumbling with his keys when you reach the Mercedes, rain pelting the sleek black exterior. His hands are shaking – from cold or something else, you can't tell. The locks finally beep and he's yanking the passenger door open, you rush inside before you watch him jogging around to the driver's side.

His door slams shut behind him, pushing to start the car and letting the heat start up, shaking off the umbrella into the back seat as the storm worsens around you both. Suddenly it's quiet, just the muffled drumming of rain on the windshield, soft music turns on when he presses the button.

You're both just a little out of breath, a couple little drops of water dripping from your hair down your neck, the heat warming you as you shiver. The windows are already starting to fog just a bit from the condensations and your breaths.

“You good?” He asks then, you nod quickly, holding your books close to your lap for a moment. “Any new cool drawings of me?”

“You wish,” he chuckles just a bit, looking back and putting an arm over the back of your seat, looking impossibly attractive as he backs up, the line of his jaw illuminated with a little flash of lightning.

You could draw him right now, too damn attractive to even exist, his blue eyes flickering across your face for a brief moment. “You’re quiet.”

“Well, I’m quiet in general,” he scoffs, turning to start down the quick little road towards your dorm. “What? I am.”

“You weren’t quiet underneath me,” you roll your eyes and glare all cute, his jaw sets a bit, tongue against his cheek. “Did you not wanna do it again?”

“I just figured it was… the bet, the drinks, the…”

“Yeah, you think all that?” You don’t know what to fucking think.

“Doesn’t that happen a lot at your parties?”

“Ya callin’ me a slut?”

“Very much so, I’ve heard of many escapades.” Satoru snorts and shakes his head, hand turning the wheel with ease. There’s something so comfy and homey about being around him again, even with the awkward tension lingering.

You remember so much.

“It’s raining bad, here,” Satoru held an umbrella up for you, smiling all nervous, his cute little bowtie just askew, glasses fogged up from the rain pouring.

“Oh, thanks…” You’re not a talker, you’re a little shy, and now a boy is talking to you. He brushes the damp strands of your hair back, and you look up at the clear umbrella, watching the rain pummel it, bouncing off in a little halo around you both in the darkness.

“You should carry one, y’know.”

“Yeah, I always forget,” you mumble, you’re so close to him. “You’re Satoru Gojo, right?”

“You know me?” He blushes and you do just the same, he turns a bit. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you waiting on your parents?”

You almost laugh.

It’s not like your parents would ever pick you up, half the time they forget to get anything for you to pack for lunch. “No.”

“My driver will be here soon,” you blink in confusion, he uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, my parents don’t pick me up either.”

“So they suck too.”

He laughs, a little nervous one, before sobering up. “Do yours suck?”

“Bad,” you mumble. “I’ll be okay if I get a little closer to-”

“Let me have them drive you, they make plenty of money, not like they’ll mind.”

“I couldn’t!”

“Sure you can,” he takes your hand then. “Come on.”

“You’re very quiet now,” his voice breaks your day dream, you realize you’re already in front of your dorm, having been lost in the memory. “Where’s that pretty head at?”

Pretty.

Satoru called you pretty.

A lot of people do, it’s not like men don’t shoot their shot at you, it’s more… you’re uninterested in them all. The men you’ve been with have just been out of boredom or craving experience. Yet when he says it, there are two different feelings. 

One, he means it. Two, he just says that.

You see the girls around him constantly, you’d even snuck into his game to watch him the other day – not that you’d ever admit it. He was truly amazing, not just ‘some jock’ no – he excelled at it. Everyone cheered his name, girls all around him, men even cheering for him, everyone around the school as you hid behind the standing crowd, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Satoru probably wouldn’t even consider you now, if he didn’t then.

“Just thinking I guess, of that time we met,” shit, you hadn’t meant to let it slip like that, but it’s there, lingering in the warmth of his car. “You had a whole driver.”

“Yeah, I guess I still could, but now I am on my own,” you blink a bit at that, seeing his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “They wanted to mold me into their perfect CEO and I really make ‘em mad, not mad enough to fuck my trust fund though.”

“Hence this,” you brush a finger on his gear shift, he grins. “I kind of told my parents to fuck off too. Art school is not it.”

“Especially after they were mad you wanted to do astronomy,” your lips part. “Yeah, I remember.”

“And now you’re doing it.”

“Astrophysics, yes,” he sighs, relaxing just a bit. “I kind of think I wanna teach it one day. Is it weird to think, a rich heir of the Gojo corp wanting to teach?”

“No, I think that shit’s cool as fuck,” he turns toward you, lips quirking up. Lips that were all over your body, a mouth that was on your pussy. The memories have your heart pounding in your ribcage like it’s just gonna fall out, hands gripping the papers, seeing the storm still raging. “You always were meant to study those stars.”

Satoru can’t take it.

He can’t take knowing he could have had years of this, of a high school sweetheart by his side, but he pushed it off – he thought for your own good, but now he sees the damage. In every apprehensive movement, in every bite of your lips that are just a little chapped from the chill.

“You think that?”

You turn your head, and he’s close – too close, so much so you taste his breath on yours, something sweet and so Gojo. You nod just a bit, leaning into his touch when he runs the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, the one reacting to his touch by getting so warm,

“I do.”

You can’t stop yourself from kissing him then and there – you lean and kiss him this time – his lips pause just a brief moment, parting in shock, before his arm wraps you, dragging you against him, a soft moan drank into your own mouth. The kiss means more than you can even admit, than you can comprehend in that heady moment, warm and cozy as it is sensual.

You’re leaning back in the passenger seat of Satoru’s fancy Mercedes benz, ostentatious and annoying sure, yet – you love it, you love being in there with him. You love the rain bouncing on the windshield and creating a halo around the car, enshrouding the two of you.

You love his lips on yours, love his hand entangling in your hair, his teeth nipping your lower lip hungrily, pushing him to sit as you take over the kiss now. He lets you eagerly, your hand slipping down his flat stomach, feeling each rippling muscle over his soft tee shirt, the windshield wipers flicking rain side to side with quick clicks.

“Fuck,” he murmurs then, looking up at you, pink cheeked and big blue eyes blown out. You see it then.

The boy he was.

Your first kiss, your first love.

Your kisses move down his neck, hearing his hitches of breath, a hand gripping your little black sweater as his head falls to the side for you. At this moment he’s not cocky Satoru Gojo – all star, no he’s soft and sweet, cock tenting his jeans when you rub him over it.

“Keep doin’ that and I’ll die, sweetheart,” he mumbles, you can’t help but giggle, the sound making him leak more. “I’m serious.”

“You mean you’ll cum?” You tease now, pulling back and turning so you’re on your knees in the passenger.

Satoru’s heart pounds in his chest, he’s experienced of course but thinking of you sucking him is like some insane dream that he can’t believe exists. He tries to keep it together, brushing your hair back when it falls to the side like a curtain hiding your pretty face, your movements firmer over his thickness.

“Yeah, I’ll cum,” he manages to breathe out.

“Good.” Satoru’s lips part when you undo his belt buckle, his own chest rising and falling with his quick breaths.

“Thought you said only once?” He taunts, when you eagerly unzip him, pressing your thighs together with need. You scoff, rolling your eyes and then swallowing nervously when you see his cock.

“I never said that. You just thought it.”

You had it inside of you, but you didn’t really see it, pink tip leaking so much pre, it’s fat and thick, so big you know it’ll choke you. You spit down on it, earning his surprised gasp, swirling the stream of spit around his cockhead then ever so slowly, feeling his hand entangle in your silky locks.

“Mmm!” His little moan makes you ache.

“Haven’t had a good blow job I bet,” you taunt him like he did. Satoru snorts then, but once your lips wrap his tip, he’s whining out. You giggle as you pull back, and he grips your hair harder, tugging you up. “You just whimpered.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, cock already pushing more milky drops out of that little hole. “Thought you hated me?”

You don’t, not really.

“Don’t you hate me?” You ask, he lowers his gaze.

No.

“You’re just a mean ass brat, that’s all,” he says softly, touching your bottom lip and feeling the plush of it. His hands are rough from years of football, slipping across your skin. “The emo girl, so edgy.”

“Edgy?” It’s too intimate, making you swallow nervously. “Do you want me to suck you, Satoru?”

His answer is a little nod, before he says something fucking dumb, and you lavish his tip with your tongue, swirling it around and sucking hard enough to make him cry out before he can control it, arching his hips up for more of your mouth. You push your mouth down deeper, taking as much of his thick cock as you can, gagging yourself a little and making that drool spill.

“Oh f-fuckkk,” he’s moaning now, feeling you sucking him up and down deeper into your throat as the rain pummels the windshield out side. You feel tears pricking your eyes when he hits the back of your throat – he’s thick and long and you can’t fit him all at this angle, but you make sure to fucking try. “Just like that.”

Your spit coats him and makes him glossy as your hand moves in time with every messy stroke, filthy suctioned pops and the gagging in your throat mixing with that thrumming rain in the background and Satoru’s breathy cries. Those fingers tighten in your hair, forcing you down even harder as you work him, hearing every hitched breath escaping his lips.

“That’s it, g-god you’re s’good,” he’s babbling, every time he hits your throat your core clenches, cunt dripping, soaking through your panties. He senses it or something, reaching around to rub his fingers over them, cursing softly. “Ya this wet suckin’ me off, soaked…”

You want to tell him to fuck off – that’s sort of your love language – but you are that needy, that desperate, every glide of his cock in your throat making you choke on him. You breathe through your nose, letting him fuck up into it, stroking your clit with his impossibly long arm reached around your arched ass.

Your throat flutters around his cock, he’s so sensitive then, feeling your little throat stretch, forcing your head down even deeper. Your long nails dig into the denim, pressing against his thighs, ass working up and down, dying for more when he just teases your slit instead.

“Mnh…” You’re moaning, your eyes watering with the stretch, with the need building for the boy you loved.

Love.

You still love him, you know it even as you act so casually, when it’s intimate, all of it – Satoru’s ragged groans, the drumming rain, your slick sounds as you choke on his length. His salty pre pulsing against your tongue as you drag him closer, your own drool slipping down your hand, feeling him thicken in your mouth.

Satoru arches against the leather seat, his trembling fingers of his left hand guide your head, while his right ones continue to toy with the mess your panties have become, snug on your plump pussy. 

“Taking all of me?” He huffs out, your answer is a whimper.  “Oh sweetheart, y-you…” His voice breaks when you glance up through smudged eyelashes, your dark mascara trailing down your cheeks from where you’ve gagged on him. “You’re so goddamn pretty like this.”

“Mmm…” You pull back a bit, spit collected in strings as you look up at him – his face is flushed, pupils blown dark, lips parted, he’s utterly wrecked. “I want your cum in my mouth.”

You’re a demon, Satoru is sure of it.

You’re sucking that throbbing cock again harder, taking him even deeper than you thought you could, when he yanks you up suddenly by your hair. You gasp – thrown on his lap so quickly you’re dizzy, he drags you down for a kiss, lapping his own cock off your lips. “No, I wanna cum inside that pretty cunt.”

Satoru lifts your hips up so you’re on your knees and grips his sticky cock at the base, his pretty tip already spurting white when it bumps your clit, you’re clinging to him, thighs shaking.

“Satoru, what are you doing…”

That cock gliding against puffy folds sends hot waves of pleasure through your mind, making you whimper against his mouth as rain drums harder on the roof. The windows are completely fogged now, the car humid, leather sticking to your thighs as you sink down on him, that gear shift pressing on your thigh when he sinks inside, stretching you out.

“Too tight,” he murmurs, pulling back and spitting on his tip, smearing it before slipping it back to your hole, pushing in a couple more inches. “Take me, go ahead, lemme see you.”

Your nails press into his shoulders over that jacket as you move just a bit, angling so you’re gliding easier and easier on him, ragged little gasp escaping as he shoves you down even harder, filling you to the fucking brim suddenly, both of you gasping out, your head falling back for his mouth to press kisses up it.

"Fuck – so deep I – ah!" You're so full, stretched around him in the cramped space, your back hitting the steering wheel as he grips your hips and guides you down further. "S'too much, I can't–"

"You can," he breathes out, forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes hazy and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. "Take all of me, sweetheart. Please..."

That undoes you.

‘Please.’

You're riding him now, gliding up and down on his lengthy cock, steering wheel against your ass, his hands lifting you and slamming you down. They're everywhere he can reach, almost fumbling in his eagerness to claim every part of you. Grippin' him too tight, you're not stretched enough to take him so she's strangling his cock.

His hands slip from your ass up to your tits, one gripping and squishing it while the other moves to your throat – like he can't decide where to touch, like he needs all of you underneath his fingers then and there. Rain streaks down the windows in fat drops, the world outside completely disappearing.

