Wanting, Waiting.

good days on the farm didn’t happen very often. more times often than not, you’d have to discard of crops that simply didn’t grow throughout the season or simply weren’t profitable anymore in a changing market. your family didn’t have the money to invest on pasteurizing the milk from the two cows that spent their time grazing on the field, leaving you to have to discard of the surplus. the land that once served as a place of profit and survival now left your family scrambling pennies around to maintain it each month.

arguments travelled through paper thin walls—talks about losing the home, about trying to sell one of the cows to be set up for the next three months. “i’m gettin’ a job over at that town over, marie from the market says she can set me up to be a banker’s assistant,” your mother announced over dinner—stale mashed potatoes and eggs. it chipped away at your father’s pride bit by bit. yet pride was never good at getting food on the table, was it?

your family managed to scrape by. just barely. but still scraping by. your mother stepped out of your home before the sun came up and came back long after sunset, exhaustion making itself known by the way she struggled to keep her eyes open during dinner, to the way the bags under her eyes sunk in further with each day.

throughout the years, you’ve learned to manage your expectations to about… zero? that’s about right. your birthday didn’t hold that much importance anymore: just another day out of many where you had to get up and go to work. maybe you’d sneak off to the tracks to watch a race or two before you were escorted out by security.

work had been uneventful, going to the local market to try to sell a few boxes of strawberries for a dollar and some change before calling it a day. but it gave you just enough time to head over to the tracks before the races started—hoisting yourself up the metal fence to watch the jockeys start to set up. expensive carriages begin arriving within five minutes of your arrival, men in their finest suits stepping out to open the door for their lady.

wealth dripped from every single person that stepped into the tracks, even in the way that they laughed. money that you could only dream of seeing in a year is scribbled away in betting sheets, thousands put at the fate of a horse. though, you doubted it would even be enough to dent their pockets.

a gust of wind hit your face once the horses darted past, darting past the half mile mark in a blur. “and look at that folks! we got ‘em all neck and neck, but oh, little miss is pulling up ahead!” the crowd broke out in cheers, feet slamming against the metal stands.

when the races came to an end, you didn’t go home right away. walking the long way back home, the sun had started to set long ago—painting the sky above in streaks of light pink and orange. flowers swayed lightly in the night wind, crickets chirping in the grass next to the road.

your father’s waiting for you when you get home with a stern look on his face, “got something out back for you to check out, c’mon.” he leads you out into the barn in the back, folding his arms across his chest. you’re not sure what to expect—maybe one of the cows got hurt? the few crops you had left as food were damaged? still, you don’t get much to ponder when you hear him speak again, “open it.”

you pushed aside the wooden barn door, sunlight slowly bathing the dark interior in a golden light before you finally caught on. an appaloosa colt—maybe two, three years old—stood right in front of you, healthy black coat shimmering under the light with a few white spots scattered on his flank like a leopard. you blink once, expecting it to be gone by the time you open your eyes.

it’s still there when you do.

holding your hand out, the colt leaned in to sniff at your hand, a soft gust of wind against your skin as he blew on you before leaning its head against you. his fur felt soft underneath your fingertips, ears drooping back at each gentle stroke of your fingers. “hi sweetheart,” you whispered, fingers moving down to his neck.

your father’s boots shuffled against hay scattered throughout the barn, making his way over. his expression had softened up in a small smile, clasping a heavy hand over your shoulder, “he’s all yours. take care of him, you hear me?” you felt your breath catch in your throat, overwhelmed by the sudden emotion. never would you have thought that you’d one day be on the tracks—always imagined that you’d always watch your dream fade away into a dull ache into something regret of what could’ve been.

you nodded, reaching out to wrap your arms around him. you don’t even want to think about how much money a horse like this was, how much debt he’d willingly put himself through just to give you the chance. he returned the embrace, holding you against himself, “train him to race like you been watching for so long, get some money and get yourself on out of here.”

the past two years prior to the race were spent in excruciating hours of training—surpassing your horse’s limits with each day that went by. at first, it’d been simple enough: getting your appaloosa used to having a mount on his back, to have him stand still next to the mounting block, and then to having him used to having a rider on his back.

only then, was that you could begin the actual training. it started off with a light sprint throughout the farm, jogging a quarter of a mile out and back to ease him into getting his heart rate up. every week, he started getting faster and faster—enduring longer distances. and every time your horse beat a personal record, you were right there with a bag of carrots to congratulate him.

“i’m so proud of you,” you’d whisper each time he beat his personal record, passing over a carrot slice he’d practically inhale. slow huffs of breath would leave his lungs once he’d start to relax, breathing returning back to normal. the afternoon sun would start to set by the time you started to head back to the farm, cicadas buzzing in your ear every step of the way. if training continued this well, you’d be able to start racing soon enough.

though, it started off with races hosted in someone’s backyard, offering $50 dollars as a first place prize before moving up to $2000 races with more and more people filling up the crowds. your name started to get recognized amongst jockeys, people started betting in your favor with each gold medal hung around your neck. slowly, you started to make your way across the country to compete in grade 3 races, then grade 2 when you’d accumulated enough points, and finally grade 1.

every spare cent that made itself available from races was put back into your horse, whether it be better riding equipment, a sturdier saddle, or another vet visit if only to get them to confirm that he was healthy and his bones were in good shape. you knew most jockeys at the kentucky derby had money, came from expensive ranches and luxurious families, but still, you were invited. to one of the most important events in horse racing.

you’d worked your ass off to train your horse, training six days out of the week, but you’re made aware of the gap in funding when you step foot into the stables: spotting mostly horses of a fine pedigree inside. from thoroughbreds, arabians, mustangs, you and slow dancer stuck out like a sore thumb. jockeys walk past in italian leather boots, tailored jackets, and iron-pressed polos.

titanium horseshoes click against pavement as the horses are guided over to the stables looking out into the tracks. “you should give up now,” naoya zen’in sneers when he approaches your side, the image of a pretentious nepo baby who’d never been told no.

“amazing sportsmanship by you again,” unwilling to give into his petty reactions, you decide to give him a big smile. patting your hand against his shoulder, you move with slow dancer to your starting post. you briefly catch him dusting his shoulder with a look of disgust, muttering under his breath.

metal creaks against its hinges: the gate opens. guests stand up from the comfort of their chairs at the first sign of the race starting, craning their necks out to catch a glimpse of the contenders. “wow! look at that mighty fine selection folks! we got alpha male!” cameras pan over to naoya and a bay colored stallion, bronze coat glimmering underneath the sunlight.

“we have valkyrie!” the camera pans over to suguru geto and a brown colored australian stock horse, the definition of a muscular build and strong, broad hindquarters. the cameras continue to move, over to where you’re standing, “here we have slow dancer!” it continues for a few moments, getting the crowd riled up before the action actually began.

the starting bell rings, “and they’re off folks!”

stallions shoot out from their stables like bullets, ground shaking and quaking underneath their loud gallops. the crowd, the announcers, the rest of the jockeys all become background static in the adrenaline of the race, wind blowing in waves against your face. yet all you could focus on was the finish line. slow dancer moves through a narrow gap between valkyrie and alpha male, quickly taking first place. your fingers grip the reins, slowly building up more speed to leave the rest in the dust.

alpha male speeds ahead in a blur, taking the second place spot without hesitation. you see him from the corner of your eye, sneaking closer and closer to your position. “come on,” you muttered, releasing the reins from your hold. shifting your body up the mount and raising your chest, it’s all the signs slow dancer needs to increase speed.

“we’re half of the way through the race and slow dancer’s taken first place! will they be able to keep it or will alpha male snag a last minute victory?! it’s neck and neck, folks!” just once, you let yourself look over to the crowd of people, seeing them all standing there and rooting for you. signs fly up in the air with drawings of slow dancer painted on, jockey number on the little ones’ cheeks. in those three seconds, everything felt perfect.

and just like that, it was quickly ruined. naoya zen’in closed the gap left behind, leaving the rest in the dust to catch up to you. “not losing to a goddamn woman,” you hear him mutter under his breath, his horse slamming against slow dancer’s side. it’s not enough to knock you over—but your fingers tighten around the reins to keep your stance, forcing your horse to slow down.

a normal racer would’ve taken the advantage and made their way onto the finish line. but that wasn’t enough for naoya. the second time he slams into you, it knocks you completely off balance. pain surges from your legs up your torso upon the fall, helmet slamming against the clay underneath you. labored breaths are forcefully expelled from your lungs, nails digging into the clay tracks to try to hoist yourself up.

the ground shook underneath, racers at the last leg of the race finally zooming past your limp body as they tried to catch up to the rest. “naoya zen’in and alpha male win first place! suguru geto and valkyrie quickly approach the line to claim their spot as second!” feet slam against metal, crowds quickly standing up to break out into applause.

you can’t bring yourself to stand up. slow dancer’s snout nudges your feet, an anxious neigh leaving him in pure distress. he doesn’t leave your side, even as the medics finally started to arrive onto the scene once the final jockey made it through the finish line. “come on, stay with me, stay with me!” their voices sound muffled, as if you’ve been submerged underwater.

an alarm rings throughout the loudspeakers, temporarily stopping the celebration. “‘scuse me folks, we got an announcement! after reviewing the footage, we’ve found naoya zen’in has violated the rules of the kentucky derby and thus, suguru geto and valkyrie are our winners!” that does nothing to soothe the pain of the loss.

“tell me how many fingers you see, stay with me!” your eyes are forced open by the medic’s harsh flashlight shining at your pupils, gaze hazy as you tried to focus on the hand in front of you.

“three.”

he holds up five fingers next time. upon your confirmation, he determines: “no signs of a concussion. might have a few broken bones, we need to take her in for examination.”

medics hoist your body up onto a stretcher, rolling you out of the tracks to an ambulance parked outside. slow dancer moves to follow but a vet steps out onto the track, tugging too harshly against his reins. “be gentle, please,” your voice shakes as you beg, watching as he’s forcefully pulled away from your side. slow dancer had suffered the brunt of the impact and pushed it aside to remain at your aid.

the stands started clearing out as soon as the race came to an end, some eager to get their money’s worth and some dragging their feet all the way home. a couple people glance over your way, but only a muscular man with a scar on his lip actually approaches.

he waves his ticket in your direction when he’s by your stretcher, a glare on his face. “you wanna know how much we spent bettin’ on ya, lil’ girl? how much we gave that daddy of yours to getcha that mighty horse you’re prancing around on?”

it’s not just you facing the repercussions of the loss—but your family. this was the only chance you had to get out of this town, to make a name for yourself, and you’d completely blown it. if only you’d stayed on your horse, if only you’d sped up to where naoya couldn’t reach you, if only…

fuck.

a trembling breath leaves your lips, eyes stinging as you tried to swallow back tears threatening to spill in front of a loan shark of all people. you don’t know how you’re going to get back to your life, if you even can get back to some normalcy of it. warm tears spill down your cheeks once the disappointment takes hold, a painful lump in your throat keeping you from speaking.

the man nearly lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes at the display. “i don’t know how, but y’re gonna pay us back for all our trouble,” he threatens, menacingly looming over you. roughly, he takes a hold of your chin, forcing your tear-blurred vision onto his face, “got that?”

the sound of hooves clacking against the ground made the air still for just a second, suguru approaching your stretcher. you would’ve imagined he’d still be celebrating his win instead of getting a front row seat to your tears. “is there a problem here folks?” he’s only looking at you when he asks.

you shake your head, “no problem at all.” the man steps away, giving you one last look before making his way over to his carriage. “are you here to rub in your win?”

suguru merely shakes his head, reaching out to wipe away the drying tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb ever so gently. he looked at you with nothing but pity in his gaze, violet eyes softening just a bit, and that look killed you more than any injury. being seen as helpless again, as a disappointment. “if you need help with something, just ask.”

you’d rather get trampled by horses than ever take him up on that offer. still, you find it in yourself to give him a stiff nod. the medics come back to place you into the ambulance, shutting metal doors with more force than necessary. through the thin window, you manage to see suguru hasn’t left his spot until you’re well out of sight. it’s infuriating.

newspapers spread the word like wildfire—headlines ranging from: “star jockey out for injury: will they ever ride again?” to “naoya zen’in knocks over jockey: fined $7000 by the national jockey association.”

then they focused on suguru geto, winner of the kentucky derby. not a day passed by where he wasn’t surrounded by journalists sticking a microphone in his face, cameras flashing from nearly every direction. “geto, geto! just a moment of your time please!” reporters would beg at his feet in the attempt of scoring an interview.

soon enough, you and your injury were nothing but old news. nothing but a has-been in a world where new jockeys emerged everyday in hopes of achieving some semblance of fame. everything you’d worked for disappeared in the blink of an eye. now your only focus was on starting to walk around the farm again, to ease your body into moving after your injury.

blue first place ribbons hang up on your walls, shiny gold trophies gleam underneath the orange sunlight peering in through your bedroom windows. a secretariat poster hangs up on the wall next to your ribbons, a reminder you kept up to motivate you through each race.

the sight does nothing but mock you now—a cruel reminder that you might not be able to be a jockey again.

—

curtains clasped shut at the first glimpse of your limping figure through the window, doors slamming shut and locks quickly jiggled shut. your mother wanted nothing to do with you—started going by her maiden name again. your father wouldn’t even look at you. and to top it all off, you were still buried in a mountain of debt.

work had proven to become a challenge. if you struggled to get customers to your little corner of the market once, the struggle was multiplied tenfold after the race. tumbleweeds blew past your stand ever so often, nobody daring to even approach out of fear of being isolated in the same way. your strawberries went bad before you could even sell one container most days.

toji fushiguro picked up the coins you’d dropped on the table, counting them off one by one—ten measly cents—before looking up. a cruel smirk spread across his face, scarred lips raising up in amusement. “you serious, girl?”

“it’s all i got right now, mr. fushiguro,” your fingers fidget in front of you as you speak, avoiding looking at him in the eye for too long. “just give me some time to get the rest of it together, please.”

he all but roughly pushes the coins back in your direction, propping his feet up on the table. “ain’t even worth the time i’m speaking to you.” a low blow, but it wasn’t even enough to get the bus home. it’s the next part that makes you pause, however, “plus, your debt’s been paid.”

you blink slowly, staring at toji in disbelief. maybe you did get a concussion. maybe you’re hearing things. but you’re met with nothing but a shrug from the man. shock momentarily subsided, you manage to spit out, “what? by who?”

toji glanced over at a pink haired man you don’t recall having seen at the race. the two of them share a silent conversation with just a look before the men turned to look at you once more. “tch. you of all people should know don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, now get. don’t waste my time again,” he shrugged, shooing you with a flick of his hand.

even if the debt was paid off, you couldn’t stay in this town. while it wasn’t the place that you wanted to spend the rest of your life in, it was one you’d once considered a home. people you grew up with treated you the same they would dirt underneath their snakeskin boots, ones you’d shared a laugh and a cold glass of brew only had cold, bitter silence to offer, elderly who once treated you like family wanted nothing to do with you.

there was nothing left for you here.

but there was one race you could start over with.

the steel ball run.

a six thousand kilometer race running from san diego, california to manhattan, new york city with nine checkpoints along the way all for the chance of winning fifty million at the end. it’s the first race of its kind—whispers stretching out through city lines about what possible dangers lie in the paths, if the money was even guaranteed, about how many people would die trying.

though, you didn’t have anything to lose anymore. stripped away from your title, from your glory, you were just another washed up racer drowning in debt no one would remember in five years. “y’re no daughter of mine.” that was the last time your father looked you in the eyes, with nothing but fury and disdain.

plenty of other washed up racers from other towns lined up at the sign up booth, each one looking for the same chance of redemption that you were. or maybe, just the cash. you dug out your small pouch from your pockets, gold coins jiggling against one another before making your way into the line.

“name?” a tired looking attendant questions, barely looking up from their clipboard. you give him your name, placing the pouch in front of you. two hundred coins exact—the charge of entry. the last bit of money you had saved up. they dump the coins onto the wooden table, muttering under their breath as they count each and every last one of them.

the cash register opened—filled to the brim with gold coins shining through. they dumped yours along with the rest, writing your name onto the clipboard in sloppy scribbles. “what’s your horse’s breed and name?”

“slow dancer. he’s an appaloosa.” you’re handed a jockey number—939— before being promptly shooed away to attend to the person standing behind you. padding over to slow dancer, you hoist the number onto his mount. he’d recovered quite nicely after dislocating his shoulder after the incident, though you’d never tried to race him again. couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to do it again.

your eyes dart around the space to wage the competition, spotting quarter horses, appaloosas, older thoroughbreds that’d been retired (nothing too prestigious), but you were certain what these people lacked in money, they made up with desperation and years of experience.

though, the last person you expect to see at this race is right in front of you—suguru geto with valkyrie standing next to him at the check in counter. his forearms strained against the thin black button on as he fixed his horse’s number on, long onyx strands falling from their half-bun onto his face.

you decide to approach him, tapping on his shoulder. he looks just as surprised to see you here, before his expression’s schooled back to normal. you raise a brow before questioning, “what are you doin’ here? wasn’t happy with nearly a million from the derby?”

suguru doesn’t answer straight away. he simply lets out a quiet hum, finally meeting your disbelieving gaze. “spent it all,” he responds, fishing a marlboro pack from his pockets. he takes a stick from the half-finished pack, bringing it up to his lips before patting his pockets for a lighter. you pass him the one in your pocket.

“you spent seven hundred thousand dollars in five months?” you deadpan, brows furrowing in disbelief. you hadn’t seen anything on the news, nothing about any extravagant purchases or new horses bought. “on what?”

a plume of smoke leaves his lips, fingers grazing against yours when he returns the lighter. “don’t be digging’ around where you haven’t lost something,”

you want to continue to prod, but you don’t get the chance to.

a microphone squeals loudly throughout the crowd, an echo of ‘boos’ following like clockwork. “sorry about all that, folks. my name’s mashamichi yaga and i want to give you all a warm welcome to the race.

“now. listen closely! true failure is forgetting the pioneer spirit! and staying away from challenging hardships! there is no such thing as failure in this race! there are only adventurers! this steel ball run race will be an event the likes of which the world has never experienced before!"

he moves onto explain the technicalities of the race—of each checkpoint, of the money won, of people being able to keep up with you on a shiny, new locomotive meant to provide comfort to the richest of the rich during this race. “we got two minutes ‘till the race starts, first place winner will be given a one hour time bonus at the next checkpoint and a hundred points!”

“i need your help.” the words feel like poison on your tongue, your nose scrunching up at the admission. you still had your pride; the last thing you wanted to do was ask suguru geto for help. but once again, what did pride get you? reluctantly, you added, “i can’t win this race without you.”

after a few furtive puffs, the marlboro was snuffed out under the tip of his boot. the grimace on your face was still there despite your attempts to try to swallow your distaste. “you.” he points at you for emphasis, an incredulous scoff leaving his lips before pointing at himself, “want me to help you.”

“yes.” you sincerely hope you sound more convincing this time around. like you’re not dreading the idea before it he’s even agreed to it.

suguru decides to entertain you, “why?”whether it be out of curiosity or a means to mock you, you weren’t exactly in the position to question it.

“you said you’d help me if i needed it. i’m asking for your help now,” you respond, moving to mount slow dancer once yaga came out to announce one minute until start. it feels like riding a bike again—putting your leg foot into the stirrup before swinging your right foot over to the side.

“y’know that wasn’t what i was talkin’ about?” you knew. he probably meant getting in and around town, bringing a warm slice of pie to your bedside table if need be. not helping you win a transcontinental race. a silence settles between the two of you as you start making your way over to the starting line, thousands and thousands of jockeys stretching out for miles across the land.

a few people stick their head out the train’s windows, hoping to catch a glimpse before the locomotive takes down the tracks. suguru turns to look at you before it begins, before you’re too far apart to speak, “if you can keep up with me, i’ll help you.” you’re caught completely off guard.

a single bullet launches into the air, hooves trampling against sand in a rush to be any place but dead last in between 3000+ jockeys. the shock takes too long to subside—leaving you to start late. the scorching desert heat is relentless against your flushed skin, sweat dribbling down your temples and back. the thin material of your button-down sticks to you like a second skin, small critters scurrying into the ground to find cover.

while many of the other jockeys had taken off in a sprint for the first leg of the race, you’d decided on taking it slow. the next source of water was uncertain, and you knew slow dancer wouldn’t be able to handle this rough terrain at high speeds. “in first place, we have suguru geto speeding past, but wait, star jockey naoya zen’in’s right behind!” the name makes your eye twitch.

if he had no qualms about playing dirty in the derby, he’d certainly have no problem doing it now in the middle of the desert.

time didn’t exist in a vast land with cacti as landmarks, no sense of how far you’ve travelled if it weren’t for yaga’s announcements or how much more you have left to go. you see all kind of racers throughout the journey—a jockey managing to make his way through a patch of thorns without a scratch and his eyes shut, a racer running through the competition by foot—unbothered by the scorching sand underneath.

up ahead, suguru knocks naoya from his horse with enough force to leave him winded and out of commission for a few minutes. he moves away from the track to cut ahead a few miles, the sight of the forest treacherous and dangerous up ahead. a few jockeys decide to rush after him, and you follow suit to cut off a few miles of distance.

twigs surround you throughout the narrow passageway available, sharp ends digging into your arms with a vengeance. slow dancer’s forced to scale back on speed, moving carefully through tree openings. a couple jockeys get stuck in between branches, clothes stuck and horses wounded. they’re slowed down, giving you the perfect opportunity to move closer and closer to the opening.

“and they’re out of the woods, folks! they left the other jockeys in the dust, managing to keep their advantage!” yaga’s voice booms out at the first sight of geto appearing through the end of the forest. your grip on the reins around slow dancer’s mouth releases, letting him burst forward throughout this last leg of the race.

crowds around you break out into bursts of applause, the kids jumping in their place as suguru makes his way through the finish line at first place with the follow-ups only a nose away. a loud screeech from the locomotive coming to a halt is heard a mile away, cameras taken out in a frenzy to capture the fleeting moment. “and we have our winner! soundman’s in second, naoya following in third!”

you cross through the finish line at fourth place, scoring yourself 35 points at the first checkpoint. not bad enough, but a score you’d definitely need to improve in the second checkpoint.

the alarms ring out once, yaga’s voice coming in through the loudspeakers, “suguru geto has been disqualified from first place after reviewing the footage, soundman is the winner of our race today!”

—

night falls by the time the race celebrations are over; those lucky enough to have brought some spare change are able to stay at an inn in the frontier town nearby, and those who weren’t, resort to sleeping on the ground in hopes a snake doesn’t dare to approach. a breeze settles over the desert now that the sun’s set completely, a chill running down your sticky body.

you settle for setting your head down on an old log, tying slow dancer to a tree right next to your spot. a few of the other racers murmur amongst themselves, probably trying to team up against the rest of you all, and an owl hoots nearby, but its calm tonight. your eyes flutter shut, slowly starting to give into the tiredness that courses through your body.

you’re not sure how long you take a nap for, but when your eyes flutter open, you’re met with suguru geto looming over you. a hand flies up to your chest, blinking away any remaining sleep. “good grief, you scared me, what’s wrong with you?!”

he takes a step back, letting you stand up and dust your jeans off. “you can stay with me,” he offers, tucking his hands into his pants. suguru almost looks…shy upon the inquiry. that, or the lack of sleep was really doing a number on you.

a teasing smirk makes its way onto your face, one of your fingers reaching up to prod at his cheek, “aw, look at ‘cha. you came back to invite me to your quarters.” he takes a hold of your finger, but he doesn’t let go immediately. it feels too intimate for someone you’re supposed to hate for stealing your dream.

“yeah, yeah. c’mon, let’s go before you catch a cold out here.” suguru leads you and slow dancer to an inn almost half a mile out, a couple horses tied onto trees nearby. you give slow dancer a small kiss on his left cheek before following inside. a soft breeze welcomes you upon stepping into the room, a rusty window a/c whirring at full speed.

what suguru had failed to realize before inviting you over was that: he only had one bed. no couch, no nothing.

he rubs a hand against the back of his neck, letting out a small whistle. “i can sleep on the floor if you need me to.” even though, he sounds like he wants to do anything but.

you merely shrug, slipping your boots off by the right side of the bed. maybe you hated him, but you weren’t exactly cruel. “we’re both adults here, we can sleep on a bed together. plus, you paid for the room, can’t have you doin’ that now.” suguru settles on the left, discarding his boots and his jeans.

you have to force yourself to look away from his thighs, focusing instead of unbuttoning your shirt. “we can set up a pillow fort if that makes you feel better, though,” you offer, setting up a couple in the middle of the bed. it’s not much, but it’s enough to warrant you space for the night.

“sleep well.”

“goodnight.” you settle underneath a satin sheet, struggling to find a comfortable position. you flip to your right, you flip to your left, you even try sleeping on your stomach. suguru doesn’t say anything—even when he’s hyperaware of each and every single one of your movements. though eventually, you give up on the task and end up falling asleep with your back turned towards him.

moonlight flickers through the hotel’s curtains, painting the room in silver streaks. the pillow mountain’s been completely toppled, your ass pressed up against suguru’s cock in this position. he’s sure you’re trying to torture him with the way you’re slowly rubbing yourself against him.

his cock strains against his boxers with each roll of your hips back against him, drops of precum smearing a dark grey patch onto the front of the material. a quiet moan that seems too loud for the hotel room leaves his lips, eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to push this away. think about the inevitable horse shit he’d have to chuck away tomorrow…about naoya’s stupid face…

“oh fuck.” you drip through the thin material of your panties, the print of your lips clearly defined against the cotton. each roll of your hips is purposeful, using him to get off. his feet hit the floor mere seconds later. he’s had sex with women before and yet he feels like a virgin all over with how quickly you unravel him.

you trust him. as much as someone like you can trust anyone, and he’s here getting hard because you’re rubbing yourself up against him. regret mixes into a toxic cocktail with self-loathing once he lowers his boxers in the small bathroom, one of his hands wrapping around the base.

and to top it all off, he’s thinking about you with each stroke. your lips stretching around the tip to take him in, tongue flicking around the sensitive tip. his thumb rubs against his frenulum; it doesn’t feel the same. maybe you’d tease him, make him beg for it before you took him in your mouth. “fuck,” he lets out a shuddered whimper, fist tightening up against his shaft how he’d imagine your mouth to be.

his eyes flutter shut, fingers slowly moving up and down his aching shaft. sweat dribbles on his forehead, teeth digging into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. silky black hair spills away from the bun he’d put it in, curtaining the sides of his face. would you run your fingers through it? maybe tug on it? fuck, the thought almost makes him moan.

“let go for me, sugu, c’mon,” he can practically hear your voice dropping to a sultry tone, working him to the edge with each sinful flick of your tongue against him. with a muffled groan, hot spurts of cum splatter against his palm and abdomen. it does nothing when he already feels like a piece of shit for doing this in the first place—only something more to clean up and never discuss.

a knock follows suit, evidence completely flushed away in a rush. “suguru, you okay in there? i gotta use the bathroom?”

“uh y-yeah, all good.” fuck, he’s so screwed.

—

suguru geto doesn’t look at you. any traces of him from the hotel room were completely gone by the time you’d woken up, spotting him training valkyrie out by the tracks before the race started. at first, you chalked it up to exhaustion. the bed hadn’t been the best—though, you couldn’t complain. it certainly was better than the ground.

though, the second time that he steps away from you, it starts to sting for reasons that you don’t want to admit to yourself. if not friends, you would’ve thought he was at least comfortable with you. still, you can’t think about it too hard because the next stage of the race is kicking up. slow dancer pants underneath the unrelenting arizona heat, each step forward a struggle for the overworked horse.

you rush towards the ravine marked on the map provided, the sight filling you with relief. pushing yourself off from slow dancer, he immediately rushes over to take large gulps from the river. suguru and valkyrie already made it, his horse finishing up with his share. “are you going to tell me what i did?” your voice breaks the silence.

both of them turn to look at you. valkyrie seems to take your offense in stride, gently nudging at suguru with his snout. “you didn’t do anythin’ wrong.” he still doesn’t look at you when he says it.

you take a step forward, nudging a finger into his chest. “i asked you for your help and now you’re not even talking to me. so tell me what i did that was so wrong?” you prod, the short distance between you forcing him to finally look up at you. he looks…guilty.

more and more racers start to approach the ravine, a couple taking the chance to unwind given the opportunity. naoya slips between you and suguru without so much as an excuse me, interrupting whatever semblance of a conversation you’d forced him to have.

his horse kicks dirt against your jeans upon being forcefully slowed down, denim material stained a nasty shade of brown. naoya steps down from alpha male like self-proclaimed royalty, guiding him over to the ravine. “the two of you should give up now,” he sneers, “we all know i’m the one beating the two of you.”

“tell him to go eat shit,” suguru nudges your side, completely disregarding your previous conversation. nothing close to an apology and he wants to go back to pretending like everything’s fine and dandy between you?

a scoff leaves your lips, shaking your head in disbelief. “tell him yourself.”

“eat shit, asshole! fall off your horse!” suguru’s words must’ve been laced with something magic. naoya falls from his horse a half mile later, head slamming against a boulder nearby. crimson streaks stain the once perfect face he’d prided himself on, nose twisted and a blooming shade of purple.

more and more racers are left in the dust, either giving up or simply defeated by forces of nature. whatever the case may be, you and slow dancer manage to make it through the finish line in first place with a booming applause following your victory.

still, even with a hundred eighty five points now in your pocket, you can’t feel but feel hollow.

—

“congrats on the win,” suguru approaches shortly after crossing the line in fourth, clasping a hand over your shoulder.

you shove off it off, bewildered just by how much audacity a man could have. still, you manage to mutter out a simple, “thanks.”

he looks as if you’ve wounded him, hand hovering in mid air where you’ve pushed him away. your boots scuffle forward, hoping to find a good place to rest for the night. suguru trails right behind you, biceps straining against his button down when he folds his arms across his chest. “can you tell me what your problem is?”

rubbing at your temples, you slowly but surely start to feel a headache coming on. “i don’t have a problem. you ignore me for days and suddenly it’s not right when you wanna act friendly again and it’s my turn to ignore you.”

suguru runs a hand over his face, letting out a sharp breath before meeting your defiant gaze. “i don’t even know i put up with you half the time.”

“then why do you?” you spit out, standing up from your spot to face him straight on.

“‘cause you came up to me and asked for help!” his voice booms throughout the quiet terrain, a few of the racers halting mid conversation to glance over at the two of you. “and i did! even though you’re still bitter over some race that i won five months ago. get over it!”

the words make your chest sink, eyes stinging from tears you wouldn’t let suguru geto see of all people. you’d let down your parents, your town, yourself, you just weren’t expecting to let him down too. you swallow down the lump in your throat before meeting him with a deadly glare, “then maybe it’s time you stopped helping me. i’m not your charity case anymore.”

regret immediately settles into those purple irises, his hand reaching out to take hold of your wrist. “i’m sorry, you hear?” he whispers in your ear, away from any of the prying ears pretending not to listen. “i-it’s hot, i’m not thinking straight, and you keep messing with my head. c’mon, let’s just get on over to the inn.

“please.”

—

silence envelops the small hotel room in a thick blanket upon your arrival, tensions from the argument still lingering behind. suguru drops his sack on the bedside table next to the left side of the bed, taking a seat on the mattress.

“why were you ignoring me?” as much as he’d try, you wouldn’t leave the topic alone.

a deep exhale leaves him, his head hung low. the admission on the tip of his tongue could send you running for the hills, never to see him again. even when you’d ‘hated’ him, at least, at the very least, you still regarded him. begrudgingly, he spoke up, “i told you that you keep messing with my head. i keep thinking about things i shouldn’t want with you.”

you set your own pouch down on the bedside table, crossing over to his side in a few quick strides. stepping in front of him, you slide his black hat off his head, sliding it onto your own. it’s a little big, nothing too exaggerated though.

“well.” your voice drops to a whisper, your pointer tilting his chin up to face you. “what if i told you i needed your help with something else?”

—

the first time your lips press against suguru geto’s, you almost hate yourself for how good it feels. your hand comes up to his cheek, skin soft underneath your fingertips. the taste of bourbon and smoke clings onto him, and yet it’s a taste that you can’t nearly get enough of. “thought about this every night,” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours when you pull away.

you don’t respond. with words anyway. instead you kiss him again, deeper this time. your lips press against him, devouring every single broken whimper that leaves his lips. it’s much more needy than tentative this time—taking his bottom lip lightly in between your teeth before pressing them back up against him. suguru’s hands move down your body, settling on your hips.

his lips trail down from your own to your neck, hands on your waist. slowly, he turns around to set you on the mattress beneath you. “tell me you don’t want this,” he lets out a broken whisper, hovering over you, “and i’ll stop. we never have to talk about this again.”

you reach up, tugging him by the collar of his shirt. “i want this, please,” you affirm, the words practically music to suguru’s ears. his mouth moves down to your neck, taking sensitive skin in between his lips to gently suck and kiss upon. one of his hands moves down from your hips, unbuckling your belt and undoing your pants.

his hand moved down to the thin material of your panties, translucent strings of slick sticking against the lace. “all wet and all i’ve done is kiss you, huh?” he whispers against your neck, tracing the outline of your folds with the tip of his finger. you clench around nothing, hips bucking up into his hand for something more.

“please, i’m askin’ you nicely here.”

he merely shakes his head, “i know, i know. big ol’ suguru’s just being mean, huh?” he cooed as you nodded along. his fingers move up to your waistband, slowly starting to peel away the layer keeping him away. his fingers graze against your inner thigh, a shudder running down your spine at how electrifying that little touch could be.

pushing the damp material off your ankles, his fingers inch their way up your legs at a torturous pace. “you’re so pretty like this,” he whispers, moving closer and closer to where you’re already dripping for him, “all needy and wet because of me.” he pushes a single finger in, curling it justt right to make you unravel underneath him. slick dribbled down to his knuckle upon pulling out, juices glistening underneath the hotel lights.

his lips continued to tease the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing near your collarbone, biting near your earlobe all while his finger thrusted inside of your dripping pussy. “f-fuck, more, more,” you whine, bucking your hips to meet his rhythm.

“only one i’m listenin’ to’s down there,” he retorted, pressing a finger against your mouth. your brows furrow in confusion, wondering just who exactly he meant. your cunt squelched around his finger, mingling in with the sound of your shaky breaths. “there we go, she’s tellin’ me she wants more.”

he moves down your body to nestle in between your thighs, legs thrown over his shoulders. he’d meant to take his time, meant to take you out to at least a local market for a skewer, anything to prove that he was a gentleman, but how could he do that when you were all ready for him? his tongue darted in between your folds, swiping in between to capture your slick in his mouth.

“tastes so good, should just quit the race and live here,” he babbled, the tip of his tongue circling around your twitching, sensitive clit. your fingers move down to tangle in his hair, holding him in place as he moves against your cunt like he’s never had something this delectable before. there wasn’t any rush with the way that he moved against you—with the way that he lapped up every last drop of your essence—just pure need and hunger.

“you’d be—oh fuck—you’d be happy with that?” your voice breaks out into a breathy whisper, legs quivering and shaking against his shoulders. his fingers dig into the plush of your thighs, tugging you all that much closer like he wanted to consume you whole. through a half lidded gaze, he manages to look up before responding, “ecstatic.”

two of his fingers curl and pump inside of you, mouth latched on to your clit. he switches from flicking his tongue, to gently sucking the nub in between his lips—playing you like an instrument he knows by heart to unravel you in the best way possible. your toes curl against his back, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter underneath his tongue.

your hips move on their own accord, bucking up to meet each swirl of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. he lets out a muffled, desperate moan against you, “use me, pretty, i’m all yours. just here to make you cum.” his eyes flutter shut in pure bliss, coaxing your orgasm with each swirl of his tongue around your swollen clit.