It's just his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars, just his eyes, just his lips, just that tip grinding on your cervix, white soft hair over his cock grinding your neglected clit. You reach down to toy with it when he grips your wrist, leaning back and putting his thumb there instead.

"Need your cute little clit played with?" He huffs those words out, you nod eagerly, no pretense left, whining and grinding. "There you go, look at you riding me."

"Gonna cum," you gasp out, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, little circles working faster. "Satoru, I'm–"

"Look at me," he demands, hand cupping your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. "Wanna see you fall apart on my cock."

You do just as he asks then, like you're obeying his soft, sweet little demand – clenching around him as pleasure crashes through you, and he follows with a broken moan of your name, spilling inside you as he pulls you impossibly closer. His cum spills down him with that gravity, but he keeps lifting you and lowering you gently, his lips never leaving yours.

You fall into the kisses, into the aftermath that’s so heavy, the very atmosphere so thick with tension that both of you can't breathe, the heat still blaring, bringing a slick of sweat to your skin. His palms reach underneath your top, slipping up your spine soothingly, his eyes fucked out and dilated.

What does he say?

What do you say?

You're both breathing hard, bodies still connected so intimately the lightening pattering of rain the only sound now aside from that, you hear your own racing heart just thudding in your ears. The rough pad of his thumb traces your cheekbone, wiping away a little streak of smudged mascara, and there's something in his expression that makes your heart ache.

"That was…" He starts to say something, but it wouldn’t even come close to describing what just happens. He just… trails off slowly, swallowing

‘Just sex’, ‘just fun’, you keep thinking, waiting for him to say it. ‘Such a fun hookup’. Just–

"Y-yeah," you whisper, climbing off him before he can finish, before you hear words that'll shatter you, your guard is already down, you’re already too terrified of what may be the truth.

You thought you could have control, but you pounced him, you sucked him and begged for him to cum inside you again. You’re struggling to control your racing mind then as the leather squeaks underneath your movements. You adjust your clothes with shaking hands, fumbling with your zipper, slipping over to the other side, just lost in your own fucking brain.

Does he feel anything? Or is this just another conquest, another girl in his car. Some fun with a girl of his past?

"Wait–" His hand catches your wrist, but you're already reaching for the door handle, gathering your books in your arms.

"It's fine, Satoru. The rain... it's all lightened up now."

"Just wait a minute, fuck," he exhales, tugging you close against him, you still feel cum dripping from your cunt, so intimate - something about it, about how he just looked at you, even now, cupping your face, drowning in you. "What are you doing tonight, hmm? Drawing me as a cat in some emo ass outfit, staring out your window all sad?"

You can't help but laugh a little, the tension easing just the smallest bit. You’re shaking your head. "No, I’m not drawing you tonight."

"Ah," he adjusts himself, sighing, looking as the rain eases, a light drizzle now. "I have a party tonight, maybe we can redo that beer pong match?"

"You want your ass beat again?" He smirks, it's easy again, so much fucking left unsaid between you both however, tension filling his little car.

"If you think you can beat me, by all means sweetheart," he tilts your chin up, sighing now. "We didn't talk about..."

"I'm on the pill," you murmur softly, clearing your throat and seeing his eyes dart to your skirt, his thumb slipping up your inner thigh, touching the creamy drips slipping down. "And I'm clean, I've never not used protection."

"I haven't either," a faint blush decorates his cheeks.

"Really?"

"Yeah, we seem to... get caught up," he manages to say, as if he doesn't just wanna cum inside you for all kinds of reasons. Possessive, insane fucking reasons. "So I am too."

"That's good to know, like if you ever…” You trail off, blushing now. “You know, hook up regularly with someone else... Will you tell me?" You ask, brushing your hair back.

"Yeah, of course," as if there's anyone but you in his fucking mind now. "Would you tell me?"

"Not much chance of that happening, I don't like people," he chuckles, then the laugh grows, throwing his head back, earning your scowl. "What is so funny, hmm?"

"You hate me but you sure have no problem cumming all over my cock," his hand entangles in the nape of your neck, tugging and making you gasp out in pleasure. "Or do you actually like me?"

"Psh, you wish," you love his ass, even now you fucking know it, but you can't let him know. That little girl deep inside you still hurts. "Do you even like me?"

"Maybe I do," he smiles too fucking cute. You roll your eyes at him. "You think I don't like you? Should I show you how much, pretty girl?"

"Pretty girl, you're so cringe Toru... I mean... Satoru," you called him that name you did as a kid, it makes his heart hammer in his chest.

"Can't call ya pretty?”

"I mean you can," he chuckles again. "What!?"

"Your blush, it's all over your neck, even your chest," he says all husky, tugging at your top and exhaling, studying the blush your skin has taken. "Blush everywhere, you like me calling you pretty."

You do.

But fuck saying that.

"I'm just overheated," he smirks, lidded gaze penetrating through you, the soft sloshing of mist still making noise on the road around you both. "That's all."

"Mmm, sure sweets," you gather your things carefully, trying to avoid that knowing, cocky ass gaze of Satoru Gojo's. "Will you come?"

"You're actually inviting me huh?" He nods. "All right, what time?"

"Ten ish, come whenever, I'll be ready for the rematch."

*****

Seeing Satoru at that party tonight was a rude awakening.

The girls and guys around him as always, they’d just nailed a game – yeah, you watched it again, damn near incognito in your hoodie, the way he ran across that damn field was more than impressive, it was insane. He so clearly had fun too, seeing him after with all his friends and the entirety of the college almost cheering.

Tonight was absolutely a celebration of the team, and a celebration of Satoru himself. Bright, laughing, beautiful Gojo, catching sight of you from across that room, lips parted ever so slightly, before smiling at you. You’re nervous suddenly, you’ve worn this little red plaid skirt and another pair of fishnets.

You’re praying he’ll rip those too.

It’s toxic of you, you’d just had him inside of you in the car earlier, but all you can think is how much more you need – let him fill you constantly, let him touch you anywhere he wants. Yet you realize when you look around the crowded frathouse, with the music blaring and everyone hyped up from the game?

You’ll never, ever fit in, never be that cute girl by his side who is murmuring something in his ear. You’re not peppy, you’re not ‘full of school spirit’ , you're just a girl hopelessly in love with a boy you don’t know anymore. You really do want to learn more of him, you can’t help but think of how badly you do.

Can you let go of the past with no explanation?

Are you overthinking it?

You’re so lost in thought you don’t notice a guy asking you to dance with him, he’s all sweaty and his cheeks are flushed, you straight up say – no – and then say that to the next guy that comes up too, as Satoru tries to make a way over to you. You’re so uncomfortable then, you can hardly take it.

He’s so far away, in too many ways, every motion closer he’s stopped by someone gushing over him. Satoru Gojo, the most popular boy in school, whose eyes keep locking on you. Instead of coming over to him however, you just go grab a drink hastily, downing it and feeling tears burn your eyes.

Why?

Why were you this affected? And you chose it, asking him to come inside you not once but twice, kissing him and initiating it, begging to suck him. He brings out things that are too hard to admit, too hard to let rise to the surface, making you remember the girl you were back then, when you came really far to be the woman you are now.

“Sweetheart,” his murmur touches you, his hand on your waist, you blush nervously, looking around. “You came.”

“Um, yeah, Satoru, they'll think…”

“Think what?” His words make you tremble, tilting your chin up a bit when he gets called over again. He sighs, rolling his eyes and looking back.

“Speech, speech!”

“They’re annoying,” he grumbles. You shake your head, trembling lips curving in a weird attempt at a smile.

“Go ahead all star, give ‘em the speech.”

You watch a bit of it before you can’t anymore, maybe he’s looking at you still? You’re not sure. Every time you peek up his smile lights the entire room, people are cheering loudly, chanting his name. He owns them entirely, owns this moment.

You turn and someone bumps into you harshly, beer spills onto your skirt. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing paper towels and dabbing at the wet stain.

“Let me help?” He asks, you feel like crying from something this dumb!?

What’s wrong with you?

“No, it’s fine really,” you clean yourself up, heading through the crowded room of bodies slowly, making your way, looking over your shoulder and losing sight of him.

You shouldn’t have come.

The party's too loud, too crowded, and you find yourself slipping out to the back porch, then further – to the patch of grass behind the frat house where the noise fades to a dull thrum. You're tugging at the ripped hem of your skirt, a little nervous habit you’ve grown to have, looking up at the sky, trying to find constellations through the light pollution.

You remember that night so vividly.

"Running away from my party?"

You don't even turn around, somehow you hoped he'd follow you out, feeling his warmth permeate from behind you. You lean back just a bit against him, eyes fluttering shut at how good it feels, strong hands pressing into your arms gently, slipping down and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Your party's giving me a headache," you mutter, not looking at him as he drops his hands, before sitting down beside you on the grass, you sit next to him, hugging yourself around your knees. "Too many people pretending to like each other."

"Grungy as ever," he teases, but there's something affectionate in his voice. He lies back on the soft bed of grass, hands behind his head, looking up. "Remember when we used to do this?"

Of course you do.

“Yeah, I remember,” you admit, resting your chin on your knees, so many feelings coming to the surface.

It’s a quiet, comfortable silence as the breeze gently blows your hair around your face, coolness brushing against your bare skin, doing nothing to calm how overheated you are, how many words are threatening to spill. Things you have been trying to hold back, to try to compartmentalize in your head.

You’re thinking too much about a physical connection, seeing how Satoru was and how you were? You’re too different, how would you fit into his world? And would he even ever want you to?

"You pointed out Cassiopeia,” he breaks the silence, you gasp, looking down at him, catching the glint of his pretty eyes in the night. “You said you wanted to study astronomy, map the stars, and get as far away from here as possible."

Your chest tightens. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything about you," he whispers, you tremble now, feeling emotions hot and heavy in your throat. “Every moment.”

“How? With your life now do you… remember me?”

“How could I not?” He tugs you down to lay next to him on that soft grass tickling your skin, you turn to your side and look at him. "So what happened? Why aren't you at some observatory right now, doing what you love? Or do you just… enjoy drawing them instead? That’s okay too, you know."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Life happened, I didn’t get the best grades for a scholarship. Money happened. But also yes, I did end up falling in love with art.”

Satoru brushes his fingers across your cheek, sighing. “You’re amazing at it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his gaze dips to your lips. “Do you ever draw the stars anymore?”

“No, I guess I don’t," you finally look up at him, fingers gripping around his wrist now, thumb brushing the veins that press up. "It was more you that I loved to…”

Shit.

His lips part as you trail off, shaking your head.

It was never the stars you loved, it was the boy who looked at them.

“What about you?” You ask instead, not ready to say it all. “You were supposed to go to MIT. Your family had it all planned out I think, from young even."

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing a bit. "Yeah, well. Fuck his plans."

You blink a bit, sensing his pain. "Oh, Satoru… I…"

“You don’t know, I never told you,” he turns back to look up at the stars, eyes fluttering shut. “All I was supposed to do was study business, finance, and take over the ‘family company’. All that bullshit. And that included…”

You lean closer, a hand on his chest, your eyelashes lowering just a bit as you study the boy you love. “Included what?”

You’re so beautiful then, with the glimmery stars as your background, perhaps the prettiest thing Satoru has ever seen, the combination of the two things he’s loved for so long. Your hair falls to the side like a curtain, he brushes the silky tresses back and sighs.

“They wouldn’t let me date you if I wanted to back then, not anyone… not from money. Because they’re fucking shit.”

“Oh,” you blink back tears. “And I…”

“I never wanted to hurt you with them,” he takes his own breath, leaning up on an elbow, bringing his lips so close. “I should have just told you, but then I was so scared, even when I finally got free of them… Well, you hated me.”

“Satoru, I never hated you, not really,” you’re swallowing down your tears now. “I just was hurt.”

“For good reason,” he muses, sighing now. “To answer your question, I’m not at Ivy league because they wanted me there. I want to study what I want, I’m playing ball because I like it, not because they ever wanted that. And I don’t regret it, despite how fucking mad they are."

“How can they be mad? You’re top at everything?”

He laughs without humor. “They’d only be happy if I married a rich girl, gave them heirs immediately, became a stuck up upper crust fuck. No amount of good grades made them proud, or accomplishments. I’m a Gojo, and that’s all I am supposed to be.”

You cup his face now, shaking your head, the warmth of his palm seeps into your bare skin at your waist, hair tickling his collar bone. “You’re much more than that, you’re… you’re Satoru, okay? Former nerd, conceited little shit, annoying ass Satoru.”

He chuckles then, shaking his head at you, sighing. “Yeah?” You just nod, swallowing down your emotions.

“You should have just told me.”

“I know,” he tilts your chin up a bit, tracing the curve of your jaw. “You know one good thing about being here? Being where you are, getting to kiss you again."

Your breath catches. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

You back off, blinking hot tears that slip down your cheeks. "Don't say shit like that when you've got cheerleaders waiting inside for you. When you're this,” you gesture at him, "And I'm still just..."

"Still just the girl who kissed me under the stars?” You shake your head, he’s pulling too many emotions and you don’t know how long you can hold them back. “The pretty artist, the mean little brat that has me fucked up over her?”

“Satoru…”

“The girl who wanted me for me,” his own emotions catch in his throat, swiping a tear that’s just a little black from your mascara. His voice drops an octave, spreading through you like honey. “You’re just the only person who ever made me want to be myself instead of what everyone else wanted?"

You're both quiet then as his words fall from his lips, the distant bass of the party thrumming and fading, the wind gently blowing his soft white hair around him. “I made you want that?”

“You accepted me for who I was, a nerd yeah,” you giggle through your tears, and Satoru laughs with you. “I never regretted anything more than just running away after that kiss. I was so scared of it, of everything I felt with you.”

“I was scared too,” you admit, swiping tears now. “I was mad at you for a long time.”

“Ya still mad?” He asks softly, tugging you onto his lap now, you brace yourself over him, your silhouette shaded by starlight. “I don’t want any of those girls.”

“But they’re-”

“Not you,” he cuts you off now, hands pressing into your hips as he sits up, kissing your brow. “They’re not you. They want the all star, popular, rich Satoru Gojo – they don’t want that skinny little nerd I was.”

He kisses your nose, a sweet little peck, your arms wrap his neck, feeling his cock pressing against your heat and exhaling, eyes locking. “I liked you as the skinny nerd, with your cute little braces. With your big glasses and how you didn’t know how to kiss for shit.”

Satoru glares now, you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You sucked back then too, you were just so pretty I didn’t say so.”

“You’re such an ass!” You playfully push him down onto the ground, only for him to flip your positions, hovering over you – and for just a moment, he's that nervous boy again, and you're that girl who loves him.

The space closes as he leans down, studying your face carefully. “You got much better at it, but I can’t help but be so fucking mad it wasn’t me who taught you.”

“Yeah, I feel the same,” you arch your hips, earning snowy lashes fluttering shut, his breath ghosting against your skin. “All those girls got you first.”

“Guess what?” He lifts a thigh, pressing his cock against your heat – you gasp out at it, biting down at your lip.

“W-what, manwhore fratboy,” he smirks.

“Slutty goth girl.”

“Conceited dick,” you’re arching for more, he pins your wrist to the soft earth below, weight pressing over you. “Say it, then.”

“I am still in love with that girl on the rooftop,” you take a shaky breath, breasts rising and falling then. “I never fell out of love with her. I was just fucking dumb and ran away, and I’m hoping she’ll forgive me, and that she’ll date a conceited jock idiot.”

“He’s still a nerd deep down,” you answer, lips trembling now. “You’re gonna make me mushy, you dick.”

“Good, I want to see mushy, I wanna see what’s under your mean little exterior,” he whispers, pressing again. “Like when you’re a mess underneath me.”

“Satoru…” You drag him down for a kiss, mouths clashing, tongues dancing along each other, the sound of his soft moan and the grass underneath you mixing with your little whimper. “Mmm, Satoru, I fucking love you too. Okay!?”

The words hang in the air between you both.

Satoru just stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you've never seen before. His lips part like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out, closing again, before his Adam's apple bobs up and down, taking a breath.

"You…" His voice cracks. "You still love me?"

“Of course I do dummy,” you whisper, but your own voice is shaking, vision swimming with all of those emotions coming to the surface. His forehead presses to yours, his hands trembling where they cup your face.

"I thought I'd fucked it up so bad that you'd never… that we'd never…"

“No, Satoru, you were just a kid,” you sigh now, tears slipping down your cheek. “I was scared that this was just fun with the weirdo from your past.”

“No, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, swiping more of your tears. “It was never just that.” He laughs then, shaking his head at you. 

“What’s so funny?” You shove at him, glaring as he continues to laugh.

“What an fucking angry love confession that was!?”

“Don’t you complain,” you shove playfully, sniffling tears that are a mix of love, emotions, desire. “I’m also a jealous bitch, so if I see those girls on you after we’re official? I’ll throw down.”

“God you’re making me even harder,” his grin is devious, but then he’s tugging your panties to the side, fingers finding you. “Guess what, sweetheart?”

“What - ngh!” Satoru’s fingers stretch open before they scissor you, watching the mess you are underneath him, your hair spread all over like a fucking dream.

“You won’t be allowed to leave slutty like this,” you gasp, shoving at him and glaring, but he’s grinning psychotically. “Not without me fucking all my cum into you first, that is.”

“Psycho,” you mumble it affectionately, he grins wider, curling those fingers and hearing the messy sounds of your cunt. “That makes me wetter.”

“You’re toxic too,” you arch for more, drowning in him, the soft moonlight glowing behind his form. “You’ll drip me at campus, you’ll stop hiding from me when you go to all my football games,” your eyes widened. “Yeah, I see you, think you’re slick?”

“I just… fuck off and kiss me.”

You drag him down, and his mouth moves over yours, fingers scissoring in and out, causing so much pressure you’re about too cum. “So easy f’me, you’ll let me fuck you before you go to any class, won’t you?”

“Insane, possessive f-freak, you… oh god, yes. Toxic ass.”

“Mmm, says you, ready to beat a bunch of cheerleaders for me?” You drag him down again.

“Shh,” Satoru’s yanking those fingers out, slipping your own slick across your lips and then kissing you with it. You hastily slip open his jeans, gasping out when his tip presses. “In me, please.”

“You’re sweet when it comes to my cock,” he taunts, lifting your thigh even higher, blue eyes dilated almost black. “Tell me you love me again.”

“You mushy ass,” you grumble, shaking your head only to get his tip pressing up your slit against your clit. “Mnh!”

“You’ll fuck me right outside where anyone can see?”

“You talk too much,” you’re rolling your hips, dying for him to slip inside you again, but Satoru pulls back even more, kissing up the side of your neck. “Mnh, please… I said please, okay?”

“Wanna hear it,” he whispers, brushing your hair off your face, cock throbbing and leaking on your puffy folds, lips hovering. “Say it.”

“You’re so conceited,” he grins, making you sigh, leaning up on your elbows and brushing his hair back, feeling its silky texture through your fingers. “I love you. I have always loved you, even when I hated you. Okay?”

He kisses you deep, messy, sliding in and filling you full in one stroke, yanking a pretty tit out and moaning, tongue lapping around it and bringing you higher. “I love your tits god.”

“Just them!?”

“Your pussy too.”

“Satoru!” He chuckles, looking down at your cute little glare.

“Your drawings of me, the way you look at me like you wanna kill me and fuck me,” he pulls back and slams in again, fucking you right behind that party, where you’re both all alone under the stars. He exhales and touches your tummy, moaning. “Love how I fill you up here. Gonna pump so much cum inside you.”

“Mnh,” you’re flipped on top of him in a quick motion, so Satoru can look at your silhouette again, groaning as you ride him up and down, rolling your hips.

“Love those too,” he grips them, exhaling. “Mean little goth.”

“I love you, nerd wanna be fratboy,” he glares and you glare right back, until Satoru presses up inside you, hugging you around the waist, capturing your lips in his.

“Fuck I love you,” he whispers, letting you slam down on him and groaning against your collarbone, teeth nipping the skin, murmuring your name as he fills you up completely.

A jock and a grungy art girl riding his cock on the outside – but deep down you’re just two nerdy kids that loved to look at the stars, and loved each other.

The hallway echoes with the sound of your boots. The back exit of the hotel opens with a hiss — the cool warm air clug to your legs like moisture.

You were finally in Tokyo — not the city built with cameras, but the one that's known for living after dark — the city that never sleeps.

You smile to yourself as you look up and see the Neon signs flicker pink and orange. Drunken laughter spills out from a nearby karaoke bar. The air smells like summer rain and fried chicken, your breath fogs just slightly, warmth hitting the summer night. You walk with your hands buried in your sleeves, passing strangers who don't recognize your face — faces that don't ask anything from you.

You let your body melt within the crowds — normal you thought, for once…. not being seen feels like a relief. It's as if you can finally breathe for the first time in such a long time — you can breathe.

Having no direction and no way of understanding where you are heading, you see it. A small shop wedged between a 24 - hour bookstore and a laundromat. A single paper later sways outside the door, its soft orange glow lighting the kanji painted above the curtain entrance.

Deep down you had no idea what guided you there or — solely how you found this place. But it smelled like broth, the kind your mother used to make back home and the kind of peace that never lingered for long. You chew your bottom lip without realizing, cuff your sleeves tighter and finally slip inside — a little shop that, somehow, felt like home.

The moment you step in, the quiet wraps around you. There are maybe four other people — older men, a couple, one woman reading a magazine and a cat sitting on the counter top, eyes closed like a true old man.

The chef behind the counter looks up. His eyes linger on you for a bit too long — not unkind, just… unsure. Someone mummers something in Japanese and you offer a small bow — not sure if it is the right thing but hoping it's enough. The chef guides you to an empty seat near the far end of the counter. You nod and sit.

The chef gives you a menu before he leaves and you sigh softly — all the words are in kanji. And you can't read a single thing, the only thing you can manage to do now is show the chef a picture when he comes back.

You set the menu down — let your shoulders drop. Finally, you can breathe even if it was just for a moment.

The door hasn't even closed behind you yet, when you hear it.

Click

Soft but sharp. You hear a camera shutter. You glance up at the small window, you see him.

A man with shock-white hair and a loose coat with a camera strap hanging diagonally across his chest. He's standing in the street, angling the lens towards the glowing lantern above the shop — framing it against the dark sky.

Click

Then he tilts the camera, just slightly. Not aiming at you, not really — but he captures something, something close. You stiffen, your entire body tenses like you've been slapped — your body betrayed you again.

Not this again.

It starts slow. Not with tears, not with sobs — just the tightening. Your lungs are folding in on themselves. Like the air in this tiny shop was too thick, too sharp — like your breathing through a cotton and glass at the same time.

But suddenly, you hear the door open.

It was him.

He noticed, lowered his camera and the slight crease between his eyebrows was enough to confirm he didn't know you.

Behind you, you could hear the small door close.

He wasn't in a rush, you could feel his presence— suddenly like he was the only one that would understand you — whether that was through the agonizing pain you felt at the moment or through differentials you both shared.

He slid into the seat beside you, set the camera gently on the counter, for a moment — you glanced at it, instinctively. It didn't look like the cameras the paparazzi used. No flashy lense. No cold metal. This one was vintage — worn leather strap, scuffed corners, like it had lived more lives than most people.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” he says, voice light — almost amused. “I wasn't taking your picture. Not exactly…”

Oh, he speaks English.

You didn't answer right away — still coming down from the edge of a panic you'd barely concealed. Still unsure if you were imagining the gentleness in his voice.

“It's just —” he gestures vaguely towards the small window. “The light. The way the steam framed your face. The whole shop looked like a movie set for a second.”

And for the first time that night you looked at him.

He was tall, slightly disheveled, but with a kind of easy charm most people had to rehearse. A soft gray hoodie tucked beneath his dark coat, collar folded just so.

But it was the glasses that caught you. The thin frames that somehow made him look both bookish and ridiculous. And behind them —

Those eyes.

Ice - blue, startling in contrast to the warmth of the room. Not sharp, not cold — but clear. Like a winter sky before snow.

You hated how quickly you felt seen. And how badly you wanted to keep looking. Your cheeks rushed to pink, like a blooming sunset longing to be hidden beneath the horizon.

But you still say nothing. Your gaze never leaving his — chewing your bottom lip out of habit you could only stare even though the blooming sunset never left to hide beneath its horizon.

He scratches the back of his neck, “Okay, yeah. That sounded weirder out loud.”

Then suddenly holds his hands up in surrender. “I swear I'm not creepy — I'm a photographer. Street stuff. No models. Just… beauty when it shows up, you know?”

He nods towards you, and scratches his neck yet again.

“You showed up, ” but of course this time he was the one with a blooming sunset. He sighs and mumbles something only he would understand.

And for the first time you laugh, you don't know why you laugh — but you do. It's small. Tight. But real.

He grins like he's just scored a win in a silent game you weren't playing. “See I told you I'm charming,” he says. “I'm Satoru by the way.”

He beams with happiness, but you…. you're hesitant. You can't trust anyone in the world you live in, you two are from different worlds and that is why you could only shrug. But deep down you wish you were someone else — even just for a moment to give him some piece of yourself.

But he doesn't push it. Just nod.

“Mystery girl. Got it”

His hands tap against the wooden counter and finally take the laminated menu and squints at it.

“Wait — can you read any of this?”

You shake your head, and the crease between his snowy brows were more than enough to convince you that he was indeed worried.