“right there, right there, sugu, gonna—oh fuck!” with a loud cry, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. your nails dig into his scalp, a pain that he more than relishes in while your release spills over his chin and fingers. he doesn’t stop just there—no, of course not, he continues to move against you while you ride out the aftershocks. pressing a kiss against your clit, he finally relents when it starts to border on overstimulation, bringing his own to lap away at every last drop of your divine slick.

your chest heaves underneath the pale moonlight spilling through the windows, your legs shaking as you get up. “you feeling okay?” suguru decides to ask, though he looks more ruined than you do. his pupils are completely blown wide, slick still glimmering from where it remained on his chin. you move in front of him, fingers hooking around his belt loops.

a brief moment of pause passes between you before your lips slowly press against his. you taste yourself on his tongue, and yet, all that makes you do is move more greedily. your fingers move onto unbuttoning his levi’s, tracing the outline of his shaft against his boxers. “i want to do it all with you,” you murmur against his lips, a broken whimper leaving him in response.

suguru geto would give you the world and more if he was able to do so. he didn’t waste time in kicking off his jeans, moving onto unbutton his shirt in a haste. a couple of them scattered onto the ground beneath you, not that either of you paid much mind.

muscles flex underneath sun-kissed skin, a couple moles and small scars marking up the expanse of his back. he shuffled onto the mattress behind you, cock straining and twitching against his thigh while he watched you move around.

“you had me beggin’, geto. i don’t think it’s exactly fair if you don’t do the same,” you click your tongue, grabbing your ropes from your bedside table. bringing his hands up to the bed post, you tie them to each side with a loose knot.

“no, no, it’s not fair,” he mumbles, looking up to meet your gaze. it’s amazing how quickly this man can turn to look like the needy, whiny mess he was making mocking you of being. “told you i’m just here to pleasure you, all yours to use, ma’am.”

fixing the cowboy hat on your head, you move over to where he’s already leaking and throbbing for you. slowly, you peel away his boxers, kicking them off to the side. precum lands against his toned abdomen, mushroom tip flushed a deep shade of pink. your lips move down, pressing a chaste kiss onto the crown before your fingers wrap around the shaft.

you give him one pump before adjusting yourself in between his legs, sliding his thick cock in between your dripping folds. tip nudging against your swollen clit, your head falls back in a silent moan. suguru’s nails dig into the satin sheets below, desperate with each drop of your slick that hits his shaft.

deciding against teasing him further, you slowly guide the tip to your entrance before starting to sink down. the stretch of your walls around his cock feels unreal, feels like something out of this earth. your nails dig crescents into his thighs, pushing yourself deeper onto him. “just like that, you can take it,” he murmurs, simply entranced by how well you’re managing to take him.

your cunt flutters and squeezes around his like a tight fist, gripping onto both sides like you never want to let go either. a broken moans leaves your lips when you finally manage to bottom out, his eyes darting down to where you’re connected fully. slick dribbles down his cock, completely coating him in the clear sap.

the pace that you set is nothing if not slow, hips gyrating as you bounce yourself against his cock. your head flies back, hat tilting in the change of position, while suguru’s fingers itch to grab you, to do something than flail around his restraints. “fuck, so so good,” you moan out, clit rubbing against his pelvis. you switch to rolling your hips against his, using him for your pleasure solely.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss onto the side of his jaw before trailing down. taking one of his tits in your mouth, you slowly swirl your tongue around the hardening nubs. a broken gasp leaves his lips at the sudden feeling, his cock swelling deep inside of you. “you like my tongue on you?” you tease, your fingers reaching out to twist his other nipple.

“yes, yes, fuck,” a quiet whimper leaves him, rutting against each lazy roll of your ass against him. his feet plant against the mattress, dragging each inch at a faster pace. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each thrust, hips snapping against yours. you moan around his nipples, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, “fuck, sugu, fuck fuck!”

your hand moves down from his nipple down to your clit, rubbing small circles over the nub as you start to feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm. each drag of his tip against your g-spot has you seeing stars behind your eyelids, broken little ah! ah! ah’s leaving your lips with each thrust. with a broken moan, you came apart at the seams and spurted over his cock.

your release pooled around the base of his shaft in a creamy ring, each squelch filthy in the sex ridden room. his hips stuttered as you tightened around him that much more, practically milking him for all he’s worth. “fuck, where do you want it, gonna cum,” he whines desperately, your fingers wrapping around the base. you pull him out of you just in time, thick streams of cum splattering against your stomach.

you don’t move just yet.

breaths mingled together as you laid next to him, an ache in your thighs starting to set in. suguru reached out to take a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, cleaning off the drying cum off you. “it’s better than i imagined,” he lets out a broken laugh, meeting your gaze in the dark room.

“of course, you imagined this, you freak,” you murmur in response, fingernails reaching out to trace the moles mapping his chest. suguru takes a hold of your finger, pressing a small kiss onto the pad. “i imagined this and more. maybe marriage, a big ranch you could run around with slow dancer, maybe a couple dogs.”

you let out a quiet hum, “maybe.” suguru lets out a hum as well, wrapping an arm around your stomach. your eyes flutter shut, but you don’t dare fall asleep tonight. it’s too important to do so. meanwhile, suguru falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow under the guise that everything’s a fantasy waiting to come true between the two of you.

—

looping the ropes over the bed’s posts, you’re able to restrain his arms and legs. you’d learned from just tying his arms—he could escape quite easily. his chest still rises and falls in deep sleep, a blissful smile still plastered onto his face. taking everything from the room, you descend the stairs and out into the desert before the sun has a chance to rise.

“hi,” you whisper, approaching valkyrie just outside. he’s easy to get to come with you—just a few pats on the side of his neck and a few apple slices, and the two of you were suddenly best friends.

and when suguru geto wakes up? he’s faced with the realization that he’s stuck in the desert, with nothing to his name or his aide, all for a woman he once gave everything to help out.

if you made it up to this point, thank you for reading and i truly hope that you enjoyed as this was one of my favorites to write :3

"What's your handle?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at you before putting the bottle up on a high shelf, like he already decided to save it for something else. He pulled out his phone next, typing something into it just for his eyes to flick back up expectantly for your answer.

You blinked at him for a second, glossy lips parted before you realized that most likely looked stupid.

"Oh, like on Instagram or-?"

"Any of them," Gojo laughed again, pouring you a beer from the tap on the counter before walking back over with an easy smile.

"I, um, don't use social media," You admitted with a shrug, hating how much of a loser it made you sound like. You sipped your beer instead, cringing at how bitter it was and still drinking more so you didn't seem rude.

"Seriously?" He cocked a brow up, scrunching his nose like he couldn't believe it.

"I don't really have many friends," You mumbled, barely keeping yourself from frowning at thought you didn't actually have any friends. "Just thought it'd be kinda embarrassing to create an account if I don't have people to add."

"I could be your first," Gojo gladly offered. He didn't miss a beat. Didn't make you feel like a loner. Just volunteered.

You opened your mouth to stammer through a response before a warm hand suddenly pressed against your spine.

"Hey," Geto murmured in your ear, soft and smooth, sinking into your skin.

You froze. Brain malfunctioning at the warmth and how close he was, lips grazing just barely against your skin.

"Hi," You breathed.

He sighed, but it was more of a calm exhale, not holding any disappointment or disapproval. You looked back at him just to pause again at the way he was looking at you, half-lidded and hazy, loosened up by however many drinks he had.

"Let's put your purse somewhere safe," He gestured down at it, taking you upstairs and pulling out a key from his pocket to unlock a door, grabbing your purse and walking inside with it before coming back out to lock it again.

"Oh, um, thank you," You breathed.

Geto didn't say anything else, but you let his hand guide you back out into another living room, smaller than the first, but with less people crowding around. He took the seat in the corner of the couch, pulling you down next to him, one of your legs half on his lap, his hand over your skirt.

"Satoru texted me that you were here," He said, all that confidence he just had simmering down to something softer, more unsure now that you were almost alone. "You could've called me."

"I didn't want to interrupt if you were talking to your friends," You mumbled shyly, glancing around the few other people too drunk to pay attention to you.

Paying Geto didn't make you feel like less like an inconvenience to him.

Even if he was in a good mood tonight.

"You're supposed to be my girlfriend," He reminded you with a chuckle.

"Oh," You laughed with him, but even that sounded clumsy. You hurried to finish the rest of your drink, leaning over to place it on the edge of the coffee table. "Yeah."

Geto was just a good enough actor to sell the scene for the both of you.

"I've, um, never had a boyfriend before," You confessed, not sure what saying it would do, but hoping it'd make you look less inept rather than more.

He frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Gojo made his second appearance, leaning over to wrap an arm around each of you and squeezing you together.

"You look good together," He teased, winking at Geto.

You wondered if he meant it, or if maybe it was some inside joke. One you were secretly the butt of.

"Don't you have some sorority girl to make out with?" Geto rolled his eyes, brushing his arm off with a light huff.

"Relax," Gojo hummed, the dim yellow lights bouncing around in his eyes, carefree, shoulders rolled back like there wasn't anything weighing them down. "I just had a small suggestion."

"Sure you do," Geto dryly replied, his hand on your thigh suddenly squeezing. Probably just for show.

"There's a closet over there with your name still on it," Gojo goaded, almost sloshing his drink over the rim of his solo cup pointing over to a small wooden door.

"What?" You didn't get it.

"See how cute she is? You've never played seven minutes in heaven, have you?" Gojo's teasing wasn't mean-spirited, it was oddly sincere, in his own way. His attempt at being considerate rather than condescending.

"I haven't," You admitted, chewing on your lip.

Did it seem desperate?

It wasn't like you actually wanted to be stuck in a confined space with a guy you knew didn't like you.

You just sort of expected Geto to shut it down.

But then Geto was grumbling and getting up, guiding you over to it while Gojo cheered and drew every state that wasn't already focused on you over.

The door shutting felt like the lid to your coffin closing.

The light hanging overhead was white but dim, barely giving off enough light to dispel the shadows..

You hadn't pictured being locked in a closet with your pretend boyfriend to be so embarrassing.

He was still glancing at the thick door, his mind still on the other side of it. You pushed aside the shoes littering the floor to sit down against the wall, underneath all the coats hanging up. Knees to your chest, not particularly caring if Geto got a peek of the lacy panties underneath your skirt when he was uninterested in the rest of you.

You studied the floor, counting the scuffs in the wooden grain just so you wouldn't have to look up at him. You were surprised when he sat down in front of you, glancing at him with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?" He murmured.

"I-I just figured-" You started to stammer only to abruptly shut yourself up when he reached out to graze his thumb against your cheek. It wasn't adoring. Not dazed or dripping in desire. Just curiosity. Like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite piece together.

He was softer like this. All those harsh edges and high-strung worries you shared dulled by the alcohol in his system. What was in yours had only left that faint tingle of warmth in your chest and stomach, but when he tilted his head to the side and stared at you, you couldn't help but question how much of that feeling was from him.

"We still have six minutes left," Geto shrugged, scrutinizing the way your mouth was parted in shock, how wide your eyes were when he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own.

"Geto-" You breathed when he pulled away, his nose still grazing against yours.

"You should at least get the full party experience," He murmured, pulling back and swiping his thumb over your bottom lip.

"You don't have-" You started to dismiss, but then he was leaning in again, the taste of beer and cherry lip gloss on your own lips and something faintly sweet on his.

And then he was tugging you into his lap, not really enough for you to actually straddle him, but your legs awkwardly swinging over to one side and his arm wrapped around your back to almost cradle you against his chest.

His tongue tracing your teeth, exploring your mouth, while his palm pressed down through your thin shirt, the heat of it practically branding you. Geto took the lead like he did with everything else, sucking on your bottom lip before leaving a trail of soft kisses over your jaw and down your throat, chuckling at the way his teeth skimming over your tendons made you gasp.

You had to remind yourself you were paying him for this.

That as much as it tasted real, he never would've touched you if you hadn't paid him.

You stiffened in his lap, and he immediately noticed, pausing to look at your face to see what was wrong. "You okay?"

"Yeah," You lied.

You didn't want to ruin the moment - even if it was fake.

He went back to kissing your neck, his sturdy fingers taking your jaw and tilting it so he had better access, his canines sinking in as he sucked hard and you squirmed in his arms.

"Just got a remind them you're mine," He murmured.

Yeah, that was supposed to be the point, wasn't it?

A loud knock on the door startled you, Gojo's perky voice calling out from outside that the time was up and for Geto to come out with his pants on and zipper up.

You hurried to stand, brushing off your skirt and wiping at your lips, even more flustered than you had been when you showed up.

Geto pulled open the door with his usual unreadable stare despite the onslaught of teasing from Gojo, the other stares glued to both of you walking out, the whispers being spread.

But then Gojo laughed, and the tension broke.

A handful of people approached, guys and girls, all of them talking and giggling, switching from subject to subject, mostly stuff you were clueless about or happened in classes you weren't in. A few times, you tried to interject just to get talked over, standing on the fringes and watching him get swallowed up by the group. Silently listening and nodding and trying to laugh at all the right times, even when all you got was an eye roll or flat-out ignored.

You slipped away while he was still distracted.

No real goal in mind. Just squeezing past people and looking through all the rooms. Giving yourself a house tour since it wasn't like anyone else would show you.

You might've just left if some of the girls from before hadn't found you about to grab a second drink from the kitchen, Suguru standing at the counter and chatting, while you clung to the shadows.

"You're Suguru's girlfriend, right?" A blonde one giggled, lips pursed together and eyes all big and bright.

"Um, yeah," You swallowed, preemptively setting the cup down at the counter while they all exchanged looks.

"We're about to go skinny dipping out back," She added, pointing at a glass door. Thick blinds covered it, making it almost impossible to see through to the backyard.

"Yeah, you wanna come with us?" One of the other ones grinned, tossing her hair back.

You glanced behind you, but Suguru was distracted taking another shot, too absorbed in another conversation to even notice. "Sure."

It was the worst idea yet to think they had anything other than bad intentions.

But you wanted to believe them. Wanted to ignore the feeling screaming at you in your gut when you followed them out to the pool and let them guilt you into stripping after they took off their clothes.

Convinced that since they jumped in, it was safe.

The second your clothes were piled up and you were in the water, they were all scrambling to get out, laughing at you when they snagged your clothes and ran off, leaving you naked and freezing in a pool just feet away from a house full of people.

As if the night couldn't get more embarrassing, Gojo found you. Lipstick stain on his neck and red solo cup in his hand, blue eyes hazy as he stumbled outside and you reluctantly called out his name. His reaction was slow, sliding around the greenery until he noticed you in the pool.

"What's up?" He slurred, almost falling in to join you when he walked over and bent down. His eyes went wide the second he noticed your absent clothes, the way your hand was covering your chest to barely conceal your breasts.

"Some girls stole my clothes," You muttered, giving him the short version of events, breath hitching and hot tears forming in the corner of your eyes, but you refused to blink and let them fall. "C-could you help?"

"Shit, okay, sure," He frowned, brows scrunched together in shock for a second before starting to strip off his clothes.

"What are-" Your voice died when his underwear hit the concrete, turning into a squeak as you glanced away.

"Wear mine," He offered, getting in the pool with you.

You scampered out before you had more company, dripping water without even a towel to dry off, definitely flashing Gojo as you hurried to pull his t-shirt over your head and slip on his boxers.

Looking like you just fucked Gojo was better than being naked.

"Thank you," You murmured, looking back at him where he was content to lounge in the pool, nude or not.

"Course," He hummed. "Suguru's in the kitchen if you're looking for him."

All you wanted was to get your keys and go.

Call this whole stupid idea off and return to receiving the cold shoulder from the rest of the school. Clearly, you were wrong to think they'd ever see you as a real person.

You hurried through the kitchen. Didn't spare a glance for anyone else despite the jokes you knew were directed at you. Just headed straight for the upstairs bedroom where Geto had locked up your stuff for safe-keeping. You tried the knob just to make sure no one else had snuck in before pulling out a hair pin and bending it into a straight line, sticking it through the small keyhole and jiggling it around until you felt the pins inside start to unlatch.

There were a few odd perks from being kept under lock and key your whole life. Including learning how to pick them.

It only took thirty seconds for you to get it unlocked, pushing the door open and sighing with relief when you saw your purse still on the bed. It only took a second to realize it was probably Gojo's room, the blue comforter and the photos of him plastered on the wall. A couple sets of keys were on the nightstand, a wallet you guessed was Geto's. For a moment, you considered shoving cash in it for tonight's payment, but you decided against it. You'd give it to him Monday and cut everything off clean. This was it.

You were about to snatch your stuff and go, but you paused again, glancing around the room over to the open closet, clothes on the floor and barely any on the hangers, hurrying over to get Gojo something to wear too.

Geto was standing behind you by the time you grabbed everything and turned around. Leaning against the doorframe and studying your soaking wet frame, the oversized clothes hanging off them.

"Where are you going?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Home," You sighed, tossing Gojo's clothes to him. "Gojo's going to need those. He's in the pool."

"So come with me," Geto offered, broad shoulders basically blocking the way out. "What happened?"

"Some friends of yours invited me skinny dipping," You muttered, staring at the floor while you talked. A hard lump had formed in your throat, making it even harder to get your words out. "They took my clothes and left me in there. Gojo gave me his."

There was something about the way he watched you that made you feel like you were on trial, that he constantly wavered between the verdict depending on what you said, the way you blinked, how you moved.

You didn't look up at him.

Couldn't.

"Will you at least let me walk you to your car?" He eventually asked, and in the edges of your vision, you are watched his knuckles turn white from gripping the clothes so tightly.

"If you want to," You quietly answered, wondering if that had a cost too.

You waited for him to come back when he went to give Gojo his clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed and feeling like a pet that had been left in the rain, cold and shivering as you held your own arms, rubbing little circles into your own skin trying to soothe yourself.

Your phone buzzed in your purse, only pausing to dig it out and see a few missed messages from Sukuna asking if you would come in tomorrow.

The second you opened it and the message was marked as read, he called, your thumb hesitating to answer.

For some reason, it felt more mortifying for him to know about how awful the night had gone when he'd seen how nervous you were earlier.

He scoffed the second you picked up.

"What time do you want me there?" You quietly spoke into the speaker before he could speak first.

"Are you drinking?" He huffed, his way of asking if you'd be hungover in the morning.

"I only had one beer like, an hour ago," You answered, but the taste on your tongue was a different kind of bitter now. "I'll be fine."

"Having fun?" He wryly asked.

"Um, no, not really," You murmured, voice small, watching a water droplet hit Gojo's floor from where you were still dripping.

"The hell are you doing there then?" He asked. The real question was why the hell had you even shown up? Just to have your own personal pity party?

"I'm about to leave," You sighed, sniffling and rubbing your face with your other hand. Streaks of makeup were left on it, mascara and eyeliner and glitter all sticking to your fingers.

"Are you crying?" He bluntly asked, and you hadn't been, but the question splintered the last of your shield, getting choked up trying to stop yourself from crying.

"No," You grumbled, sniffling hard in your attempt to hold it together.

"Liar," He huffed. "Do you need me to pick you up?"

"No," You repeated, wiping your eyes again, refusing to let yourself break in a house with all these other people.

"Text me the address and I'll be there." It sounded more like a demand than an offer.

"I can drive myself," You protested, just for Geto to show back up in the doorway. You paused, uncomfortably shifting before talking into the speaker. "Look, I'm leaving now, okay?

He made a disgruntled noise, hanging up before you could. What were the odds he'd throw a fit if you didn't text him when you got home?

Geto cleared his throat across from you.

He was staring.

"Sorry, it's just my boss," You mumbled under your breath before shoving your phone back in your bag.

"Calling you now?" Geto asked, as if he cared what the answer was.

"He just asked if I could come in tomorrow," You sniffled again, recollecting yourself. If you couldn't cry over the phone with Sukuna, you certainly weren't going to do it in front of Geto.

You didn't need to add crybaby to the list of terrible things he thought about you.

It was awkward walking down the stairs and out through all the strangers who still didn't like you onto the street. He didn't say much, just studying you how he always did.

Didn't it get boring?

It wasn't like there was anything he'd find interesting about you.

"Which girls did it?" Geto eventually grimaced.

"It doesn't matter," You breathed. You knew better than to engage in any kind of retaliation. It happened. You'd live. Why dare them to do something like it again?

"You can tell me." You couldn't, not really. If you did, then you'd just be hurt when he wouldn't do anything about it either.

You kept your mouth shut.

Just let him walk you the rest of the way to your car. He'd commented the first time he saw it that he was surprised it wasn't pink. And actually? You used to have one. Until it kept getting vandalized. Small stuff, usually, gum stuck to the side, little dents and dings you suspected were intentional, but then someone keyed it, and you had to get something more inconspicuous.

It was just another unfortunate facet of life.

Geto wasn't the kind of guy who'd give you pity points anyway.

You figured he'd just walk off now that he'd finished his work, free to have whatever fun he wanted.

Convinced that he'd be gone by the time you opened your door. But he didn't budge, standing behind you more like a bodyguard than a boyfriend.

"Have a good night," You murmured, unlocking you car without looking over your shoulder. Slipping into the seat and about to shut the door before he suddenly grabbed it, the breeze on your exposed skin making you shudder again.

"I'm sorry," He abruptly apologized, brows furrowed and flustered as he slotted himself between you and the door to keep you from what? Slamming it shut with his fingers still there? "I was a shitty date tonight."

"It's not your fault," You shrugged. His real friends were there. You'd never expected any more from him than the occasional arm around you or a peck on your cheek.

Making out was certainly more than enough.

The image you had in your head for how you wanted tonight to go never would've come true anyway.

"You should at least call me an asshole," He spoke slowly.

"Why?" You quizzed, tilting your head to the side. There was another brittle wind, and you turned away from him to grab Sukuna's hoodie from the passenger seat, pulling it over your head to warm up.

His jaw clenched, glancing down at the fabric you were drowning in before looking back into your eyes.

"I should've stayed by your side," He said, all his muscles still locked tight like something was annoying him.

"I shouldn't have come," You awkwardly laughed, anxiously rubbing the back of your neck under the soft material of the hoodie. "Honestly, this whole thing was a terrible idea."

Geto hesitated, watching every raw emotion flicker across your face. Regret and embarrassment all rolled into a painfully tight lump bobbing in your throat.

"You didn't do anything wrong," He forced the words out, frowning at whatever expression you were wearing.

You couldn't help but giggle at that when it felt like everything you did had been wrong.

"Well, thanks anyway," You managed a tight-lipped smile, before looking down to dig through your purse for cash. You'd stopped to withdraw extra on your way here, counting the bills one more time before holding it out for him to take. "Let's just call this whole thing off, okay?"

"What?"

"All I really wanted was to make some friends, and I just thought since everyone likes you, maybe they'd give me a chance if you liked me too," You shrugged, holding out the cash further for him to grab just for him to stand there and stare. You didn't want to look at him anymore. "It was stupid of me."

"It's not," He quietly said.

"I appreciate you trying," You thanked him. You didn't want to sound pushy, didn't want to shove it at him, but he didn't move.

"Let me try again."

"What?" You once again didn't understand. Weren't getting the what or why behind it.

Did he just want more money?

"The aquarium was on your list, right?" He asked, thin brows furrowed together.

"I mean, yeah, but-"

"Skip your lecture on Friday and we'll go. I'll help you make some friends, okay?" He spoke firmly, like he'd already come to some decision in his head about you.

An insecure sliver if you wondered if he just pitied you too much to hate you anymore.

"You will?" You heard yourself ask, waiting for him to say nevermind.

"Yeah," He nodded.

This time though?

You couldn't bring yourself to get your hopes up.

Being late for work was one of the few firsts you hadn't planned on.

Your body was exhausted, muscles sore like you'd slept wrong, blinking back exhaustion as you rolled over and squinted at the sun cutting through the curtains. You were yawning when you grabbed your phone out from under your pillow, but someone might as well have dunked your head underwater when you tapped on it and realized you'd be at least fifteen minutes late at best.

Scrambling to get ready through the sleepy haze, hastily scrounging through your closet for a fresh pair of jeans and not bothering to change out of Sukuna's hoodie or even put on makeup, only deodorant before grabbing your phone and keys to get out the door.

Sukuna was waiting for you when you got there.

Arms folded across his chest, gaze slinking over your jeans and his slept-on hoodie drowning you.

"I'm sorry," You pushed your lips together, rubbing your eyes for the thousandth time since you woke up.

Sukuna poked the hickey you'd forgotten about.

"Shitty night?" He cocked his head to the side, and you couldn't discern what was burning behind his eyes. It wasn't like he was the kind of guy to care about professionalism enough to be bothered by the bruise poking out underneath your collar. Choso and Yuki came in with them all the time. Was it irritation that you were late then?

"Yeah," You sighed, shrugging as you say your purse down. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to make your lunch this morning."

He scoffed, and you stopped breathing for a second.

Wondering if maybe this was the moment you were no longer worth keeping around.

If you'd get to add fired to your list of experiences.

But then he pushed his hair back, running his fingers through the stray strands, flashes of silver his rings catching the light as he sighed.

"Whatever, guess I'll have to take you to lunch then."

It’s not like you expected a paying gig right out the gate when you moved to the big city to chase your dream of becoming a musician, but you at least figured you would be able to get something that pays in the meantime.

At this point, every rejection is a shot straight to the heart.

You applied to every store you could find with a hiring ad. Both online and in-person, skipping over the occasional store that you felt you weren’t cut out for. Now, it’s come to the point where you don’t have the luxury to be picky.

Still, the shoe store that wouldn’t hire you? At least you have shoes, even if they’re worn-in Vans and Converse for the most part.

The reception job at the law firm? It’s not like you have a degree or can cite any, but you know general laws.

This? You sigh as your gaze traces the letters across the failing light box, deep red letters spelling out Adult Boutique.

It’s not that you have anything against it.

It’s that you’ve never used a sex toy.

Hell, you don’t know the first thing about them.

You’ve never even had sex before.

Sighing, you throw your head back against the headrest of your old rusting sedan and take a moment to breathe in the harsh disappointment of chasing your dreams. Your hands settle in your lap as you set aside any reservations you have, snatching your resumé from the passenger’s seat and shutting the door behind you. You walk with as much confidence as you can muster into the shop, but it’s almost humiliating how far out of your wheelhouse you are when you’re met with the interior. For as confident as you are, it drains from you in an instant.

Humiliation is a kink though, right?

“ID?” You pause in the doorway before you can get much of a look at the store, staring at a man with piercing blue eyes and white hair. He’s handsome, maybe a year younger than you, and his friendly smile is horribly infectious.

You stand like a deer in the headlights, your lips caught in an embarrassing ‘o’ before your mind catches up. ID. You’re in an age-restricted store. Right.

“Shoot–” Your hands fly down to your pockets, reaching for the wallet…

… That you left in the car.

Your jaw hangs ajar at the realization, warmth climbing from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears as the handsome clerk’s startlingly blue eyes pin you in place.

You shut your eyes, biting down on your lower lip. “I’ll be right back.”

In the midst of your walk of shame back to your car across the street, every thought reminds you that you could just leave. You could forget this ever happened and simply accept you aren’t getting the job. The fact that your wallet is so empty that you left it in your unlocked car in a shady part of town serves as a reminder that, again, you don’t exactly have the luxury of being picky.

With a forlorn sigh and a drag of your hands down your face, you put on your best confident smile and make your way back inside. The clerk grins as you hand over your ID, leaning over the counter on forearms that you swear you’re not staring at.

They’re just veiny.

And incredibly hot.

“Sorry,” you sigh as you pocket your ID again.

“Don’t worry about it,” there’s a small wave of his hand to brush you off, and when you look up to meet his eyes, there’s a particularly sultry look to his gaze. It’s enough to warm your cheeks again, and you can only pray he doesn’t notice how much you’ve been staring. “Looking for anything in particular?” He bears a lopsided tilt to his grin that sets your nerves further alight as your stomach ties in knots under the handsome stranger’s gaze.

It’s gotta be a bad combination to be clueless on everything around you and thinking about the hot man in front of you rather than the job you’re applying for.

Shaking your head to center yourself, you put on your best smile. “Yeah, actually.” The man’s expression changes to intrigue as you hand over your resumé. His eyes skim it, brows raising.

He gives you a once-over, setting the paper down with a more genuine grin. “We could use the help,” he admits. “The owner’ll be in tomorrow morning, I’ll have her give you a call.”

That’s the most positive response you’ve received to an application thus far. Although you find yourself nervously eyeing a bottle of G-Spot Stimulating Gel on the counter that you don’t know the first thing about, you’re honestly relieved that things could be looking up. You can handle this job with a bit of research, surely.

“That would be great,” you offer a smile. “Thank you.”

–

So, the good news is that you have a job. The bad news is that you still don’t know the first thing about what you’re selling. Admittedly, you probably should have done some research or looked over the product offerings on the store’s site, but somewhere between preparation for a new job and trying to sleep through the train shaking your apartment every few minutes, you forgot.

The kind woman who interviewed you over the phone and the store’s owner– Jillian– greets you at the door as you push into the store. Her graying hair is curled tightly at her roots, her eyes wrinkled at the corner and kind. She wears a pale pink wool sweater that compliments her lip gloss, standing at about the same height as you. She’s old enough to retire and still gorgeous all-the-same.

“Welcome, dear,” she smiles brilliantly at the sight of you, ushering you towards the front counter with a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate the help, it’ll be nice to step back from the counter and keep my job behind-the-scenes.”

“I’m happy to help,” you reply with a kind grin, keeping up your best customer service attitude. As she leads you behind the counter, your eyes flick to the two tall men standing behind the counter. You recognize the first as the hot white-haired man who accepted your resumé. Cheery, charming, and strikingly handsome with toned muscles visible from under his white t-shirt.

The man beside doesn’t bear the same welcoming nature. In fact, they’re the definition of polar opposites.

Standing a couple of inches taller than the one you recognize, he has black hair that must be dyed, pink roots standing out like a rose among thorns. His ears are pierced in a multitude of ways with matching brow and lip piercings and tattoos that travel up the back of his neck, reaching his jaw. He’s in far darker and more casual clothes, arms crossed over his broad and built chest with his hip leaned on the counter, and a look of mild disinterest that does no favors for your nerves.

Where the white-haired man bears a friendly smile and a button-up that makes him look ready for a job in a cubicle, his black-haired colleague is very clearly assessing your every move, and looks like he could be on-stage at a dingy bar.

She introduces you to the men, earning a grin from the one you recognize and… nothing from the man with black-dyed hair.

“I’ll be in every couple of days to do the cash deposit,” she explains. “I’ll also drop by to check on the office and put together paperwork, but Satoru–” she points to the white-haired man who casually salutes in greeting, “and Ryomen–” her hand waves towards the frowning man who doesn’t react save for a glance at the older woman, “will train you. Satoru usually does the opening shift and Ryomen does the closing shift. We’re closed Mondays and Tuesdays, but you’ll work the rest of the week.” You’re grateful for the consistency, if nothing else. “You’ll take the midday Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, you’ll be alone for a bit while the boys are in classes, and you’ll take the closing shifts on weekends to help Ryomen during busy hours.”

His gaze, a crimson so striking you have half a mind to wonder if they’re contacts, flicks to you, indiscernible, then back to Jillian.

“You won’t be alone while you train of course though, the boys and I will cover until you’re comfortable being alone.” She pats you once on the shoulder. “Does that work for you, dear?”

“Not a problem at all,” you nod. You clasp your hands together politely.

“Perfect!” She claps once in glee, clearly happy to step away from serving customers. You can understand that sentiment. “I’ll grab your paperwork.”

Satoru’s gaze follows her as she heads for the back room, then turns cheerily to you. “Hey, newbie!” He steps forward from the counter, outstretching his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Shaking his hand, you match his grin. “Well, by name anyway.”

You turn your expectations to Ryomen, who doesn’t move from the spot he’s standing in. His weight shifts to the other hip, still leaning against the counter when he juts his chin out in less of a greeting and more of an acknowledgement. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryomen.” You give him a little wave.

“Sukuna,” he corrects you. His words aren’t sharp per se, but they carry a blunt edge. “Only the old lady can call me Ryomen.” His voice is as gruff as his style and stature, fitting of the brutish impression he gives off. His slightly narrowed eyes give off the notion that he’s evaluating you. Reading you.

With a tight-lipped smile, Satoru scratches at the back of his head. He shoots you an apologetic glance as you uncomfortably gather that this isn’t unusual for Sukuna.

“Got it, sorry.” You offer an apologetic smile, which he accepts with a nod.

Satoru steps forward to save you from the interaction, motioning with his head out to the store’s floor. “Why don’t I show you around?”

You nod gratefully, letting him lead you away from the counter. Sukuna’s gaze is quick to drop to the counter as he leans over a book of some sort, his chin resting atop his hand. You turn your attention back to Satoru as he leads you through the long back area of the store

A colorful assortment of dildos and vibrators line the walls of the first aisle, anything from glass to silicone in different shapes and size varieties. The light in the far corner flickers when you step into the aisle, faux wood creaking under-foot. The store has that sort of old strip mall feel where, although well-maintained, its age is evident in the old fixtures and failing lights.

“Sorry about him,” Satoru’s voice is a near-whisper as he shakes his head. His hair falls in front of those striking blue eyes as he leads the way down each aisle. You’re not sure you’d really call it showing you around, but you’re certainly walking the floor. “He’s uhhh–” he waves his hand through the air as he searches for the right term. “Moody, or something.” He chuckles. “I don’t know, you get used to it. Don’t take it personally.”

“He doesn’t seem like a customer service person,” you admit sheepishly, keeping your voice down.

Satoru does no favors keeping his own down as he barks a laugh. “No, not really, hey? He’s Jillian’s friend’s son, so–” he shrugs as you mentally connect the dots that landed him this job. “It’s an easy enough gig and honestly business is slow.”

“That’s a shame,” you offer, mostly for Jillian’s sake, although you don’t mind it being slow.

“I said it was slow, not bad,” he grins, eyes narrowing to that sultry gaze he shot you when you dropped off your resumé last week. “We have a lot of regulars. People who spend a lot. You’ll recognize them in time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be nice to have some company for the end of my shifts,” he adds, tilting his head to eye you. He crosses his arms over his chest, catching your attention as you glance at his muscles just long enough to consider yourself caught. He takes the opportunity and swings with it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” His voice drops a tone, the flirty lilt warming the tips of your ears.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to get to know you too.”

Jillian returns with paperwork before Satoru can take the opportunity to flirt any further– but you get the feeling he will. It seems to go hand-in-hand with his personality. Once everything is signed and Satoru has headed off for class, Jillian leaves training in Sukuna’s hands as she retreats to the back to file your paperwork.

Sukuna’s gaze is a slow drag down your form as he evaluates the dark blouse and nice jeans you chose to wear. Admittedly, you now feel a little overdressed given his relative comfort and ripped jeans, but in spite of the judgement clear as day in his eyes, he keeps it to himself. At least, as long as you don’t count the frown he bears. You can’t really tell if that’s meant for you or if that’s his neutral expression.

With a sigh, he shuts whatever book is on the counter behind him and gives you a rundown in short, clipped sentences. “Floor work first, cash after. You worked cash before?”

You nod, though the register looks fairly old here.

He gives a hum of approval. “Good. The floor's pretty self-explanatory. Everything is ordered by brand, then color. Shipments Mondays and Thursdays. Back room for any overstock.” He points over his shoulder to where Jillian disappeared as he lays out instructions like facts. “No clock system. Just work when you work. Pay is every second Friday. You’ll get a check.”