“Ah no wonder — that explains your panic - order.” He waved over the chef. “She'll have the miso with garlic and egg.”

You didn't understand a thing he was saying to the chef but you were very thankful.

He finally looks back at you “I think you'll like the one I just ordered. Trust me. Best cure for whatever you're running from.”

For the slightest moment you felt naked — he could read you like a book. And this was something you were never used to… no one could ever peel your layers back that easily. But…. for some reason this Satoru Gojo man…. knew how to and he wasn't afraid to say it — fearless.

“Do you always talk this much?”

He suddenly chokes on the water he was sipping , and you couldn't keep yourself from laughing — this only made him smile deeper, much more warmer than usual.

“Sorry — about that…” he started and leaned in just slightly. “But yes, only to the people who look like they stopped being happy a while ago.”

He taps the side of his camera and smiles “Or to people the light seems to like”

You smiled at his little gesture — and just on time the chef brought your miso.

As you reached for your chopsticks, Satoru leaned over the counter and scribbled something on the napkin. You didn't notice at first — not until now. He slid it closer with a grin that said nothing at all. You glanced down. It was a messy doodle of a ramen bowl and a stick figure with spiky hair giving a peace sign. Below it written in surprisingly neat handwriting :

‘The light still likes you’

You don't say anything. Just fold the napkin, slow and careful, and tuck it into your hoodie pocket like it was nothing.

It wasn't nothing.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

Moments pass by and to your surprise the miso was perfect. So perfect, in fact, you didn't realize how much you needed it until the very last sip. Warm broth. Soft egg. Garlic that made you feel something again — you hadn’t tasted comfort in weeks.

“Told you,” Satoru said, watching you with a pleased grin of a man who knew he'd done something right. “The miso here changes lives.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but lift your gaze, the warmth from the food still lingering in your chest. “You hang around ramen shops, offering therapy often?”

“Only on Tuesdays,” he replied, without missing a beat. He paused for a moment and looked out the window, and you couldn't help but notice the grin forming on his pale pink lips. “Are you doing anything right now?”

The question caught you off guard — you hesitate. You had no plans. Just your empty hotel room, a blinking phone screen, and a list of other things you didn't want to think about. By now you knew that your managers, securities and even teams were looking for you.

“I was thinking….” Satoru stood, stretching like a cat that's been napping all day. “Come with me.”

He held out his hand, eyes sparkling like he knew this was the part where you'd say no — but hoped you wouldn't.

“Promise I'm not some serial killer. Just a guy who knows a good view when he sees one.”

You squint your eyes, “Don't all serial killers say that?”

He only laughed at your question.“Do you trust me?” he says, still holding his hand out — enough for your fingers to reach his own.

You were quiet for a beat too long. And then —

“... Where are we going?”

You finally press your hand in his. And they were soft but yet the corners filled with callouses from the works of his camera. They were cold, but touching him felt just like summer just beginning — slow, soft, and full of promises . Your eyes never left his and he grinned like you'd just said yes to the universe.

“To fall in love with Tokyo”

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

You weren't sure what you expected when you stepped out into the Tokyo night — but it wasn't this.

Neon signs blinked lazily above you, casting pink and gold on every slick surface. The streets buzzed with life. It was loud but not chaotic, full but not suffocating. The city didn't feel like it was closing in — it felt like it was opening up.

And for the first time in a long time… you were finally opening up too.

Satoru — walking beside you like he'd known you longer than a single bowl of miso — looked completely at ease. Hands tucked in his pockets, head tilted towards you with a half - smile that tugged something quiet inside your chest.

“Ever had takoyaki?” he asked.

You blinked, “Tako…. what?”

“Octopus balls” he replied, grinning like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You stopped in your tracks, arms crossed. “Absolutely not.”

He burst out laughing, bright, unfiltered, boyish Enough to earn an eye roll, but also enough to make you smile in spite of yourself. You weren't used to this kind of reckless ease but God… it was nice.

“Okay, okay bad intro, sorry for making you turn into a red tomato —” eyes twinkling like he'd discovered something private about you. “But they're good. Warm, crispy, gooey. Little fireworks in your mouth.”

“I'm not red. And that's the worst food pitch I've ever heard.”

“Mystery Girl, you trusted me with the miso,” he said confidently.

“I might not understand Japanese but I swear you bribed that chef,” you narrowed your eyes.

“Details.” He grinned. “Come on.”

He steered you gently toward a small stall, glowing under yellow paper lanterns. A man stood behind the counter, flipping golden spheres on the grill. The scent — buttery, savory — hit you by surprise.

“One box,” Satoru told the vendor.

Then to you :

“No running away”

You pouted instinctively — and he smiled like he was collecting every reaction.

You watched him pay. His profile under the lights made something in your chest thump — ridiculous, really. He was just… easy to look at. Familiar in a way he shouldn't be. You'd only just met — and yet it felt like you'd known him longer than the life you were running from.

He handed you a toothpick and motioned to the steaming takoyaki between you. “You first.”

“Do I have to….?” you asked — eyeing them with doubt.

“Trust me," he murmured, smiling. It came out more like a statement than a question.

You hesitated — then poked one and brought it to your lips. Hot. Soft. Salty. Just like he explained.

Your eyes widened.“...Holy shit.”

Satoru gasped theatrically. “A cuss word from the mystery girl?”

You laughed, hand over your mouth. “Okay, okay — they're good.” You confirmed as you continued to devour the delicious takoyaki.

He gave a dramatic bow. “Another win for the charming stranger."

“You're so dramatic, Satoru, like…. ” you paused for a moment to think of the right word”... drama king.”

“Excuse you but king is enough for me.”

And for some reason you couldn't help but again. It was a feeling nobody could describe, the feeling of being free, being you, being open — but mostly you weren't pretending.

Satoru picked up one too and blew on it — you caught him glancing at you. Just for a second too long.

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You're smiling again.”

You blinked

You were. That real, rare kind of smile. The kind you hadn’t worn in months — not in photo shoots, not in press releases, not even in your dressing room mirrors.

“Told you,” he said. “Best cure for running.”

You looked down, cheeks warm, when suddenly—

Click.

The soft sound made your spin straighten just slightly but the sound wasn't loud, it wasn't aggressive. His camera hung around his neck, and this time you caught him in the act.

“Satoru.” you warned. Not with anger — but with a kind of hesitation that lived in your bones.

He froze, sleepish and unashamed

“Sorry… I couldn't help it. The light really does love you.”

You didn't panic. Not this time. There was no cold sweat. No racing thoughts. Just quiet. Him. His presence. His words. Somehow, the click wasn't loud enough to trigger the fear. Somehow… he wasn't.

“Delete it.” you said.

“Do you really want me to?” he asked, voice softer now — quiet like a baby's lullaby.

You didn't answer. You just kept chewing — a little slower this time.

He didn't delete it — because he never would. Because in the very second, you were real — and real was rare.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

The streets bustled with laughter and glowing lanterns. Drinks clinked in plastic cups. Skewers crackled over charcoal.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand again, “We still got Tokyo to fall in love with.”

And all you could do was smile as you held your hand tightly. Hoping that this feeling would never pass by.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

The night air filled your lungs but it wasn't enough like the laughter you both are sharing beneath the glowing moonlight. Satoru playfully pulls your body flush against his warm one — maybe it was the beer you both shared earlier, maybe it was the chaos of laughter but…. the warm feeling within your heart was unbearable.

You were both halfway through your second beer when you stopped outside another glowing stand. A weird looking machine sat humming quietly

“You've never done a capsule toy before?” Satoru asked, pointing to it.

You blinked and it was enough confirmation to Satoru that you've never seen a gachapon machine before. “What did you do as a kid — work full-time?”

You cough, cheeks warm from beer and grilled skewers. “I was too busy trying to be someone, I guess.”

He feeds a coin in and twists the crank. A loud clunk — then a capsule rolled out blue and shiny. He cracked it open — eyes lighting up.

“Oh hell yeah.” he says. “It's a ring, you're mine now.” He slips the plastic ring on your finger dramatically, bending a knee in the middle of the market — not a care in the world on who was watching . “Married by skewers and squid balls. Peak romance, right?”

You snort so hard it hurts.

But don't take it off, not even when you pass the next stall. You look at the plastic ring scattered with all the fake diamonds — you smile.

“Guess that makes me Mrs Gojo?” you mumble the last part — flushed by your own words

“Damn right,” he smirks.

When the crowd noise faded and the drink wore off, you found yourself leaning on him. Arms wrapped around his. Eyes closed against his shoulder.

He looked down, watched your lashes flutter, then said quietly, “You look peaceful. But we've still got a lot of places to explore.”

You smiled without opening your eyes.

“Then take me wherever you want Mr Satoru Gojo.”

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

The night pulled you deeper — like a song you couldn't stop humming.

Lantern light faded into electrical ones. The street narrowed, signs flashing in kanji you couldn't read and somewhere between the laughter, grilled meat and your fingers still curled around his, you forgot to look back — just like how you are starting to forget the different version of yourself.

“Another stop,” Satoru said, grinning next to you.

“Where are we going,” you asked — your grip never falters. “Another food stand.”

He didn't say anything at first, just grinned like it was a secret. “ Better.”

You followed him through a small alley that opened into a bright buzzing corner lot with color — pixelated music playing from the inside. Glass walls framed a row of claw machines and retro cabinets, blinking in challenge.

“An arcade?” you asked, eyes widening.

“The arcade,” Satoru said with pride. “The best one in Tokyo, I swear. Been coming here since I was a kid.”

The childish grin on his face was enough to make you laugh. And before you could even protest — his hands tightened in yours.

The arcade buzzed with life. Neon lights spilled across the floor, reflecting in scattered patterns across your shoes. You paused at the entrance — slightly overwhelmed by the chaos and noise, but his hand… still wrapped around you, grounded you and it was enough to take all the sudden fear away.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you gently. “You're not going to chicken out on me now, are you?”

“Not yet,” you smirked, your voice softer now — lighter.

Satoru darted over to the claw machine, all glass and plastic, filled with colorful plushies, shaped like cats, frogs even a few questionable dinosaurs.

“I used to be a god at this,” he declared, inserting coins. “Watch and be amazed.”

You crossed your arms, arching an eyebrow. “I'm watching.”

He concentrated like a man diffusing a bomb. The claw dropped and…. missed. Then again. Missed.

And again.

“I swear it's rigged,” he muttered, frowning.

For a moment you caught the smallest pout — like a kid who just dropped all his candy. It made you laugh, quietly, like the sound belonged only to the space between you. And then —

Click

Only this time, your eyes locked with his…and he smiled.

But the strange thing was — that usual twist in your chest? That flutter of panic in your ribs? It didn't come. Your heartbeat stayed steady, like it trusted him. Your breath slowed. Your cheeks carried a warm flush like someone had painted them soft with sunrise. Your fingers didn't twitch to hide your face.

And you knew, in that moment, that whatever spell he'd cast — it was working.

“Don't show it to anyone,” you whispered, not even looking away. It felt like a secret you wanted him to keep.

He nodded but what you didn't see, what you didn't even think to say — was ‘delete it.’

Because deep down… you didn't want him to.

“So the ‘god’ of claw machines got defeated by plushie with bunny ears?” you questioned, while turning towards the machine — Satoru was quick to join your side.

“That bunny has attitude, can't you see its face?”

You giggle. He turned to you, mock wounded “Okay. Your turn.”

You gripped the joystick,carefully guided claw, and with an effortless click — the claw latched onto a soft, white cat wearing glasses plush and dropped it into the bin.

You turned to him with a proud as ever grin

“God, huh?”

“.... I let you win.” he scowled with an unreadable expression.

You held up your prize, grinning. “Sure you did.”

Then— quietly, without thinking —you extended it toward him.

“Here. For your collection of humiliating defeats.” you teased, tugging it towards his hands.

But he didn’t take it.

“Keep it,” he said, suddenly softer. “Something to remember tonight by.” And he suddenly smirked too proudly, “Plus if you look at it — kinda looks like me.”

“Shut up Satoru,” you said, shoving him playfully.

But he was right.

It did look like him.

Your fingers curled tighter around the plush.

Then you felt it — his hand, wrapped like silk in yours — his fingers no longer hesitating like they used to. This time they felt like home. Like the kind of touch that belonged to an old lover. His hands weren't anymore — they danced against yours to the rhythm of a heart slowly, but surely, falling for the lens that has been seeking your truth all along.

“Oh look — there's the Dancing Machine,” he murmured, smiling as he pointed ahead. “Let's go. You'll like this one.”

The machine flickers to life with neon fury as you approach it. It's screen pulsing like a warning sign — and in that moment you knew you were doomed.

“Satoru, I don't dance, ” you lie to him flatly, letting go of his hand, while you clutch your hoodie like it's a parachute.

Satoru smirks — smug and easy. “You won't be dancing sweetheart. You'll be surviving.” he winks and just like that your cheeks betrayed you.

“You know… whatever.” You scowled, gripping your hoodie tighter, like it could erase the color now blooming across your face . “Same thing. I'm not doing it."

Suddenly he was in front of you — close. And for a heartbeat, the light within his eyes rivaled the neon blues that wrapped around you both.

“You scared all of a sudden Mystery girl , don't cry on me now,” and the smirk was enough to make your heart skip a beat. And the sudden remarks you had were gone

“I'm…. not gonna cry,” you whispered, voice small — like a secret you were scared he already knew.

He smirks, and finally hops onto the left side of the machine — like muscle memory, arms loose at his sides, confidence radiating. You sigh, but follow — hesitant at first, shoes squeaking slightly as you step on the platform. The music begins — loud, fast and unapologetically chaotic.

The arrows fly up like an anxiety attack.

You step. Wrong.

You step again. Still wrong.

You mutter a curse, quietly, and Satoru lets out a laugh, not mocking — just delightful to see the sudden crease between your brows. “You said you didn't dance. You didn't say you'd actually be fighting for your life.”

“Shut up,” you say, grinning despite yourself, trying to keep up.

He's moving with rhythm and swagger,like he's showing off. And you're over here trying not to trip over your own two left feet — who knew a star like yourself couldn't keep up with a dancing machine.

Then in the midst of your own thoughts — a hand brushes yours.

He doesn't look at you, but you feel it, the flicker of it, like a little jolt of something unspoken. The tiniest accidental spark in all this ridiculous movement.

And maybe… maybe the beat isn't the only thing messing with your heart.

You laugh too hard when you stumble into him. He steadies you, hands instinctively around your waist, his face closer now than it's ever been all night.

His breath smells like cherry soda, while you can't make out the color of his lips under the neon sky but you were sure they were pink due to all the snacks you had earlier. His eyes — amused, curious — as they linger just a little too long.

“Still think you are gonna win?” you ask, recovering.

He shrugs, cocky. “I already did sweetheart.”

And then he jumps back into it, dancing like the floor belongs to him.

You smile, cheeks warm, feet still wrong — but somehow the rhythm doesn't feel so foreign anymore.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

The song ends with a whirlwind of light and breathless laughter. Satoru hops off first, barely winded, brushing imaginary duds off his shoulders like he just performed at Madison Square Garden.

You? You're clinging to the side rail like it's a lifeline, hoodie damp with effort, lungs dragging in air like you've just survived a war.

He glances over at your state and grins.

“Damn, that bad?” you pant, pushing the hair out of your face.

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Are you kidding? That was the most fun I've had in days. And look at that,” he gestures smugly at the screen. “Victory: Me. Humiliation: You.”

You roll your eyes but can't stop the smile tugging at your lips. “The machine is obviously rigged.”

He taps his temple. “Nah. Just superior coordination and let's not forget, legendary charm.” And then — a wink. It's always that damn wink of his.

You shove his arm, playfully, the kind of shove that says : you're ridiculous, but maybe I like it.

And the lights from the screen fade behind you, you follow him through the arcade. The neon glow softens now, quieter corners waiting for the next part of your night.

Then — he stops.

Right in front of the photo booth.

Your breath catches.

You stare at it like it's a ghost. A glass coffin dressed up in lights and silly props. You don't move, not at first.

Satoru’s the first one to notice — of course, ever since the ramen shop incident he's been very attentive, but he plays it easy. Hands in his pockets. That usual lazy grin on his adoring lips. “I've got a rule,” he says in a quieter voice than usual. “Any date that doesn't end with a photo strip isn't worth remembering.”

Your lips twitch. “This isn't a date.”

“Could've fooled me,” he hums, and steps towards the curtain of the photo booth.

You freeze. He turns back at the stillness of your silence. And then you say it, soft, and honest.

“Satoru…. you know how i feel about photos.” the small in your voice betrays you enough, your grip your sleeves once again as your eyes try to avoid his very own striking blue ones.

But you can feel him watching you, not with confusion, not pressure. Just… care. Like maybe… just maybe if he reached hard enough for you, you'd be able to see yourself through his lens.

And then — with the kind of gentle mischief — he lifts his camera instead. The one, slung casually over his shoulder, the one that's already taken two photos of you… and maybe two of you secretly. The one he never parts with.

“Then… let me remember you the way I see you.”

His confession ran dry, enough for you to finally look up and blink… enough for your heartbeat to increase.

“Satoru…”

“No pressure,” he says softly. “We don't have to look at it. I just…want to remember you here. With your hair all messy from fake dancing. And your face is still pink from dancing. That's all.”

Your throat tightens, but somehow — you nod.

He lifts the camera, and you hear it —

Click

One shot. No poses. No warning. Just you — bathed in arcade glow, hoodie clutched in one hand trying not to smile too hard.

You don't ask to see it.

He doesn't show it.

But you both feel it. The way the moment sinks into silence between the two of you. The way the laughter of people around you slowly fades away… and the way he suddenly reaches for your hand…was enough to filter through your aching heart.

He gestures to the photo booth again, you smile and whisper, “Only if we wear stupid hats.”

He lights up like the jackpot just hit.

“Deal,”

So you go in, hands still wrapped around his like it's meant to fit in your, like it's second nature.

The booth is cramped — closer than either of you expected — knees bumping, shoulder touching, the heat of Satoru’s arm brushing yours like summer heat.

He's fiddling with the touch screen like it's his first time. “Okay, okay. We've got ten seconds per frame. That's enough time to be iconic right?”

You're laughing nervously already, finger twitching in your sleeves again, your heart thudding harder now that the curtain is closed — private — but also vulnerable. The small space swallows sound. Neon slips through the edges of the curtains, the world hushed behind the curtain.

And then, it hits.

The pressure of the lense. The stillness. There is no way to hide. Your breath suddenly stumbles. The laughter fades from your lips. You glance towards the exit, and you want to bolt. It's stupid, it's just a photo —but your chest tightens all the same.

But then —

“Hey.”

You hear his voice, it was low, soft, the kind of gentleness that anchors.

You turn, close to tears — but he's already looking at you. Not impatient. Not annoyed — just there. Inspecting each and every little detail of your eyes, nose, lips… any sign of hesitation.

You nod quickly. Then shake your head. “I… I don't know if I can do this. I know it sounds dumb…”

“It's not dumb,” he says immediately, and shifts closer — just enough to keep you in the present, not enough to make it worse. “You don't have to explain anything to me. We can leave, right now.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, as your fingers clutched deeper within your skin. You hate this — the spiraling, the doubt, the unease, the hopelessness — you hated everything.

But then again —

You felt his hand within yours. This time it was different. This time he made you look at him as he whispered “It's gonna be okay.”

And smiles — not the bright, cheeky, confident grin he always wears if he won a silly plush or if he beat you with his swagger dance moves, but the soft private one… you've only witnessed two or three times for the night.

The one just for you.

“I'm right here,” he murmurs, not letting go of your hand. “And tonight…” he says looking around for the hats. He finally finds them, but he grabs a crooked plastic tiara off the side hook and jams it gently onto your head. “You're royalty.”

You blink. “And you?”

He dramatically slaps on a giant red nose, and a cone hat so crooked that it nearly falls off. “I'm your humble jester.”

You let out a breathy laugh at his words. He reaches over and selects the frame settings, tapping rapidly like a game show contest, and the countdown begins:

3…2…1

You try to smile — really, you do — but you end up just blinking, lips parted, unsure.

Flash

And you could feel yourself, squeezing Satoru’s hand so tightly — but suddenly he laughed, head thrown back as the crooked hat slowly fell from his snowy white hair. And in that moment you felt true peace — like he was grounding you, unconsciously.

“Okay, okay! Let's do better! C’mere — lean into me a little.”

You hesitate, then inch closer. His one arm slid behind you this time, not quite around you — but enough. You don't realize how close your faces are until the second countdown starts.

3…2…

He whispers, “Pretend you're having fun.”

Flash.

And you do — barely — your smile crooked, shy, but real this time. His nose brushes your temple

Third shot : You both try to make peace signs, but yours come out backwards and he ends up in front of your face. And for the first time in that tiny booth you burst out laughing.

Flash.

Last one

He suddenly grows quiet. You ace at him unsure of what to do but he doesn't move. Just stares at you, seriously this time, like he's memorizing something important.

You sift nervously under his gaze, “Satoru —?”

Flash.

You blink, caught off guard. The final frame freezes the moment you're staring at him — surprised, breathless — as he looks at you like you're the last photograph he ever wants to take.

The screen flashes white for a second longer, then fades. A soft mechanical whirring begins and the trip of photos starts to print.

The sound of photos printing was the only thing that consumed the tiny photo booth. You exhale like you've just come up with air. And Satoru — he leans back first, stretching his arms overhead like the whole thing was no big deal. But then he turns to you — really looks at you — like you've done something brave.

“You did good,” he says softly tugging the tiara forward so it sits more securely on your head.

“Like… really good.”

With his hands no longer wrapped around yours, you tug them in your sleeves again, unsure how to reply, the sound of your heartbeat slowly increasing yet again and the warmth that surrounded you both was still buzzing within your chest.

His eyes never left yours once, like he's watching a movie with each and every movement you made. And that's when the photo finally slides out — but still he doesn't budge.

“Satoru the photos…” you whisper, feeling slightly intimidated by his eyes.

“Right,” he grins, snatching them. “Let's see the damage.”

You lean in slightly as he holds them up into the neon light. The first one makes you both laugh — your awkward blink, his ridiculous grin — but it's the last one that quiets you.

He tilts the strip toward you. “This one's my favorite.”

You stare at it — at you, frozen mid - breath, wide - eyed and uncertain. And him, beside you, unflinching, like he has always meant to be in your frame.

“You can have it,” you whisper to him softly, while studying the stripped photo.

And just when you thought you could win with him — he does the unexpected. Tore it down the middle — carefully, gently, making sure he doesn't ruin the picture.

“Nope. Half and half,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “That way I have an excuse to see you again.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the little confession but you didn't say anything , as you stared at the torn strip resting within your palm. At the way your faces were pressed together, at the way you both grinned, at the way…. you both looked ridiculous but yet… so happy.

And for the first time that night, you saw the girl you once were — slowly being unwrapped by a ‘stranger’ you barely knew. A stranger who doesn't even know the real you — guilt was one thing, but you knew that all of this will end by tomorrow.

You watch him fold the half torn strip and tuck it into his wallet, like something precious, you think your heart might actually stop.

And at that moment, you didn't want the arcade lights to dim.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

He nudges your shoulder. “Come on royalty. Let's get out of here before someone challenges you for the throne.”

You smile, slipping out of the booth behind him. The air outside the curtain feels cooler somehow — looser like the weight in your chest has lightened.

The rest of the arcade fades around you — the beeping buttons, the singsong clatter machines — until it's just the two of you walking slowly towards the exit. Your hands brush once, twice, before he finally laces his fingers through yours.

The night air kisses your cheeks soft and chilled. And from the warmth of your hoodie, the tiny plush—the one he claimed looked like him — peeks out again — a quiet reminder of the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

You glance up at Satoru, his white hair catching the glow of streetlamps. And he’s already looking at you again.

“You hungry?” he asks, swinging your joined hands. “Or are we surviving off that one victory cat plush for the rest of the night?”

You snort, tugging the little thing from your hoodie pocket and holding it up. “Well he's got more substance than the popcorn you inhaled, at the stalls earlier tonight.”

“Hey!” he clutches his chest, feigning heartbreak . “I'll have you know that popcorn was gourmet.”

“Sure,” you smirk. “If ‘gourmet’ means microwaved cardboard with fake cheese dust.”

He gasps — actually gasps — and spins you gently gently like your mid - argument in a fairytale dance. You stumble with a breathless laugh.

“You wound me princess,”

The sudden name caught you off guard, as the familiar warmth rose within your cheeks. “I'm not a princess, thank you very much.”

You're still giggling when the warm yellow glow of a 7 - Eleven appears up ahead.

Satoru perks up like a kid. “Wait. Emergency sugar run.”

You blink, confused by the shift —but he's already tugging you inside.

Fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, casting pale halos across neat rows of snacks. Satoru beelines for the sweets, arms sweeping across shelves like he's conducting a sugar–fueled heist. You trail behind, amused, a quiet shadow to his child like chaos.

He's already piling instant puddings,mystery cakes, and sweets you've never seen into his arms.

You raise an eyebrow, “This is extremely concerning.”

“This here Mystery girl,” he says solemnly, turning dramatically, “is called balance.”

You stare, “You're buying three types of cake in a cup. And soda. And whatever that pink thing is.”

“Exactly,” he grins, holding up a melon soda. “Fruit group: covered.”