Again, you nod.

His gaze travels the length of your figure, but it doesn’t feel as though he’s checking you out. It’s an evaluation. And you’re pretty sure you’re failing before you’ve had the chance to start. “I don’t care what you do when customers aren’t around. Study, read, go on your phone. I don’t give a shit.”

“Oh, okay. That’s kinda nice.”

His tone is apathetic as he hums in agreement. “I didn’t have time last night and I know Satoru’s lazy ass didn’t clean this morning, so I’ll get you to organize the shibari while I put some shit away.”

You nod, slipping away from the counter onto the floor. His gaze tracks you as you very unconfidently thread through the rows in search of shibari. To your horror, nothing is well-labeled, which means there isn’t a distinct section with some big flashy sign to point you in the direction of a kink you don’t know the name of.

“It’s at the back,” Sukuna’s low voice calls out. Biting down on your lip, you move towards the back of the store, your gaze trailing along the wall. There are a number of bondage devices you can’t name, ropes that you assume go with bondage, and chains and whips that all feel bondage-adjacent.

So, more or less, you’re still at a loss.

Really failing that evaluation now.

Behind you, Sukuna is replacing products that were atop the counter at the front, but his movements stop when he fixes you with his narrowed gaze. “The ropes,” he points them out on the wall with displeasure prickling around the edge of his sandpaper-scraped voice. Now that you look at them, it feels obvious given how out of order they are.

“I know!” Heat flares beneath your skin in all the wrong places. Still, you won’t let him get to you. “I was just looking.”

He doesn’t reply, his crimson gaze boring into your expression so hard that you’re pretty sure he can see right through you.

At least you can’t fuck up the organization of the ropes.

Quietly sucking in a breath, you turn to the wall, pulling down the plastic-covered rope bundles that are out of place.

“So,” you turn your gaze over your shoulder. “You’re in school?”

“Mhm.”

“What are you taking?”

“Business.”

He’s difficult, too. Great.

Once the ropes are in a more sound order, you spin on your heel to face him. He’s already turning away, moving to a different area to put away a vibrator.

“Can I–”

“Here.” He tosses a bottle of lube at you, caught clumsily in unexpecting fingers. “Put that away, too.”

Pressing your lips into a tight line, you nod, more to yourself than him. At least you know what lube is.

You search the store for the spot where it belongs, twisting it on the shelf so the label faces out, then make your way to the counter where Sukuna’s already standing over his book again. Before you have the opportunity to speak, the bell over the door rings as a customer walks through the door. She’s around your age, and quickly flashes ID towards Sukuna, who nods.

A regular, you suppose.

The tattooed clerk’s eyes trail to you, jutting his chin out expectantly towards the customer.

Making your way up to the woman with cute blonde hair cut short, you fall into your customer service voice. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi!” She beams at you, her smile putting your first day nerves at ease. “Thank you, but I know where most things are,” she waves you off politely. “I appreciate it, though!” She moves past you towards the back of the store, whirling around suddenly as her gaze shifts between you and Sukuna. “Oh, actually, did you get any more of the cherry stimulants in?”

You turn your attention to Sukuna, who fixes you with a lazy unsure expression. “She can check for you.” He leans his hip on the counter again, arms crossed over his chest as he faces you. “It’ll be in the back. They come in a box with a cherry logo on them.”

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you nod as you make your way to the back.

Truthfully, the cramped room is a bit of a relief from the uncomfortable tension Sukuna just seems to naturally exude. Him and Satoru are big personalities in the most opposite way you can possibly imagine, but at least Satoru is willing to chat.

Jillian glances over her shoulder from an old computer at the back of the room. “Everything going well, dear?”

“Yeah,” you grin, though truthfully this already feels like a disaster where you’re being scornfully judged by your colleague and accidentally making enemies on day one. With one of the only people you work with. So that’s great. “There’s just someone looking for stimulants.”

She shifts in her chair, doing a once-over of the boxes. “Not back here. There’s an inventory list on this computer that you can usually use, but I don’t want to lose progress on your files. Can you ask Ryomen to check the holds drawer? Satoru might have put some on hold if he knew they were looking.”

“Sure, thank you!”

With a grateful smile, you head back to the front and relay the information to Sukuna.

“Holds drawer’s there.” He points to a handle on the lower inside of the counter. Within are a number of boxes and small sachet packs. “Mm, there they are.”

Clearly one of the sachet packs is what she’s looking for. Unfortunately, they all fail to say exactly what they are on the front with bright and bold brands rather than descriptors or even a damn cherry logo, which means you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re looking at.

“The orange one,” Sukuna adds when you’re still paused staring at the drawer. There’s an unimpressed lilt to his tone that has you wincing before you pull the sachet pack from the drawer. You do what you can to keep your expression neutral and feign confidence when you stand upright again.

The whole situation is tense and embarrassing. It might at least be tolerable with Satoru, but Sukuna either enjoys your suffering or he’s an asshole.

The unfortunate third possible option is both.

His grimace as you set the pack in his hand isn’t lost on you, although you choose to head towards the register in hopes that he can at least teach you how it works and you can get on with this day. He chooses not to say a word to you as the customer finishes looking around, returning to the front with a rose-shaped vibrator.

“Ooh, thank you!” She grins as she spots the packet at the register.

Sukuna nods, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re paying attention. “Just type the amounts into the register,” he explains, putting both prices from the stickers into the old machine. Once he hits the equals button, the cash drawer pops open as he gets the total and it calculates tax for him. The customer flashes a card, so Sukuna shuts the drawer and types the amount into the machine to his right. “While she pays, get the serials on each tag and write them here,” he explains, pulling the number from each barcode and writing them on a pad of paper left of the register. Once her payment is processed, a receipt prints, which he hands to her, keeping the second copy under the till. Finally, he bags the items.

She thanks him, giving you a polite little wave and retreating out the door.

You let out a breath, nodding. “The register seems easy enough,” you try more friendly commentary in spite of his half-assed teaching, but you suppose by now you shouldn’t expect Sukuna to be receptive. He hums, a judgemental flash in his eyes as he pins you in place with a narrowed gaze like he can see something you can’t.

He works his jaw in a slow grind of teeth like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, dropping your gaze. “I’ve got to study. There’s not much else to the job besides that, so keep yourself busy.”

Thankfully the rest of the day passes without much of a hitch and you’re able to leave as evening hits, with Sukuna staying to close the store.

He doesn’t give you another word for the remainder of the day. He doesn’t expect you to handle customers. He handles the till. He doesn’t even look at you as you let him know your shift is over. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or dread the rest of your shifts with him, but thankfully you’re able to spend more time with Satoru tomorrow.

Given that you’re off a couple of hours before close, you use the opportunity to stake out local bars with stages and take note of a small pub tucked away in a little corner. The outside has a sign that doesn’t light up in the night’s cover, but within it’s rather warm, with string lights hung over a stage in the back. While you work on your online presence, it’s the perfect spot to get your stage skills up.

The thick metal of the door is cool on your hand, creaking on its hinge as you press through to the interior warmth. There’s a small two-man group on-stage performing low-energy grunge that seem to be garnering decent attention from onlookers and groups you would be willing to bet are regulars based on the way they move around the small scene.

Adjusting your jacket over your shoulder, you make your way to the bar. The bartender looks to be a couple of years senior to you, with short brown hair kept neat aside from a couple of stray strands that fall over his forehead. He has a prominent nose and sunken eyes that give him an overall air of tiredness.

The apron he wears over a clean-cut button-up pulls taut across his chest as he reaches overhead to set a bottle of whiskey along the back wall before turning his attention to you with a polite smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, um, actually,” you begin with a polite smile, “I was wondering who I need to impress to be up there.” You point to the grunge band at the back as his gaze follows you.

He hums, his calm demeanor shifting from the routine of bartending to something more friendly. “I can give you the owner’s email. If you fit in with the crowd, he’ll work with your schedule.”

Casting another glance at the two men on-stage, you nod, chewing on your lip in an effort to hide your giddy smile. “That’d be great. So… what– a little moody, kind of chill? Maybe some minor chords in there?”

The bartender chuckles, picking up a glass like routine simply fills his subconscious. “Sounds to me like you’ve already got the gig.”

Leaving behind the smell of drowned sorrows and shared laughter, you can hold onto the fact that while your day took a turn for the worst, it’s just a job. Once you leave the building, you don’t have to think about it and can focus on music. Sukuna isn’t the end of the world and if you can manage to stay out of his hair, surely you can find some sort of common ground with him.

–

Wind whips too fast across the street when you lock your car behind you. Your unzipped coat flails in the wind, leaving you with a flustered expression as the shop door slams shut behind you.

“Hey newbie,” Satoru greets you with an amused grin. You flash him a smile as you smooth down your outfit, far more casual than the previous one with jeans and a band shirt. “How was yesterday?” He asks, wiping down the counter and tossing the wipe in a garbage as he claps his hands together to brush them off.

The chuckle that parts your lips is half-hearted as you drop your laptop bag atop the front counter. “Kind of a disaster?” You wince, shaking your head. “Is he seriously always like that?”

Satoru stands upright, running a hand through white locks. “He gets better when you get to know him, but yeah he’s kind of an asshole,” he laughs brightly, unbothered. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”

“Sure, if the chips are sour,” you mutter.

Satoru snickers, nodding. “What happened anyway?”

“I didn’t immediately know where everything is without being shown,” you wave a hand through the air, letting it hang there for a moment in disbelief.

Satoru, unphased, grins. “Oh, yeah. Sounds like a classic case of not running on Sukuna’s schedule. You should really get on that.”

You throw your head back with a sigh, giving a dismissive wave of your hands. “Whatever, it’s a new day, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad today.”

Satoru teasingly sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry newbie, but my sources are telling me today’s weather is looking cloudy in Sukuna-land.”

Satoru’s unseriousness helps settle a modicum of your nerves as you find yourself laughing at his charm.

“But hey, you’ve got me for a couple of hours first.” He grins, settling the balls of his palms atop the counter as he leans his weight back. One of his sleeves, rolled to the elbow, slides down his forearm to his wrist. “What did he go over with you, anyway?”

You laugh loosely. “Like, nothing. He gave me a thirty second run-down of the till and told me I don’t need to clock in or out.”

“That’s gold,” Satoru shakes his head in an effort to get hair from falling into his line of sight. “I thought he’d be nicer to a pretty girl like you.” His face lights up as you avert your eyes, smiling at the scuffed floor underfoot. He keeps the conversation flowing like it’s second nature. “Tell you what, I’ll actually try to show you around before he gets here, and you can tell me what brought you to the city.”

Recovering quickly, you fix him with a humbled expression at the callout. “Is it that obvious that I’m not from here?”

Satoru barks a laugh. “Yeah. You’ve got small town energy.”

“Small town energy? What does that even mean?” You follow him out from behind the counter as he leads the way to the back room first.

“Just vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s good. Cute,” he grins. You get the feeling he’s a bit of a flirt through and through, but truthfully you enjoy the attention.

Plus, he’s hot.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a bashful smile, chewing on your lip. “I uh– I wanted to give my dream a shot before tying myself down in a career I hate.”

His eyes light up as he turns to you with a palm on the door handle for the back room. “Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“Singing. Music,” you admit, feeling just shy enough that you avert your gaze in spite of your giddiness.

“No way.” He’s grinning widely now, his hand leaving the door handle as he chooses to lean against it instead, arms crossed tantalizingly over his chest. “I feel like I’m obligated to be the annoying guy who asks you to sing for me now.”

You laugh heartily. “At least you know it would make you that guy.”

With a chuckle, he finally turns around to lead the way into the back room. He peppers actual explanations of the job’s inner workings between personal questions.

After explaining the inventory system on the back computer and how boxes are organized, he leads the way back through the aisles, pointing out different sections as you walk. “So, do you take gigs between shifts?”

“When I can,” you nod. “I’m trying to put together the money to get some studio time soon. I have some self-recorded stuff, but I don’t think I’m much of a producer.”

“Will you at least tell me what genre?”

“Um,” you shrug thoughtfully, “I guess like punk or indie rock?”

“Oooh, so you’re a moody guitar girl. I like it, I like it.” He nods his approval with a wide grin. The faintest of dimples forms at the corners of his lips, giving him a charmingly boyish smile.

Your genuine shared laughter sends flutters to the pit of your stomach, warm and welcome, as you finish threading through aisles and head back to the front counter. Satoru pushes up on forearms that flex under his weight as he settles atop the counter. You follow suit on the opposite counter, head tilting as you inquire about him.

“Jillian mentioned you’re in school, what are you taking?”

“Business,” he replies with a lopsided smile.

“Oh, like Sukuna?”

“Damn, you got an answer out of him?” Satoru chuckles. “Yeah, he’s a year ahead of me but we’re in the same program. I think he wants to do the whole company startup thing though, I’m looking to kinda take over for Jillian and eventually buy this place if things work out. She’s holding out until I finish.”

Your brow raises as you fix him with an inquisitive look. “You wanna take over here?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he chides, gaze lidded with an almost-cocky attitude. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it doesn’t seem busy even with online orders, but I actually think there’s a huge untapped market here.” He straightens and you can see the passion and drive gleaming in his eager gaze. “I think the way sex toys are sold both online and in-stores is outdated and makes a lot of people feel uncomfortable and I want to try to do something new to help people feel more comfortable and open in terms of sex.”

You blink, nodding at the insightful way that he goes on to explain the ins and outs of his opinion on the industry and how, although he loves Jillian, he can see a lot of ways to use his knowledge to improve the business and hopes to change the way kinks are viewed.

It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to you just how inexperienced you are, but as you nod along to his passionate explanation, it occurs to you just how experienced he is. He doesn’t say it outright, but he talks about the way condoms are made and how bad they can be for some people, how he hopes to bring in products for people who struggle with medication killing their sex drive, and even the intricacies of what products work well and which don’t and how he would love to stop stocking them altogether.

It shouldn’t come as a shock– it doesn’t– after all, he’s hot and flirty, but it certainly gives the butterflies in your stomach an edge that you aren’t sure what to make of. It’s not uncomfortable– Satoru’s still kind and has a welcoming personality– it’s closer to inadequacy. Like you should know more, and not just for job purposes. It doesn’t sit well.

But you shouldn’t be thinking about your coworker like that anyway, right?

Thankfully, before you can think too hard about the subject, Sukuna walks through the door with a heavy step to his boots.

Maybe ‘thankfully’ doesn’t suit his arrival, though. His gaze flits briefly between each of you before he heads straight to the back, giving you both a noncommittal wave as you greet him.

When the door shuts behind the brute, Satoru turns to you. He grimaces, faux empathy shining in cerulean seas. “The weather report was right.”

The day passes so quickly with Satoru even without a single customer entering the store that the rest of the day feels like a slog without him. Or maybe it just feels like a slog because Sukuna makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you. He even stayed in the back until Satoru had to leave in spite of the changes in their regular schedules just to train you.

He’s not even that unfriendly with Satoru either from what the kinder of the two told you. He tried to reason that your tattooed co-worker simply isn’t fond of new people, but you’re pretty sure your inexperience grates on his nerves.

And unfortunately, every little slip up seems to tack on. Your shifts with Satoru are a breeze that leaves you grinning bashfully over your new crush while your shifts with Sukuna have you questioning every life choice you’ve ever made.

Your first weekend closing shift with Sukuna, you’re pretty sure you confirm your suspicions that he simply doesn’t like you.

The bell rings overhead as a tall man with dark hair walks through the door. You greet him and offer a hand, but his gait is purposeful as he heads into the back after flashing ID. Passing the time by fiddling with a pen as Sukuna stares blankly at the door with a hand lazily strewn over his textbook page, your gaze lifts when the man returns.

“Excuse me. Do you know the difference between this–” he shows you a bullet vibrator, “and this?” He holds up a hitachi wand next, “aside from size?”

Your jaw hangs open stupidly as you try to formulate a response but find yourself at a loss when size seems like the reasonable answer. Feeling your face flush, you glance sidelong at the business major.

If looks could kill.

The worst part? It’s not even glare.

It’s the most unfiltered and raw disappointment you’ve ever seen.

He huffs, pushing up from the counter. “The bullet is discreet but weak. It takes batteries and they usually only last for five hours overall. It’s still a good amount of use, but they might be watch batteries, which can be a pain.” He shoots you a pointed stare that makes you wonder if you would rather have just embarrassed yourself in front of Satoru in spite of your crush. “The wand is rechargeable, way stronger, lasts about fifteen hours, and has a lot more vibration modes,” he explains confidently.

The man nods, setting the bullet aside as he brings the wand to the counter. Over the course of the past few days, Sukuna’s taken most of the floor-related duties away from you in spite of the fact that you have tried to do some research and are getting to know the sections and general genres of toys. That question simply didn’t come up. Yet for all of the times he’s made a motion for you to take over cash, he doesn’t even offer it this time.

You get the feeling this goes beyond his usual irritation.

You can practically feel it radiating off of him in waves of negative energy.

The moment the customer walks out the door, Sukuna’s palm splays across the counter as he turns with frustrating evenness to face you. Somehow his ability to keep his actions level while being visibly affronted is worse than if he would have just yelled.

“Do you think you’re cute for making my job harder or did you just apply for the wrong fucking job?”

Okay. Fuck this guy.

“You can’t be serious right now.”

He lifts his hands in a loose shrug. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He replies, dry and even with venomous fangs.

You scoff, but relent nonetheless given that he is close to the store’s owner and you can not afford to lose this job.

Literally.

You can’t call a scoop of peanut butter dinner again.

“Look, I’m sorry, this is just–” you hesitate, your mind muddled as you search for an explanation. Sighing in exasperation, you throw your hands up, letting them fall to your sides with a plop against your jeans. You settle on the truth before you take too long to reply. “Sex toys are new to me.”

His jaw ticks as he leans his hip back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. Somehow, he makes Satoru look small– not thin or short, but small– given how much bulkier he is. He’s hot too, but his personality stands as a bit of a wall between you. His jaw works, eyes narrowed as he takes in your words.

At last, he chuckles. Dry and devoid of any amusement. “Why the fuck did you apply here if you don’t know anything about the shit we sell?”

“Because I need a job?” You reply incredulously.

He huffs a sigh. “Just my fucking luck.” He turns back to the register, haphazardly tossing the receipt into a small bin under the counter before he grabs the bullet vibrator and heads out onto the floor. “Figure that shit out,” he calls sourly without looking back at you. “Watch porn or buy something, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t make my job harder.”

Leaning back against the counter where it meets the wall, you let your head fall back in disbelief.

Asshole.

–

You wish you could say your first month passes seamlessly, but Sukuna makes the seams painfully obvious.

With Satoru, they’re subtle but you still feel them.

They both present separate problems.

Sukuna is an outright asshole and you want to get things right if only to not hear his virulent voice. The silence is somehow better.

Satoru is kind, open, and caring, but leagues ahead of you in experience and you have a massive crush. There aren’t enough customers in the morning to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you do find yourself wanting to impress him and against your better judgement, you’re pretty sure you’ve given him the impression you know what you’re doing from what little research you’ve done and what you’ve picked up over the month.

At least you’re trained enough that you get a couple of hours to yourself between Satoru’s departure and Sukuna’s arrival now that their hours aren’t extended in order to train you.

“You gonna be okay on your own?” Satoru asks, shrugging his jacket over his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off with a smile.

He nudges your arm, unknowingly sending goosebumps in a trail up your skin. “Good. Text me if you need something. Or, I dunno. If you’re bored.”

Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

You watch bashfully as he leaves, offering a little wave. Once he’s out of sight, you lean on your forearms over the counter. With a forlorn sigh, you drop your chin to the vinyl below, staring blankly out the window. Truthfully, it’s nice to have a breather between each man. You need the time to prepare yourself to handle Sukuna.

Your mind’s distraction comes in the form of your phone buzzing a few minutes later.

1:36 PM Satoru || not bored yet? ;)

A distraction to be sure. Whether it’s fortunate or not– yet to be determined.

The door seems to be opening more and more with him these days and as giddy as that makes you, nerves are beginning to show more and more at the seams. It’s foolish really, and you know that, but you find yourself constantly coming back to your lack of experience.

1:37 PM You || Give me like 5 more minutes and then I will be

You can practically hear the laugh he barks, having grown fond of his company.

You’re still casually texting back and forth when Sukuna’s shoulder presses on the door. He moves confidently through the shop, casting a single glance at you before dropping his bag off in the back room.

He’s still a pain in the ass, but Satoru was right that you do get used to it. You’re not sure that you’d call that a win, but at least you’ve come to some sort of silent agreement with him out of sheer necessity.

He didn’t leave you with many options after realizing just how little you know about the industry. When he got in the following day and returned your greeting with a painfully mild ‘don’t bother’, you had to figure out some sort of system that would prevent him from interacting with you altogether if it means his attitude is milder.

That’s how you landed here. He handles the floor and questions, you handle cash. You can tell he hates the arrangement given that he’s not a chatty guy, but at least you aren’t pinned in place by his vile appraisal every time you interact.

He’s civil.

Civil enough.

Most of the time.

For him, anyway.

He’s less judgemental, at least, and when you are able to help on the floor, he tends to leave you be more often than not. It’s like the loosest form of appreciation you can think of.

You’re pretty sure ‘tolerates’ is a fitting word for how he sees you. Like some sort of intrusive insect that sits just out of reach.

When he re-emerges from the back with his coat shrugged off, you’re surprised to see him in a black button-up and slacks, carrying his usual aloof expression as he makes his way to the counter. Admittedly, it’s a good look for him.

It’s unfair that he gets to be hot and an asshole.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

Thank god you don’t find him intimidating anymore. He’s a dick. Even to customers from time to time, but you don’t find yourself feeling small under his judgement. Maybe you should, but your ability to quickly bounce back could easily be placed at fault.

Blinking, you avert your gaze. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing you so dressed up.”

He examines your expression as though he suspects a lie in your words. “I had a presentation,” he explains, surprisingly open as he offers the explanation willingly.

Holy shit. It’s the first sunny day in the Sukuna forecast.

“What sort of presentation?”

“A marketing pitch.”

“Oh, nice.” You nod, trying to keep the peace. “How’d it go?”

He nods, turning to the counter to open his laptop. “Good. We’re gonna workshop it a bit, but I’m hoping to pitch to investors soon.” There’s pride within the evenness of his voice that has you tilting your head, intrigued to get something genuine from him.

Leaning in, you push to see how much you can get from him. “Like, a startup idea?” You recall Satoru mentioning something of the sort.

His gaze fixes you from over his shoulder. You get the feeling with him that he’s always trying to read you. “Yeah. A platform where people can pitch their businesses to customers within a certain distance without needing social media.”

“Oh,” you blink, mildly surprised. “That’s a really good idea.”

He hums, turning back to his laptop.

“You don’t really strike me as the CEO type, if I’m being honest.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, surprisingly unbothered by the observation. You consider yourself lucky he doesn’t take it as an insult. “I’d be looking for a co-founder to handle the personal, financial, and sales bullshit. I’d run strategy and go-to-market.”

Admittedly, yeah. That suits him. He’s sharp and straightforward, he seems like the type to be more inclined to work on strategy and run everything without the constant need for approval and help from others.

“That sounds more your style. What made you think of the platform idea?”

He doesn’t look back as he replies. “Just seemed like something that would make money.”

You recognize that as Sukuna being polite. He’s shutting you down without a look that makes your skin crawl for once. You suppose it’s as good of a time as any to return to your texts. Your friend from back home has been religiously sending memes during your shifts to get you through the Sukuna days and today is no exception. You laugh at a few of them under your breath.

The day is as uneventful as usual. Sukuna even casts an approving glance in your direction when you correctly answer a customer’s question. He’s not so bad when he isn’t glaring every couple of minutes.

You pray the weather stays sunny in Sukunaland.

Shutting the register as a customer leaves, you turn back inside the store to find Sukuna back to work, hunched over his textbook and regurgitating the information into notes. You opt not to bother him, turning your attention instead to a flickering bulb in the back of the floor. Much like both men have chosen not to mention or fix it, you have too.

Turning your attention back to your phone, you cast a smile at your latest text from Satoru.

5:49 PM Satoru || how’s the pretty newbie handling our favorite co-worker??

5:53 PM You || The weather's looking surprisingly sunny today!!

5:54 PM Satoru || be on the lookout for rain. the weather can change on a dime

5:54 PM You || I can handle a bit of rain

5:55 PM Satoru || i’ll bet you can ;)

There your stomach goes doing flips again. Your thumbs fiddle with the edges of your phone case, pulling at the plastic as you stare at the message with that horrible mix of nerves and your stomach tying in knots. You get so caught up in your own self-doubt, you don’t realize you’re staring at Sukuna, busy with his own phone.

“What?” He gruffs, retaining that hint of annoyance.

“Hm?” You blink, brought back to the present. Before you, Sukuna is leaning against the counter, phone in-hand as his jaw shifts left and right. His lip ring noticeably catches like he’s fiddling with it. “Oh. Sorry.” With a shake of your head, you stare back down at your screen. Your gaze catches on the winky face. The underlying meaning behind it and his text. The impression you’ve probably given off working at a sex toy boutique.

The goddamn butterflies, though. The same ones causing the wave of self-consciousness that you know is foolish. But fuck is it hard not to feel that way when Satoru is undeniably the kind of guy that has people hanging off his shoulder with little to no effort. Your experience shouldn’t matter, but society has taught you to think otherwise.

“Hey,” you speak up on impulse before your mind can catch up to the move your mouth is already making. You can’t be certain whether it’s bravery or stupidity. “You know a lot about what we sell, right?”

His eyes narrow, minute. Just enough to catch your attention. “Yeah. I’m good at my job.”

The dig at your knowledge has you pressing your lips together. God, he’s frustrating. “Asshole.” His brow raises slightly, like something he once deemed uninteresting or unuseful has caught his attention and he’s appraising the situation to find if you’re deserving of it. “Is there, like… a way to improve without watching porn?” You query, worrying your lip between your teeth.

No longer engrossed in his laptop upon noticing your stare, Sukuna’s gaze bores into you. He doesn’t particularly make you uneasy now like he did when you first started, but it is sharp in spite of the evenness behind it. “I told you. Buy toys.”

You suppose you could have been a bit more specific. “No, I know that. A lot of them need a partner, though.”

He waves his hand in disinterest through the air like you’ve already answered your own question and he’s done entertaining any more. “Find one, then.” He’s already looking away as he replies.

You suck in a breath. “I’m from a small town. I just moved here, I don’t really know anyone.”

Sukuna just stares at you again like he expects you to figure it out yourself. His arms cross over his chest, his hip leaned against the counter. It’s not until the air turns stifling, your words hanging a hair too long as you meet his gaze that he cuts the tension with a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re asking me?” You can’t make heads or tails of his expression when it sits somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. It’s akin to the look you got upon calling him an asshole.

“No! Or– maybe? I don’t know.” The wince you shoot him is humiliating as you try to navigate the stormy seas you’ve set yourself sailing through.

“Why don’t you go ask Satoru?” He queries, pushing a hand back through his black-dyed locks like this question was never meant for him. Still, his tone doesn’t give off the impression that he’s irritated by you, so much as something more curious in nature.

Your gaze averts as your jaw hangs open in a frustrating moment of hesitation. Briefly glancing at the texts sitting in your hand is the only tell Sukuna needs, unfortunately able to read you like a book for some god forsaken reason.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” he chuckles, airy and amused. He pushes up off the counter, taking a step towards you like he’s laying out a challenge. “You don’t give a shit about the job. You’re trying to impress that fucker.” He rakes his tongue over his teeth, standing over you like he owns this damn conversation.

You cross your arms over your chest, fixing him with your own judgement. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

He pushes a condescending breath through his nose, smiling with nothing but mockery. “I don’t, but I’m gonna. You two would hit it off.”

Frowning, you opt to not give him the reaction he wants. Your nails dig into the skin of your arm. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk as much.”

“Most people do,” he smirks. He steps forward, hands in his pockets as he leans over you. “You still want me to teach you a thing or two, sweetheart?” His tone drips with condescension now that the person he once saw as little more than a pain in his ass has become something he can toy with.

You roll your eyes. You hadn’t expected your quiet co-worker to be this kind of an asshole. Why couldn’t he just say no and move on? Where did all the theatrics come from? “Why are you such a dick?”

“Answer the question,” he deflects, unbothered and painfully egotistical.

You huff, staring at the lemon-shaped vibrator sitting atop the counter that you’ve been contemplating buying for the last hour. “Fine. Yeah, I do.”

He blows a breath through his nose, standing upright again once he’s gotten your admission in his hands. “What’s in it for me?” The way he stands over you, chin tilted, and eyes narrowed, makes you huff.

You hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. Hell, you didn’t expect to even voice your thoughts out loud. You barely even know enough about him to offer him anything. “I took business as a minor,” you suggest. “I could tutor you.”

“Nah, I’m set.”

You shrug, exasperated. Your hands wave uselessly through the air before plopping back down at your sides. “What do you want, then?”

He regards you with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll train you to close. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, if I ask you to take my shift, you drop whatever you’re doing and take it.”

You shift your jaw to the left, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You expected worse.

“And you don’t tell Jillian or Satoru you took my shift. I keep the money.”

Ah. There’s the ‘worse’ you expected.

Frowning, you give the nerves in the pit of your stomach a moment to settle over making a deal with the devil. You want to say figuratively but you aren’t so sure. “Fine.” You extend your hand, but the man shakes his head, frowning.

“Rules first, then we shake.” He holds up his pointer. “Don’t tell a soul. Not even your friends back home.” Another finger. “No kissing. No making out. No sex.” He holds up a third finger. “This isn’t a little romantic fantasy thing. This isn’t a relationship. Don’t call this shit friends with benefits or fuck buddies, either. We’re not friends. Don’t expect anything cute from me. Got that?”

You don’t bother holding back a scoff. “I wasn’t going to, trust me.”

He smirks, unbothered. “Good.” His hand extends first this time.

For a long moment, you stare. You contemplate your life choices. You debate just ignoring your fears with Satoru and praying you can play the role of having experience. You equally contemplate just telling him you have no experience and that you’re nervous.

But somehow, the way nerves churn your stomach makes the butterflies worse. You want to squash them. You want to impress Satoru.

And you know. You know it’s stupid. You know you shouldn’t have to impress him, but the heart and mind don’t always connect, do they?

Against your better judgement, you clasp hands with him. You go to do the actual motion of a handshake but he keeps your hand in place. When your gaze raises to meet his in a silent question, he’s scrutinizing every little movement in your features.

His expression doesn’t hold the condescension you expect. His gaze is devoid of amusement, fixated on the frown you bear. “You really sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate to nod.

His eyes narrow a sliver. “Well, aren't you full of surprises?” There’s that hint of assholery. “One more rule.” His hand remains unmoving, still clasped with yours as he holds your gaze. “Either of us can shut this down at any time. It still never gets mentioned.”

You nod. “Agreed.”

Finally, he goes through with shaking your hand. “When are you looking to start?”

Your nose wrinkles at the way he makes it sound. “Do you have to say it like it’s a– I don’t know, job or something?”

“Oh, my bad,” he sneers, his grin too proud. “When do you wanna get fucked?”

You shouldn’t have asked.

Pulling your hand away from him, you rub your temples. You’re definitely not about to prod any further, lest he get more vulgar. “I’m free ton–”

“Not tonight,” he interrupts. “I got someone coming over to study.”

Scheduling ahead doesn’t sit right with you either. “Can we just decide during shifts? See how we’re feeling?”

“Whatever suits you,” he shrugs. The mild arrogance to his tone is… another can of worms to unpack, but as your colleague turns back to his studies, you only have one question for yourself.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢

౨ৎ a/n ; i hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what will be a VERY kinky series LOLOL. i'm having a lot of fun with these two so far and i hope you are too <3

as a note, i'm trying moving tags to another blog which some of you may have seen due to changes in how tumblr's bot detection system is working, so please bear with me while i figure out how to not get my account flagged while doing taglists 🙃 edit; it's not working. if you weren't tagged, bear with me while i try to figure it out :')

౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @gojosoups @yenayaps @m3owr3ow @tohru-tales @crimzie129 @lostgxrlblog @sterzin @scaraamo @sunyomz @norahlolzz @whateverineedsblog @buttclencher28 @blueemochii @pequnopastel @cupidxml @saintdilucc @officiallydrunk @yvannaille @brazzigy @ilovebeansyay @deewrites01 @martianzmars @volleyballgirl2022 @mtchamnsta @astrokenny @ge3ked @ri-sa20 @heichouaack @iluvgetosuguru @winkii @dishs0pe @renoamio @slutty-chronicles @elixoq @bam-boozledx @serinabean @schnunny @yoniknows @k1yomee @14pxa @imrandomstuffsblog @sixeyes0607 @tokyolhtl @ellybell2 @lalilou21 @weiiraru @torusangelface @hastletea @naomikozura @crunchycathy

“I got you a coffee,” you offered, your short little pencil skirt riding up your thighs as you chased after your boss through the lobby of his fancy office building in the center of the city. 

“Thanks,” he grinned at you, grabbing it just to place all the papers he’d been holding in your hands instead, pushing even more on top while you awkwardly opened and shut your mouth to stop yourself from saying anything. 

He took a small sip, scrunched his nose up while Toji struggled not to scoff out loud from where he was pretending to read a magazine in the corner next to the other waiting clients, all of them eagerly hoping to meet with the not-so-great Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not sweet enough,” Gojo criticized, masking his attitude with playfulness, acting like a child while you apologized to him as if you’d done something wrong by thinking of him. 

He wasn’t listening. Just kept moving towards the elevators, pulling his phone from his pockets to make a phone call to some other prick, probably. 

You scrambled behind him, folders stacked up in your arms, the coffee cup precariously balanced on top of the pile. 

God, what kind of fucking loser didn't carry his own stuff? 

His pretty little assistant he used more like a pack mule. 

It didn’t take long to find out your name. 

From there, everything else was easy. 

Finding out where you lived was as simple as following you from your car to your shitty little apartment, poorly paid and scraping by while your boss lived in his luxury penthouse on the opposite side of the city. Figuring out what foods you liked from what you spent too long looking at in the grocery store before you sighed and tossed a bag of rice in your cart instead. Snapping photos of you from afar like a fucking secret admirer through your window once you got back home, time stamped and saved to a special folder on his laptop, watching you shed your coat and clothes, trading them in for t-shirts and pajama pants. 

Toji wasn’t a stalker though.

Of course not. 

He was just doing what he was paid for. 

And what easier way was there to get to Gojo than through his cute, clueless assistant? 

You weren’t even aware when he trailed behind you on the street, head trained forward, always in a rush, scampering from place to place without stopping. Running errands for a man who couldn’t care less about you.

And in this city, you might be the only person as alone as him. 

Toji couldn’t put his finger on when studying you had become less of a chore and more of a habit. Day four? Week two?

Watching and waiting for the right time to approach? 

For all his expertise, his ability to move through the world unseen, unnoticed, it worked against him for once when you ran straight into him trying to leave your usual coffee shop, turning when he hadn’t expected it and smacking into his chest at full speed.

The coffee – something cold and sugary and sweet – splashed over both of you, your white shirt soaked through to see a pale pink bra underneath, your face flushing for the wrong reasons as you immediately started rattling off apologies.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to use the few napkins you grabbed to dab at his t-shirt, rubbing uselessly despite the fabric already being black. “I wasn’t paying attention, and-” 

“S’fine,” he grunted, yanking one from his hand to wipe off your shirt instead. 

You didn’t stop him. 

Just froze, standing completely still as he dragged the napkin over your chest while it heaved, listening to you suck in a sharp breath. 