You roll your eyes, but follow him to the counter . As he pays, your gaze drifts upwards —to the security screen behind the register. One angle captures you perfectly, standing behind him, the plush cat once again peeking from your hoodie.

You watch yourself, absentmindedly fixing your hair. And then —

Click

Your head snaps around instantly. But Satoru's already lowering the camera, that smug grin already blooming.

To your surprise, you don't flinch. Not this time. Instead you met his eyes and the way he looked at you, the way he smiled — warm, easy, and sincere makes your heart skip a beat.

The fear you usually felt in front of the lens to fades… because —

He was the one behind the lens.

“Satoru!”

“What?” he says, mock-innocently, twisting the camera’s worn leather strap around his finger. “Candid art. The lighting was perfect. ”

He scratches his neck awkwardly. “Plus… you looked kinda cute.”

You bite your lower lip, looking away. But then you spot his cakes — and a familiar, mischievous grin forms.

“I'm gonna steal your cakes.”

“You wouldn't —”

But you already are. You snatch the bag and sprint towards the exit.

“Oh no, Royal rebellion! ” he shouts , behind you chasing. “Come back here, you traitor!”

Outside you break into a sprint, laughing as you hold the cakes hostage. He follows — dramatic and loud — yelling something about dessert theft and snack justice. You round a corner, nearly tripping on your own feet as you shriek with laughter, and then —

Then — you trip.

Well, not quite. You both stumble into a heap onto a patch of grass. Not hard — more like a clumsy trip that ends with him catching you, kind of. Your back hits the grass, and suddenly he's hovering over you, one knee on the ground, one hand beside your head to brace himself.

His face is right there.

Both your chest rise and fall — laughter fading into silence. Laughter suddenly dies out, slowly — like the world no longer exists.

His glasses are foggy slightly but you can still see the way his gaze drops — from your eyes, to your lips and then back again.

Time holds its breath.

You reach up, fingers brushing the fogged lenses, gently adjusting them enough to see him again — clearly . In that moment you couldn't help but reach out for them — adjusting enough for the fog to clear. His eyes — sea-glass blue, aglow with some kind of softness you've never quite seen before.

He doesn't lean in. But he doesn't move away either.

The world has yet not awakened, it's just the two of you — breath tangled, time frozen — with only the night sky watching. And in the stillness your hearts are loud.

“You're red,” you hear him whisper, just above your lips.

You swallow. “And you're… heavy.”

That breaks it. He exhales a breathless laugh, and rolls onto the grass beside you. “You ran, with all my pudding.”

“You photographed me on a surveillance cam!” you argued.

“You're welcome.”

You both lie there side by side, the stars half-hidden above the city haze. His hand soon found yours again — lazily, comfortably lacing his fingers within yours — like it's been that way forever.

After a while, he sits up and offers you his hand.

“Come on, the night’s still young.”

You groan and pout slightly. “Ugh, where are you taking me this time you sugar demon?”

He smirks, “It's a surprise, Mystery girl. Plus I need to enjoy those cakes on the way.”

You eye him, “Fine. But I get a bite.”

He hums thoughtfully, smirking “So the princess does like sweets”

Your cheeks warm.“You know damn well I'm not a princess.”

The plush cat peeks out from your hoodie like it's judging you. You sigh and let him pull you to your feet.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

The elevator dinged softly, as the doors slid open, revealing a hallway bath in soft neon lights and muffled pop music coming from down from the corridor.

You blinked. “Wait — karaoke?”

Satoru strolled out ahead of you, casually licking a spear of frosting off his thumb — still working his way through the second mini cup he snuck from the convenience store, like a mischievous child.

“Suprise-” he singsinged with a grin over his shoulder. “Figured you can loosen up a bit before turning back into Cinderella.”

Your brows rose. “You planned this…?”

“Yup. Booked the room an hour ago. Had to pretend it was for a bachelorette party.” He wiggled his brows. “Don't worry. I asked for pink lighting and everything.”

In that moment you couldn't help it — the laugh slipped out before you could catch it. God, he was stupid. Stupid and tall and funny.

Inside the karaoke room was cozier than you expected. A plush L shaped couch wrapped around a glass table cluttered with menus, spare mics, and tiny lights. The screen on the wall rolled through generic music videos, waiting for input.

You lingered never the door for a second longer than necessary. Your throat tightened a little. It's just karaoke, you told yourself. He doesn't know.

Satoru plopped down dramatically, cake in one hand, remote in the other. “Beer’s coming soon. You're up first, pop princess.”

“I'm not a pop pri —”

“Don't even start,” he said pointing at you. “You already got convenience store staff smiling at you like you're a Disney character. I bet you sing like one too.”

You rolled your eyes, slipping beside him on the couch. The beer arrived minutes later, frosty bottles with enough bite to dull the nerves. One turned to two, and two turned to three. He challenged you to do Britney Spears in a bad accent. You dared him to sing Whitney Houston, and he tried — very, very badly.

You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt.

And when you finally picked a song for yourself — something light, something dreamy — Satoru went quiet.

He leaned back, legs man spread, beer in one hand, watching you with that fond smirk of his — like you were some rare vinyl record playing in a quiet room.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, lowering the mic after the first chorus.

“Just… didn't think you'd be that good,” he said with a grin, a little slower now, a little heavier from the drink. “You're kinda showstopping.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “You're drunk, Satoru.”

“Not yet,” he winked. “But you keep singing and I might just… fall in love.”

For a moment, your eyes met his — once again it felt like the air was heavier within this room. He's watching you closely — but he's already close — you lower your head enough to keep yourself from heating up, yet again.

You nudged his knee with your own, “ You couldn't hit a note if it hit you.”

“Ride.I'm emotionally injured now princess.”

You both kept going — singing, teasing, the kind of tipsy closeness that made you forget the world outside. You kept dancing around the room at one point, mic in one hand, laughing as he howled off-key from the couch. You didn't realize how close you'd gotten until you dropped beside him again, still catching your breath.

His eyes flicker to yours.

You're softened.

And a quiet beat filled the air.

His hands brushed your knee, but you didn't move.

“Can I… please take a picture of you?”

His voice wasn't teasing this time. It was quiet. Hopeful. A little shy in the way you never imagined Satoru Gojo could ever be.

The barriers which surrounded you two, were slowly fading in the little karaoke. You could feel the veil you've used to cover yourself instinctively lifting and for him to finally open that door — was the girl you used to be.

You blinked, heart catching on the sudden turn. “What, now?”

He nodded slowly. “You look…” He fumbled, thumb tapping the lens nervously. “You look like something I don't want to forget. ”

Your stomach flipped. And still — you reached out gently, finger brushing his. “Yes. Only you can Satoru Gojo.”

He grinned, boyish and bright, and fumbled with his camera — suddenly all clumsy fingers and slightly drunken nerves. The flash didn't fire. He didn't need it.

You stood on the table again, this time slower, more deliberate. Singing softly into the mic, hips moving like they remembered the stage — but the stage was gone, and it was just him, just this moment.

Click

And Satoru lowered the camera slowly, like the moment had stolen something from him. His gaze locked on yours — blue azure eyes wide and soft with something achingly real.

“You're beautiful,” he said, barely audible over the music.

You froze. He blinked, as if realizing it had slipped out. “I mean — you've always been, I just — shit, sorry I didn't mean to say it like that —”

A warm flush crept up his neck. His words tangled. And you… you were just about to say something real — when —

Your phone buzzed

The screen lit up : Manager

And right then and there your stomach sank.

“Give me a sec,” you murmured, climbing off the table and stepping into the hallway, far enough so that he couldn't hear. You pressed the phone to your ear.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Her voice was sharp, loud cutting through the high you'd been floating on just a few minutes ago.

“I told you to come to the event, you didn't come. You wander out in Tokyo and you can't even lie low either. There are photos, real ones this time — don't play dumb, we've already seen them.”

You froze in place. “Photos…?”

“I told you to be careful, and you're out there — dancing? Singing? God Y/N, if this breaks, it's not just you. It's the label. It's the tour. We had control. Now we don't.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, your throat thick. You could slowly feel the lump in your throat.

“You're not just some girl who gets to play dress-up, and run around like no one's watching. You, out of all people know that.”

You didn't realize a tear had slipped until it hit your collarbone.

You took a shaky breath. And then —

Flash.

Right.Blinding.

Your name echoed down the hall.

“Y/N! OVER HERE!”

Panic snapped its fingers inside your chest like a rubber band.

More flashes. More clicks. More people. And the more your name slips from their lips.

Your breath caught.

The phone slipped from your fingers like gravity itself and that's when you cave.

You were no longer normal.

You were the star you were always meant to be.

And you were cracking, like bones with each and every flash.

Your knees gave out as the noise closed in, the flashbulbs stuttering like lightning in a storm — lights that were once your comfort, are now your enemy. Voices were overlapping — your name, your name —over and over again, like it didn't belong to you anymore.

Your chest constricted violently. You couldn’t get air. Not even a sip, as the crowd chanted your name from left to right.

Your hands clawed at the wall behind you. You didn't move. You couldn’t move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't run. You didn't even know where to go. You didn't have anywhere to go. Every part of you felt too small for the panic crawling under your skin — a screaming, suffocating thing that curled itself around your ribs like a vice.

You were choking on your own name.

A name loved by so many, but hated by the one person that created it — and it was you. The name you loth so deeply now, that you wish you could turn back time and live the life you've once wanted to escape.

But then —

Warmth.

Two hands. Familiar. Gentle. Steady.

“Shhh. Hey,Hey, I got you — hey. I'm right.”

Satoru.

You barely heard him through the noise rushing in your ears. Your vision was tunneling and the familiar tears rushed down your warm cheeks. Your hands shaking violently in his grip. You couldn’t look up. Couldn't face him like this. Not now. Not as the girl crumbling under the spotlight she asked for.

But he didn’t let go.

You felt his hand slide down your back,the other curling gently around your wrist — grounding you like he was trying to pull you out of the storm with nothing but touch.

“Breathe,” he whispered, right at your ear now, close and steady. “Come on, princess. Look at me. Just look at me. I need you to breathe, okay?”

You tried — you really did — but the tears came harder.

“Can't — can't breathe —” you gasp.

“Yes, you can,” he said, firmer now but still soft. “I've got you. I promise, I've got you.”

He lowered you both to the ground gently,away from the camera, behind the stone pillar just outside the entrance — somewhere quiet where no one could find you. He pressed your back against it and knelt in front of you. The city still screamed behind you, but he became your world.

Then he did something simple. Something so stupid but beautiful. Something that only Satoru Gojo would do.

He took your hand and placed it firmly against his chest — right over his lively beating heart.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That's me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

You could feel it — the steady thump of him, beating for you when yours couldn't.

You clung to it. Clung to him.

Like he was the only oxygen you could ever need.

And slow… the tightness in your chest loosened. Not gone. Not entirely. But enough to breathe.

Enough to finally cry.

You let your head fall against his shoulder. And he held you like he'd done it before, like he knew how to carry someone breaking within his very hold.

“I didn't want it to be like this,” you whispered hoarsely, “Not like this…”

He cupped your cheek with one hand, tilting your face to him gently.

“I know,” he said, like it broke his heart too. “You didn't deserve this.”

And maybe it was the adrenaline, or grief, or the way he looked at you like you were still human — but you leaned in.

And he didn't stop you.

The world felt like it was pooling beneath your own palms. The beating of his heart keeping you steady enough to find, your own drumming against your ribcage

And finally —

His lips met yours — soft, slow, reverent. A promise and a plea. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't polished.

But it was real.

You melted into him, like you've been waiting all night. And when you pulled back, breathless, you rested your forehead against his and whispered —

“Please stay.”

His hand still pressed yours to his heart.

“Always.”

It wasn't a promise made in grand declarations — it was whispered barely, audible, something to shatter if you breathe too hard.

And somehow, you believed him — every word, every vow, and little letter that seemed to leave his promised lips was something to believe in.

It was the hope you held onto — it was his heart you clung to.

You stayed like that for a while. Neither of you moved, like the ground beneath you might vanish if you did. The world — the cameras, the noise, the name you hated — all blurred out behind the steadiness of his chest and the hush of shared breaths.

Eventually, Satoru stood, brushing his thumb under your eye to catch the last remnants of tears, that treating to leave you with more stains of heartache.

“Come on,” he said, quiet but steady. “Let's get out of here, I'm sure we lost them by now.” He added as he looked around every corner.

“Hopefully you'll like my apartment.” he whispered against your ear. And finally his hand reached for you unconsciously — making sure to lace his fingers through yours, to ground you, to hold you, to let you know that you are with him — and only him.

The walk to his apartment was wordless. Not because there was nothing to say, but because nothing needed to be said. He walked close, his finger brushing against your knuckles now and then, like a question he was scared to voice. The night air was thick with silence — not cold, not tense, just full.

His apartment was tucked between the city's smaller spots, inconspicuous and soft-lit, a place clearly meant for peace, safety and disappearing. He tucks your hands against his own as you both made your upstairs — a dim light shone against the walls, making it earlier for the both of you to find your way to his door.

“I know… it's not much you're used to,” he says smiling softly, while opening the door. “But it's home.”

Once inside, the darkness held you both, like little stars waiting for any source of light to ignite.

Satoru flickered the switch, and the apartment came to life with a quiet hum — not loud, not invasive, just soft light against cream coloured walls and scattered mangas. A half-empty mug sat on the shelf with a half eaten cake next to it and to your surprise — you smile. The faint scent of bergamot and cedar hung in the air, it was the scent that clung to him at times.

It wasn't grand. It wasn't polished. But it was warm — lived - in, in the way hearts are when they finally stopped running — from truth, hope, love and just finding acceptance.

He watched you for a moment, as if memorizing the way you stood in the doorway, unsure of whether to come closer or bolt. You weren't the stage name he heard minutes ago. You weren't the headlines. You were just a girl with tired eyes and a trembling heart.

“You can sit wherever,” he said gently, scratching the back of his neck. “Or — uh — I can make you tea. If you want. Or we can just —”

“Satoru, can I just…. be here?” you asked, your voice soft, like it might just shatter.

His expression changed — something between a breath and a vow.

“Yeah,” he said. “You can just be.”

You nodded, and for the first time in weeks — maybe months — you let yourself sink down, into the couch of an apartment — of a place called home. It creaked beneath you, like it was trying to familiarize your weight. Satoru sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You couldn't help but lean against his shoulder, the warmth of his body slightly, warming your cold heart. There was silence yet again. But this time it wasn't it was full — full of something different.

Something much more meaningful.

There was no pressure. No panic.No fear. No anxiety.

Just his presence was enough to sing the word — calmness.

He didn't ask about you. He didn't mention the tears or the world you just escaped. He just leaned back, exhaled slowly, and let his hand find yours again, like it was always meant to be that way.

And that was the moment you realized —painfully, achingly — that he was the only person that hadn't asked you to be anything.

“Satoru,” you whispered his name, softly as if you were afraid he'd vanish any second,as if this was a dream you were never meant to have. “I…. I'm so sorry.”

And finally you felt it again — slowly tears started to weld within your eyes. You grip his hand softly, making sure it was the only thing grounded you within this moment.

“Princess…” he whispered, arms wrapping around you, as if holding you could keep you from falling apart as if he could catch every little piece before it hit the ground.

He gripped you tightly — not out of desperation, but out of certainty. Like this was something you've always wanted throughout all your years. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and he held you through the tremble of your body, the apology in your tongue, the grief you've been carrying for God knows how many years… ever since you've entered your world of glamor and fame.

“You don't have to apologize,” Satoru murmured into your hair, voice low and quiet and steady,like the ocean pulling at the shore. “Not to me. no to anyone.”

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. You just held him tighter, like he could numb all the pain you've felt. And somehow in some way he understood.

He let his lips brush against your temple. Light. Soft. Reverent.

“I'm here remember.” he said gently, mimicking his action prior — and you could feel his heart again, beating beneath your palm.

“And you can breathe,” he whispered, barely audible.

The way he held you — not like some rescuing a damsel,but some who had been waiting for a very long time to find you — to come home — undid something in you. The kind of care you've always wanted, craved, dreamt of day after day. And this time…. therethere was no masks. No pretending. No demands.

He knew you now, he knew the real you.

You pulled back slowly,just enough to see him — your foreheads almost touched, your breaths mingling in the air between you. His eyes searched for yours, not for permission this time but for you.

And you were there — every broken, soft, tired part of you. Finally seen.

His heart still beneath your palms slowly started to increase, as your lips brush against each other, so close to kissing.

“Your heart is racing,” you whispered gently.

His gaze drops to your lips and back to your eyes. “It's because of you…”

The quiet between you changed. The kind of quiet that felt like gravity — pulling, heavy, inevitable.

His eyes flickered to your lips once again and then slowly — almost cautiously — Satoru leaned in.

He kissed you for the second time that night, like a secret he's been keeping too long. Like a prayer. Like he didn't know how to be gentle, but was trying anyway.

Your hand slid to the side of his sculpted face, holding him close,and his arms wrapped tighter around your waist, anchoring you both in a moment that neither of you wanted to end.

It was warm. Deep. Real.

You didn't realize how long you've been kissing until your lungs started to burn, until your hands were trembling and your body was pressed so fully against his that you could feel the flutter of his heartbeat, feel the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Satoru pulled back, just slightly, just enough for you to breathe — noses brushing together slightly as his lips parted like he was about to speak — but no words came. The outline of your lips, nose, eyes… everything was enough for him to be struck in awe — in awe only for you.

His eyes never left yours, he was studying you — like you were something fragile wrapped in starlight. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real. His long slender finger hovered just above your cheekbones — a slight pause — just to grasp this moment of truth, that you were truly real. The fear of touching you too quickly might just break the spell, he so desperately wanted to cling.

“You're…” he started, then laughed — shy, breathless. “You're so damn beautiful it actually hurts.”

You blinked, and he kissed your eyelids — slow, soft. “All of you. Even the parts you hide. Especially those.”

Your eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment — just long enough to feel the weight of his words settle in your chest, to let them echo in places that had long been quiet. Then, like instinct, your finger reached for him — the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. The cool rims of his glasses kissed your finger tips, and you hesitated… then gently slid them off.

“I've always loved your eyes,” you whispered more to yourself than to him — like it was a secret you held far too long.

He stilled.

The quiet tension passed between you — something fragile, something reverent. Your fingers drifted lower, brushing the button of his shirt, trembling slightly as they ghosted across fabric and heat. But before you could move further, his hand caught yours — not to push you away, but to hold it, to bring it to his lips.

“As much as I'd love for you to take control,” he murmured against your skin, pressing a wet kiss into your palm. “I'd rather be the one to pleasure you.”

Your breath hitched, shallow and sweet, as his teeth grazed tenderly across your wrist. He trailed higher over your arm, your shoulder, up the column of neck until his mouth hovered just beside yours. And then —

He kissed you.

Softly, reverently, like it was the only thing he'd ever been meant to do. The kind of kiss that melted time, unspoiled the tension between your ribs, and made you forget that pain ever existed. You melted into it — into him.

You — past the flickering lights of the kitchen, past the couch that still held your shape — and into the bedroom. The walls were muted blue, the kind that held onto moonlight like a secret. Everything felt still, as though even the night was holding its breath for you.

He laid you down carefully, slowly, like you were made of something too precious to be rushed. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt again and this time he didn't stop you.

His name was a breath on your lips.

And the way he looked at you — God, it was worship.

No — more than that. It was reverence wrapped in longing, the kind of praise woven into silent prayers only an angel like you could understand. Satoru's hand lifted to brush your hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on his cheek, like he couldn't bear to stop touching you — not now, not after everything.

Your eyes shimmered with grief, but nestled between the pain, the frustration and the ache — there was still hope.

“Satoru… you're staring.” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, as your fingers continued to toy with the hem of his shirt, pulling it slightly.

“Can you blame me?” he whispered back, his gaze drifting to your lips. “You're so… unreal. I don't think you understand”

You glance down, flushing under his gaze, shy — but not pulling away.

Then you felt his hand slide beneath your hoodie. The sudden warmth of palm against your bare skin made your breath hitch, your back arching slightly — aching for more of his touch, for more of him.

And when your eyes fluttered open, he kissed you.

But this time, the kiss wasn't tender.

It was desperate. Messy. A collision of want, of apology, of finally. You gasp against his mouth when you felt his fingers flick against your nipple — and it only makes him smirk.

“You've been naked under this hoodie this whole time?” he murmured, his tone dark with mischief and then did it again — that teasing flick, enough to make your back lift off the bed as soft cry escaping your lips.

His mouth dipped to you exposing neck, pressing warm kisses against the sensitive skin there. “God, you smell amazing.” he breathed between kisses, voice raw, low, reverent.

Your hoodie began to to ride up, under his touch, his finger dragging it slowly, teasingly — until the swell of your breasts was fully exposed.

And then he stopped.

His gaze lingered longer than you expected, as if he was memorising every part of your body — like you were something holy, as if your body was a scripture and he was about to learn every verse by heart.

When his mouth finally descended, his tongue flicked softly against your nipple, earning a whimper from you, that had your hands flying to his hair, clutching at the strands for support. He hummed against your skin, savoring the way you fell apart so easily for him.

“Satoru…” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut, hips twitching gently beneath him.

A gentle pop echoed in the room as he pulled away from your breast with a soft suck, giving the other one equal attention as much as possible.

“You're so fucking perfect,” he whispered — and there was a tremble in it, as if even he couldn't believe you were real.

He shifted slightly, his finger grazing your inner thigh beneath your hoodie. You felt his mouth press one more kiss to your nipple, before he moved lower, his lips dragging down the curve of your stomach, hot and open, slow enough to make you whimper again.

Your back arched subtly when his hand cupped your heat — warm, calloused fingers reading your body like scripture. He watched your every reaction, patient, devoted, drinking in the way your breath hitched and your legs shifted beneath his touch.

Satoru found the band of your shorts and hooked his fingers beneath it, dragging the fabric down with excruciating slowness. His lips followed the trail, pressing hot, reverent kisses to your thighs as he bared you, inch by inch.

“God,” he breathed, voice low and rough, “your skin’s so soft…”

His lips ghosted over your ankle, then the arch of your foot, and higher still—open-mouthed kisses blooming like fire across your inner thigh. Wet, deliberate, worshipful.

You squirmed beneath him, whimpering, “Satoru, please…”

He glanced up through silver lashes, the corners of his mouth curling just slightly as he reached your center—thumb grazing the sensitive skin just beside it, like a tease, like a test.

The wet patch against your ribbon pink underwear didn't go unnoticed.

“You're so wet,” he whispered, his tone dark.

Your breath hitched when he reached the band of your underwear, his thumb hooking into the elastic. But he paused — not to tease this time but to look up at you.

“You okay?” he asked, and it was so soft — the way he always asked like you were something delicate, breakable, precious.

You nodded, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

“Good,” he smiled, voice low, sultry and he began to pull your underwear down with agonizing slowness. “Because I want to taste the way you mourn.”

He whispered it like a vow.

And when he settled between your legs, his breath ghosting against your core, you knew —

He wasn't just going to touch you.

He was going to ruin you

His breath was hot against your thigh. You felt it before you felt his mouth. Nipping slightly at your clit, teasing you like a man that's ready to take on his meal.

“Satoru please—” you whine beneath his gaze.

Then — he finally kissed you there, where you needed him most — slow and deep, as if offering a prayer. You gasp his name “Satoru…”

He hummed in response, the low vibration of his voice rumbling against your wet folds, like a secret that's only meant for you. His tongue was slow, tender but sure, parting you with care, as if he was reading grief straight from the folds of your body.

You writhed beneath him, your hands tangling in his snowy white hair, pulling slightly — not to stop him no, but to anchor you from the waters that's been daring to release. You needed something to hold onto and right below you was, the man that's devouring from within — was the only thing keeping you from unraveling completely.

“That's it,” he whispered, pausing to kiss your inner thigh, dragging his lips up, then returning to your core one again. “Let me hear you.”

You felt him spit on your clit, that's when he sealed his mouth around it — sucking gently, sending a jolt of pleasure that made your back arch instinctively.

“Oh my god —” you gasp at the sudden sensations that's about to take over.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, when he continued to suck, lightly, slowly, deliberately. His fingers gripping your hips, grounding you - guiding you through it. He was so attentive. So focused. Like he was trying to memorize the sound of your pleasure, the movement of your body, your weaknesses, your strengths — as if he was trying to replace every single memory of your pain with something sacred.

“You taste… like sweets,” he murmured against you, voice dripping with awe, like he was losing himself in it too. “I could spend a lifetime right here.”

And then you felt it — a single digit — no two, his fingers pushed within your walk. The sound of you clenching walks wrapped around his fingers like they were made for him.

“Can you hear how wet you are,” he asked, as his tongue flicked against your clit. One here, one there. A kiss on your thigh as his fingers continue to work through your went hole.

“Satoru… I..” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, and he continued to pump faster. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sudden sensations of pleasure — and for the second time that night his lips sealed your clit sucking — faster, deliberate — his tongue flattened, stroked long and slow, curling just right.

You back arched as a moan ripped through you, messy and high pitched. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes. Maybe from the pleasure, maybe from the grief still lingering at the edges. You didn't know anymore.