When was the last time you’d even been intimate with a man if him cleaning your shirt had you practically pressing your thighs together in that prissy skirt of yours? 

Admittedly, there was a distinct disgust churning in him at the image of you being intimate with someone else, despite how quickly he rejected it.

It wasn't like you were more than a mark to Toji.

He squinted, eyes narrowing as his attention shifted to your face just to find you openly gawking at his broad chest, lips still parted mid-apology. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” you practically squeaked, looking up at all with big, surprised eyes.  

“Whatever,” he tch-ed, digging out his last ten dollar bill from his wallet and holding it out despite the urge to just toss it at you to see what you’d do. 

You shook your head, oblivious to the fact he was well-aware just how strapped to cash you really were, biting your bottom lip. “I can’t, I mean, that was really my fault, and-” 

“Don’t make me put it in your purse, doll,” he huffed at you, even if he almost said bra. Tempted to tuck it in, wondering if you’d let him. 

Did you even have it in you to stand up for yourself? 

How the hell did a pretty thing like you survive so long on your own like this? 

“A-are you sure?” You stuttered, glancing back over him again. 

His pride took a fucking hit at your uncertainty. 

Did he seriously look like he couldn’t spare a ten dollar bill? Was it the sweatpants? 

He showered this morning, bothered to spritz on cologne when he usually couldn’t give a shit. Toji ran his fingers through his hair, jaw locking as his eyes narrowed.

“You got a pen?” He grumbled, wagering that you definitely did. Maybe he hadn’t seen the inside of your purse, but he’d been watching you long enough to know what its contents were. 

In a not creepy way. 

“Yes?” You blinked, somehow cuter when you were confused. 

Still though, you were obedient, anticipating him asking for it and just digging it out from your bag to hand to him. The tip of it had been bitten, another little hint of how nervous you were by nature. 

He took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against your much softer ones, a jolt of electricity traveling up his arm at the simple touch, the soft way your breath paused. You had to feel it too. 

Toji scribbled his number down. 

His personal cell. 

You were beaming before he even finished writing the last number, standing up straighter, sticking your chest out more. 

“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” he grunted, giving you the pen before the dollar, holding it out over your head, your stare flickering from his face to the money. “Text me.” 

He wanted you to reach for it. 

To chase him. 

But three more days passed – and he hadn’t heard a peep. 

Toji knew what you were up to, tracking you instead of his target, taking notes on everything you did instead of texting him. You stared at your phone at home though, left the dollar bill sitting on your kitchen counter, running your fingers over his writing as if you weren’t sure what to do. 

He supposed he’d have to help you figure it out then. 

Especially considering Shiu was starting to get on his ass about getting the job done. 

Because that was what this was supposed to be about – a means to an end. 

Faking a name tag was easy. Digging up the old utility overalls he’d seen some of the other maintenance workers wear at your office, the sort of position no one ever paid any mind to until they were needed for something. He didn't get much sleep, trading in his night shift watching you go to sleep for snooping around your office. And in the morning, after going back to his car to put on some cologne, he walked back in through the lobby like he was supposed to be there, not even getting courtesy nods from your coworkers. 

Toji had memorized your schedule. 

So he knew to be in the third floor break room at ten, pretending to fix something in the ceiling when you walked in to make a cup of coffee. 

For yourself this time. 

He was climbing down from the ladder he stole from a storage closet when you sighed and started cleaning up the mess the last person had left by the coffee machine. You didn’t notice, didn’t even turn until you went to grab a mug from the shelf, frowning when you realized they had all been moved to the top shelf. 

A nice touch, in his opinion.  

Setting everything up to be the one to take care of it for you, stepping behind you, close enough for you to feel his chest on your back as he reached up to get it for you. 

“Here,” he grumbled, and you slowly spun around to face him. 

Stuck between his sturdy body and the cold counter, frozen in surprise at him being here. He wondered if you’d be scared, suspicious. 

It was funny to watch you get so flustered instead, completely frazzled as you tried to find the words to say. 

“Um, you, uh, work here?” You finally managed, and he just raised a brow, the scar over his mouth twitching as he gestured towards the name tag on his belt. 

You blushed again, your attention drifting to something else by it, the bulge he hadn't meant to be sporting. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, a low drawl that made you smile at him. 

It was sunny. You were. Bright, not bitter. Absolutely unaware that the world revolved around you. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, even though you had no actual reason to. Maybe for not messaging him back. Maybe for stealing glances at his dick. 

He paused, a weird strained feeling taking over his chest, constricting his lungs when you tilted your head to the side. 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” you added, holding your breath. 

“I’ve seen you,” he shrugged, and your entire face practically lit up at the idea someone had been paying attention to you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to stifle it. To keep it contained, to make yourself smaller in front of him, like he wouldn’t like you if you weren’t soft-spoken. 

“Do you think you could take a look at the phones in my office? Well, Mr. Gojo’s,” you corrected yourself, toying with your fingers before cringing. “Only if you're available, of course. I put in a ticket but-”

“Sure,” he grunted. 

As long as the actual maintenance guy didn’t come, you’d never know the difference. After all, that was why he’d broken in last night. Disconnecting the phones himself, creating a couple issues with a few of the computers in the sales team downstairs that the real department would be too busy to handle any of your problems. If you ever pieced together he didn’t actually work there, it wouldn’t be until long after he was gone.

He'd prefer it if you never knew any better. 

And Shiu never said he couldn’t have some fun first. 

He followed you back to your office, not hiding his stare, enjoying how you were already squirming, nervously shifting and looking over your shoulder at him every few feet. 

“You didn’t have to do it now,” you mumbled, embarrassed, but he shrugged. 

Rolling his shoulders back to remind you how broad they were, catching the flash of you biting your lip before you faced forward again. 

Everything about you was far more fucking adorable than it had any right to be. 

Toji had never really gotten the appeal of stuffed animals. He never had any when he was a kid. No softness, no warmth, nothing small and sweet to hug. But you reminded him of one.

Or maybe that was just the urge to pick you up and squeeze you hard. 

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” He gruffly asked, gesturing ahead as you hit the button for the elevator to take you both to the top floor. 

“They just ring, and um, nothing happens,” you tried to explain, smoothing down your skirt self-consciously. 

He nodded, like he knew what the problem could be, and he did, actually. Because he caused it. 

The elevator doors opened, thankfully empty. There was something annoying about the idea of sharing you – even for a minute. 

Toji told himself that you were just less irritating than other people. That it had nothing to do with you in particular, just how disgusting the rest of the world was. 

But he was still observing how you pushed the button, how quickly you went back to fiddling with your fingers and picking at your cuticles. Clasping your hands in front of you, maybe just remembering the fact you forgot your coffee back in the break room. Left it by the pot you brewed, your lip gloss staining the rim from the single sip you'd taken and the drink inside growing cold. 

Did you confess? 

Admit you wanted to go back and grab it? 

Nope. 

He knew you wouldn’t. All that meant was another excuse to go back and get it for you himself, maybe make you a fresh one to cement his spot in your good graces, to get your guard down. 

The elevator dinged, opening up to wooden floors and soft lighting. Wall art he had briefly contemplated stealing the night before, although he skipped since it’d be a bitch to sell. 

Besides, he’d have more than enough money to cover anything he wanted to buy soon enough. 

“Um, the phone’s over here,” you shyly said, leading him over to your desk. 

Toji nodded, a low grunt of acknowledgement leaving his throat while he pretended to work on it, messing around with cables. 

You were watching him, taking your seat and clicking away on your keyboard despite your eyes constantly flickering over to his. 

He pretended he didn’t notice. Setting his jaw in a firm line while he unplugged stuff just to put it in different outlets. He considered tapping the lines, just to listen in to whatever you were saying during the day, but then he'd have to justify that expense to Shiu, and he really didn’t fucking feel like getting a lecture. 

His handler would tell him just to take out the target already. Stop wasting his time getting close to a liability. 

But of all the risks Toji had taken, you were the easiest one of all.

Would you let him find an excuse to get under your desk? Maybe catch a peek at whatever pair of panties you picked out today? 

Your personal phone rang – and you were scrambling to pick it up and answer. 

“Hello?” Your voice lilted up, all pure and sweet, and Toji immediately loathed whoever you were addressing. 

It wasn’t anything he could control, just instinctual irritation, a cheese grater to his patience watching you sit up straighter in your chair while you listened to whoever was on the other end. 

“Of course, sir,” you chirped. He had to stop himself from snapping the cord he was holding when he caught how you were subtly twirling your hair. Glancing down at your lap and sucking in a sharp breath before you mumbled, “Sorry, Satoru.” 

Toji had to look down to make sure he didn't somehow electrocute himself when the edges of his vision tinged with red, annoyance rolling into a tight ball of anger. The hard kind that couldn't crack, just rolled around in the pit of his stomach, demanding something be done about it. 

“Okay, see you in thirty.” You smiled. A soft one, biting it back before plastering a practiced expression of professionalism, probably remembering Toji was still here. 

He scowled at the realization Gojo coming back meant he should probably skip bringing you that coffee. Didn't want to risk running into him too soon. 

You hung up, and he shoved the last cord back in the correct place. 

“Try now,” he growled, picking the phone up from the receiver and passing it to you.

You took it from him, your fingertips brushing against his again, all gentle as you cradled it between your shoulder and ear, nails clicking on the keypad. Relief flooded your face when it worked, looking up at him like you were thankful. 

Gratitude wasn't something Toji knew how to receive. 

He was used to the exchange of cash, of cold demands that ended in death. Your warmth was alien. 

What had a guy like Satoru Gojo ever done to deserve it? 

Was this jealousy? Bitter and begging to be addressed, his skin itching at imagining the man getting your company all day long, having you at his beck and call. 

Whatever it was, Toji was going to fucking squash it. 

“Thank you, it was really nice of you-”

“What are you doing after work?” He interrupted before you could finish rambling, making all the reasons why you were easy to take advantage of excruciatingly obvious. You were too sweet. Too nice. Acting like he was a saint for fixing your phone, unaware he was the sinner who broke it to begin with. Who'd break your boss too, the second he got the chance. 

“Um, nothing?” You blinked. Your lips were still parted, but you didn't say anything. 

“Wanna grab drinks?” He grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Toji wanted to lean across the desk, put his palm flat on top of your useless papers and peek at your cleavage, but you were the sort that scared easily. 

The confusion on your face was cute. 

“Like, as coworkers?” You were clueless. “Are other people coming or-” 

Did you seriously fucking think you were just getting left out of some after work hangout? 

“Like a date,” he clarified, struggling not to contain his urge to bend you over your desk and show you just how not-platonic his interest was. 

“With me?” 

You were gawking, but there was an unmistakable air of giddiness to your face, a grin you couldn't suppress even under all that shock. 

“Did I stutter, doll?” Toji gruffly said, walking around your desk until your eye level was at his mid-riff. Your hand tightened around the armrest, slowly dragging your stare up like you could see the truth in his face. 

“Um, sure,” you nodded, still unsure of how serious he was. “If you want to.” 

“I want you,” he easily shrugged, making his point clear. 

He wasn't delicate. Wouldn't skirt around shit like your Satoru did. Being blunt was the only way to get it through that pretty skull of yours anyway. 

“I'll be waiting for you out front at six.” That was when you usually scampered out anyway, frazzled and exhausted from handling a man child's chores all day. 

“Okay,” you spoke softly, betraying your feelings by covering your mouth with your hands, hiding a smile behind them. 

He turned to leave, but he kept his eyes on you all the way to the elevator. 

You watched him too. He might have a job to do. 

Toji was just going to fuck you first. 

Was this how it felt to have a crush? 

Well, one that wasn’t hopeless and unattainable? 

You’d been wasting years wishing Satoru noticed you. And in a matter of days, someone else had snuck up on you. A spilled coffee. A phone number. And now, a date. 

When was the last time you'd even been on one? 

You frowned at your reflection in the mirror, fingers working to undo another button of your shirt and hike up your skirt a little higher. Half of you was disappointed that he hadn't asked you out on a different night, or given you enough time to go home and get changed into something a little more sexy and less like you just stepped out of an investor meeting. 

But the rest of you was just glad he wanted to go out with you at all. 

You tried to tell yourself you had less time to overthink this way. That you wouldn't be distracted for days until the date, waiting for him to cancel. 

But when you walked out of the building at six, leaving a sticky note for Satoru whenever he stepped out of his office letting him know you couldn’t stay late tonight, Toji was true to his word, waiting for you in a beat-up black car. 

It wasn’t sleek, wasn’t shiny and freshly glossed like Satoru’s, but it looked fast. His window was rolled down, his arm resting on it while his defined jaw unclenched at the sight of you standing there and staring. 

“You comin’?” 

Was it wrong to hope he’d make sure you did by the end of the night? 

You scampered over, glancing around to see a few of your coworkers looking your way before you pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. His eyes raked over you, that white scar that ran across the corner of his lips twitching up as he smirked. 

He was broader than Satoru, stockier. All muscles, all man. 

His dark hair was shaggy, not carefully styled, his sturdy fingers running through it as he measured you the same way you measured him. He must’ve gone home and changed, in a dark shirt that clung to his chest, made you take note of his biceps bulging underneath his sleeves, probably big enough to make them burst if he strained hard enough. Wearing jeans, no name tag hanging on his belt now. 

But you already memorized his name. 

Toji. 

It had been on the forefront of your thoughts all day, right there with the rest of his words. He saw you. He wanted you. 

Invited you out like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

You were so distracted by, well, everything about him that you forgot to buckle your seatbelt until he stretched across the center console and did it for you. There was something kinda funny about a gruff guy like him taking care of something so small like that for you, grunting under his breath as it clicked into place. 

Maybe just an excuse to be close to you, to touch you again. 

You didn’t mind. 

His attention was nice. 

You didn’t know what to say though, awkwardly glancing between him and outside the window, wondering what a typical conversation looked like on a first date. 

“So, um, do you like your job?” You heard yourself ask, almost immediately wishing you hadn’t just from his soft scoff, the subtle arch of his thin brow while he pulled out onto the road. 

“It pays the bills,” he shrugged, and you tried to nod sympathetically. You were about to spout out something polite, but then he opened his mouth to talk again, giving you that dangerous bit of side eye that made your heart skip a beat. “But it ain’t so bad. Gotta meet you because of it, didn’t I, doll?” 

And there it was again.

Doll. 

Satoru sometimes called you sweetheart, but that didn’t send a shiver down your spine, didn’t have that low rumble to it that gave you goosebumps. When he said it like that, you wouldn’t really mind being a pretty toy for him to play with. 

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, blushing hard as you tried to swallow your anxieties. 

You were overworked. Exhausted. Barely making it by on caffeine and four hours of sleep most days. But you were here. In a hot guy’s car being flirted with on the way to a bar. 

He briefly looked at you before turning back to face the road, but you could see the satisfaction in the crook of his smile. 

“Relax a little, baby,” he hummed, reaching over – and for a second, you thought he was going to grab your thigh. You hadn’t realized it was hope until he just turned up the radio instead. But with a second flash of that scar and that smirk, you were smiling back at him. “We’re gonna have fun tonight." 

It still took two glasses of wine for you to start to unwind, a pleasant buzz floating around in your chest, coloring your world in warm hues as he leaned in next to you, his barstool dragged close enough for his muscled thigh to be constantly brushing against yours. A massive palm casually resting on your side, pulling you in every time someone got into what could be considered your personal space. 

He didn’t talk about himself. 

Or that much, really. 

He’d ask a few questions, then let you ramble. Sometimes, his expression would shift, his harsh and blunt edges softening when you talked about the future, about how you wanted to quit someday, find a job that wouldn’t burn you out. But it hardened a few times too, scowling when you mentioned Satoru, glaring when a drunk guy bumped into you. 

And yeah, you got it. Your boss was a bit of an…acquired taste. 

It didn’t surprise you that he managed to piss off one of his employees, especially when you spent most of your days cleaning up the messes he made. 

“When did you start?” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject back to him. To get to know him properly. To be the best date you could be – or at least good enough that he might want to take you home. 

“A while ago,” he shrugged, another vague answer as he polished off the last of his whiskey. 

He didn’t even seem buzzed. 

“I feel like an idiot for not noticing you there before,” you admitted, tugging down the hem of your skirt self-consciously, shyly looking up to meet his open stare. 

“S’fine,” he grunted, unbothered. 

You didn’t know what to make of him past the fact he was ridiculously attractive. 

Toji was abrasive. The rough side of the sponge scraping up your silverware, the hard counter edge you bumped into when you weren't expecting it, the sharp rock that sliced open the soles of your feet when you forgot to wear shoes outside. But being around him left you hoping to get cut by him. Fingers crossed that he’d be interested enough to peel you apart and stay long enough to stitch you back together – even if it was sloppy.

After being surrounded by people who only ever plastered on fake smiles and feigned politeness, he felt like the first breath of fresh air you had in forever. Something raw and real in a world full of plastic. 

He wasn’t polished. Wasn’t perfect. 

But you’d never been either. And you were tired of pretending and playing along. 

You took another long sip of your wine, the last drop lingering on your tongue as you pushed your empty glass forward too. 

He chuckled, almost appreciatively. Snagging the drinks menu and sliding it back over to you, letting his fingers linger on top of it like he wanted to remind you how large they were. 

“Pick your poison.” 

“I think I should probably get a water,” you murmured, a little worried he might think that was lame. 

He ordered you one anyway though, chuckling when you wiped away the ring of condensation from the counter after they took your glass away.

“Don’t wanna get drunk with me?” He taunted, butterflies in your stomach fluttering when he cocked his head to the side. “I’m hurt.” 

He wasn’t, not really. But you got the feeling he liked teasing you. 

“I just don’t wanna think this was all a dream tomorrow,” you laughed, forcing it to sound lighter than it really was. You really just refused to let yourself get so wasted that you might black out an entire date or embarrass yourself in front of him. 

His eyes narrowed, like he was the one that couldn’t discern if you were being serious. 

“You callin’ me dreamy?” He dryly mocked, and that pretty jaw of his clenched, like it was a joke.

“I mean, it’s just kind of hard to believe a guy like you wants to go out with someone like me,” you murmured, offering a small smile to the bartender when he pushed a glass of water over to you. 

“A guy like me?” He challenged, and you cringed at your ability to stick your foot in your mouth. You didn’t know if you actually offended him, if that was even possible, but you slipped your hand over his.  

“Y’know,” you drawled, tracing your fingertips over his veins, holding your breath. “Attractive and-”

He snorted.  

“So what does that make you?” He raised a question you’d never really been able to answer. There were labels you assigned yourself, but all those really amounted to was what roles you played for other people. 

Lately, all you felt like was Satoru’s assistant. 

Barely your own person. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Just me?” 

“I like you,” he easily said.

“You don’t know me,” you pointed back out, bringing your water glass up to your lips to take a sip. Maybe he thought you were pretty. Maybe you’d caught his eye. But there was a difference in that and knowing what your favorite-

“You stay late even when you’re exhausted. You think of everyone else when no one gives a shit. Show up with coffee and pastries for other people when you can barely afford to pay for your parking pass. You never take your lunch break-” He was listing facts like he was bored, proving his point with the overhead lights glittering back in his green eyes. You almost choked on your water, and he slipped his hand out from your other one to drag his thumb over your lips. 

It felt scandalous. Like he was just waiting to commit some grave sin with how slowly he brushed it over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to make you wonder what his mouth would feel like, how his taste would compare to his touch. 

But then he let go, dropped his hand down just to make you miss it. 

“You kinda sound like a stalker,” you giggled, unable to stop yourself from grinning at being seen. 

There was some faint alarm bell you knew should be ringing, but your head had been emptied out to make room for more thoughts of him. 

He chuckled, and your chest tightened. 

“What’d you think I was giving you my number for?” He sarcastically asked, dark eyes narrowing under the dim lighting as he brought his own glass up to his lips. 

You stifled another smile. “To pay for my shirt?”

“I was thinkin’ about getting you out of it.”

Toji was shameless. 

And every flirt, every searing gaze of his that stuck to your skin and stoked that fire in your stomach? You were falling for it. For him. 

Would you be a whore for sleeping with him on the first date? 

Maybe, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it mattered. 

You were about to suggest maybe returning to your apartment, but your phone started vibrating, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your disappointment. 

“Hold on one second?” You nervously asked, and he nodded.

“Sure,” he barked, all gravelly, not helping the simmering heat still burning under your skin. You pulled your phone out, glancing around the bar for some semi-quiet spot to take the call. 

You settled on a hallway that led to the bathrooms, heels clicking on the floor as you hurried over, grateful that Toji had chosen a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, one that wasn’t packed with people to navigate through. 

“Hello?” Your voice waivered, face flushing at the mental image of what your boss was probably doing on the other end. Scowling down at the note you left him? 

“The hell are you?” Satoru whined on the other end, apparently not happy at your absence. 

“I’m on a date,” you whispered back into the speaker, just for him to scoff back. The sound of it, even tinny and crackling through the line, fucking stung. 

As if it was actually so absurd that you could be with someone. 

“I need you here,” he huffed. “We’re supposed to be preparing for tomorrow’s meetings.”

You tapped your foot, glancing back to the end of the hallway, picturing Toji sitting on the stool waiting for you. 

“I already prepared all your slideshows. Anything you need should already be labeled and on your desk,” you muttered, doing your best to still sound professional. Collected. Calm. Put-together instead of just a weak-willed pushover. 

Toji wasn’t wrong. You spent all your time thinking of Satoru when he really couldn’t care less. You were just convenient to him. That was what he paid you to be. 

“I can’t find it,” he grumbled. Lied. 

“I also emailed everything to you,” you added, and he didn’t bother to hide his whine of annoyance. 

Irritated that you had a life outside of him. That your existence wasn’t solely devoted to making his easier. 

“Who are you even ditching me for?” Satoru was pouting. You could hear it in his voice.

“If you really must know, he works in the maintenance department and-” 

He laughed at you. 

“Leave that loser.” 

Was that what he thought? That the best you could get was a fucking loser?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Satoru.” You hung up on him. Slipped your phone back in your purse, looking up just to see Toji leaning against the wall across from you. 

Startled, you stepped back, blinking and trying to figure out how someone as big and broad as him managed to sneak up on you.

“He botherin’ you?” Toji grunted, gesturing towards your purse.

“No, um, just work stuff,” you lied. 

You didn’t want to tell him the CEO of the company basically called him a loser. It felt mean, and you were worried he’d somehow think you shared the same impression. 

“Yeah?” He angled his head down to look at you, and his proximity made your pulse race, wild thumps roaring in your head as he took two steps closer. 

“I hung up on him,” you admitted, even though he hadn’t asked. Feeling bold just by being with him, as if you were already getting away with something. 

“You wanna give me all that attention instead, baby?” His voice was deep, a gruff purr that had you nodding. 

Your obedience earned a pleased hum. 

And even better, a kiss. 

The kind that knocked the air from your lungs, his calloused hands cupping your face as he claimed your lips for himself. You kissed him back just as hard, craning your neck up into it, tethering your fingers through his dark locks while you sucked on his lower lip. 

He tasted like whiskey. But his lips were soft enough to make you overlook the feeling that came with wondering if this was a mistake. 

If Satoru would fire you for wanting to get fucked instead of running back to fuss over him. 

Toji wasn’t the sort of guy who’d let you linger on silly worries though. No, his canines were already tugging at you, nipping at the spots you’d bitten out of stress, one of his rough palms travelling down your body, settling on your waist to pull you flush against his hard body. 

You wanted to touch him. 

To pull off his shirt and trace your fingers over all his muscles, map them out and drag your tongue over them. His was busy, already in your mouth, muffling your surprised gasp when his grip on your side suddenly squeezed tight. 

“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, an intangible thread in your stomach pulling taut at the sound. 

He dragged you back inside the bathroom, the employee one, like he wanted the thrill of fucking you in public with less of a risk of being walked in on. 

It was sleazy.

But the exhilaration of his hand now on your hip, the way his fingers dug in and wrinkled your skirt as he pulled you through the door, your back being pushed against the cold sink as his mouth latched onto your throat next, it outweighed any rational thought your brain could conjure up. 

You wanted him. 

The world could wait. 

This was more real than anything else your reality had to offer. His tongue licking a clean line up from your collarbone to your jaw, going back to leave messy hickies, claiming you as his. For tonight, at least. 

Hopefully longer. 

But you kept that thought to yourself, only letting small whines escape as his hand ventured under your skirt, toying with your panties underneath, slipping two fingers underneath it, testing how much the band could give. 

You didn’t want to scare him off. Push him away before he'd even put his dick inside you. 

He seemed like he specialized in one-night-stands. Like he was used to getting who he wanted when he wanted. And really, you were just so fucking sick of being single. 

Of being lonely. 

The hand that had still been on your face moved back, suddenly cradling the back of your neck, squeezing enough to make your head tilt back and give him easy access to more of you. 

There was a vulnerability to it, letting him sink his teeth into your throat, marking you up enough that the bruises would bleed through your concealer tomorrow.

But then Toji was tearing your panties off, easily rolling the flimsy fabric that you truthfully paid too much for, shoving what was left of it in his pocket before prying your thighs apart. 

You spread them further, your lungs freezing half-full of air as you watched him drag his eyeline down to your exposed cunt, already embarrassingly wet after just a couple hours spent in his company. 

He hiked your skirt higher, appreciatively admiring it, clicking his tongue as he shoved a thick finger inside you. Clearly, he’d taken note of how much you noticed them. 

You were gasping before he even made it down to the knuckle. Eyes widening, your hands immediately shifting to claw at his shoulder blades for some stability when you tried to contain your reaction. 

But Toji wasn’t going to let that slide. Refused to let you hide every lewd reflex – shoving another finger inside to join the first just to force out a strangled moan at the feeling of him stretching you open. 

Scissoring you at a tempo that bordered on lethal, only pausing his onslaught of kisses to watch your face when you said his name, all pitchy, almost pathetic. Putty for him with just a couple fingers. 

“Ya’ like that, pretty?” He grumbled, fraying with impatience, already itching to add another – or maybe trade his fingers out for something bigger. 

“Mm, mhm,” you murmured, nodding as you reclined your head back, the cold edge of the counter digging into your skin as he pulled you closer to him just to make you jolt again at the next pump of his fingers. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re runnin’ from me then, doll?” He dared, his eyes dark, his lips pulled into a thin line as you shook your head the other way. 

The intensity he came with was a double-edged sword. Drawing you in one second and threatening to spear you the next. Chasing the high of being fucked full just to run from the burn, the stretch, the pleasure when he pushed you right on the edge of a cliff the next. Finding yourself teetering a tightrope you never meant to walk on. 

“S’too-” You sounded slurred, even though the only thing you really felt drunk on was him. 

“Hm?” He waited for you to finish, stalling his next thrust with his fingers buried deep enough to reach a spot that was a little too sensitive, knowingly swirling against it while you squirmed. 

You were a wreck and he hadn’t even managed to make you cum yet. 

The too much that had been about to leave your lips replaced with a desperate plea for more. 

Your skin was hot, sweat sticking to your brows as he dug his fingers deeper, felt the sinful way you squeezed them, panting as tears started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

There was no running. Being spread and stuffed on a bathroom sink by a handsome man who might as well be a stranger, fingers poking and prodding at all your sensitive spots, readjusting his hand so his thumb could rub over your clit.

“Thought you had something to say?” He wryly mocked, and you were pretty positive you’d forgotten everything except his name. 

“T-Toji,” you whined, body stuck, all your muscles wound too tightly, hips arching up to meet his hand.

He kissed you again, harder, rougher. Crashing into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under, lost between him and the pleasure, being tossed around with each thrust of his fingers. Climaxing without even meaning to, not even a conscious choice, just being pulled into the motions as he massaged rough circles over your needy bud. 

And then you were sucking in air, his fingers pulling back out with a filthy pop! before he brought it up to his mouth and took a taste. Sucking on them and groaning at the second-hand flavor of you on his tongue. 

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” 

You should’ve known making you cum once wouldn’t satisfy him. 

Or twice. 

He had you up against the wall of his shower, your face pressed against the cool tile as his hips smacked against your ass, pounding into it as he continued to leave more hickies. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he grunted, his thick cock throbbing inside you, swollen tip nudging and grinding against your cervix like he owned it. Dragging himself along your walls, making sure you felt every vein, every ridge, warm water pelting both your bodies. “Look how good you're takin’ me.” 

His hand ran over the curve of your ass, softly patting it. It wasn’t a spank, but you wanted it to be. 

You shivered as he bottomed back out, leaning against him, mostly held up by him by now. “M-more.” 

“Greedy fucking girl,” he chuckled, but his voice was raspy too, running his hand back over your ass. “You want me to spank you?” 

You nodded, embarrassed to admit it. 

“Say it,” he groaned, and you squeaked. Surprised at the sudden stall of his cock, feeling yourself squeezing and squirming for him to keep going. 

“Please?” 

His hand came down, leaving a harsh smack that made you clench around him more, a moan escaping that echoed in the cramped space. 

Toji rubbed back over it, his fingers still damp, murmuring something low you couldn't make out under the shower running. But then he was back to thrusting, faster now, like he wasn't finished imprinting the shape of him into you. 

It was all moans, all skin-on-skin, lewd sounds and heavy pumps, his strokes only getting sloppier when his hand slipped over your clit. Intent on making you cum for him again, his jaw clenched when you tensed up. Planting kisses up your throat, teeth marking you with an unspoken mine when you shuddered and finished, white splotching across your vision as your limbs threatened to go limp. 

Toji pulled out, finishing on your back just for the water to wash his cum away. Down the drain with the soap suds. 

He whispered your name into your neck, soft lips tracing back over the mess of hickies he'd left. You were in a haze, brain foggy and chest still full even after your cunt was empty again, leaning against him when he cleaned you up. 

You never would’ve guessed he used the same brand of shampoo or conditioner as you. It was funny how many products you mutually had. Even the hand soap was a familiar bottle, new too, hardly used. 

He dried you off with a patchy towel, wrapping it around you and shutting off the shower. Pulling you back to his bed, half-made navy blankets in a mostly-barren room. The lamp by his bed was crooked, but there wasn't all that much personal stuff laying around. No posters decorating his wall. 

Nothing else to learn about him from his possessions. 

“Tired?” He grumbled, tossing you a t-shirt of his. 

“Mhm,” you yawned, dropping the towel to pull it over your head. No panties, but you figured you didn't really need any to sleep in anyway. 

You still felt nervous getting into his bed, waiting for him to get in with you. He hesitated, staring at you strangely before he grabbed a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled them up his thick thighs. 

Toji got in next to you, stiff, awkward, before holding out his arm, like he was waiting for you to snuggle up beside him. 

Maybe he wasn't as much of a man whore as you initially thought. 

He was acting new to this, holding his breath when you scooted closer, laying your head on his arm. 

You wondered if he’d ever been soft before. If he was capable of it.  

Even now, you were left with the vague impression this…tenderness wasn’t exactly that. An impression. A mask, maybe, something he wasn't used to wearing.  

But the afterglow was warm. Wrapped in the heat his body radiated, his strong arms sheltering you from the rest of the world as you sighed in contentment, resting on his bicep as you looked up at him. 

Your phone started buzzing inside your purse on the floor, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. 

“Sometimes I wish he’d just fucking disappear,” you mumbled, sighing as you tried to push off his chest to answer it. 

“Stay,” he growled, grabbing your waist to keep you in place. 

You pressed your palm flat against him, pushing your lips together in a pout. “I have to answer him.” 

Or he’d throw a fit and make tomorrow hell for you. 

Toji begrudgingly let you get up, glaring when you bent over to fish your phone from your bag, his scar twitching down as he frowned. “You ever think you’d be better off if he dropped dead?” 

You laughed, staring at the name on the screen as you shrugged.

“All the time.” 

You were trouble. 

Fucking you was supposed to make it easier. Satisfy the stupid urges he’d been plagued with since he saw your face. Since he heard your voice and felt your fingers on his skin. 

Instead, it sealed his fate. 

Yours too. 

Because laying in bed the morning after, watching the subtle rise-and-fall of your chest, finding himself tracing shapes on your skin for the excuse to keep touching you, a fuzzy feeling he couldn’t snuff out was suffocating him. 

Smothered in the scent of soap and sex and your sweet perfume. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, sighing at the way his heart beat faster every time you tossed and turned. 

How long had it been since he slept next to someone? 

Shared more than a fast fuck? A quick make-out session that never made him feel anything? 

He snuck out of bed first, readjusting your head to rest on the pillow and pulling up his blanket to cover you before he caught himself. 

What the hell was he doing? 

You weren’t his girlfriend. 

But maybe you could be. If he played his cards correctly. 

And really, was there anything better than making a bet he knew he’d win?

He found his phone in his jeans, a few missed calls from Shiu waiting. He deleted them. Walked out into the kitchen, opening the door to his mostly-empty fridge, staring at the eggs in there, the few cans of energy drinks, before moving to the pantry. There wasn’t much there either. Rice. Ramen. 

Stuff for a single guy who didn’t give a shit about taking care of himself. 

“What’re you doing?” You yawned behind him, all sleepy and sweet, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see you walking over, clutching his blanket to your chest.

“Lookin’ for something to make you breakfast,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest. 

You giggled, like it was fucking cute. 

“Got any coffee?” 

He made it a week of pretending to be a normal guy in a normal relationship before the fractures started forming. 

Donning his fake uniform and driving you to work and to your place, narrowly avoiding being spotted by your boss and undermining all those pesky security systems to set up for what he was really planning. Using a couple of his contacts to get his hands on something that couldn’t be traced back to him. Moving all the pieces into place while playing boyfriend. 

He might’ve dragged it out longer – went another few days, pushed back Gojo’s death date again – but Shiu wouldn’t shut up. 

Toji was supposed to be waiting for you outside, wishing for a cigarette and reading your message that your boss was making you help him with one last thing then you’d be down to get lunch with him when his own handler called. 

“The hell is taking so long?” Shiu scoffed over the phone, almost as annoyed as he felt. 

“Covering our fuckin’ asses,” he growled back. 

There was no way he was risking his fucking neck this time. He wasn’t going to jail for this shit – and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you either. 

“The client expects this done-” 

“I’m handling it,” Toji interrupted him, a gruff growl from the back of his throat.

He had the stuff with him, everything he needed to make you his – and send Satoru Gojo to an early grave. 

“Take care of it.” 

Shiu hung up on him. 

The soles of his boots were heavy on the ground, tapping his foot as he checked the time again. Two more minutes, and he'd call you. The seconds tended to drag by without you there. 

He heard your voice, faint, still far away, but he turned anyway. 

You were walking out the main doors of the building, Gojo walking close behind you, his brows drawn tightly together, scolding you. He grabbed your wrist, but you shrugged him off, Toji’s blood boiling at how handsy that asshole was, touching something that didn't belong to him. 

All the stares of people passing by, coworkers or not, shifted towards the two of you. 

Your sad little pout, your chest puffed out and trying to stand straight, while he glared at you. 

“Maybe I should just fire you,” Gojo scoffed at you, and you flinched. Toji could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, fist clenching while you did your best to bite your tongue. 

But then you surprised him – and Gojo – by beginning to speak up, “I’m-” 

“You’re replaceable.” 

Your face crumpled at how sharply he cut you off. Struggling not to cry, to hold yourself together while he turned on his heel and stormed back inside. Other people pretended to not be eavesdropping, avoiding eye contact when you walked away. Head hanging low, rubbing your eyes, barely paying attention to where you were going until he caught you. 

You didn't even say anything when Toji pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you against him as you automatically hid your face in his chest. 

He was shit at comforting people. Had never really known what to say. How to make anyone feel better. 

But you didn't seem to mind, a few muffled sobs snuffed out when your mouth was pressed against his broad muscles.