“Good girl,” he said again, and you could hear his voice — how much he needed this, how much he needed you. The way he kept pulsing his fingers within your walls, the way he kept sucking and licking you like you were his last prayer. “God, you're perfect. I've got you baby. Let it go.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could. Your thighs clamp tight around his head as the heat built and broke — wave after wave until you were trembling, chest rising and falling as your hands covered your face.

Satoru only kissed your inner thighs then your knee, softly as he continued to work you through your orgasm. And finally, he moved up your body slowly, carefully, like he was putting the pieces back together with every kiss he pressed to your warm, dewy skin.

His voice was hoarse when he asked, “Still with me?”

You nodded, barely able to form words, your chest heaving, heart still pounding lively in your throat.

You reached for him this time. And as your lips met his desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue — you knew :

He wasn't trying to heal you.

He was mourning with you. And this was his prayer. His body a psalm. You, the alter.

Your kiss deepened, slow at first — like a silent exchange between sorrow and want — and then something stirred within you. And yearning not to receive, but to give. To worship him, just the way he had worshipped you.

Your fingers trailed down the planes of his back, to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards with shaky hands. He broke the kiss only to let you pull it off him, and when your palms met bare skin, the heat between you deepened. He was beautiful — not just physically, but in the way he looked at you, like you were salvation in human form.

“Satoru… let me touch you, ” you whispered against his jaw, voice fragile but full of promises.

His breath caught, and for once he didn't hide behind teasing words nor cocky smirks. He nodded — almost shyly — and let you shift you onto his back.

You move over straddling his hips, fingers trailing down the expanse of his chest. His hand came into contact with your hips, as you kissed him again, slower now, your lips brushing over his and your hand drifted downward. When you palmed him through his pants, a low groan escaped his throat — like a silent plea — waiting for your touch to flood him.

“God,” he rasped, “you're… dangerous.”

You smiled, soft and sure, “So are you.”

You unzipped his pants with care, letting your fingers linger just a moment too long over the skin beneath his waistband. When you finally pulled him free, his head tilted back against the pillow, a quiet, broken noise leaving his lips.

You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, his member was glistening with precum. It was large, and you couldn't help but wonder if it would ever fit. Slowly you took your time, kissing down his chest, his stomach, until your breath hovered over his aching member.

And then with one last glance upward, your eyes met his. “Let me mourn you too.”

Then — you took him in your mouth.

You began slowly, the same way grief moved through the soul — carefully, respectfully like you understood the weight he carried — just like he carried yours. He tasted like skin and sorrow, like everything he couldn't say pressed against your tongue.

His hand found your hair, not to guide you but to anchor himself — just like you did — to remind him that this was no dream, that was reality itself

That you were here, offering the kind of solace no prayer could match.

“F-fuck… ” he breathed, voice already shaking. “F-feels… so good, fuck.”

You moved with tenderness, each stroke of your tongue an act of devotion, not lust — and he felt it. Every piece of it. Felt like it was stitching something inside him back together, only to tear him open again.

His head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, and then he looked down at you, breathless.

“Don’t look away,” he whispered. “Stay with me, baby… please.”

You hummed softly around him, and his whole body trembled.

“God– your mouth,” he groaned, hand tightening just a little in your hair. You could feel him shutter at your touch. A broken sound escaped him when you deepened your pace, slow and purposeful, and he covered his eyes with the back of his hand like he couldn’t take it.

You pulled back slightly, lips still kissing along his length, eyes locked with his. “I'm mourning you too,” you whispered again. And then you took him in fully, and he let out a quiet, aching, “Fuck, I'm gonna come — please — princess.”

His hips stuttered, and he reached for you blindly, not to stop you, but to hold on. As if letting go meant losing you again.

You let him fall from your lips with a soft gasp of breath, and you kissed your way back up his body, letting your chest rest against his, letting him feel your heartbeat—fast and full and alive.

He cupped your cheek when you reached his face, and when he kissed you, he could taste himself on your lips.

“Say my name,” he asked softly.

You smile, cheeks warm. “Satoru Gojo.”

You couldn't help but giggle at his sudden behavior. He smiled, and when he kissed you it was much different — his lips lingered longer on yours, not hungry,not rushed just… aching. Like he needed to taste every breath you offered, like your kiss could resurrect something lost. You felt the shift in the air — the kind of silence that held meaning. The kind of silence where one would reminisce in silence.

When he rolled you gently beneath him, it wasn't dominance — no this time it was him surrendering to you, and you to him. He looked down at you, like you were something fragile, sacred. Like he feared you might just be a dream, ready to slip from his hold if he moved too fast.

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath still warm and uneven. “Are you sure?”, voice tight almost pleading, “I don't want you…” but before he could even continue you kissed him.

Kissed him — pulled away, nodding as your fingertips brushed along the curve of his cheek. “You were the first man to make me feel normal…” your voice half broken, soft, “Make me remember I'm here, with you.”

And so he did.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, and you gasped — not from pain but from the depth. From how full it felt. From how deeply it fit, like he was carved for you.

Neither of you moved at first. He just held you – inside and out — letting your bodies adjust, letting the moment stretch.

His lips pressed to your shoulder, to your collarbone, to the hollow of your throat. “You feel like… heaven, I swear.” he murmured, voice breaking against your skin as he marked the flesh.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him deeper, closer. “Oh my god —” a soft gasp leaves your trembling lips.

He started to move, slowly, reverently like every thrust was a vow. Ever sigh a confession. You clung to each other like salvation.

The sound of your bodies — soft breaths, whispered names, the quiet rhythm of skin meeting was the only music the moment needed.

“There — right there…” you let out a breathy cry, your voice shivering with need as his rhythm deepened, unhurried but sure, like he knew every itch of you by instinct.

“Yeah? Right there, princess?” he whispered into your skin, his breath hot and trembling, forehead pressed to yours. “You're taking me so well — fuck your perfect.”

Your body moved as one, the type of synchronicity that didn't come from practice, but from the depth within both of you. From mourning. From reverence.

His hand slid between you, fingers circling your swollen clit, with aching gentleness. “I want to feel you fall apart,” he breathed heavily, voice cracking. “I want to feel you lose yourself. Can you do that for me?”

You could only nod, not trusting your voice enough — your hands clawing at his back, trying to keep yourself grounded as the pressure inside you coiled tighter, your breath hitched with every thrust. Behind you — you could hear the soft thud of the headboard tapping the wall with each deep thrust — a quiet rhythm that matched the desperate way he moved inside you.

“Satoru —” his name tumbled from your lips like a prayer, and he groaned in return, lips pressing to your cheek, your jaw, your mouth.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he rasped. “Fucking breathtaking. I could die right here.”

His movements grew a touch more desperate, not rough, never rough with you — but like he was trying to memorize you from the inside out. Like he was etching his soul into yours with every motion.

“I'm close,” you whimper, voice trembling.

“Me too princess. Fuck — me too. Let go for me, yeah? Come with me,” he pleaded, the sound of it wrecked and unfiltered. “Please…”

You felt it hit — the crash of sensation, white-hot and consuming. Your body arched, your vision blurred, and his name left your lips in a broken sob as you clenched around him.

He wasn't far behind.

With a strangled moan, he spilled inside you, holding you so tight like he was afraid you would disappear. His whole body shook, and for a long moment neither of you breathed — just trembled in each other's arms, undone and reborn.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full of everything unspoken. Grief. Healing. Worship.

And the echo of your names on each other's lips.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

You stayed like that for a long time, your chest rising and falling against his, breaths uneven, skin still warm from what had just passed between you. Satoru's fingers remained tangled in your hair, your cheek pressed to his shoulder, your legs still curled around his.

No one spoke.

The silence wasn’t suffocating—it was sanctuary. It was the lull after a storm, where hearts beat softer and the world fades away to nothing but skin and soul.

And then —quietly, you shifted.

You rolled to your side, his hand reluctantly slipping from your body, but not far. It found your waist instead, grounding you in the afterglow.

You stared at the ceiling for a while. So did he.

“You have a beautiful name,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the ceiling. As his hands slowly started to form shapes against the warmth of skin.

You could only smile, you realize now that he knows you. He knows the other part of your life — he knows the you , you've been hiding from him too long.

And suddenly you realize just how vulnerable you both were in this moment, your voice was almost too soft to be heard.“Do you ever get scared of your own art?”

Satoru turned his head toward you, brow furrowed.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. “I used to sing to heal,” you whispered, “but somewhere along the way, I started singing just to be heard. And now… I don’t know the difference.”

There was a pause — just long enough to hurt.

“I think I take pictures for the opposite reason,” he said. “Not to be heard. Just to see. To really see. And sometimes… to help people see themselves again.”

You swallowed. Slowly. Delicately. “I used to hide from the flash,” you confessed. “Like it might capture something I didn’t want anyone to see. That’s why I panic. I think… I thought the lens could turn me into something I’m not.”

He didn’t say anything. But his hand squeezed your waist.

You finally turned to face him, naked in every sense of the word.

And then, voice like dusk, you asked:

“Will you show me what you see?”

Satoru didn’t smile. He didn’t tease. He sat up slowly, reaching for his camera near the edge of the bed — far forgotten after your flush encountered, the lens glinting faintly in the city light seeping through the curtains.

He offered it to you, gently, like it was sacred, a secret he only shared with you.

“Come here,” he murmured, scooting back until you were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, legs barely touching. “Look through this.”

You took it with tentative fingers. Brought it to your eye. And for the first time, the world didn’t spin. Because through that lens, you saw him — Satoru Gojo. Raw. Beautiful. Tired. Honest.

The kind of man who listened with his whole body. Who didn’t ask for more than you could give. Who saw you without trying to fix all your broken parts.

“Now,” he whispered, brushing a hand over yours, helping guide your grip, “gently press right here.”

The shutter clicked. You lowered the camera.

And he was smiling.

Something warm bloomed in your chest. It didn’t have a name, but it sat beside the ache of goodbye. You handed the camera back to him.

And then you laid beside him again, not touching, just watching his face as he admired the photo you'd taken.

“Is that how you see me?” you asked.

He looked at you—not through the lens this time, but with the same stillness.

“No,” he said, voice rough with sleep and truth. “That’s how you see me.”

You didn’t say anything after that.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡//

Eventually, you drifted. His breathing slowed. And when you were sure he was asleep, you kissed him—just once—like you were pressing the memory of him to your lips.

Then you rose quietly, redressing in silence.

And as dawn crept in behind you, you slipped out the door and back into the world that never stopped watching.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were running.

You felt seen.

You saw yourself, through his lens.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡

3 MONTHS LATER

The soft hum of the aircon the only sound. Your phone lay facedown beside you, but you hadn’t touched it in hours. The headlines had already done what they always did — Pop Star’s Breakout Ballad 'Bliss' Stuns the Charts. A Song That Sounds Like a Goodbye.

They called it haunting. Beautiful. Vulnerable.

They didn’t know it was a confession.

You blinked slowly, lashes wet with unshed tears. The room felt too big tonight, like the shadows had grown long enough to reach inside you.

The clock flashed 2:17 AM. The same hour you left him in Tokyo. The same hour you slipped back into your skin and out of his arms. A sob broke from your chest before you could stop it. You gripped the sheets — but it wasn’t enough. You stood, restless, and with a sudden, angry motion, you kicked your suitcase over.

Its contents spilled everywhere. Clothes. Sunglasses. Lipsticks.

And then… something else.

A hoodie. The hoodie you wore that night.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You dropped to your knees. One by one, the memories fell out.

The tiny cat plushie that looked just like him — smug, sleepy-eyed.

The bent photobooth strip — the two of you caught mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, cheeks pressed together. He was staring at you in the last frame.

Your fingers shook.

Then you saw it — a polaroid. You. That night. Hair tousled, bare face , glitter clinging to your collarbones. Eyes soft and tired, looking right at him.

He took it when you weren't looking, while you were singing.

You flipped it over.

His handwriting.

You were always my lens.

If you ever need to find me…

- G.

(xxx-xxx-xxxx)

Your breath hitched.

And then you were dialing. Hands trembling. Tears dotting the screen.

The phone rang.Once.Twice.Three times.

Your heart clenched.

Then—

“Hello?”

His voice.

Rough. Sleep-warmed. Gentle.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

“…Is it you?” he asked, softer this time. “Is it really you?”

You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, choking back a sob.

“I wrote it for you,” you whispered. “The song. I—I didn’t know how else to say it.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t cold.

It was breathing.

And then, in that quiet, you heard it — the sound of him exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for three months.

“…Come home,” he said.

🔹author's note — i can genuinely say i’m proud of this piece. it took me two weeks to complete—not just because of the writing itself, but because i had to step away at times. some parts were intense, emotionally and mentally, and i wanted to give them the care they deserved. if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. i’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to let me know what you think. your support means the world.

much love always,

katherine ♡

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ps i do not own the art used in this post. credits goes to the original artist (unknown).