“H-he said he’s gonna-” You tried to choke out, but Toji just softly patted your head.

“Don't worry about him,” he grunted. 

He wouldn't be alive long enough to actually fire you. 

Toji didn't say that though. He let you cry in his car, listened to you vent about your latest argument, wiped away some of your tears with the calloused pad of his thumb. 

And when your break ended, and you were supposed to go back to finish off your shift, he walked back in with you. Made up some excuse about putting off taking care of the next maintenance ticket, like he hadn't already disabled all the cameras in the building earlier. 

Usually, he preferred a bullet and brute force. Didn't see the point in a delicate touch and careful preparations. But he'd make an exception for you. 

This one time. 

“I think I'm gonna make him some coffee,” you murmured, still sniffling as you grabbed the stuff you needed for it. 

Like it would be a truce instead of a death sentence. 

You didn't know any better. Just scurried around the break room, not noticing when he poured a little packet of powder into the cup the moment your back was turned. 

“You’re too good for him.” 

You glanced back at Toji, smiling even though it didn't reach his eyes. Not really believing it, but still appreciating the sentiment. 

“You're probably the one person that thinks that.”

You picked up the cup of coffee, pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar in, enough to cover the slightly bitter powder. You even snagged a can of whipped cream from the fridge, swirling it on top as if your efforts would be appreciated. 

Two birds. One stone. 

Or really, two fools and one cup of coffee. That was all it'd take for you to be his and both your problems to be solved. 

And if it didn't?

Well, his gun was still tucked inside the band of his jeans. 

“Are you sure you're not going to get in trouble?” 

Toji had gotten on the elevator with you, his hand still slung too low on your waist to be purely polite, brow arched up at your concern for him slacking off. 

“Just wanna make sure you're alright,” he grumbled, huffing and looking back at the buttons lit-up on the elevator. 

You weren't really sure what he was to you. 

A boyfriend? A lover? 

But you didn't mind. His proximity was nice. His presence in your life was welcome. 

Even if it was causing problems with Gojo – who had made it clear he couldn't stand sharing your attention at all. Hated you having a life. 

You weren't delusional enough to think maybe he'd change his mind if he met Toji. 

But your fingers were still unsteady as the elevator dinged and let you off on the top floor. 

Gojo was sitting at your desk, legs propped up and feet on your paperwork. He was pretty as always, white hair tousled, one of those sharp brows of his casually raised as he glanced between you and Toji. “Is this seriously the guy?”

He laughed like it was an insult. Ignoring your frown when you walked over to hand him his coffee. He took it though, bringing it up to his mouth but not before scoffing again. 

“Satoru,” you hissed out his name, a low warning that he was rolling his eyes at.

He took a long drink, whipped cream sticking above his lips like a mustache before his face paled. The next few seconds slowed, crawling by as you watched him drop the mug, ceramic shards shattering as he choked. 

You were staring, your brain refusing to process what you were seeing, Toji’s voice registering behind you but the words not making any sense. 

What the hell was happening?

Somewhere, the vague thought hit you that something was seriously wrong, that Satoru was dying, but nothing would connect, your body refusing to respond to even the notion of it.

Your mouth fell open, but your scream was muffled by Toji’s hand. Knees buckling, just for him to catch you in his arm, one arm wrapped around your midsection to hold you up. 

“Hey, hey, I'm here,” he gruffly muttered, and you clung to that. 

“W-we need to call someone,” you stammered, your panicked gasps turning into hyperventilating. This was bad. Really, really fucking bad. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed in your ears, turning around so you couldn't see Satoru anymore. Wouldn't have to look when-

You couldn't even finish the thought. 

“Just breathe, baby.”

“I-I can't.” You were trying, but no air would enter your lungs, throat constricting more with each attempt. 

Toji paused, his palm pressing harder against your back before he stiffened. 

“We need to go.”

You let him lead you back out, his hand on your spine still guiding you forward. One step, and another. Focusing on the rhythm in them, the pattern of the elevator carpet, a crack in the sidewalk, whatever was beneath your feet to stop the image of Satoru from flashing in your head. 

Was he dead? What could even cause it? An allergic reaction? Poison? 

Oh God no. 

He led you back to his car. 

Toji had parked it further down the street than usual, opening the door for you to get in and buckling you in again. It didn't feel quite as romantic as the first time.

“Where are we going?” You asked, voice cracking as you forced the words out. All you really wanted was to sleep, to go somewhere that you didn't have to think anymore.

“Don't worry about it, doll,” he casually said, shutting the door behind him and walking around to the driver’s seat. 

“Is he-” 

You couldn't get the question out, and he didn’t answer.

“The cops are gonna think-” You started, only just starting to swallow the bitter pill that you were screwed. 

“They’ll frame you for it,” he scoffed, and you recoiled. Surprised at yourself for forgetting what you already knew about the man in front of you. 

He wouldn't sugarcoat it. 

Make fake promises to you that this would be fine. 

“But I-”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your fuckin’ life behind bars?” He growled, and you hated how much of a point he had. 

You shook your head, fingers trembling as he stilled them with his own. 

Gojo had a lot of enemies. Any one of them would be happy to let you take the fall. 

All you'd done was give Gojo a fucking cup of coffee – and now he was dead.

“There’s cameras,” you murmured, ones that would catch you running away from the scene of the crime. 

“They've been down half the day,” Toji grumbled, and you had no idea if that was even a relief. 

Your feelings were all jumbled, guilt, horror, disgust, regret, even affection and adoration tangled up in there with Toji trying so hard to keep you safe. 

You stared at him, still shaking, and he leaned across to spare you a heated kiss. Grounding you here with him, his calloused palm caressing your cheek as his pretty eyes narrowed. 

“I'll protect you.” 

Toji meant it.

The motel was shitty, far enough from the city you dozed off on the drive, but there weren’t any cameras. No one to watch him carry you from his car and no one to care after he tossed enough cash to cover a room at the strung-out receptionist. 

You woke up still in shock. Reeling from what you’d seen – or rather what you’d done. 

“Someone’s gonna come-”

“No one’s gonna find you, baby,” he promised, and it was one he intended to keep. 

You curled up on the bed, and he crawled in next to you, letting you bury your face in his chest to muffle the faint sounds of crying. Stroking your hair at first, eventually untucking your shirt from your skirt to trace soothing patterns over the bare skin of your back. Maybe you were scared right now, that was natural.

The first kill was always the hardest. 

Once you were somewhere safe, once you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, you’d relax. After the news cycle covering your former employer’s death died off, and the investigation went cold, you'd realize that you wouldn't get caught. 

And if you adjusted better than he hoped, maybe you could be his assistant. 

Or if not, maybe he could leave this life behind. Find something more stable. Part-time work, or something he could do from home to spend more time with you.

You fell back asleep on him, lashes fluttering as he ran over his next steps. 

He'd gotten rid of both your cells and tossed your wallet on the drive, slipping the sim cards out and destroying them when he got gas and paid in cash. Someone had probably found the body by now. He'd need to switch cars to pick up the payment from the drop off point, but that wouldn't be a problem. 

There was a payphone outside, one he could see from the window. He'd call Shiu from it in a few minutes, let you dream on him for a bit longer. 

The pay for this would be enough for fake passports, to buy some place off grid – and install a state of the art security system. To keep intruders or officers investigating out. 

And more importantly, keep you inside. 

There was nothing better than a bonus for a job well done - especially one as pretty as you.

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

your chin tucks and izuku pulls you higher up his chest. now you've got nowhere to hide, cheek against his pec, taking the full weight of those red eyes.

"say thank you to eji, baby." the hand under your skirt squeezes and you press out a thank you. Your lips curl over your teeth, and you watch the other man take a deep breath. his arm drapes over izuku's shoulders, and your boyfriend leans back into him, resting his head against him and tilting his phone into view.

"good. this too. look at her nose."

you can't see the picture, but you feel kirishima's fingers tangle in the ends of your hair. it makes you suck in a breath, izuku's hand squeezing you again.

"adorable."

"oh—oh and there's the parrots, and—" izuku's thumb stutters. you feel his belly tighten under your arm. "oh."

"oh," kiri says, and your stomach fills with butterflies.

"oh what?" you ask, squirming. kiri's fingers tighten, izuku's arm tightens, and now you can barely move.

"nothin', just," jade eyes flick up to the man he's leaning on as he tilts the phone down. "you're not. . . weird about that, right?"

"nah," kirishima's chin dips into his hair. "not if you're okay with it."

your ears are burning now. "with what?"

izuku meets your eyes and gives you that smile—the one he gives before you get pulled (willingly) into something you've only talked about. "your pictures, silly."

"what—" your mind blanks, heat flooding you, and all at once you know what he means. "which ones?"

kirishima wraps his hand around izuku's, making a sound. "that's, two weeks ago?" you think. two weeks? that's—

"oh. . ." heart in your throat, you stay still. they look at you with lazy, drunk eyes, dark and squinted at the corners.

"oh," he copies, teasing. his eyes flick between you and the screen—the photo of you sitting in lzuku's work chair, clothes off, belly striped with his cum.

"baby?" izuku smiles, rubbing your ass with a heavy hand. "remember now?"

you've. . . talked to izuku about this. if he ever shared pictures of you—or shared you—it'd be with someone he chose, on his terms. someone he knows would take good care of you, since you're spoiled by him. someone who'd know when to pop your ass without snapping at your sass.

someone like kirishima, apparently.

. . .it makes sense. you just weren't expecting it.

"y-yeah," your tongue's the victim of three shots and two drinks, fumbling, thick in your mouth as your heart climbs into your throat. and down between your thighs.

izuku grins when you stretch, catching on that you're rubbing your legs together in the most casual way you can manage.

"is it alright if riot sees what a pretty girl you are?" you nod, biting the inside of your cheek. "and more?"

"more?" a video? your face—which is stupid, irrational.

"when you're sweet for me?" kirishima clearly likes the sound of that, spreading his legs and leaning further back.

you swallow. "yeah." you can feel yourself opening up, preening under their attention.

"'kay. this is from when i was out of town last week, then, riot."

you gape, eyes wide. that's one you sent—your cunt spread open with wet fingers, lips puffy, clit swollen from playing, cream around your hole. "tha's this pretty girl's princess parts."

you gasp, brows furrowing. he's poking at all those sensitive spots and it makes your skin prickle, your eyes sting. why would he say that in front of—

"princess. parts." kirishima nods, and if you look close enough, you can see his ears turning red. "those are pretty, too, sweet girl."

"say 'thank you eji.'"

"th-thank you eji." your throat tightens, little tremors taking you. you're going along with it—your body defaults to doing what Izuku asks. and that's. . .

"midoriya, are her princess parts just as pretty in person?"

"i think they are." izuku passes his phone, and kirishima grins, pressing his finger over the picture to see if it's live. it is, and with izuku's ringer on, you hear the worn-out hum you let out near the end. you hear it again, and again, and— "what do you think, baby?"

you think you're being teased into a mess. you think you're insane for letting it get this far. you think they're playing unfair.

"i think they are."

you think you're too far gone to tell them to stop.

"what?" you're pulled into izuku's lap, sideways, your leg resting over kirishima's thigh. he's set his hand close to your inner thigh, still grinning, still swiping. "i forgot what we're talking about."

"i think they're—pretty."

"what?"

"my—" your eyes flutter. kirishima gives you his full attention, his fingers touching your neck. izuku too, palming your breast openly, giving it a squeeze. you have to get over it. "my princess parts," you whisper, squirming full-on in izuku's lap. thank god you're in a corner.

"good job, angel girl." you're warm. and needy.

"thank you for telling me," kirishima whispers, nuzzling the top of izuku's head. his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, and izuku grins at that. he raises his brows, and you nod softly.

"mhm." you part your legs a little, but kirishima keeps his hand steady, to your frustration.

"baby, wanna ask riot something?"

"i can?" you know you can, but you're shy, butterflies in your belly even though he's shown so much interest in you it could be seen from miles away. stalling is okay, right?

you get a knowing grin, a pinch at your ass, too. "i think he's waiting for you to ask." you've never asked this. he lets you kiss mina and uraraka after you ask, lets you dance with sero and kaminari when you ask, but this is different. this is. . .

"don't be scared."

okay, but the fear makes you feel high. "do you—do you wanna see? at home with us?"

kirishima smiles, like he was expecting the question, but still excited to get it. "yeah?"

"mhm," you nod. he looks you over, his ruby gaze meeting emerald.

"yeah," izuku hums, his hand settling over your belly as you rock your hips without thinking. "she asked."

your roommate brings it up three days before finals week officially starts, which already tells you the idea is terrible. the two of you are sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment living room surrounded by open textbooks, half-folded laundry, and empty instant noodle containers.

she’s supposed to be writing a paper. instead, she’s online shopping for bikinis. “i actually can’t do this anymore,” she announces dramatically, laptop balanced on her thighs. “if i read one more discussion post i’m walking into traffic.”

you hum absentmindedly, highlighting a paragraph without processing any of it.

outside, rain taps against the windows in soft uneven bursts. campus looks gray and muddy and exhausted. even the frat houses have gone quieter this week. everyone’s studying, or pretending to.

your roommate suddenly gasps. “spring break,” she says.

“what about it?”

“we should go to your beach house.”

that gets your attention. you look up slowly from your laptop. “we?”

“yes, we.” she tosses a sock at you. “like. everyone.”

“everyone…us girls? or—”

“no, the frat too,” she says, smiling. “i want choso to be there.”

you roll your eyes, focusing back on your notes. she’s been glued to her boyfriend’s hip ever since they got together. it’s almost sickening, if they weren’t so perfect for each other. you’re rarely in the house alone anymore.

“dunno if that’s a good idea,” you say, because your brain immediately supplies the image of suguru geto.

it’s geto. always geto.

your roommates notices your change in expression instantly. the grin that spreads across her face is immediate and evil. “oh my god.”

you narrow your eyes. “don’t.”

“you thought about him first.”

“i literally didn’t,” you mumble, pushing your glasses up your nose.

“you literally did.”

you throw the sock back at her head and she dodges it, laughing. “you’re soooo weird about him.”

and she’s right. you are weird about him. not in an obvious way, no. whatever thing between you and geto occurs in fragments. in pauses and glances held half a second too long.

eye tag.

that’s what gojo called it once after catching the two of you staring at each other across the frat kitchen while everyone else argued over beer pong rules. “you guys do this every time,” he’d said.

you’d denied it immediately. geto had just looked away.

your roommate clasps her hands together. “please invite them. choso already said yes if you say yes.”

“you asked him before asking me?”

“well, yes.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “the house isn’t huge.”

“it has four bedrooms.”

“one of them barely counts,” you point out.

“we can make it work.”

your parents are never at the beach house this time of year, anyways, and know you’re responsible enough to handle it on your own.

it’s few hours from campus along a quieter part of the shoreline. you haven’t been in almost a year.

the thought of ocean air instead of stale lecture halls makes you exhale slightly.

“aha,” your roommate says, pointing at you. “that was a considering face.”

“it was not.”

“come on. it’ll be fun.”

“it’ll be loud.”

“only a little.”

“imagine bonfires,” your roommate says dreamily.

“imagine property damage.”

“imagine volleyball.”

“imagine bail money.”

you already know you’re going to cave. despite everything the rest has somehow become tangled into your life over the past semester. in the middle of late-night food runs and campus events and parties is geto’s face and how you notice him before he notices you almost every time.

at parties, he’s usually tucked somewhere quieter while everybody else spirals around him in chaos. sitting on kitchen counters, leaning against walls with a drink untouched in his hand. watching. and eventually his eyes find yours, every single time.

the first few times it happened you thought you imagined it. you? nerd you? suguru geto looking at you?

but it kept happening. across crowded rooms and across lecture halls.

“you’re thinking about him again,” your roommate says.

it’s his deep voice and calmness and the way he rolls his sleeves to his elbows when he’s focused. the exhaustion constantly sitting beneath his eyes lately because he’s balancing classes and internship applications and responsibilities and everybody else’s problems too.

“shut up,” you say weakly.

“i’m texting choso. this is happening.”

you sigh, knowing that once your roommate wants something to go her way, it’s happening.

how bad can the trip really go, anyway?

“gojo’s already asking if the beach house has speakers.”

“tell him yes, but the neighbours don’t like noise past 10pm.”

“geto says he can drive.” your roommate looks up at you, chewing her lip, and you’re suddenly very interested in the notes you’ve been trying to read over.

now you’re imagining geto driving, one hand on the wheel, ocean air and his stupid rings glinting under the dashboard lights

you stand abruptly, gathering your notes before your imagination gets worse.

thursday - eight days from departure

geto realizes he’s in trouble on a thursday night while half-drunk freshmen scream-sing nextdoor to music that sounds like somebody attacking a speaker with a hammer. he’s sitting at the frat dining table with an untouched beer beside his laptop, trying to finish an internship application before midnight.

keyword : trying.

because you’re here. you’re not even doing anything particularly distracting either. you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of those oversized university sweaters, glasses sliding slightly down your nose while you argue with choso’s girlfriend over how many bags of chips are too many for one week at the beach house.

you shouldn’t be this difficult to ignore, and yet geto’s cursor has been blinking on the same sentence for six minutes.

gojo and toji yell something at each other from across the room. everyone starts talking over each other, except for choso, who’s curled into his girlfriend’s side, and you.

you stay focused, tapping at your laptop with concentration pulling your brows together slightly. geto watches your mouth move while you talk.

that’s becoming a problem too. noticing little things. the tiny crease between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed. the way you tuck your legs underneath yourself without thinking.

it’s gotten worse recently, or maybe he’s just stopped pretending it hasn’t been happening. for months now, every room he walks in feels altered slightly if you’re there.

he hates how aware he’s become of you. worse, you notice him too.

geto’s not stupid. he sees the way your eyes snag on him before flicking away. the pauses, the tension, that look you get when he stands too close.

it’s there constantly, like static humming between you both.

“geto.” your voice cuts clean through his thoughts.

he looks up immediately. you’re staring at him from across the room now, brows raised slightly. his stomach does something deeply irritating. “yeah?”

“you haven’t answered a single thing we asked.”

gojo grins instantly from the kitchen island.

“he was staring at you.”

geto doesn’t react outwardly. years of dealing with satoru have made his self-control nearly supernatural.

you, unfortunately, do react. irritation flashes visibly across your face before you glare at gojo. “oh my god, shut up.”

“am i wrong?”

“yes,” both you and geto say at the exact same time.

toji starts laughing so hard he nearly chokes. “jesus christ,” he mutters. “you two are painful.”

geto drags a hand down his face slowly. you’re suddenly very interested in your spreadsheet.

cute.

“i made categories,” you explain, stuttering over the last word as you regain composure. “colour coded. it’s a shared excel sheet so you can all access it too.”

geto smiles softly. you’re focused and bossy and pretty. he thinks he should probably stop looking at you like that.

“okay,” you say, tapping the couch. “can everyone e-transfer me their share tonight so i can book groceries in advance?”

gojo raises a hand. “no. actually, toji and i pass.”

you run a hand down your face. “what?”

“we’re the entertainment,” he explains, like it makes total sense.

“eighty dollars, each of you, please,” you say, tilting your head back. “i hate all of you.”

“that’s not true,” gojo says. “You like suguru.”

the room goes quiet instantly. choso coughs into his drink. gojo’s girlfriend physically turns away to hide her smile.

gojo points between the two of you lazily.

“the vibes are crazy.”

“there are no vibes,” you say immediately.

“you look flustered,” toji notes helpfully.

everybody starts talking over each other again while you try defending yourself with rapidly deteriorating success. geto says nothing, because while the others laugh and argue his eyes stay on you.

you can feel it too. he knows you can. that tension pressing tighter every time your gazes meet.

your eyes lift to his and his gaze flicks to your mouth for one brief, horrible second.

you both look away just as fast.

sunday - five days from departure

your bedroom looks like a clothing store exploded. bikinis draped over desk chairs, shorts hanging off your bedframe, three different pairs of sandals abandoned in the middle of the floor. “i hate everything,” you announce.

your roommate barely glances up from where she’s laying across your bed with choso half beneath her like a human mattress. “dramatic.”

“none of this looks right.”

“you’ve changed outfits six times.”

“because i look weird.”

“you literally don’t.”

you turn sideways in the mirror, scrutinizing yourself harder. the dress is just soft black fabric that skims your body, thin straps, lower neckline than what you normally wear. you bought it for some finance networking event your department hosted last month because your mom said you needed “staple outfits.”

your roommate sits up on her elbows finally, exasperated. “you know most people going on beach trips are worried about, like, sunscreen?”

“i am worried about sunscreen.”

“i forgot you made a spreadsheet for sunscreen.”

“uv rays are serious.”

choso laughs quietly from beneath her, hands resting loosely on her thighs. you point at him immediately. “don’t encourage her.”

“i didn’t say anything.”

“the laugh felt judgmental.”

your roommate rolls her eyes before looking back at you properly. “you look hot,” she says flatly. “actually annoyingly hot. if you don’t pack the dress i’m stealing it.”

you scoff softly, turning back toward the mirror. “it’s too much.”

“for who?”

you shrug. some part of you already knows exactly who you’re thinking about, which is ridiculous. you’re literally standing in your bedroom overanalyzing a dress because suguru geto might see it.

your roommate seems seconds away from teasing you about exactly that when choso speaks absentmindedly from the bed.“geto likes that one.”

the room goes silent and you slowly turn around. “…what?”

choso freezes and his eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the mistake leave his mouth in real time.

your roommate lifts her head immediately. “what do you mean geto likes that one?”

“nothing,” choso says too quickly.

“choso,” she says.

“i’m serious.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “how would he even know this dress?”

another pause then choso makes the fatal mistake of hesitating. your roommate gasps dramatically. “OH MY GOD HE DOES KNOW THE DRESS?!”

“baby,” choso says weakly.

“no, no, come back.” she grabs his arm before he can sit up. “what do you mean he likes the dress?”

“i wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

you cross your arms slowly. “that’s an insane sentence.”

choso looks deeply distressed now. your roommate softens instantly though, because unfortunately for choso, she knows exactly how to handle him. she cups his face gently, pressing a tiny kiss against his jaw. “please?” she asks sweetly.

choso exhales heavily through his nose, cheeks going pink. weak man. he folds almost immediately. “okay but you cannot tell geto i said any of this.”

you and your roommate both nod way too fast and he points at both of you suspiciously before continuing. “you wore that dress to the frat one night.”

your brows pinch together slightly. “…when?”

“when you came to pick her up after that finance networking thing.”

oh.you remember that night.

you’d stopped by the frat around midnight because your roommate was too drunk to uber home alone. you were still dressed up from the event downtown. heels hurting. hair done. tired and irritated because gojo had answered the door already yelling.

you hadn’t stayed long, just long enough to drag your roommate upstairs to collect her stuff while half the frat stared at you like they’d never seen a woman before.

apparently including geto.

“what happened?” your roommate asks immediately.

choso rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “nothing happened exactly. some guy made a comment after you left.”

your stomach tightens slightly. “what kind of comment?”

“just saying you looked good or whatever.”

“and?” your roommate presses.

choso sighs. “and geto got weird about it.”

heat crawls instantly up your neck. “weird how?”

“he just…” choso pauses, visibly trying to decide how much to say. “he looked annoyed.”

your roommate’s jaw drops. “he got jealous?”

“well, I dunno, not—”

“choso.”

“i’m serious.”

“what did he say?”

another long sigh. “he said you don’t even realize how pretty you are.”

your roommate physically collapses face-first into the bed, laughing into a pillow. you just stand there your heart suddenly beating way too hard. “that’s not…” you clear your throat softly. “that’s not that serious.”

both of them look at you. your roommate lifts her head slowly. “you are genuinely the dumbest smart person i know.”

“i’m not dumb.”

“he said you don’t know how pretty you are.”

“people say things.”

“not like that.”

choso looks like he regrets existing and unfortunately for him your roommate isn’t done. “what ELSE has he said?”

“nothing,” choso mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“liar.”

“baby.”

another soft kiss against his jaw, pretty doe eyes, and you watch the fight leave choso’s body. he groans quietly. “he just asks about you sometimes,” he mumbles, glancing up at you.

your stomach flips again. “asks what?” your roommate says immediately.

“normal stuff.”

“define normal.”

“like if she’s seeing anybody.”

your eyes widen slightly.

“or what her type is,” choso admits.

your roommate grabs your arm so hard you almost lose balance. “i knew it.”

“stop saying that,” you hiss, feeling too warm and out of place in your own body now.

choso keeps talking now that he’s doomed anyway. “there were these guys talking to you outside one of our econ buildings a while ago and geto asked after if you knew them.”

you blink. you remember that too. two business majors from another frat trying very hard to impress you after class. geto had walked by while you were talking to them and you hadn’t thought he even paid attention.

apparently he had.

“and,” choso adds carefully, “he asked if they were bothering you.”

something warm and dangerous and twisting settles low in your stomach, and your roommate looks one second away from planning a wedding. “this is insane.”

“it’s not insane,” you say weakly.

“he likes you.”

“you don’t know that.”

“y/n,” she says flatly. “be serious.”

you sit on the edge of your bed, the black dress clinging to your skin, and now all you can think about is geto noticing it. remembering it. liking it enough to mention it after you’d already gone.

your roommate watches your expression carefully from the bed and then smiles slowly.

friday - day of departure

departure day starts at eleven in the morning and immediately feels cursed. gojo is late, even though the meetup spot is outside the frat. toji's holding an iced coffee and is directing where bags are to be put instead of actually helping. somehow, your roommate's lost one of her sandals already. choso's carrying about fourteen bags (thirteen of which are his girlfriend's) and you?

you're standing in the driveway trying to figure out how seven people accumulated this much luggage for a beach trip. a seven day beach trip. “why do you have three suitcases,” you ask gojo’s girlfriend.

"two of them are satoru's," she says, patting her boyfriend's head, and he grins like a lovesick puppy. "i don't know why he has so many clothes."

geto’s car sits at the curb behind gojo's girlfriend's car - the two drivers for the trip. geto's leaning against it, typing on his phone, and of course the fact that he looks good pre-noon makes your heart pang. you can only imagine what you would look like standing beside him, what with your frizzy hair and crooked glasses.

he's wearing a dark hoodie and shorts, sunglasses pushes up into his hair while choso helps him load luggage into the back. you try not to stare but your brain seems to enjoy self-destruction.

because watching geto lift heavy bags with one hand while calmly reorganizing everybody’s mess should not be attractive.

"okay," gojo announces loudly, clapping once. "vehicle assignments."

getp closes his trunk with a final solid thud. "my car's got the most space," he says. "why don't you transfer all the luggage over from the other car?"

your roommate perks up immediately. "perfect."

"there'll be room for one person up front too," geto adds casually. then he looks directly at you. your stomach flips so hard it almost makes you angry.

you glance away first. before you can say literally anything, your roommate beams. "great! y/n'll go with you."

you whip around instantly. "what?"

"you get carsick in crowded backseats," she says innocently.

which is true. unfortunately. “i can survive.”

“and i want leg room,” toji says. "no fuckin' way am i cramming in the back with the lovebirds," he grumbles, pointing to choso and your roomate, "with this fucker in the front." he points his thumb to gojo, who's smiling happily.

"then you can go in the front with geto," you say.

your roommate gives you a deadpan look. gojo's girlfriend sighs.

"toji, just sit in the back, please," choso says quietly. "it's only a two and a half hour ride."

he opens his mouth to retort an excuse but gojo's girlfriend promptly elbows him in the chest. he grumbles but settles in the back of gojo's girlfriend's sedan anyway.

geto looks almost relieved, but he quickly masks it with his typical aloofness.

your roommate grabs your shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "have fun!"

you narrow your eyes at her. “i hope your phone charger breaks.”

gojo leans out the passenger window of the other car. “pee break every forty-five minutes!”

“absolutely not,” both you and geto say simultaneously.

gojo points between you both immediately. “they’re married already.”

you ignore him completely, mostly because geto is already walking around to the passenger side of his car and opening the door for you. which should not affect you this much.

it’s basic manners. normal behavior. except when you pass him, the scent of his cologne mixes with cool morning air and coffee and suddenly your thoughts short-circuit for half a second.

annoying. very, super annoying.

you settle into the seat while geto finishes loading the last bag.

the car smells clean, like sandalwood and detergent and something distinctly geto. you hate that you know what he smells like.

the second he slides into the driver’s seat beside you, the space feels smaller. you feel him glance at you before putting the car into start, and you're driving off, leading the other car behind you.

your phone buzzes immediately.

roomie: have fun on your first date ❤️

you: i’m going to kill you with my bare hands

you shove your phone away quickly before geto can accidentally see. “you have the address?” he asks quietly.

“yeah.” you pull up the map. “did gojo’s girlfriend save it too?”

“i sent it to her twice.”

“good.”

“you don’t trust them?”

you stare out the windshield where gojo is currently hanging halfway out the car window yelling something about his spring break arc. “…should i?”

geto laughs quietly beside you and the sound makes your head spin happily. you don't hear him laugh often, unless he's mocking gojo. this quiet, real laugh is something you notice every single time.

after twenty minutes you hit the highway and you sink back into your seat with a sigh. “finally.”

“you stressed?” geto asks lightly.

“i like plans.”

“i noticed.”

you narrow your eyes slightly. “that sounded judgmental.”

“it wasn’t.”

“mhm.”

he glances at you briefly while turning onto the highway. sunlight catches against the rings on his fingers resting on the steering wheel. your brain immediately decides to become unhelpful so you look out the window instead.

for another few minutes, it’s quiet except for road noise and the distant bass vibrating from the other car behind, then geto taps the screen on the dashboard. “you want music?”

“i don’t mind.”

“you sure?”

“...yeah? why?” you glance over at him.

“because now if you hate my music taste you'll have to be super polite about it and the car ride will be awkward.”

you laugh softly. “i promise it won't be bad. i won't be that harsh.”

his mouth curves slightly before he scrolls through his phone. music fills the car a second later and you recognize it almost instantly.

your head turns before you can stop yourself. “wait,” you say. “is this the smiths?”

geto glances over briefly. “…you listen to the smiths?”

“obviously.”

“obviously?”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing,” he says, clearly amused now. “i just didn’t expect it.”

you scoff. “what did you expect?”

he thinks about it for a second. “something old. like classical music.”

"i don't mind classical, but the smiths have always been one of my favourites."

he flashes you a genuine smile, fingers gently tapping the rhythm of the song on the wheel. "i'm glad."

after that, conversation begins to flow easier. favourite albums, worst profs, gojo. (lots of gojo). he says something that makes you snort and that same small, real smile etches onto his lips and god, this is dangerous.

you watch the highway stretch under the pale morning sunlight while trees blur at the edges of the road. after a moment you steal another glance at him. he's relaxed, one arm resting near the window, sunglasses low on his nose.

he's so...pretty.

the thought hits so fast and hard it almost embarrasses you. as if sensing it, geto looks over suddenly. your eyes meet instantly and there it is again. that thing. that horrible, suspended moment where neither of you looks away fast enough.

his gaze flicks down briefly to your mouth then back up. your pulse stutters.

behind you, gojo’s girlfriend's car suddenly swerves slightly as gojo sticks his head out the sunroof, shouting something imperceptible.

the moment breaks. you clear your throat quickly, looking forward again. “they’re going to die before we even get there.”

geto’s laugh rumbles low beside you. “probably.”

gojo’s girlfriend has both hands gripping the steering wheel like she’s transporting explosives. “if you scream one more time,” she says flatly, eyes locked on the road, “i’m pulling over and leaving all of you on the highway.”

“that feels hostile,” gojo says from the passenger seat.

“you barked at a motorcycle.”

“it barked first.”

from the backseat, toji groans dramatically as choso’s girlfriend shifts closer into choso’s side again. “i’m in hell,” he mutters.

“you’re just bitter because nobody wants to cuddle you,” she says cheerfully.

“wrong. women love me.”

“do they?” gojo says from the front, shit-eating grin on his face.

“historically. your mother would know.”

“you don't know shit about my mom,” gojo laughs. “she doesn't have your fucking number.”

“that's cause she gave it to me.”

choso quietly adjusts his arm around his girlfriend’s waist so she can lean more comfortably against him. toji gags loudly. “there they go again,” he says. “the world’s most nauseating couple.”

"you're just single. quadruple-wheeling the trip. us, choso and his girl, and whatever the fuck is going on in geto's car."

toji kicks the back of gojo’s seat and the car swerves slightly.

everyone yells immediately. “if we die,” gojo’s girlfriend says through gritted teeth, “i’m haunting all of you.”

“you’d look hot as a ghost,” gojo says instantly.

she snorts despite herself. from the backseat, choso’s girlfriend glances down at her phone.

“they’re probably having the most awkward car ride ever right now.”

gojo twists around immediately. “you think they’ve kissed yet?”

“it’s been thirty minutes,” choso says.

“exactly.”

“they’re not kissing,” his girlfriend says, though she sounds deeply unconvinced.

toji stretches his long legs out miserably. “they do have weird tension though.”

“thank you,” gojo says, pointing dramatically. “finally someone sane.”

choso’s girlfriend smiles to herself a little, gaze drifting toward the road ahead where geto’s car moves steadily a few lengths in front of them. “i think they’re both just nervous,” she says softly.

“geto?” gojo laughs loudly. “nervous over a girl?”

if only they saw how bright geto's smile was right now as you talked animatedly about how well your finals went. with you and your legs propped up on the dash, smooth and perfect and he couldn't stop staring without seeming weird. how his heart skipped a beat every time one of your perfect smiles were directed to him.

if only they knew how gone for you he really was.

the second the beach house comes into view, everyone in the other car completely loses their minds. your phone starts vibrating before geto’s even finished pulling into the driveway.

SPRING BREAKKUHH

gojo: HOLY SHIT???

gojo: WHY IS IT HUGE

roomie: i warned u

you laugh softly under your breath as the other car practically screeches to a stop beside you. the house sits glowing gold in the late afternoon sunlight, all warm cedar and giant windows overlooking the water below. dune grass sways softly around the edges of the deck while waves crash faintly in the distance.

home.

you hadn’t realized how badly you needed this until now. gojo launches out of the car first. “BEACH ARC!” he screams.

“inside voice,” you call automatically.

“we’re outside.”

“future inside voice.”

toji steps out next, stretching dramatically. “thank christ. my knees were touching my organs back there.”

everyone starts unloading luggage in a blur after that. bags thumping against the deck, music already blasting from someones speaker, and of course, gojo attempting to carry six things at once before immediately dropping half of them.

you’re hauling one of the grocery bags up the front steps when your roommate appears beside you wearing the smuggest expression imaginable. “so,” she says casually.

you already know. “don’t.”

“you and geto looked cozy.”

“we were in a car.”

“alone.”

“with seatbelts.”

gojo’s girlfriend appears on your other side immediately. “the sexual tension was visible through the windshield.”

you nearly trip over the doorway. “there is no sexual tension.”

both of them stare at you and you adjust your glasses defensively. “there just objectively is not.”

“you’re doing the nerd thing,” your roommate says.

“what nerd thing?”

“the glasses push.”

your hand drops instantly away from your frames. traitors, the both of them. behind you, geto lifts two suitcases from the trunk effortlessly while listening to choso say something beside him.

he glances toward the front porch, toward you, and your stomach does the stupid thing again. once inside everybody immediately scatters to explore the house.

gojo runs directly toward the back windows dramatically. “the back deck is is insane.”

“don’t break anything,” you warn.

“you say that every time.”

“because every time you almost break something.”

toji opens the fridge. “this thing is bigger than four of the fridges at the frat.”

you kick your shoes off near the entryway while everybody talks over each other around you. the house smells faintly like cedarwood and ocean air, comfortable and familiar. comfortable. familiar.

geto pauses beside one of the windows quietly, gaze moving across the living room and you watch his expression shift slightly. he looks good, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair loosened slightly from it's usual knot, sunlight catching against his skin through the windows.

you look away before your brain gets worse.

eventually everyone gathers in the living room surrounded by luggage and grocery bags while you attempt to regain control of the chaos. “okay,” you say, clapping once. “room assignments.”

immediately, “dibs,” both gojo and choso say at the same time.

their girlfriends laugh. “obviously,” gojo’s girlfriend says. "we can take the upstairs bedroom, if you don't mind? the one on the side?"

“don’t be loud,” you say, and gojo flips you off. within seconds choso and your roommate have claimed one of the downstairs bedrooms, which leaves you, geto and toji, and two remaining bedrooms.

the master, upstairs. the guest room, downstairs, which has a double bed.

you’re mentally calculating sleeping arrangements when geto speaks first.

“y/n should take the master.”

your head lifts. geto’s leaning back slightly against the kitchen island now, arms folded loosely. “it’s her house,” he says simply.

heat flickers low in your stomach at how immediate the answer was. before you can respond, toji lets out a deeply offended noise. “what,” he says flatly.

everyone turns toward him. he gestures broadly at himself and geto. “so your solution is to cram two six-foot-plus men into a queen bed?”

“you survived the car,” gojo calls from halfway down the hall.

“barely. my spine compressed.” toji points accusingly at you. “i already sacrificed circulation for this trip.”

your roommate’s eyes flick between you and geto so fast it’s almost cartoonish. “easy fix,” she says. “geto and y/n share.”

silence, and your heart drops to your ass. nobody says anything immediately because apparently every single person in this house has collectively decided to make your life harder.

you stare at your roommate. she grins back innocently. beside him, gojo's girlfriend physically bites the inside of her cheek trying not to smile.

toji shrugs instantly. “works for me.”

“of course it does,” you mutter.

your roommate looks dangerously delighted now. “i mean…”

you whip around. “okay, that's--that's enough.”

“it makes sense.”

“does it?”

“logistically?”

you narrow your eyes. she smiles sweetly. geto has gone suspiciously quiet beside the kitchen island and when you risk one glance towards him he's already looking at you completely unreadable except for the faintest pink creeping up his ears.

your pulse stutters embarrassingly hard. “i can sleep on the couch,” you say quickly.

“absolutely not,” geto says immediately. too fast. the room goes quiet again and you feel every single person notice the tension. especially when geto clears his throat softly afterward. “i mean,” he adds more evenly, “it’s your place.”

gojo looks one second away from exploding with laughter.

toji stretches lazily against the armchair. “well i’m not sharing with him.”

your roommate suddenly stands. “perfect! problem solved.”

you stare at her in horror. “you didn’t solve anything.”

“you and geto get the master.”

your brain short-circuits. you open your mouth to protest then glance toward geto again. his eyes meet yours instantly, and you both look away.

biggest coward of all - your one and only, y/n.

everyone disperses after that. gojo immediately starts trying to connect his phone to the speaker system downstairs, toji disappears toward the back deck with a beer already in hand, choso and his girlfriend vanish into their room carrying bags and giggling like a disease.

you flee upstairs before your friends can torment you any further. your heartbeat still feels weird - you hate that.

the master bedroom sits at the end of the hallway overlooking the water, all soft linen and huge windows glowing gold from the lowering sun outside. you’ve always loved this room, not that you were in it often. throughout your childhood, it was occupied by your parents.

you especially love it at sunset. usually it calms you down.

usually.

right now all you can think about is the fact that suguru geto is sharing this room with you for an entire week.

it's insane and horrible and slightly thrilling in a way you refuse to examine too closely. you drop your bag onto the bed with a sigh before digging through your suitcase for something more comfortable. the drive left you sticky and overheated so you tug your shirt over your head absentmindedly, tossing it onto the bed before reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra.

finally. freedom.

you’re halfway through pulling on a loose tank top when the bedroom door suddenly opens. you turn automatically.

geto walks in mid-sentence. “i was just gonna leave my ba—”

he stops completely. so do you.

silence detonates through the room because your bra is currently halfway off your arms and your tits are fully out.

oh my god. you yelp immediately, clutching the tank top against your chest. geto looks genuinely horrified. not in a bad way but shocked, like his brain physically short-circuited. his eyes flick upward instantly but it’s too late because the image is already there now, permanently burned into his consciousness forever.

“fuck,” he blurts immediately. “shit. fuck, sorry. jesus christ.”

you make another strangled noise while trying to cover yourself and pull the shirt on at the same time. geto turns around so fast he nearly walks into the doorframe. “i’m sorry,” he says again, voice suddenly rougher than usual. “i thought you were downstairs.”

“it’s okay,” you squeak.

it is not okay. your face feels approximately one million degrees.

geto grabs the doorknob blindly. “i’m gonna— yeah. sorry.” then he practically slams the door shut behind him.

you stand frozen in the middle of the bedroom clutching your shirt to your chest while your nervous system completely implodes.

oh my god.

OH MY GOD.

geto descends the stairs with a flushed face and rigid expression - the kind of forced composure that immediatley attracts attention in a house full of idiots.

gojo looks up from the couch instantly. “…the hell happened to you?”

geto keeps walking toward the kitchen. “nothing.”

“you look like you saw a ghost.”

“something like that,” geto mutters.

friday - 7 pm

by early evening, the house finally settles into something softer. the unpacking chaos dies down, most of your group is watching the ocean from the back porch. you’re cleaning up dinner dishes with choso, who keeps (politely) asking why you’ve got a weird look on your face.

it’s been four hours since that disaster upstairs. the awkwardness still hangs between you and geto, who can’t look you in the eye.

you change into one of your bikinis eventually, tugging an oversized button-up over it before heading downstairs with your glasses perched back on your nose. the second you appear, gojo grins. “beach time.”

“beach time,” you confirm with a small smile.

outside, the air smells like salt and warm cedar as everybody trails down the private wooden path toward the shoreline. the beach stretches mostly empty around you, pale sand glowing gold beneath the lowering sun while waves roll lazily onto shore. your roommate immediately grabs your hand and drags you toward the water. gojo sprints in after you both screaming for no reason. toji lights a cigarette. gojo’s girlfriend seems reluctant to put her feet in the water but she explodes into giggles when the white-haired man hauls her over his shoulders.

geto hangs back slightly. he still can’t think normally, not after upstairs. not after accidentally walking into the bedroom and seeing you half-dressed with your tits out looking shocked and all cute and soft beneath afternoon light.

jesus christ.

he’s trying very hard to be normal about it but the image keeps replaying against his will. the gentle curve of your chest and your startled expression and the way you scrambled to cover yourself.

he feels insane.

“you good?”

geto blinks. choso stands beside him now holding a cooler in one hand.

“fine,” geto says immediately.

choso hums, not believing him at all. ahead of them, you’re standing ankle-deep in the water now while your roommate splashes at gojo nearby. the ocean catches sunset light in shifting ribbons of gold and blue around your legs and fuck, geto’s pulse jumps instantly.

your oversized shirt hangs open slightly over your swimsuit whenever the wind catches it. your hair glows warm at the edges beneath the fading sun while you laugh at something gojo yells from farther down the shoreline.

pretty doesn’t even feel like the right word anymore.

it’s worse than that now. every time geto looks at you lately, something low in his chest tightens painfully. beside him, choso watches quietly for about three seconds. “you should probably stop staring.”

geto tears his eyes away immediately. “i wasn’t.”

“mhm.”

annoying.

they walk farther down the beach together while the others spread out ahead. waves crash softly nearby, the wind cool against their skin. “you know,” choso says after a minute, “she likes you too.”

geto nearly chokes. “…what?”

choso shrugs lightly. “i’m just saying.”

“you shouldn’t say anything.”

“okay.”

barely a pause before geto blurts, “does she actually?”

choso laughs quietly while geto rubs a hand over his jaw with a sigh.

this whole situation feels increasingly impossible to manage. before this trip, there was distance. space and campus distractions. now there’s shared car rides and a shared room and seeing you every five minutes. and apparently accidental nudity.

and of course there’s the fact that geto genuinely likes being around you. he likes talking to you. likes the way your brain works. the way you explain things when you’re excited. the little irritated face you make whenever gojo says something stupid.

it’s becoming a real problem.

“you’ve spent six months pretending you weren’t obsessed with her,” choso observes quietly.

geto glares at him. “i’m not obsessed.”

choso looks unconvinced. fair enough.

the sound of you laughing (at something toji or gojo did, likely) hits geto square in the chest. there’s something different about you here already. you’re lighter, less tense than you are on campus. he watches you push your glasses back up your nose while smiling toward the ocean, sunset washing warm gold across your skin.

beautiful.

the thought arrives with startling clarity this time, like he could spend an entire lifetime memorizing moments exactly like this. you glance back toward him suddenly and your eyes meet across the beach.

there it is again, that pull.

that awful suspended feeling like the rest of the world drops slightly out of focus whenever you look at each other too long.

friday - 9 pm

it's properly evening when you all head back to the beach house. the sky's a pretty shade of dark blue, stars shining little dots above your head. you all file into the house and you say something about not trailing any sand in, looking very pointedly at gojo.

salt clings faintly to your skin, your hair's a mess from the wind, and your brain still hasn't recovered from the way geto looked at you on the beach. you slip into the kitchen first to grab water, hoping for approximately thirty seconds alone to regain your sanity.

so, naturally, geto walks in immediately after you. of course he does.

you busy yourself with the fridge while he moves toward the sink beside you, sleeves pushed up again as he washes sand from his hands.

silence stretches, and it's not uncomfortable, exactly. it's worse - aware. you can feel him there without even looking. the heat of him beside you, the sound of water running over his hands. your pulse does something deeply irritating when his shoulder brushes yours accidentally reaching for a dish towel.

“sorry,” he murmurs.

“you keep saying that this trip.” you regret the words as soon as they come out. why would you bring up that incident?

his mouth twitches slightly.

before either of you can spiral further or say anything else gojo’s voice erupts from the living room.

“movie night?!”

you close your eyes briefly. saved by the idiot.

everybody migrates downstairs afterwards where the basement living room is. it's cozy and there's a huge projector setup against one wall, and an entire cabinet full of old dvds your parents collected over the years.

gojo kneels in front of it like he’s discovering sacred texts. “this is so fucking cool.”

“don’t touch them with your greasy hands,” you warn.

“snob.”

he ends up carefully plucking the first indiana jones movie from one of the shelves and hands it to you. "good pick? i've never seen it."

"great pick," you approve. you crouch down to the dvd player, fiddling with the wires to connect it properly to the projector. behind you, everyone's already claimed spots on the couches.

you don't think much of it until you finally turn around and freeze. one end of the sectional is occupied by toji's giant limbs. the rest has a very comfortable looking choso-and-roommate combo who are already curled into each other. the beanbag has gojo and his girlfriend squished onto it.

the only open spot left is beside geto on the loveseat.

your roommate suddenly becomes very interested in not making eye contact and gojo's girlfriend looks seconds away from laughing. you narrow your eyes at both of them before trudging toward the loveseat.

you sit as far from geto as physically possible, which on the loveseat is not very far. there's maybe a foot of space between you both ,close enough to feel hyperaware of each other's presence.

as the movie starts gojo's already stealing popcorn from his girlfriend and your roommate is practically asleep against choso's chest within minutes. geto's still infuriatingly still beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch. not touching you, just there, and your heartbeat won't calm down.

you manage to balance this thin line of whatever-this-is between you and geto for half the movie, hardly paying attention to the plot, though you've seen the flick a dozen times. you keep gettind distracted by his arm (it's right there) and how if you inched just a liiiitle bit over, you'd basically be pressed against geto.

your bubble's interrupted by gojo bolting up from the beanbag, shouting about about a plot twist he 'totally saw coming,' and the volume of his screaming is so aggressive you jolt slightly.

your thigh brushes geto's. the rush that flows through you is electric and you both go still instantly. the contact lingers half a second too long before you shift subtly back except now geto's arm behind you lowers slightly. closer. his fingers brush your shoulder lightly and your pulse spikes so hard it hurts.

you stare very intensely at the movie screen pretending your entire nervous system isn’t imploding, then his thumb moves - small absentminded circles against your shoulder through the thin fabric of your shirt.

oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god -

you stop breathing for a second and beside you, geto’s voice drops low enough only you can hear. “…this okay?”

your throat feels weirdly tight. you nod once, his arm sliding lower around you slowly, careful enough to give you time to pull away if you want.

you don’t.

so instead he gently pulls you against his side, warm and solid, your brain short-circuiting instantly. somehow curling against him feels natural already. your head settles near his shoulder while his arm stays firm around your waist now, thumb still tracing slow patterns against your side.

the movie disappears completely and all you can think about is him. his cologne and the warmth radiating through his hoodie and the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek.

your heart feels seconds away from exploding.

geto feels equally doomed. having you tucked against him like this is significantly worse than he imagined. you fit there too easily. soft against his side and warm beneath his arm. he can smell coconut sunscreen faintly lingering on your skin from the beach and it’s actively destroying his ability to think. he's also trying very hard not to tighten his grip every time you shift closer unconsciously.

from across the room, toji announces, with zero social awareness, “i’m cold.”

toji’s voice cuts through the moment like a gunshot. you pull away instantly and geto’s arm drops from around you immediately like he touched fire.

“i can get blankets,” you say quickly, already standing.

“i’ll help,” geto says, glancing at you.

“you don’t have to—”

“it’s fine.”

you swallow thickly and nod, walking up the stairs, legs feeling like jello, geto right behind you.

from the couch, choso's girlfriend grabs a pillow and hurls it directly at toji's head. “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

toji catches it midair, deeply offended. “what?”

“they were having a moment.”

“how was i supposed to know that?”

“because everyone with functioning eyes knew that.”

gojo starts cackling.

when you make it upstairs, the silence between you and geto feels heavy and sharp and you move the hallway quickly trying to regain control of your heartbeat while grabbing blankets from the linen closet.

geto stands too cloise behind you that when you turn accidentally, you nearly walk straight into his chest.

your breath catches. his does too.

for one suspended second neither of you moves.

the hallway feels narrow suddenly and you're focused on warm, dim light spilling softly across his face and his dark eyes fixed on yours. your pulse pounds violently as geto's face flicks briefly to your mouth, then back up.

you think he’s going to kiss you.

you really think he’s going to kiss you.

instead, he quietly says, “…you don’t have to feel weird about downstairs.”

the words feel strange and your stomach drops slightly. “…weird?”

his expression shifts instantly like he realizes too late how that sounded. “no, i just meant—”

“right,” you say quickly.

humiliation flashes hot beneath your skin. he thinks you misread things, or worse, that he did. you step back first, push your glasses up too quickly. “no yeah. obviously.”

geto looks frustrated suddenly. “that’s not what i—”

“it’s okay,” you interrupt softly. “really.”

the tension curdles painfully into awkwardness as you grab as many blankets as possible before he can say anything else, then practically flee downstairs.

everyone looks up when you return. you toss blankets at people mechanically before settling onto the far end of the loveseat, as far away as you can from geto.

your roommate notices immediately. so does choso. so does gojo. gojo's girlfriend would've, too, if she weren't out cold asleep.

geto comes downstairs a second later quieter than before and he hesitates briefly looking toward you, then sits separately too.

on the floor.

distance stretches cold and strange across the room now. your chest aches and you tightly pull a blanket around yourself, staring at the movie screen without really seeing it.

geto watches the side of your face in silence from his spot on the floor and from that point on the rest of the movie feels wrong. nobody says anything outright but everybody notices, because thirty minutes ago you'd been curled into geto's side looking soft and shy while he stared at you like you painted those stars in the sky over the ocean.

now you're curled up like a hermit and geto's face seems almost painful as he stares at his feet.

gojo's eyes flick between the two of you every few seconds with all the subtlety of a car accident. his girlfriend, now awake, elbows him every time

choso notices too, though he’s more discreet about it. he just keeps glancing toward geto occasionally like he’s trying to figure out which one of you panicked first.

(toji remains blissfully clueless.)

you stay tucked beneath your blanket staring blankly at the projector screen while the movie plays out in blurry colors you barely register.

geto looks equally miserable. worse, actually, because now that he's replaying the conversation upstairs in his head, he realizes exactly how badly he phrased it. 'you don't have to feel weird about downstairs'. god. he sounded like he regretted it, like he was trying to backtrack, which is the opposite of what he meant.

he’d only wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. that you didn't feel pressured and that he hadn't crossed a line. instead he'd watched your face fall in real time. idiot. he's an idiot.

when the credits finally roll, everybody starts talking at once again. gojo arguing about the ending and toji asking if there's leftover chips and your roommate whispering something to choso while glancing at you.

you quietly push the blanket aside and stand. “i’m gonna go to bed,” you mumble. you’re not even sure anyone hears, but geto does. his head lifts immediately but you don't look at him, disappearing upstairs before anyone can stop you.

you trudge to your bedroom, straight to the en suite. the shower helps a little. the warm water and the silence as you scrub salt from your skin and try very hard not to think about how close geto had been in the hallway upstairs. or how badly you wanted him to kiss you.

humiliating.

by the time you finish changing into your university sweatshirt and tiny sleep shorts, exhaustion finally starts creeping in around the edges. the bedroom is dark when you return except for moonlight spilling silver across the floor through the giant windows.

geto isn’t there yet. your stomach twists at the thought but you climb into your side of the bed anyway, pulling the blankets up to your chin while ocean waves crash softly somewhere outside.

you tell yourself not to care, then eventually fall asleep anyway.

when you wake up again, the room is still dark. for one disoriented second you don’t know why your chest feels strange then you glance toward the other side of the bed.

empty. empty?

your brows knit together immediately. the digital clock beside the bed reads 4:07 am. you push yourself upright slowly. “…geto?”

nothing, and the bathroom’s empty too. confused now, you slip quietly out of bed and head downstairs.

the house is silent, dark except for one of the kitchen lights left on.

and there he is. geto's asleep on the downstairs couch, or at least attempting to be. one arm thrown over his eyes, long legs awkwardly cramped against the cushions because the couch is way too short for him, a blanket half falling onto the floor.

your chest tightens. he thought you didn't want him upstairs and guilt floods through you instantly. you carefully walk closer. “geto,” you whisper.

he wakes almost immediately. years of frat-house living apparently killed deep sleep permanently. his arm drops from his face slowly when he realizes it’s you standing there. his hair’s messy, voice rough with sleep. “…hey.”

you hesitate, suddenly nervous again. “why are you down here?”

his eyes flick away briefly. “didn’t wanna make things uncomfortable.”

your heart sinks. “you weren’t,” you say quickly. “i just thought…” you trail off awkwardly.

geto pushes himself upright slowly, watching you carefully in the dark. “thought what?”

you fiddle with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “that maybe you regretted it. when...we were on the couch.”

his expression changes instantly, softens to something almost confused. “what?”

“upstairs,” you mumble. “when you said i didn’t have to feel weird.”

geto exhales quietly through his nose then drops his head back against the couch cushions. “that is not what i meant.”

heat creeps into your face again. “oh.”

he looks up at you then, eyes all sleepy and honest in the dim blue light. “i was trying to make sure you were okay,” he says quietly. “because i wanted to kiss you.”

your breath catches hard. silence fills the room save for the hum of the fridge, ocean waves somewhere outside and your heartbeat going completely feral.

geto's gaze stays fixed on yours. “and i wasn’t sure if you wanted that too.”

you stare at him for one suspended second. “i thought you were going to.”

his mouth parts slightly, something warm flashing through his expression. “yeah,” he says softly. “i was.”

your pulse feels violent now and you shift your weight nervously. “you should come upstairs.”

geto studies your face carefully for another second like he’s making absolutely sure, then stands. the couch blanket slips forgotten onto the floor while you both just stand there in the dark living room breathing the same air.

when geto’s hand brushes lightly against yours heading toward the stairs, neither of you pulls away. walking beside him somehow feels more intimate than the almost-kiss downstairs. your hand brushes his once on the staircase and suddenly your pulse is trying to escape your body.

neither of you talks much once you reach the bedroom either. it’s painfully awkward now in that fragile post-confession way. you hover near your side of the bed, and geto stands near the dresser rubbing the back of his neck.“…sorry again,” he says quietly.

“for what?”

“all of this being weird.”

you blink at him then laugh softly despite yourself. “you saying that is making it weirder.”

his mouth twitches. “right.”

when you both scramble into bed you face opposite directions, approximately three feet apart. you can physically feel the tension across the mattress. as you stare at the ceiling you're trying very hard not to think about the fact that geto is right there.

same bed, same room, close enough that you can hear his breathing if you focus.

saturday - 10 am

you stir faintly as the sun wakes you up, bright enough to peek through the edges of the blinds. you stir faintly, something heavy resting around your waist. your brows pinch together sleepily.

wait.

you blink your eyes open slowly and realize with immediate horror that sometime during the night, both of you migrated completely across the bed. you’re practically tangled together now, your head tucked against geto’s chest, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist beneath the blankets, one of your legs halfway thrown over his.

before you can even process it fully, geto shifts too, his arm tightening instinctively for half a second before he wakes up enough to realize.

you both freeze then very slowly, geto looks down at you. his hair is completely loose from sleeping now, dark strands falling around his face messily and eyes still heavy with sleep.

his voice comes out rough and groggy when he finally speaks. “...morning.”

his voice sounds unfair, deep and sleepy and warm against the quiet room. you want to choke. instead you stare at him for one embarrassingly long second before scrambling backward so fast you nearly fall off the bed. “good morning!”

too loud. way too loud.

geto pushes himself upright slowly, clearly trying not to laugh.

you’re suddenly acutely aware now of your oversized university sweatshirt riding up slightly from sleep and the tiny shorts you forgot you were wearing. you can feel oil slicking to your skin and you probably look horrible, meanwhile geto looks basically offensively attractive for a man who literally just woke up. dark pools of hair fall over his shoulders, features softened

your nervous system cannot survive this week. “i’m gonna change,” you announce suddenly.

geto blinks once. “…okay.”

you point at him very seriously while backing toward the bathroom. “do not come in there.”

that finally gets a real laugh out of him, low and sleepy. “wasn’t planning on it.”

“good.” you disappear into the bathroom before your dignity can deteriorate further and once inside you stare at your reflection while trying to regain basic human functionality.

you slept wrapped around suguru geto. comfortably.

eventually you change into denim shorts and a fitted tank top before putting your hair up and emerging from the bathroom again.

the bedroom’s empty and for a confusing second you think maybe geto left downstairs already, before movement catches your eye through the balcony doors.

geto’s outside stretching in the early morning sunlight. shirtless. warm golden light spills cross his skin while he stretches one arm over his head lazily, back muscles shifting beneath the sunlight. his sweatpants hang low enough that the sharp v-lines disappearing beneath the waistband are very visible.

extremely visible.

you feel warm all over immediately because sure, you knew geto was attractive. obviously. but this feels actively engineered in a lab to ruin your life specifically.

outside, he rolls his shoulders once before turning slightly and immediately catches you staring. your soul leaves your body as geto pauses then very slowly raises a brow. “…morning again.”

heat floods your face so fast it’s almost violent. you look away instantly. “you could warn people.”

“about what?”

you gesture vaguely toward him without looking directly.

“that.”

his laugh drifts softly through the open balcony door and when you glance at him again you see how prettily the sun catches against the winding tattoos along his arms.

geto watches your expression carefully and smirks slightly.

you swear you'll die before noon.

the house is (unfortunately) wide awake as you and geto walk downstairs. gojo’s voice echoes through the kitchen before you even hit the last stair. “WHY IS IT SMOKING?”

you immediately close your eyes. “what did you do,” you say, voice dangerously low.

“nothing!”

you walk into the kitchen to find everyone gathered around the coffee machine like it’s a bomb squad situation. steam hisses violently from the side of it and gojo stands there holding the glass pot. “i pressed brew,” he defends.

“with no water in it,” his girlfriend says.

toji looks half asleep at the island. “natural selection should’ve taken him years ago.”

your roommate's eyes narrow immediately as she sees you and geto walk in. her gaze drifts to the living room, specifically the blanket crumpled on the couch and the pillow on the floor.

you grab a mug to avoid eye contact with her, geto moving toward the counter beside you like this is a completely normal morning.

gojo squints suspiciously. “…you two look weird.”

“you always look weird,” you mutter into your juice.

“true but irrelevant.”

“the coffee machine’s dead by the way,” toji interrupts.

“i figured as much,” you sigh, examining the machine with a frown.

“he killed it,” gojo's girlfriend says.

“it was weak,” gojo argues.

“it was a twelve hundred dollar espresso machine,” you say, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "my parents are so going to kill me."

gojo freezes. “it was how much?”

you groan softly, dropping your forehead against the counter. “i’m going back to bed.”

beside you, geto laughs under his breath, low enough only you heard it. your stomach flips and you glance at him accidentally and immediately regret it because his hair's tied loosely back and he's in a fitted black t-shirt that does nothing helpful for your concentration.

plus you know what's under it. worse - you know what it looks like first thing in the morning sunlight.

your brain needs to be chemically sterilized.

everyone slowly migrates toward breakfast eventually while arguing over plans for the day. gojo offers to toast bagels (provided he doesn't break the toaster, too) and your roommate keeps kicking your ankle beneath the island every time you look at geto too long.

“stop that,” you hiss quietly.

“make me.”

you’re still groggy as hell from waking up at four in the morning and emotionally spiraling before sunrise so eventually everyone starts looking at you expectantly when discussion turns toward plans.

“what’s the weather?” choso asks.

you glance out the giant kitchen windows toward the water. clear skies, barely any wind. perfect.

“it’s gonna be a good beach day,” you say, wrapping your hands around your mug (yes, still full of juice. you'd kill for coffee right now). “we can stay down there most of the afternoon.”

gojo pumps a fist. “beach arc continues.”

“then maybe head into town this evening,” you continue. “there’s a boardwalk and some restaurants by the marina.”

“shopping?” your roommate perks up instantly.

“you don’t need more clothes.”

“counterpoint, yes i do.”

“we can do dinner there,” you say. “then come back for the sunset.”

everyone nods along pretty quickly after that but geto’s not really paying attention anymore, because while you’re talking, sleepy and slightly disheveled in your little tank top with your glasses sliding down your nose, sunlight catches against your skin through the kitchen windows.

all he can think about is waking up with you curled against his chest.

you look over toward him mid-sentence.“does that sound okay?”

geto realizes a full second too late that everyone’s waiting for his answer. “…yeah,” he says quietly, eyes still on you. “sounds perfect.”

after breakfast, the second you head upstairs, your roommate and gojo’s girlfriend follow immediately with excited little grins. you barely make it into the bedroom before your roommate shuts the door behind her dramatically.

“spill.”

you blink. “about what.”

both of them stare at you. “y/n,” gojo’s girlfriend says flatly, “there was visible yearning at breakfast.”

“there was not.”

you move toward your suitcase quickly before they can corner you properly. “nothing happened.”

“liar,” your roommate says instantly.

“nothing serious happened.” you push your glasses back up your nose. you ignore their little comments and start sorting through your bikinis instead. “we’re focusing on beachwear now.”

“avoidance,” your roommate whispers solemnly.

“coping mechanism,” gojo’s girlfriend agrees.

you throw a swimsuit at both of them and eventually the three of you end up sitting cross-legged around the open suitcase debating bikini options. “this one’s cute,” your roommate says, holding up a blue floral set.

“i dunno why i packed that one.”

“this one?”

“too bright.”

gojo’s girlfriend suddenly digs deeper into the suitcase before pausing. “…wait.” she lifts a black triangle bikini from the pile. sleek black fabric and a tiny gold charp dangling between the cups

you laugh nervously. it's smaller than what you typically wear - you prefer more full-coverage, something that doesn't let the plush of your stomach and thighs fully exposed. the top'll push up your tits way more than anything you normally wear.

both girls stare at it reverently like archaeologists uncovering forbidden treasure. “THIS one,” your roommate breathes.

“absolutely this one,” gojo's girlfriend agrees.

you snatch at it immediately. “that’s too...much. i don't -”

“y/n, you're going to look amazing in it, no matter what comments you have to say about yourself or your body,” your roommate says. “you're hot. it's hot. you're going to look good.”

“i’m literally not wearing dental floss to the beach.”

“y/n.”

“what.”

“put it on.”

five minutes later you emerge from the bathroom already regretting every life decision that led here. the bikini really is tiny.

the black fabric contrasts sharply against your skin while the gold charm rests perfectly between your chest. the top pushes everything up unfairly well and the bottoms sit low against your hips with thin strings at the sides.

you instinctively cross your arms slightly. your roommate’s jaw physically drops and gojo’s girlfriend just stares.

“…holy shit,” she says softly.

“you HAVE to wear that.”

“i look insane,” you say, glancing at your feet. "bad insane."

“you look hot.”

heat crawls across your face instantly, and you glance toward the mirror again. okay. maybe it does look good. “it’s more revealing than what i usually wear,” you mumble.

“and you rock it.”

eventually they encourage you to keeping it on and you throw on a loose white cover dress afterward at least, something soft and flowy enough to hide most of the bikini beneath it.

then you start filling your beach bag. book, sunscreen, waterbottle, lip balm, portable charger.

your roommate watches with deep affection. “you pack for the beach like a divorced father.”

“preparation prevents suffering,” you say wisely, and gojo's girlfriend laughs while you shove sunglasses into your hair.

the three of you head downstairs together where the guys are still getting ready. gojo's already shirtless and toji's hoarding chips and choso nearly walks directly into a wall when his girlfriend appears in her bikini.

geto looks up from the kitchen counter when you enter. you feel his gaze drift down your face, down the cover dress you're wearing, and your pulse jumps instantly.

gojo ruins the moment by throwing sunglasses at him. “beach.”

everyone starts heading outside after that. the walk toward the shoreline is warm and breezy, sunlight sifting through dune grass while everybody talks over each other around you. you’re halfway down the road when somebody calls your name suddenly.

you turn instantly, recognizing the voice with a smile. “aaron?”

geto watches as a guy about your age jogs over from the neighboring property, grinning broadly. he's tall, sun-bleached hair, and apparently he knows you very well because he immediately pulls you into a quick hug.

“holy shit,” he laughs. “when’d you get here?”

“yesterday! i didn’t know your family was coming down this week.”

“mom wanted the boat out, even though it's kinda early.”

you smile easily at him - you did practically grow up together, summer after summer.

behind you, your friends have gone suspiciously quiet.

“oh, these are my friends,” you say, gesturing to your group. aaron shakes everyone’s hands easily while you chatter beside him naturally, smiling more openly than you usually do around new people.

geto watches the entire thing in silence and immediately dislikes this guy. he knows it's irrational but you look happy talking to him. not nervous or flustered, just easy and warm and familiar. aaron says something that makes you laugh and geto's jaw tightens.

logically, this means nothing. he knows that, but still. he watches aaron’s hand brush briefly against your arm while talking and suddenly feels the deeply primal urge to throw him into the ocean.

gojo notices instantly, of course, despite being a bumbling oaf most of the time. his eyes slowly widen behind his sunglasses. “he’s jealous,” he whispers as he leans towards choso.

“obviously,” choso whispers back.

the second aaron finally heads back toward his family’s place, the group starts moving again. something's shifted now, though. you notice it almost immediately walking beside geto down the sandy path toward the beach.

he’s quieter. thinking.

gojo notices too, his grin getting increasingly more dangerous every few seconds. eventually he speeds up to walk backward in front of you both. “so,” he says brightly. “beach boyfriend.”

“don’t start,” you sigh.

“he looked rich.”

“his parents are both lawyers and they own three beach houses here.”

“shit, well -”

gojo’s girlfriend drags him away by the arm before he can get worse. bless her.

for a minute it’s just you and geto walking side by side while the others move ahead laughing about something. ocean wind catches softly at your cover dress, your sunglasses rest pushed into your hair.

geto finally speaks. “…you two close?”

you glance over. his expression’s careful, casual sounding. “kinda,” you say. “i only really see him in summers though. it's been a while.”

geto hums once. silence stretches another few steps then before he can stop himself, he asks, “you ever date?”

your brows lift slightly.

geto stutters, “i just mean—”

“no, i know what you mean.” you laugh softly under your breath a little awkwardly now. “not seriously. we messed around a little as teenagers.”

geto goes still. you say it so casually, like it means nothing, and his brain instantly starts supplying images he absolutely does not want. you younger, laughing with that guy at bonfires, swimming together at night.

that guy touching you.

“oh,” he says evenly.

you glance at him sideways. “…you okay?”

“fine.”

liar. he’s absurdly jealous which is insane because he knows he has zero claim over you whatsoever. (and yet he thinks about last night and how you almost kissed and that soft look in your eyes and he feels waves of jealousy wash over him again.)

the thought of anyone else having touched you makes something dark and unpleasant twist low in his stomach. the walk to the beach is silent and the shoreline opens wide before all of you again.

everyone starts setting up camp and the warm sand burns pleasently beneath your feet. umbrellas, chairs, coolers, towels are all placed in motion

toji tries to ram an umbrella into the sand with zero clue what he's doing and you laugh softly, setting your beach bag down near one of the chairs.

geto watches you from a few feet away while pretending to unfold a towel as you reach for the ties of your cover dress.

his brain short-circuits instantly, watching the thin fabric slip from your shoulders. jesus christ, that bikini is devastating.

sleek little triangle top, gold charm catching sunlight perfectly between your chest, tiny straps against your skin. the bottoms sit low on your hips with those little thin side ties and geto physically has to look away for a second because blood rushes south immediately.

fast.

he’s actually in hell because now not only does he remember accidentally seeing your chest upstairs yesterday, but he also has visual confirmation that your body is genuinely engineered to ruin his life specifically.

nearby, your roommate whistles. “see?” she says smugly. “told you.”

heat creeps across your neck while you shove your sunglasses on quickly. “stop making announcements.”

toji glances from you to geto and laughs under his breath. “…dude.”

geto doesn’t answer. he's still staring until toji smacks his shoulder hard enough to jolt him back to reality. “get in the ocean.”

geto blinks. “…what?”

“cold water.”

realization hits instantly and his ears turn red immediately.

“shut the fuck up,” geto mutters. gojo walks by and smirks, shouting no way at the top of his lungs with absolute glee.

you look between all of them confused. “what’s happening?”

“nothing,” geto says too quickly.

toji’s grin turns downright evil. “he just really likes the scenery.”

your face burns alive instantly.

geto looks seconds away from committing homicide. he starts trudging towards the ocean, following everyone who's running towards the water.

choso's girlfriend stops him, pausing with the slyest smile you've ever seen in your life. “y/n needs someone to put sunscreen on her.”

geto stares at her blankly. “…okay?”

your roommate glares at him pointedly. “you dumbass.”

when realization hits, geto goes still, cause you’re standing there in that tiny black bikini looking suddenly very interested in literally anything except him, and now he’s imagining touching sunscreen onto your skin for an extended period of time while already painfully hard.

cool.

great.

awesome.

gojo’s girlfriend physically drags your roommate toward the lake before either of you can escape.

“have fun!” she calls sweetly.

silence settles immediately afterward except for distant waves and screaming from the water where gojo’s already drowning dramatically. you stand awkwardly beside the chairs clutching the sunscreen bottle and geto pushes a few loose strands of hair back from his face slowly before reaching for it.

his fingers brush yours. your pulse jumps. (his does too.)

“…so,” he says.

“mhm.”

“…where do you want it?”

you choke, brain interpresting that in the worst way possible.

geto's eyes widen slightly. “i didn’t mean it like that.” his ears are turning red again.

“right,” you mumble weakly. god, the tension between you lately feels actively lethal.

geto clears his throat once. “i just meant sunscreen.”

“i know.”

“okay.”

you very quietly mumble, “…just put it everywhere.” you realize how that sounds approximately one second too late.

geto shuts his eyes briefly like he’s asking the universe for strength then gestures toward the towel laid out beneath one of the umbrellas. “you can, erm, lay down. or stand. dunno.”

you nod quickly, and the sand's warm beneath the towel as you settle carefully onto your stomach. geto kneels beside you, close that you can hear the bottle of sunscreen click open. your heartbeat pounds harder instantly.

“tell me if i’m using too much,” he says quietly.

“okay.”

cool sunscreen hits your shoulders first, then his hands. geto’s fingers spread the lotion slowly across your skin, warm palms gliding carefully along your shoulders and upper back.

he’s trying very hard to stay normal about this but your skin’s warm from the sun and soft beneath his hands and when you shiver slightly when his thumbs press near the base of your neck it certainly doesn’t help his…situation.

geto swallows hard. “…cold?”

“no.” your voice comes out quieter than usual.

you hear him exhale softly through his nose and his hands move lower slowly, fingers spreading sunscreen across the middle of your back now, dragging lower and lower inch by inch. it feels intimate, the kind of slow touch that settles beneath your skin.

you wonder, briefly, what your roommate, or gojo’s girlfriend, or choso, or any of them really, think of the sight (if they’re looking) geto leaning over you beneath the umbrella with his hair falling loose around his face slightly while his hands move slowly across your skin like he’s memorizing it. you lying there visibly tense every time he touches you.

“you missed a spot,” you mumble weakly, pointing toward your side mostly just to say something.

mistake. big huge mistake because you throb as geto’s hand slides carefully along your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your ribs. as your breath catches so does his and his hand lingers one dangerous second too long against your side before pulling away.

“…done,” he says roughly.

you sit up slowly, face to face with him at extremely close range. his hair’s falling into his eyes slightly from the wine, jaw tight, expression unreadable except for the very obvious tension simmering beneath it.

the moment snaps apart before either of you can do something catastrophically stupid. “y/n!” gojo’s voice echoes from the water.

you jerk backward slightly like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t and geto clears his throat immediately and pushes to his feet a little too fast. “…i’m gonna get in the lake.”

“okay,” you say too quickly.

he nods once before practically escaping into the water, leaving you sitting there afterward feeling completely disoriented. your skin still tingles everywhere he touched so to attempt to distract yourself you grab your book from your beach bag.

it doesn’t work. you read the same sentence six times in a row without processing a single word because all you can think about is the feeling of geto’s hands slowly sliding over your waist.

you’re hopeless.

your roommate and gojo’s girlfriend eventually wander back up from the shoreline dripping water everywhere and both immediately clock your expression.

“wow y/n,” your roommate says sweetly.

“don’t.”

“your sunscreen is blended sooo thoroughly.”

gojo’s girlfriend nods solemnly. “very even application.”

you close your book dramatically over your face. “i hate both of you.”

“he looked one touch away from cardiac arrest.”

“i’m serious,” you say, voice muffled from beneath the pages.

“and you looked like you were gonna melt into the towel,” your roommate adds wisely. you groan into the book.

out in the lake, geto’s standing waist-deep in freezing water, mind still scrambled, because shit, he can still feel the shape of your waist beneath his hands. he can still remember the tiny sound you made when he touched your side.

he thinks you might have noticed his situation downstairs. the water helps a little, at least, and beside him, gojo suddenly appears floating on his back. “you know,” he says conversationally, “you were sporting a fucking hard-on.”

geto nearly drowns him. “what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“you could see it from across the beach.”

“why were you looking, you piece of shit.”

“because you looked stupid.”

toji barks out a laugh nearby. “i’ve never seen you this bad over anybody.”

geto drags both hands through his wet hair with visible frustration. he knows they're right. this is bad. worse than bad. you're going to be upstairs sharing a bed every night walking around in tiny little outfits and looking at him with those shy nervous eyes whenever he gets too close.

from your spot in your chair on the beach you glance to the shoreline again over the edge of your book. you make the mistake of seeing geto standing waist-deep in the water with his wet hair pushed back.

by late afternoon, you're all making your way to the marina, everyone sun-kissed and buzzed off coolers. there's cute little boutiques with sun-faded signs, ice cream stands, tourists wandering around with shopping bags, boats bobbing against the docks while seagulls scream overhead.

it should be relaxing but instead, everyone’s acting weird. well, not everyone - gojo is still normal, unfortunately, which means he’s being loud as shit and trying on ugly sunglasses in every store while his girlfriend tells him he looks like a divorced dad. toji's carrying everyone's bags very bedgrudgingly and choso’s girlfriend keeps linking arms with him and dragging him into little souvenir stores.

meanwhile you and geto keep ending up next to each other by complete accident, which is to say, absolutely on purpose by everyone else. you’re walking along the docks eating gelato at one point when your roommate suddenly grabs your arm. “come into this store with me.” before you can respond, she’s already yanking you inside.

you blink, looking back where geto’s left standing outside with gojo and toji before you get tugged into a store.

gojo smirks immediately. “you gonna keep staring at the door like that?”

geto doesn’t even look at him. “shut up.”

“bro.”

“satoru.”

“you’ve had the expression of a war widow since sunscreen.”

by dinner, if possible, things have gotten even weirder. you all end up at this marina-side restaurant right on the water, string lights overhead and music drifting faintly from somewhere nearby.

the seating arrangement was personally made to ensure you don't survive the meal, obviously, what with gojo and his girlfriend together, choso and his girlfriend together, toji sitting like he’d rather die, and you and geto next to each other. close enough that your knees almost brush beneath the table.

drinks come, everyone's talking about the beach tomorrow and whether they should rent paddleboards. "we have the budget, but everyone has to pitch in," you say, which makes toji groan.

gojo says, "i saw that you can get a boat tour? we could go fishing or something."

you're all talking animatedly (save for geto, who's oddly quiet and keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye) then the waiter comes over. he's probably around your guys' age, eyes skimming over gojo's girlfriend tucked under gojo's arm, choso's girlfriend pressed against choso's shoulder, then you.

sitting alone, or rather alone-adjacent. “and what can i get for you?” the waiter asks you with a smile that lingers a little too long.

you look up awkwardly. “um…”

“good choice on the drink,” he says after glancing at your glass. “not everybody appreciates taste.”

your roommate nearly chokes on her water and you stare at the waiter awkwardly. “thanks?”

the waiter grins. “you guys visiting?”

you can physically feel everyone at the table stop listening to their own conversations. geto’s gone silent beside you, more silent then earlier. “yeah,” you say after a beat.

“nice,” the waiter says, leaning slightly against the table. “hope someone’s shown you the good spots around town.”

you laugh weakly because what the fuck do you even say to that. “uh…”

“hey, if you need someone to show you around, i get off at ten.”

“i think i'll get the chicken parm?” you say, laughing nervously. “please.”

“or maybe i could just give you my number,” the waiter says with a smile that makes your toes curl in disgust.

geto finally looks up, slowly, expression completely unreadable except for the fact that he looks deeply unimpressed. “she’s very clearly not interested.”

silence. complete silence. you even stop breathing, and the waiter blinks, looks between you and geto. “…sorry, man,” he says with an awkward little laugh, hands up. “can’t blame me for trying.”

geto doesn’t even smile. “yeah.” he pauses before saying, coldly, “just get the food and go.”

the waiter straightens. “alright.” he scribbles something on his pad quickly, then mutters, “didn’t know your boyfriend was so serious,” and walks away.

the silence is nuclear. nobody says anything, nobody moves, and your face is so hot you think you might actually die.

because boyfriend.

because geto didn’t correct him.

because nobody corrected him.

gojo is staring at his plate so hard his shoulders are shaking. your roommate won’t look at you. choso’s girlfriend is chewing on her straw like she’s witnessing live television and toji actually says nothing for once in his miserable life.

you risk one glance sideways to see geto staring straight ahead, jaw tight, ears slightly red.

you immediately look away.

dinner proceeds in the most painful silence known to man.

conversation starts back up eventually, but it’s all stilted and everyone keeps exchanging looks when they think you and geto aren't noticing.

you barely taste your food. geto says maybe twelve words the entire meal.

when the bill comes everyone’s kind of ready to leave purely to escape the tension. checks get split, gojo grabs his and his girlfriend’s without looking. choso pays for his girlfriend’s too.

toji stares at his own bill like it insulted his bloodline.

“why the fuck is grilled salmon thirty dollars.”

“because you ordered grilled salmon,” gojo says.

you reach for your wallet quickly.

“i got mine.”

“same,” geto says at the exact same time.

your fingers brush awkwardly near the bill tray, both of you jerking back like you touched fire. chairs scrape back and everyone starts filing out onto the marina walkway under the string lights and the tension between you and geto follows like a third person walking right between you.

saturday - 10 pm

on the drive back to the beach house, gojo’s girlfriend controls the aux while everybody talks intermittently about dinner and shopping bags and whether toji could survive prison after complaining about restaurant prices loud enough for the waiter to hear.

but underneath all of it sits that awful electric awareness between you and geto. every glance feels more loaded than before now, especially after the boyfriend comment. especially because a small part of you didn't want to correct it.

you stare out the window most of the drive pretending the cool night air coming through the cracked glass is enough to settle your heartbeat. (newsflash - it isn't).

when you finally pull into the driveway, the sky’s gone deep navy overhead, stars scattered bright across the water beyond the dunes. gojo stretches dramatically exiting the car. “i feel alive. this was a good day.”

“you screamed at a seagull today,” his girlfriend says.

“well, it was disrespectful. did you see how it took the hotdog out of my hand -”

everyone slowly filters toward the back deck unloading leftovers and drinks while the ocean crashes softly somewhere below. you’re halfway through carrying cups into the kitchen when gojo’s girlfriend suddenly says, “bonfire?”

you all immediately agree and you're honestly grateful for the distraction, because if you had to go straight upstairs right now and exist in a quiet bedroom with geto after today, you think your nervous system might actually collapse.

outside, the fire crackles warmly against the cool night air while everyone settles into chairs scattered around the pit.

you end up directly across from geto. the flames flicker gold across his face while he leans back slightly in his chair listening to gojo argue about horror movies beside him.

he’s not really listening, you can tell. every few seconds his eyes drift back to you again, and the look in them makes your stomach twist painfully.

yearning.

there’s genuinely no other word for it anymore. it’s there in every glance and every pause and every second too long his eyes stay on your face. you feel warm all over despite the ocean breeze.

around the fire, conversation drifts lazily between everyone else toji and gojo arguing and your roommate curled against choso’s side and music humming faintly from someone’s speaker. nobody comments on the way you and geto keep looking at each other. they just quietly notice, giving you both space.

across the fire, geto feels like he’s losing his mind a little.

you look beautiful tonight, your hair slightly windblown, oversized hoodie on, firelight dancing warm across your skin while you smile softly at something choso says.

he can’t stop looking at you and doesn’t really want to. his chest physically aches with it now, this awful wanting.

god, geto’s never been this gone over anybody before.

when yawns start appearing, everybody heads inside. gojo drags his girlfriend upstairs and your roommate shooting you one deeply knowing look before disappearing too.

it’s just you and geto left outside.

you crouch near the firepit gathering empty bottles quietly while embers glow soft orange against the dark.

geto watches you for a second.“…wanna walk to the beach?”

your heart stumbles immediately. “sure.”

the shoreline’s almost completely dark except for moonlight silvering the waves. sand cool beneath your feet, wind soft against your skin. you walk side by side in silence at first. comfortable silence this time. above you, the stars stretch endlessly bright across the sky untouched by city lights.

you stop eventually near the waterline where waves curl around your ankles gently before retreating again.

geto looks at you like he’s trying to memorize something. like his chest hurts with it. like every glance all semester somehow led here, to you, moonlight catching softly against your face when you tilt your head upward to the stars.

beautiful.

the thought, though not new, hits him so hard it almost steals his breath. “…you know what the worst part is?” he says quietly.

you glance over. “what?”

geto laughs softly once, self-aware and helpless. “i spent months trying not to want you this bad.”

your breath catches yet his eyes stay fixed on yours, steady and honest in a way that makes your pulse pound harder. “and now i don’t think i’ll ever stop.”

something in your chest melts completely. there's no teasing in his voice, just aching sincerity. geto looks at you like you're something precious and terrifying and like you're everything all at once, and suddenly you can’t stand the distance anymore.

so you kiss him.

his breath catches sharply against your mouth before he melts instantly, completely. one hand slides gently against your waist while the other cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real, kissing you back slow and deep beneath the stars. warm, careful for approximately two seconds before all that pent-up wanting finally cracks open.

you feel him exhale shakily against your lips. it feels a lot like relief.

you kiss him back just as deep, hands sliding up into his hair you've been aching to hold for months now, tangling your fingers there, and he groans into your mouth, pulling you more flush against him.

your toes curl from the sand when you feel his hardness poking against the top of your stomach.

from one kiss?

when he pulls back it's reluctant, his hands cupping your face and staring into your eyes like you're the only person he's ever seen.

"should we go back?" you ask softly, and he nods immediately. your lips are tingling, geto's hand laced tightly with yours like he physically can't let go now that he finally has you. every few steps he glances at you again with that same dazed expression that makes your stomach flip violently.

like he still can’t believe you kissed him first.

the house is dark when you slip inside, quiet, everyone asleep in their rooms already. you barely make it through the kitchen before geto pulls you gently against him again, kissing you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

you laugh softly into it, hands catching against his chest while he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the feeling.

months of tension finally snapping all at once.

you nearly stumble into the staircase together trying to stay quiet and by the time you reach the bedroom, both of you are flushed and breathless and grinning a little helplessly.

the door clicks shut behind you and suddenly geto’s hands are on your waist again and your back hits the wall softly beside the door while he kisses you deeper, warm and hungry. your fingers slide automatically into his hair again and he makes this low sound against your mouth that nearly destroys you.

“fuck,” he murmurs quietly against your lips. you can feel how nervous he is underneath it too though, how his hands careful despite how badly he wants you. you tug at the hem of his shirt first and geto pulls back just enough to drag it over his head quickly before immediately kissing you again.

shirtless in the dim moonlit bedroom, he looks unfair. your eyes stare at the tattoos winding along his arms and chest, dark hair loose around his face from the beach wind.

you stare for half a second too long because geto's cheeks flush slightly. (this, of course, makes him infinitely more attractive.)

“don’t look at me like that,” he mutters.

you laugh breathlessly while your hands slide down his chest, his muscles tensing beneath your touch instantly. his fingers hook gently into the hem of your hoodie, hesitation flickering briefly across his face. you nod softly, and that's all he needs.

geto pulls the hoodie over your head slowly and when it drops to the floor he just stares quietly. his eyes drag across your skin with open awe now, nothing hidden in his expression anymore.

this is how he wanted to see you. not startled or accidental. wanted.

heat blooms across your entire body under that look and geto steps closer again slowly, one hand settling against your waist while the other brushes lightly up your side like he’s still convincing himself you’re real. “…pretty girl,” he says softly.

you kiss him again immediately because otherwise you think you might combust, your fingers fumbling with the button of his pants while geto's lips start to press kisses down your jaw.

your back eventually hits the mattress gently as you both stumble toward the bed, and for one second he hovers over you breathing hard while moonlight spills silver across the sheets behind him. he's gazing at you with those lidded eyes, his boxers strained as his hands run up your stomach slowly, savouring, until he's cupping your tits in his hands, squeezing with gentle reverence.

“…i wanna take my time with you,” he says quietly. one hand moves to slide up your thigh while he properly settles over you, his other elbow braced beside your head. one of his legs slips naturally between yours and the pressure makes your breath catch immediately.

a faint smugness flickers briefly through his expression now, that quiet confident energy finally surfacing. “there she is,” he murmurs softly.

heat floods your face instantly and geto kisses you again before you can hide from it. your lips, deeply, tongue sliding against yours, brushing along your mouth. then your jaw, then your neck. his mouth lingers just beneath your ear, sucking gently, while his hand drifts carefully along your waist, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin.

“fuck,” he mutters quietly against your throat. his voice sounds wrecked already.

your fingers slide through his hair, tugging lightly without thinking, and geto exhales sharply against your neck before lifting his head to look at you. dark eyes and flushed cheeks and hair falling loose around his face.

he looks gone.

completely gone for you.

his hand smooths slowly along your waist again before drifting higher, fingertips tracing along your side with almost unbearable patience. your breathing stutters when he holds your tits again, kneading them once before rolling your stiffened nipples between his fingers.

“you okay?” he asks softly.

you nod quickly and he kisses you again while his thumbs slowly brush over sensitive skin, drawing another shaky breath from you. the sound goes straight through him - geto's spent months imagining this. wondering what you'd sound like, how you'd react to him touching you.

(the little, jealous part of his brain remembers aaron. he shoves the thought away immediately.)

reality is infinitely worse for his self control. you squirm slightly beneath him and his leg presses more firmly between yours automatically.

your breath catches harder this time and geto looks at you, something a little darker simmering beneath his eyes. “that feel good?” he murmurs quietly.

you hide your face briefly against his shoulder. “…maybe.”

his laugh comes soft against your hair. “maybe?”

heat floods your face when he tilts your chin back toward him gently. “use your words, pretty girl.”

your stomach twists and you nod once. “yeah.”

“yeah what?”

you stare at him in disbelief. “you’re annoying.”

he grins properly for the first time all night. “and you’re avoiding the question.” before you can answer, he kisses you again, swallowing the tiny embarrassed sound you make while his hand drifts lower along your thigh slowly.

your fingers curl against his shoulders when his mouth returns to your neck again, kissing lower this time while his hand squeezes gently at your thigh. when his hands defly dip into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, you moan quietly, head turning to the side.

he makes you so nervous and excited your heart feels like it's going to lurch out of your chest.

"can i touch you here, pretty girl?" he murmurs, fingers sliding along your inner thighs until they ghost over your cotton panties. if you'd known you'd end up like..this tonight, youd've chosen a more tasteful pair of underwear.

"please," you whisper, pulling him to your mouth as his fingers press against your clothed cunt, applying just enough pressure to make you mewl into his lips. you feel him smile, pushing your panties to the side before running a finger through your folds.

"you're wet," he chuckles before pushing his finger in, crooking it against your spongey insides. your head falls back against the pillow, hands digging into his back.

"oh my god, geto," you whimper, lips parting.

"suguru," he corrects, pushing another digit in, curling them deep enough to find the gooey spot that has your nails making crescent against his arms.

"suguru, please, 's so good," you babble, thrusting your hips to meet his hand.

he stills for a moment at the sound of his name on your lips. how you moan his name so prettily, begging for more. he leans down, kissing you hard, fingers moving faster and faster inside you, the sound lewd and so dirty and buzzing right to his crotch.

geto feels how you clench around his fingers, and he swallows thickly at the thought of how you'll take his cock. he groans, low and wrecked, capturing your nipple between his lips, teeth grazing along it slightly.

your head's dizzy, stars behind your eyes, gazing at geto and how he's sucking little bruises along your tits, up your neck, down your stomach. constellations of bite marks across your body.

"suguru, i—i'm close," you say, voice breaking. his eyes darken and he thumbs tiny circles over your clit, his two - no, three - fingers curling against all the right spots inside your core.

when you cum, body pulsing hard and hot in waves that make you tingle all over, geto groans, fingering you slowly until your breathing evens. the sight of you coming undone for him has him hardening impossibly more in his boxers, now damp at the front with precum.

you're panting below geto and your hand inches to his boxers, itching to tug them off. "you sure?" he asks quietly, restraint obvious in his voice.

"i'm sure, suguru," you say softly, kissing him again, palming over his boxers. he lets out a strained sound as you reach to pull them down and he quickly obliges, shrugging them off.

suguru geto, in all of his naked glory, is the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

you're rather partial to his pretty, leaking cock, too.

your eyes trace over the vein that runs along one side, the flushed, mushroomed dip, slick with precum, the thick shaft. how it twitches slightly under your gaze, hard and angled up towards his abs. you watch in a daze as he pumps himself slowly, his lips parted, watching you sprawled out so prettily for him, your hair like a halo around your head as you lay there.

you watch his gaze drift down your body, down past your tits, down past the splattering of marks he's left across practially every square inch of your skin. down to your pussy, still slick from your orgasm.

you squirm under geto's face and he tuts, leaning down and pressing his tip to your core. "don't have to be nervous, pretty girl," he says, kissing the side of your neck. his cock brushes against your folds and you both moan quietly.

geto's forehead drops to yours as one of his hands hooks through your thighs, pushing it up as he pushes in slowly. you wince at the pressure, eyes watering slightly - none of the men you've been with have been this...proportionate. he's quick to wipe the tears from your eyes, kissing your cheeks softly, jaw tight as he pushes in more, and more, passing each wall of muscle with a grunt.

"you're squeezing me, y/n, shit," he manages, pushing your thigh higher to deepen the angle. when he finally bottoms out his eyes roll back and you whine.

loud.

geto pushes his thumb into your mouth, his hand cupping your face, and you suck on it gently, face contorting with pleasure as he starts to thrust slowly, struggling to fit his cock back in when he pulls out.

"so tight," he groans raggedly, and all you can do is moan in response, his thumb still in your mouth, his other hand still warm against your thigh, sliding up to squeeze your waist. when geto manages to set a slow, steady pace, he's grunting every time he thrusts in fully, watching your hands grip the sheets desperately.

"right there, suguru," you moan, muffled against his thumb.

"here, pretty girl?" he rumbles, pistoning his cock deep and faster now, brushing your cervix with every thrust.

you nod, babbling incoherently, tugging his hair, holding his biceps, wrapping around his neck, touching everywhere you can and he lowers himself, chest pressed to yours. your tits soft against his skin, your tongue swirling around his thumb.

he holds you reverently, kneading the plush of your thighs as you clench around him, chasing another orgasm. you pull his thumb out of your mouth with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the digit. "suguru," you whimper, "suguru, suguru, suguru—"

"yeah, i know," he coos, thrusting so deep inside you you can see where he pokes at your stomach, the bulge bumping against your skin every time his cock presses deep in your cunt. "look at that, pretty girl. taking me sooo good, yeah? so good for me."

blood rushes hot through your body, liquid heat coursing through your veins, and your back arches off the bed, pulling geto impossibly closer to you as you moan softly into his ear, biting his neck as you feel your climax build and build and build.

"are you close? 'm gonna cum," he says, voice rough and eyes blown wide. "you feel me here?" he presses his hand to where his cock bulges against your stomach, the pressure stealing the air from your lungs.

"inside," you breathe, panting now. "cum in me, suguru."

and so he does, seconds later, because your voice saying those words along with his name fully break him. he holds you against him as he cums, pulsing thick and hot spurts of release, coating your walls. he rubs circles over your nipples as you climax, too, with a cracked moan of his name and your hands tangled in his hair.

after, you’re both a little breathless, tangled in rumpled sheets with the balcony doors cracked open enough for the ocean air to drift in. geto just stays close, one arm wrapped around your waist while his fingers lazily trace little patterns against your skin like he doesn’t quite know what to do with all this softness in his chest. you’re tucked against him, cheek pressed to his shoulder, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat finally slowing down. “…you okay?” he asks after a while, voice low and sleep-rough now.

you tilt your head to look at him, how pretty he looks with his pink lips and flushed cheeks. you smile softly. “you’ve asked me that like eight times.”

“i know.”

“paranoid?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, looking at the ceiling. “a little.”

your heart squeezes and you lift yourself enough to kiss him softly. geto smiles into it, eyes closing briefly. "you like me," he murmurs, and you bury your face in his shoulder so he can't see you smiling.

he helps you clean up, gently rubbing a warm cloth along your inner thighs where his cum's dried, hands you your hoodie, tucks blankets around you when you both collapse into bed. when you instinctively curl toward the far side like you did the first night, geto just blinks at you. "...seriously?"

you look over. "what?" and he wordlessly lifts an arm. your stomach flips and you slide back over, letting him pull you into his chest. his chin rests lightly on top of your head, one hand smoothing once down your back.

sometime in the middle of the night, you both fall asleep smiling.

sunday - 8 am

the next morning feels surreal. when you wake, blinking sleepily, you realize two things immediately. one: you're basically half on top of geto. two: he's already awake, watching you. the second your eyes meet, he smiles, small and sleepy and completely soft. "...hi," you mumble.

"hi." his voice is still rough with sleep and you both just stare at each other for a second like idiots then start laughing quietly for no reason at all.

everything feels weirdly giddy, soft. you brush hair out of his face, he catches your wrist and kises your palm. as you both get dressed you exhange stupid little smiles the entire time.

however, when you both head downstairs together, something awful starts to creep into your brain. there's no way anyone heard, right...? gojo's girlfriend is a notoriously heavy sleeper, though you don't know much about how gojo sleeps...toji and choso and your roommate, being downstairs, couldn't have heard anything at all. and you weren't that loud.

the living room comes into view where choso's sitting drinking coffee (from a new, temporary machine you bought at the marina yesterday). when he sees you and geto walk down the stairs he goes tomato red and your soul leaves your body. beside you, geto's trying so hard to act normal.

"morning," he says in the most suspiciously casual voice ever.

choso makes a sound that is not a word. "...morning." he looks away so fast he nearly spills coffee on himself. you stare at him, horrified. there is no way. there is absolutely no way they heard anything. they couldn't have.

before you can spiral further, gojo strolls in from the kitchen, looking smug for no reason. "good morning!" he says brightly. you narrow your eyes immediately. never trust that tone. he starts making coffee, chatting casually about breakfast plans like a completely normal person. too normal.

geto relaxes as gojo stirs sugar into his cup. takes a sip, then says, "so."

you feel the danger immediately. gojo glances over with the smile of a man about to ruin lives. " 'cum in me , suguru'?" he says thoughtfully. "that's the best you got?"

you swear time stops. geto goes completely motionless, full red ears to collarbone. your body leaves this earthly plane. choso coughs so hard he nearly dies on the couch. from the back porch, where you now see your roommate, gojo's girlfriend, and toji watching with rapt attention, they all burst laughing.

which means. oh my god.

you stare blankly at the wall in front of you and geto slowly turns toward gojo. "i'm going to kill you."

gojo raises both hands, grinning. "hey, don't shoot the messenger. walls are thin, lover boy."

you make a strangled noise and bury your face into your hands. somehow, impossibly, gojo makes it worse. "also," he says, taking another casual sip, "the name thing was kinda hot. personal fave detail."

"SATORU."

"WHAT? i'm being supportive!"

“So are we going to talk about it?” Shoko’s words confuse the hell out of you. It must be obvious the way she sighs, and Geto laughs without looking up from his phone, probably texting another girl. “Are you going to continue to sit there and pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“So, I actually have no idea what you’re talking about?” Another bold-faced lie to two of the people you care about the most.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N. Next week, not ringing any bells for you?” You retrace the days until you’re hit with an upcoming December 7th. Now Suguru's smugness makes sense. Instead of admitting that you know what they’re talking about, you slump back into the couch and pick the next best option— playing dumb.

“Hmmm, nope. Nothing’s coming up.” That finally pulls Geto away from his phone, and Shoko puts her unlit cigarette down, to just deadpan. Their stares linger long enough for you to finally give in with a sigh. You couldn’t ignore his existence forever. “Yeah, I know.”

“We’re throwing something for him. You should be there.” That uncomfortable pit in your stomach opened up again. It had been months since you last saw Gojo. You didn’t even see him when he was in the hospital; you couldn’t bring yourself to. Seeing him all managed up, tubes sticking out of him, face uncharacteristically unresponsive to you made you nauseous, but not seeing him all that time made seeing him now harder.

“I don’t think either of us wants to see each other, or else we would have by now.”

“You don’t want to see him for some reason, but he wants to see you.” Suguru’s words hit the dead center of your armor, stinging you a little.

“He asks about you all the time,” Shoko adds, another stinging sensation.

“It’s honestly starting to get annoying.” You can’t help but laugh at Geto’s words. If anyone was being forced to put up with Satoru, it’s Suguru. They’d been best friends for what felt like a lifetime. You’d know, you and Satoru had been friends for an actual lifetime. You remember when Suguru Geto first became friends with Satoru, after all, Satoru practically forced you two to get along. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed your shared obnoxious best friend. 

You’d actually be doing more than lying, whatever is worse than lying. That's what you’d be doing if you said there wasn’t a Satoru-sized hole in your life. 

Anyone in their right mind would miss their childhood best friend. Especially if they beat the odds against dying, but that feeling of seeing Gojo— stupidly walking around, talking, and somehow taking all the space when doing so, laughing loudly with no regard for volume—felt wrong. All you could imagine is his lifeless body on the operating table, and a bunch of words you wished you had said hanging on your lips. If you’re being honest, that’s the reason you won’t see him. You were too much of a coward to admit you were madly in love with your best friend, and after surviving, you don’t think you could hide it from him anymore.

If he didn’t feel the same, it might kill you on the spot. To know that the person you loved more than anything got the chance to live again, and you can’t be there because of something as potentially one-sided as feelings, was too much. The lump in your throat builds, and you’re blinking back tears, realizing the two other people in the room were watching you struggle.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s probably mad that I haven’t seen him, and I don’t blame him. Why would he even want me there?” Shoko sighs and turns around with a simple "whatever," but Suguru keeps his eyes on you, unmoved by your words.

“This is his first birthday after almost dying, and all he wants is to see you. I’m not saying you have to stay long, but…” His phone vibrates in his lap, a loud buzz filling the room and cutting him off, “…give the guy a proper goodbye if you’re set on not seeing him anymore. He deserves it.” With that, he hops up off the couch and answers whoever is on the other side of the phone.

You hate Suguru Geto so much. You hate how good he is at reading people and getting under their skin without all the information. However, you’re sure that he knows that you’re head over heels for his best friend. Which makes you standing inside of Satoru’s house dressed up, and almost about to pass out, even more sinister on his part. Shoko had warned you it was a surprise party, but you didn’t think sitting in Satoru’s place without him would make you feel so nauseated.

 It was almost the same. The same art that you put up on his living walls still held in place, the couches you fell asleep on way too many times to count, even the busted KitchenAid mixer that Toji had gotten (stolen) from his ex (situationship) still sat on the polished marble counter—a perfect capsule of time, unmoved by the months of change in Satoru’s life.

You wondered if he had stayed the same?

“Nanami just texted me! Everyone in position!” 

For those few minutes of you hiding alongside Suguru and Shoko, you felt the anxiety at its peak. Palms sweating profusely, heart about to break your ribcage, breathing rapid enough that it makes Shoko pull you towards her. Calming you down slightly enough to force a smile on your face when the lights come back on and scream surprise. For a moment, you forgot that you hadn’t seen your best friend in months until your eyes looked past his familiar white hair. His ghostly pale skin is covered in deep beige scars. They litter his body, one after the other, past his black top, and you assume the rest of his body.

That accident was written all over him. Seeing him didn’t make you as sad as you expected. It made you angry, angry at yourself for making him go through this change by himself. That anger almost completely takes you over before your eyes bounce to his— the same blue eyes that always make your breath catch. Gojo could never hide what he was thinking. The look of utter shock caught in his eyes pointed directly at you. He looked like he saw a ghost, and just as you were getting ready to say something, Haibara moved forward with his specially decorated birthday hat.

The party moved on as normal, or as normal as a party could while you’re actively dodging the host. Especially, after he stared you down whenever the group sang Happy Birthday. You managed to avoid the birthday boy at his own party. The getaway plan was even better. You’d go to the garage to grab another case of beers for everyone before saying goodbye. Fortunately for you, no one was nearby to see you sneak into the dark room. Clumsily, you look around trying to find the switch, praying you don’t accidentally open the garage door, before finding it.

Instead of your sweet ticket out of the party, you’re met with a motorcycle. Satoru’s motorcycle, specifically. In absolute pristine perfect condition. Something about seeing the motorcycle made you livid. Why the hell would he keep something like that around?

“If you were planning on never speaking to me again, I highly recommend not coming to my birthday party at my house.”

The words immediately freeze your anger into fear. Your heart drops to your feet when you turn to be met with a clearly very pissed-off Gojo. Arms crossed his broad chest, making him only look wider. Unlike most other people, Satoru's eyes get brighter when he’s angry, pissed, or irritated. Right now, two piercings, cold blue eyes stared down at you, locking you in place. You scramble for words to say, looking around for anything that could help you before you see it again, and your anger comes back.

“You still have the motorcycle?” The words come out with more bite than you mean, but right now, you really want to scream at him for being so reckless. He scoffs before laughing, almost maniacally.

“Are you kidding right now? You avoid me for months, and the first thing you have to say is some smart remark about the motorcycle? Seriously Y/N? No, how are you? No, are you okay? No, I’m sorry that I ghosted my childhood best friend during the hardest part of his life?!”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Anyone in their right mind would’ve cussed out. Screamed in your face, kicked you out of their home, and told you never to see them again. Yeah, that stupid motorcycle pissed you off, but he’s more right now.

“Gojo…”

“No! I’m not done.” He closes the door behind him. The music of the party muffled, leaving only you two truly in the moment. “You didn’t call. You didn’t text me. You didn’t let me know if you were okay. I’ve been up for months trying to get as much information about you as possible without crossing the random wall you put between us, Y/N.” He was beyond angry; he was livid. 

“Gojo-“

“Do you know how awful it feels to have to learn how to walk again, all while worrying if the most important person in your life is okay? For the first person you think of when you wake up from almost dying, to not want anything to do with you?”  His bright eyes start to redden with tears. Satoru was always sensitive, something you’ve always loved about him. “Every day, part of me hoped you would come through that hospital door, and every day you didn’t. My first friend, the last person I’d expect not to show up, did!”

“Gojo.”

“Why are you here now?! Why, after all this time, did you show up here? Especially if you were going to leave before I could say anything to you. If you were going to leave, haunt my fucking house and me, then you should’ve never come.” His voice cracks at the end, and that’s when he finally looks away from you. He’s right, you should’ve never come to his house or this party. You should’ve been a better friend. You should not have fallen in love with him. He was so upset with you in a way he had never been before; it felt like it was eating you alive. He shouldn’t be crying on his birthday. He should be laughing, making others laugh, annoying everyone in his general vicinity, being the Satoru Gojo you had the opportunity to fall in love with over the years. 

You hadn’t even noticed your own tears building before they dropped. Throat tightening, you struggle with what to say. So you settle for the easiest option.

“I’ll leave.” 

“No.” His head whips around, as if the two words startled him. “Not until you tell me why you disappeared?”

“Gojo.”

“I deserve to know why my best friend of almost three decades decided to stop talking to me for no apparent reason.” The misty-eyed stare between you is strong. Neither of you is backing down in silence for what feels like an eternity. Somewhere in between his anger and frustration, a pleading look flashes across his face. He needed the truth, and you were too scared to admit it. The words taste like bile just thinking about them. “Y/N please. You don’t have to stay. We don’t ever have to speak again. Please tell me.” The words come out so sweet, sweeter than you deserve, and it finally makes you snap.

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t look at you like that. I didn’t know how I could ever look at you as lifeless. No one wants to see the person they’re in love with barely grasping onto life. I didn’t have the courage to face you, and I couldn’t see you again without telling you that I’m in love with you. I couldn’t take it knowing I’d lose you after you got a second chance, because I can’t help but love you, Satoru. I know I’m a coward, and you deserve a much better best friend, but if you want an answer. I’m scared that knowing how I feel will make you not want to be around me, and I just can’t take that.” 

You’re a mess. The makeup you had on definitely was ruined. The anxiety of the confession burns through your body, followed by the lightheadedness of the relief. If you don’t get out of here soon, you’re definitely going to pass out.

“You’re in love with me?” All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry-” Satoru cuts you off. More specifically, his lips are what cut you off, and it takes you a full second to register that Satoru Gojo was kissing you. When the second did register, you’re quick to follow through. Hands finding his chest, and slowly up to his hair. His lips taste like whatever fruity seltzer he’d been drinking before, but they were as soft as they always looked. Slowly, but surely, the anxious and timid kiss grew needy and feverish. Somehow, your back is pressed against the fridge, and you’re clawing at both his shirt and hair. Satoru’s no better; his hands are focused on keeping you close, but his foot kicks your legs apart enough to slot his thigh right against you. Lips locking slower and messier each time, both of you practically out of your mind.

A loud thud is what pulls you away from the rather starving man in front of you. You don’t realize how desperate you were for air until you see how heavy you’re breathing. Satoru just kissed you. You two just made out. He has you pressed against his fridge because you two were making out. Sixteen-year-old you is probably somewhere losing her mind right now.

Before you can question what that noise was, Toru is pulling your face back towards him. He’s holding himself a few inches away, close enough that if you could lean and close the gap, you would, but far enough for Satoru to keep you back.

“You love me?” The question barely comes out above a whisper. You attempt to nod, but his hand keeps your head from moving. “Uh uh. I need you to say it.” His words are quick, but soft, like he’s afraid to break the moment with his need to hear you say the four simple words, so you do.

“I love you, Satoru.” His brows scrunch together like the words almost hurt him. “Are you okay with that?”

“What do I have to do to keep you here?” Maybe it’s the blood coming back to his head, but his question catches you off guard. 

“Huh?”

“What do I have to do?”  he repeats, “to make sure you don’t stop loving me, Y/N?” You can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he sounds.

“I could never stop loving you, Satoru.” His eyes finally open to meet yours. He obviously was both amused and upset by your answer.

“Just tell me anything. I need you not to leave again. It’ll kill me.”

“Gojo. That’s not funny.” You try to move back to emphasize your seriousness, but the now warm stainless steel presses back against you.

“I’m not joking. I can’t have you leave again. I’ve been waiting since the day I met you for you to tell me you feel the same. If you leave me now, I don’t think my body can withstand that. So please.” Your eyes widened. 

Gojo loves you back.

He’s been waiting on you this whole time, as you had. Two idiots dancing around the fact that you both were hopelessly in love with the other. You’re so happy you could cry, and the tears do start to come, but Satoru squeezes your jaw, pulling your attention back to him.

“Tell me what I need to do to make sure you don’t leave me again.” You try to think of anything, but you keep drawing a blank, until that stupid hunk of metal shines over Satoru’s shoulder. Your entire body freezes up, and you feel that irrational anger coming back.

“Get rid of the bike. That thing almost took you from me.” He looks behind him briefly before snapping back to you.

“Deal.” Before he can open his mouth to say another word, you’re putting your lips back on his, dragging him back to you. Just like a perfect match, it feels like second nature to kiss Satoru. He knows just where to put his hand without getting into deep water. Just a row of deep, slow kisses, until you go to pull him closer and he does the same. Leaving you to grind harder than expected on his thighs, a pathetic moan tumbling out of you. Satoru breaks the kiss, bright blue eyes peering down at you in shock. 

“Sorr-” His hands drag your bunched-up dress across his thigh again, forcing another breathy moan out of you. 

“You sound better than I could’ve ever imagined, and I’ve imagined a lot.” He does it again, this time flexing this strong muscle, making you fall forward in a shudder.

“Tell me what you’ve imagined?”

“Oh, my god.” The heat between your thighs builds as you gleam under Satoru’s gaze and shamelessly ride his thigh. “This. Turning you on. Making out. Making you feel good.” The way his soft lips lightly trail down your neck, kissing between the confessions. It’s dirty and pulls another moan from you. Grinding down on his thigh shamelessly harder this time. “Making you cum for me, and just for me. Over and over, just like how I’m going to now.” 

It’s pathetic how much you’re chasing your own orgasm, but the high of the confession is lighting every nerve in your body on fire. He smells good, he tastes good, he feels good, and he’s all yours. As if he reads your mind, he presses his thigh into you, practically lifting against the fridge. 

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Satoru.” You pant, eyes rolling back in your head, at a particularly rough drag. “I’m so close. Oh my-”

He snaps his thigh from you, and it practically hurts. You chase the feeling of the rough denim material, only for him to press your hips into the fridge. Pulling you into a sloppy kiss, tongues lazily meeting, almost your dying protest. You try to get his attention even though you could barely focus, by pulling his hair, but it just makes him moan unashamedly, hands squeezing at your waist. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are so low you’d think he was high if it wasn't for the obvious blush across his face or the swollen, spit-covered lips. He stares at your eyes, slowly bouncing between your lips and your eyes, questioning something.

“I was so close.”

“I know. I heard.” You’re sure your blush is now matching his. His chest shudders with anticipation. “Can I ask you a big favor?” At this point, you’re convinced you’d do anything for this man.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get rid of the bike if you get on it.” Scratch that. You’d do anything but get on Satoru’s once highway ticket to death. 

“No.”

“Y/N-”

“No! I’m not letting you take me out on a ride. I hate that stupid bike.”

“We’re not going out. I just-” His eyes avert from yours, looking up at that garage ceiling. Are his ears turning red? “-I just want you to get off on it.” A beat of silence passed, and then another. By the time the fourth passes, Satoru closes his eyes and swallows in obvious embarrassment.

“What?” How the hell does one get off on a motorcycle? Let alone one that tried to kill your best friend?

“It would be in park! You wouldn’t have to go anywhere, but here. It’s a thing I’ve had for a while, and I dunno...” He rambles on and on before he finally looks back at you with an absolutely hopeless look in his eye. Past the point of pleading, this is his entire ego on the line. 

“Is it something you really want?” He nods before the sentence ends. You think long and hard about it before looking in his eyes and sighing. You’re just as hopeless as he is. “Fine, but don’t be hurt when this doesn’t end up working.” His entire body lights up with a new vigor, arms wrapping around you and lifting you easily over the bike. You knew Satoru was strong, but he lifted you like it was nothing, which shouldn’t be possible after all his body had gone through.

You’re pressed against the metal head of the bike, thanking your earlier judgment that you wore a skirt. Satoru looks like he’s about to explode from just staring at you sitting on the damn thing. He swallows hard again—it’s kinda cute. His eyes are locked on where your panty-clad cunt is meeting the cold black metal.

“Satoru?” You squirm at the intensity of his stare.

“Right, m‘sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this. I thought it would never happen.” His eyes finally look at yours, softening when he sees the worry in your eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.” You mull it over for a second before letting the fear creep in. 

“No. I want to do this for you.”

“Jesus, don’t say that.”

“But I do. I want to recreate every little fantasy you have about me locked away.” Satoru shuts his eyes and drags a hand down his face, bringing a cocky grin to your face. You’ve always liked teasing Toru. He shakes his head in some form of restraint before narrowing in on the start.

“If you’re uncomfortable at any point or want it to be over, you tell me, and I’ll toss the thing to the curb faster than you can blink.” He’s serious, and it is sweet enough to warm your heart and ease your nerves, but you can’t help but giggle at him. “You ready?” You give him a small nod, and the engine revs, filling up the garage. 

Your question about how one gets off on a motorcycle gets answered as soon as the metal rattles against your swollen clit. Immediately, your body slumps forward.

“Oh my god-” The vibrations are so strong, you know your entire body is shaking with the bike. It feels so good. It feels even better when you lift your eyes to see Satoru staring down at you like you just set off his world. Another strong vibration has you loudly moaning. There’s no way you’re not going to cum fast. “Satoru, it's so good.” 

“Yeah?” You nod, unable to say anything that’s not an incoherent mess. How you two can hear each other over the loud ass engine is a miracle you’re not going to question. This stupid motorcycle is pushing closer to an orgasm than you’ve been able to bring yourself to in months. The harsh shift of the metal against your clit is too much; you’re too sensitive, forcing you back searching for some reprieve, but Satoru is quicker. “Nuh uh. Don’t run from it, baby.” 

Oh, he’s an evil son of a bitch. Hands forcing your hips to grind hard into the rapidly shaking metal, leaving you with no escape. You reach out to grab his wrist, hoping it would alleviate the pressure, but it doesn’t. 

“Want you to cover it, baby. Need you soaked so I can lick you clean and give you another one. So I can get you wet all again when I sink into that pretty pussy, and make you cum all over again.”

“Wan-ahh to fuck me, Toru? Oh fuck!” He smiles and wipes the thin line of drool you have yet to notice.

“Yes. More than anything. I think I can cum from just thinking about it. I’ve gotten off more times than I can count.” If you were in a better state of mind, you’d probably ask him why, but instead all you can say is—

“I’ve gotten off you, too, Toru.” It’s rushed, and there was definitely some kind of curse word thrown in there, but it works. Satoru’s ears are burning red, and his mouth is gaped open, hands slowing their motion to a teasing rhythm. “Ngh- All the time.”

“Tell me more.” His words are just as quick as yours. “Y/N, please tell me more.” You’re trying so hard to focus on him and his words, but the way Satoru keeps pushing you into the vibrations is making you want to tip your head back and ride out the feeling that’s starting to cool in you. One of his hands holds your face, forcing you to look at him.

“I- I think about you touching me, Toru.” It’s all you can manage.

“Like how I am now?” You nod, or nod as best as you can in Satoru’s grip.

“Think about how good your hands feel when you touch me. H-oh, how- they’d feel better in me.”

“Want to know what I think about when I’ve gotten off to you?” You’re quick and eager to nod. “When we were sixteen, the first time I ever saw you in a real swimsuit, I wanted to lay you on my bed and eat you out until you were begging me to stop. I think I fucked my hand raw to the thought of it.” Your eyes widen at the confession. You’re sure there’s a huge sopping mark on the metal, from how wet you were.

“I still had braces-”

“And they were cute. You’ve never not been beautiful. There’s never been a moment when I haven’t thought you were beautiful.” What? The rush of emotions fills you, almost over-taking the lust-hazed brain you had. The tears in your eyes are becoming more out of the random sincerity, than the overwhelming pleasure between your legs. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” He’s quick with it. Mouth dropping right on your pulse point, and dragging his way to your ear. “Always will. Thought you were beautiful the first time I met you. I thought you were beautiful when you gave me that pity dance at prom. I thought you were beautiful at graduation. I think you’re beautiful now, riding my motorcycle in an inch of your life, and I know you’ll be beautiful when I take you upstairs and fuck you full.”

Everything is too much. His cologne, the sweetness of his words, the filth rolling off his tongue, the battering of the shaking metal against your clit. It’s no surprise when your vision starts to go white.

“S-Satoru. I’m gonna-”

“Yeah? You want that?” You’re nodding dumbly, as to be expected by now. “Baby, you’re dripping off the bike.” Were you? Oh well. “Gonna let me clean you up with my tongue before I take you inside and show you everything I’ve wanted to do to you for years?”

“Oh my god, Satoru.” Your hand flies on the bike onto one of Satoru’s forearms for leverage. Nails digging into his skin so hard that it would surely leave marks.

“I know, baby. Just say yes for me. You can do that, c’mon.”

“Yes-fuck. Yes! Please.” His face lifts from your ear, blue eyes focused on your face in just enough time to watch you fall over the edge. Eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open, surely nothing but obscenities and Satoru’s name coming out. You don’t know if you’ve ever cum this hard in your life, but it just won't stop. It’s probably embarrassing how pathetic you look on Satoru’s bike, the same bike that you hated for so long. That now you probably hate just a little bit less.

By the time you’re coming down, the motorcycle is off, and Satoru is peppering sweet kisses up the side of your neck. The sweetest of words leave him that are barely being comprehended. His face finally comes into view again, albeit a little hazy.

“You did great, baby.” That signature Satoru smile was there again, pointed at you. It felt great, almost better than that insanely strong orgasm you just had. You hadn’t realized just how desperately you needed a Satoru Gojo smile aimed at you until you finally got it again. The music inside the house cuts through the moment.

“Satoru, the party-” His hands leave your face, swinging your body towards him before he drops to his knees. 

“It can wait.”

“Satoru-”

“I distinctly remember someone telling me I have a mess to attend to, and from the looks of it, I got a lot to clean up.” Curse Satoru and his height. There’s no way any normal man could get on his knees and still be taller than his bike, but Satoru Gojo has never been normal. His slow kisses up your still quivering thighs make you also want to forget the party. Hell, if you could make everyone in this house disappear right now, you would.

“Everyone is inside.” He leans in closer, with another sloppy kiss.

“I’m aware.” His breath tickles the inside of your sensitive thighs.

“Everyone wants to celebrate you.”

“They’ll want to celebrate me later.”

“Satoru, it's your birthday.” You hate the way your voice wavers.

“I’ll have other birthdays, but since it’s my birthday, why don’t you let me have my gift?”

“Be serious.” Satoru’s eyes flicker up to yours, a look so stern it snatches the air out of you. He is being serious.

“If you don’t want to do this, I will walk away right now, happily. I’d never make you do something or do something to you that you don’t want, but I’m not leaving unless you and you alone don’t want me.” The intensity in his voice makes a shiver go down your spine. “Because right now, Y/N, I couldn’t care less about this damn birthday party.” 

That throb in your heart gets mistranslated somewhere down in the pussy, because you’re practically inching your lower half closer to Satoru’s face, forcing him to be face to face with your soaked panties. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Satoru’s eyes glistened over as he'd just seen something amazing. Before you can say anything, he pulls your legs closer and further apart before slotting his face right against your core and taking a deep inhale. Only to let out the most pathetic moan ever. “And you smell so good. Wonder if you taste just as good?”

You practically jolt at the long drag of Satoru’s tongue against your covered pussy. The sensation was almost too much; you’re still so sensitive from your orgasm from just a few minutes prior. Here he was eating you out through your panties like a madman.

“T-Toru!” Your body tenses at the unabashed groan he lets out, against you. When his mouth latches against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, you damn near scream his name out. Your hands find their way into his messy white locks, tugging harder than you meant to.

“Haa— do it again.” Oh, Satoru was overly freaked out. His sharp nose catches your clit perfectly, long tongue stuffing itself into your core through the cloth, sure enough, your hands are pulling Satoru’s pale hair again, earning yourself a pathetic moan from him. 

“T-Toru, are you, shit- gonna take them off?” Without a word, he yanks them down like he’s crazy. The fanning of hot breath against your core makes you twitch. He pulls away slightly enough before dragging two fingers through you; the loud pop of your wetness is almost deafening against the muffled music. You watch him gather your sex all down his fingers, watching your previous orgasm damn near run down his wrist before he drags his eyes to yours, and puts the fingers in his mouth.

Your jaw unhinges at the sight. Satoru Gojo is lapping at his fingers, greedily sucking and making out with them. Pale skin flushed, eyes so hazed over they could be mistaken for black, moaning like a porn star over the taste of your pussy. His other free hand comes down to palm himself over the jeans that seem way too tight for him, eyes rolling back. It was almost like he was alone, but it was you he was tasting. It was downright pornographic and depraved, and it was severely turning you on. Your body is turning into a furnace from how hot the scene made you. 

This would be an image that would stick with you forever.

“Fuck you taste perfect. You are perfect.” Is he…pussy drunk?

“Satoru…are you okay?”

“Yes.” He pops the digits out of his mouth. “Gonna be better after I eat this pussy, and get her all ready and stretched for me.” Satoru’s mouth is back on you before you can do anything. If his hands hadn’t already locked your legs back into place, you surely would’ve fallen off the bike.

Satoru was starved. Lewd slurps fill the air enough to make your ears hot in embarrassment and pleasure. Satoru could’ve sworn he was in heaven.

That he ever actually got out of that hospital bed, and died right there on the table, but the very real sounds of your pretty moans, the feeling of your twitching legs around his head, the addictive taste of your wet cunt, it was all too real to be fake. So much better than all the filthy fantasies he had stored in his head for years. If the perfect rough drag of his scarred lips right before they latch to your clif again didn’t get you, then the feeling of his fingers pressing against your opening will.

“Toru, I’m s-so sensitive.” If he heard you, he didn’t say anything, instead letting out a high-pitched, muffled moan against your core that has you shutting your eyes. When those pretty fingers you’d always wished were in you instead of yours were, it takes everything in you not to ride them, as the work past the ring of muscle, stretching you so good.

Satoru is so close to cumming his pants. You’re just as fucking warm and wet as he knew you’d be, and it’s driving him insane. Well, he’d already gone insane when he watched you cum on his bike, eyes rolling back with his name on your swollen lips. If he were any less of a man, he would’ve gotten it on camera and watched it over and over again, have it etched into every part of his body until his wrist snapped in half, every fleshlight he owned was battered, and his dick fell off.

Squelch.

Squelch.

Squelch.

You had the nosiest fucking pussy, and it was making him weaker with every push of his fingers that you cunt greedily swallowed.

“Satoru, you eat it so good.” Had you even meant to say that? No, but Satoru was both so happy and angry when you said that. Happy because you couldn’t keep yourself together enough to keep those inside thoughts inside. He was eating it good; he had been practicing for this day since he found a stray thong you accidentally left at his dorm years ago. He put it on a Fleshlight and taught himself how to eat your pussy. Making his jaw ache until he knew that he’d have you crying out for him to stop because it was too good. Almost cumming in his pants the first fifteen times. 

Now that’s why Satoru’s angry. All those fantasies don’t live up to the real thing. He could only imagine what you would say to him in those moments, but you’re here in real life, saying all the dirtiest words he could’ve prayed for. He knew how not to cum in his pants when practicing, but the real thing, oh, it was too much. Which is why he practically sobs into your soaked core, mouth, and fingers, desperately picking up speed to hide the way his hips pathetically fucked up into the tip of dangling foot for any kind of pressure like some ravaged animal.

“Hnng-ah fuck! Are you b-breathing?” Satoru Gojo couldn’t care less about air. He could go back on a ventilator for all he cares. He needs to make you come as soon as possible. His tongue circled your clit, desperate to hear those tantalizing sounds leave you. You were practically dripping down his wrist. When his long fingers graze that sweet spot, that’s when it unravels. “Satoru, I’m gonna-” You try to pull him away, tugging at his hair only for him to smack your hand away and push even further into you. 

He needed to make you cum more than anything right now, and he’ll be damned if you don’t cum on his face after he worked so hard.

“So good, so good, so good, I’m- cumming. Satoru, I’m gonna-” Right over the edge you went again. This time, with so much intensity, you think you actually do black out. Satoru doesn’t dare let up, his eyes roll to the back of his skull, watching the thin line of drool hang from your lips as your head tilts back. Wet patch in pants growing as stream after stream of cum leaves his weeping cock right as your foot presses down in uncontrolled pleasure. Obscenely loud, moans escaping you both like you’re getting ready to fuck on camera. 

It takes you, silently begging, and both of your hands to get Satoru to come off your poor, battered pussy. Neither of you says a word, just desperately staring at one another, breathing heavily. Satoru’s face is almost completely red except for the beige scars that almost look pink against his skin. Eyes low like eating, you put him in a daze. The entire lower half of his face is soaked, soft lips puffy and glistening, just begging to be kissed. Though you’re not fully down, after waves of your orgasm are still hitting you, you can’t help but lick your lips.

“Don’t.” Satoru’s voice is hoarser and deeper than it was when you two first walked in here. Something about him was laced with lust and want. It sent sparks down your body. He sounded so fuckable.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lick your lips like that. Don’t look at me like you’re starving for me. I can’t-” He takes in a shuddering breath like he’s barely holding on before he pops up. One hand pulling you by your throat for a kiss, making you taste yourself on him, and damn, do you both taste good. Satoru’s hands are the only reason why your wobbly legs haven’t given out from underneath you.

Sloppy kisses that end with loud smacks, an inappropriate amount of whining, and the need to touch everything you could. The scene was enough to make someone look away in embarrassment. You two are stuck on each other, obsessed even. You pull away when the air supply runs out, shivers going down your body. 

Have you ever been this turned on? The answer is obviously no. Even fantasizing about Satoru wasn’t enough to get you like this. Satoru has that effect on you.

“I can't resist you.” Seems you have the same effect on him. He can’t help but get a couple more small kisses in before trailing down your face again. “Are you okay?” Satoru’s voice is soft; it's almost sickening.

“I can barely feel my legs.” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the end. He’s still your Satoru.

“That’s a problem.”

“I know, how am I going to walk back in there without looking stupid?” Without so much as a grunt (or a warning), you’re being lifted off your feet, body held bridal style with no ease.

“Nah, I mean you shouldn’t be able to walk at all. Guess I got to fuck that mobility out of you?” Your hand swats his chest like an impulse. Cheeks feel as if they could turn red. He makes quick steps to get inside, but before he can open the door, you stop him. 

“Everyone is still inside.”

“Then they’ll get out.” He says it like it's obvious.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious. They’ll either get out, or they’ll hear us. I don’t care about them right now.” He’s insane. That accident took all the common sense out of his head.

“Sat-” It’s too late, the garage door flies open, and you close your eyes, hoping the dark lights hide your ruined makeup, disheveled dress, and loose ponytail. The music doesn’t stop, neither does Satoru, but he does laugh.

“You can open your eyes; no one is here.” What?

You do open your eyes only to be met with the fact that a single soul is in the house. Not even any on the balcony like they were before.

“Wait, does that mean-”

“Now we really don’t have to be quiet.” Satoru doesn’t even pay attention to the empty room, circling the apartment to find his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him, making quick strides with you in his arms before he gently tosses you on the bed. He’s almost immediately taking his clothes off, blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness of the room. Satoru practically rips his black shirt off his body before he goes for the belt.

“Wait.” His eyes widened in fear, halting immediately. “Can I take them off?” You think the question might’ve killed him because he stares at you in shock before nodding his head like an idiot. He’s rushing over to the side of the bed, and he has to hold his smile back when he watches you struggle to balance your weight on your knees.

Yeah, he needs one more round.

The moment you get your hands on the belt, it’s over. Heat zaps down Satoru’s spine. As crude as it sounds, he’s never had you this close to his dick before. He doesn’t know just how long he’d last if you were even to stare at it long enough. Before he can bring himself to tell you to stop, you’re already pulling his pants down, damp boxers on display.

“Did you-”

“Yes.” He answers embarrassingly too fast. 

“You got off eating me out?” That blush creeps up Satoru’s neck all the way up to his ears.

“Yeah, I’ve gotten off from your perfume lingering in my bed.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it makes your jaw unhinged enough to flash another sinful image through Satoru Gojo’s head. Making him visibly twitch.

“You’re such a perv, Toru.” The words are meant to be mean, but in all actuality, you’re not any better. The number of times you’ve gotten off to his cologne being stuck in your passenger side seat belt is one too many for you to admit. You shift closer, planting a kiss on his tip through his boxer, making his hips buck into your mouth.

“Don’t.”

“You can get a taste of me, but I can’t get a taste of you?” You drag your tongue across his print and the damp patch, watching his mouth drop slightly, a coy hum on your lips. “That’s unfair, don’t you think?” Toru nods dumbly, body unconsciously leaning into you. “Can I go down on you, Toru? I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Yes. Fuck yes, please.” Satoru knows this is a bad idea. He cannot cum again before he has sex with you, but as he made clear earlier, he can’t say no to you. So when you pull down his boxers only for his dick to smack right against his stomach pulling a weak moan from him, he just prays he has it in him to pull you off before he comes down your throat.

“Toru-” You’re in utter shock. Satoru’s dick is big. Not just big, it’s humongous, he’s fucking hung. No wonder he was so arrogant all the time; he had the size to back it up. “You’re so big.” There’s enough lubricant from his previous orgasm for you to stroke him comfortably.

“Fuck, you can’t say that.” He twitches in your hand as you let the spit from your mouth dribble down his oh so sensitive, bright red tip. He was so cute under your hand, slightly bucking up into your hand unknowingly. 

“But you are, and it’s so pretty.” Satoru Gojo loved to be praised. Any person with working eyes could tell you that. “Need to taste it.” You don’t let him say anything before you kiss the tip, earning a soft whimper from him. 

So he does whimper? Good to know.

One torturous, slow lick after the other has him clenching his fist by his side until they look like they’re going to pop. When you finally take him in your mouth, every thread in him snaps. Hands find purchase around the back of your head. He was right, you guys don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore. He’s practically moaning like a bitch in heat at every bob of your head. You’re not much better, loud slurps filling the room if it’s not your own pathetic moans around him. 

“Shit! I’m- you feel so good-ahh. Hnng- please don’t stop.” Like you would ever, Satoru Gojo has you wrapped around his finger just as much as he’s wrapped around yours. You’re practically dripping all over his sheets at every thrust, gagging a moan every time he tip hits the back of your throat. Spit spilling at the corners of your lips like the Satoru only slut you are. Watching his eyes roll to the back of his head, his chest rise at a sharp breath, the way your name rolled off his tongue. It was breathtaking being the one to make Satoru Gojo fall apart like this.

Just a little more, and he’ll cum down your throat just the way you wanted. Your hand that was absent mindedly drawing rough circles on your clit, moves to cup his spit-covered balls, fondling them gently. The change made Satoru stop with a particularly rough thrust to your throat and rather loud broken whine. One hand gripping your hair with a tight lock, and the other holding your throat in place. His tilted head comes back down, his chest erratically heaving as he gives you an almost pained look.

“Don’t do that.” It’s quick, and thought it didn’t sound as assertive as it was meant to be you pause befoe pushing your luck, moving your hand again, which makes Gojo thrust forward again, a loud gag coming from you, your hand constricting your throat. His other hand knocked yours away. He looks almost lost, torn as he works your throat over him. “I’m not cumming anywhere that’s not inside of you. If you do that, I’ll cum all over your face and waste all of it. We wouldn’t want that now?”

Satoru was so close to coming that the corner of his vision started to turn fuzzy. If he hadn’t stopped when he did this night might’ve taken a different turn. Mouth still full of his cock you shake your head no, eyes hazed over in your own lust. He painfully removes himself from your mouth, cussing himself out internally the entire time. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your warm, wet, hot mouth back over here and fuck it raw. 

“Take the dress off.” You scramble to pull the dress over you, moving to the middle of the bed and tossing it somewhere into the abyss. “You’re so good for me, baby. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Oh yeah, you’re gone. Who wouldn’t be looking at Satoru’s perfect body, even if all scared up, he’s still undeniably sexy. “You’re so good for me, Toru.” His weight shifts the mattress as he makes his way over to you. 

“I always want to be good for my girl.” His hands grab your ankles, pulling you. towards him. “Need to fuck you good.” That fucked out look on his face is all you see before he’s pushing your hands into the mattress for another sloppy makeout. You could kiss Satoru forever. His tongue knows just what way to lock with yours in the most lewd way, like he was made to kiss you. He pulls back, grabbing the base of his dick, which his hand could barely fit around.

He slowly glides his jerky cock through your wetness, making you both twitch. Saying nothing but watching it slip through and gather more lubricants, the tip hitting your abused clit so sinfully it made your jaw drop.

“She’s so messy.” You couldn’t care less what he was babbling about right now. You just needed him to put it in already.

“Stop teasing Toruuu.” You whine only to get a cocky grin from him. He was letting up, picking up the pace, to watch you squirm. 

“You want it that bad-oh.” All that squirming managed to slip the tip in, stopping you both. The smile is wiped clean off his face. Instead, one of awe replaces it as he watches himself fuck the same inch into you, sensitive head trapped between your warm, gummy, wet walls. “You- you- feel so-”

“Yeah, bet it would be better if you actually fucked me.” His eyes meet yours with a hard glare. 

“Count.”

“What- oh my god.” Your mouth forms a ‘o’ as he sinks more into you.

“Count. C’mon, my smart girl can tell me how. How many inches are in her right?”

“T-Two.” 

“There we go.” He pushes in more, holding back on his bodily urges that are telling him to quit with all the teasing, but he can’t.

Three follows with four, five with six, and by the time you’re at the last two inches, you’re practically shaking. There’s a line of drool hanging from Satoru’s mouth like he’s gone completely brain dead, eyes not disconnecting from where you two meet, like he’s hypnotized.

He is hypnotized.

“Just two more, baby.”

“Eight-ngh Satoru, please. I can’t!” Your body burned at the stretch. No one’s been as big as Toru.

“No. You can.”  You let out a high-pitched whine when he finally bottoms out.

“Nine! Fuck Satoru, I’m so full.” Those words bounce off deaf ears. Satoru is falling off this plane of existence; the only thing keeping him grounded is the clench of your core around him, sending shivers down his spine. When he doesn’t move, you call his name, only to hear a muffled moan into your neck. It takes pulling him out of your neck to see what’s happening, finally.

He’s so fucked out he’s not comprehending right. His blue eyes are crossed in pleasure, line of spit rolling down to his thick neck, shaking body completely flushed red.

“Pussy so good. It’s gonna kill me.”

“Toru, I need you to move.”

“I can’t. Need a second. It’s too good.”

“Toru, please, I want you to fuck me. Need you to fill me up.” It’s those words that put Satoru out of his daze, or at least his body out of its daze. His hips roll into yours with a sinfully quick pace. His hands roam your body, trying to find something to feel. 

“Want me to cum inside?” He grumbles in your ear with another fast snap of his hips. “Want me to fuck you full?” You nod as best as you can, mouth hanging open with pathetic noises coming from you, and another lewd squelch comes from you. “I think this pretty pussy wants that too. Just listen to her.” 

Nothing but the nasty wet smacks filling the room makes your ears burn. 

Plap, Plap, Plap.

“She’s practically begging me to pump her full of my cum. She’s so good. She’s so fucking addictive. So much better than anything I’ve used.” You’re half paying attention to him. More focused on how deep his dick is in you. Every thrust feels like the air is getting snatched from you in the best way. Besides, you’re not too far behind him in sounding incoherent.

“Toru, it’s so deep-ngh. I-hic” Were you crying? “Fuck don’t stop. Please don’t, don’t, don’t.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. Your pussy is so good to me, you’re so good to me.” One of his hands comes down, forcing your legs to wrap around his shoulders. “I need to fill you. Need to fuck you good. Need it. Need it. Fuck I need it.” The new angle, the stretch, the pressure, it has you seeing stars, and when Satoru hits that one spot, your entire body tenses. 

Something’s different.

“Oh my god, Satoru!”

“Right there?” He whines out, head reeling back every time he hits that spongy spot inside. You nod, fat tears rolling down your body, it’s almost too much, but before you can even think about Toru’s already pinning your hips. “Don’t you dare think about running from me. Waited too long for this, for you.” Each bed shaking brutal smack brings you closer, but something is different. 

More intense, it’s deeper. It makes your entire body tremble. 

“Sssatoru I- something feels-” 

“Nuh-uh. That’s not my name.” Fuck he’s hitting it so good you may not be able to tell him. Your back is starting to arch in, tasting your release, which makes your vision come in and out.

“Baby! Something’s different! I’m-” Your cut off entirely by the smack of Satoru’s fingers against your clit, making you jolt in pleasure. You’re so close.

“Don’t call me that. That’s not what you call me. You want to cum, you want me to fill you up so good you’ll be dripping me for days? Then you call me by- FUCK-” Your cunt clenches around him, making his head pop from your ear to the air, making him look at you. He’s just like you—unfocused eyes, pathetic moaning, completely fucked out and pussydrunk to your dickmatized. “You-you call me by my name.”

“T-t-t-” You’re right there.

“C’mon, be good for me and say it.”

“Toru! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-” His fingers come down in a harsh rub of your throbbing clit, and you’re gone. Your warning is a faded memory of the past, as the tremors of your orgasm take over. Vision completely gone, ears ringing, in what is the strongest orgasm of your life, given to you by none other than your childhood best friend.

“Oh, my god.” Satoru watches you spray the entirety of the sheets beneath you, his hand, lower stomach, and most importantly, his cock. Never in his wildest dreams did he think watching the girl he loves the most squirt all over would happen, but when it does, it hits him like a bag of bricks. Making him cum so hard he slumps forward, letting out the most pornographic cries, eyes almost shut as he watches his seed mix in with your cum, and it sends lightning down his spine. “It won’t stop.” He doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but you still haven’t stopped. He fucks you through it, almost losing his fucking mind doing so, house full of sounds that would surely get him a noise complaint.

When you both come down from the mutual orgasms, neither of you dares to move an inch. Both of you are still shaking too hard to be fully conscious. It’s only when that tear hits your stomach that you start to come back. Satoru’s head is down, in shoulder trembling just like you.

“Toru?”

“Don’t move. I can’t- don’t move, please.” He sounded so weak, it damn near made your heart clench. “Listen, baby.” You almost yelp at the overstimulation when Satoru gives a few weak, shallow thrusts. A popping squelch rings through the room. “Sounds so beautiful.” 

“Satoru, come here.” He doesn’t hesitate, meeting your lips one more time, with the shakiest and sweetest kisses of the night. He gently pulls out, and you groan at the big loss. Missing the fill now that it’s gone. How were you ever going to get anything done now that you know what sex with the love of your life feels like? His head falls to your shoulder, making sure to keep his weight off you. It’s silent for a little while, you two bathe in the post-sex afterglow, until the question in the air rings too loud in your mind. “So what does this mean for us?”

“Don’t ask such dumb questions.”

“I’m serious-”

“I am too. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. Whether that's you being my girlfriend or, preferably, my wife, you’re here to stay. I’m here to stay. We’ve spent too much time avoiding the obvious to be picky about what we are now. We’re in love. Simple.” His arms sling around you, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body felt grounding.

“I love you, Toru.” You declare for the umpteenth time.

“I love you, Y/N.”

It’s your phone that wakes you up from your deep sleep with your boyfriend(?) at what had to be noon. 

“Satoru.” You grumble against his chest, refusing to open your eyes.

“Ignore it.” He makes no effort to move. The ringtone faded for all of three seconds before it blares up again, making you sigh.

“I got it.” He pulls you against him again, weakly trying to hold you back. “Toru.”

“Fine.” He rolls over, allowing you to crawl over him to grab the blaring phone, but not before smacking your ass as you bend to do so. You shoot him a dirty look, and he shrugs. “What? It’s great ass, and it’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, baby, that’s my ass, that's my pussy, that’s my heart, you’re my girl.” You have to bite back a smile at his words. The thought of finally being Satoru’s girl makes your chest all fuzzy.

“So does that mean that’s my dick and my heart?”

“You know it. Now I highly suggest you answer that phone, or else I’ll show you what else your dick can do.” You scoff, but it’s clear by the way your nipples perk up that you’re turned on. Satoru pulls you on top of him, pressing his half-hard dick against your bare cunt. Disregarding who can hear you two, as he kisses down your bare body. You press the accept button before you have half the mind to ride him and show him what his pussy can do.

“Hello?”

“Oh. My. God.” Geto and Shoko’s voices flood the other side of the phone. “This was better than we could’ve imagined.”

“What are you two going on about?” Satoru looks up at you through his pretty lashes, a confused look on his face.

“We called Satoru, not you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Please tell me you two have finally sorted things out. I was plastered by the time Geto was kicking everyone out of the house.”

“I think they did more than just sort it out. I’m never touching that motorcycle again.” Your jaw drops in horror before Satoru grabs the phone from your hands.

“You two really need to get a life.” You make out the words “dumbass” on the other end of the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I got some time to make up for. I'll talk to guys later.” He tosses the phone to the other side of the bed, pulling you closer to him. “Good afternoon, baby.” You giggle at his antics, heart swelling with joy. Everything feels perfect.

“Good afternoon, Toru.”

A/N: I wrote this over the cycle of two ovulation cycles...no regrets! I'm hella rusty too, this might be a mess potench. Also, this wasn't proofread... so my bad!