𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗲

Mikasa had chosen her path with Eren and the others, and you had stayed behind like always. Friends since you were kids running through the streets, sharing bread and secrets under the old oak tree. You were never as close to Armin or Eren, which made it easier to feel that quiet anger when she left. Why them? Why risk everything when she could have stayed here, safe with you?

Then one afternoon, you were wiping down the counter when shouts echoed from the main street. Survey Corps return. You dropped the cloth and stepped outside without thinking as people crowded toward the gate. And there she was, sliding down from her mount with graceful strength, but something was off. She moved slower, favoring her left side. Blood stained the edge of her uniform jacket, dark and fresh.

“Mikasa,” you breathed, pushing through the crowd before you could stop yourself. 

She turned at the sound of your voice, her dark eyes meeting yours across the chaos. For a second everything else faded. She looked exhausted, strands of black hair sticking to her forehead, but she gave you a small nod that told you everything.

You didn’t wait for permission, you slipped an arm around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the torn fabric. “You’re hurt. Come with me. Mom’s shop is right there, and I’ve got supplies.” 

She didn’t argue, just leaned into you a little as you guided her away from the noise. Her steps were steady but you could tell every one cost her.

Inside the back room of the pharmacy, you cleared the small table where you usually mixed medicines and helped her sit. “Take off the jacket, please,” you said, already pulling out clean cloths and the jar of salve you kept specially mixed for deep cuts. Your hands moved quickly, but your heart was racing. She had been gone for so long. Too long.

Mikasa winced as she shrugged out of the jacket, revealing a nasty gash along her ribs and another slicing across her upper thigh where her pants were ripped. The sight made your stomach twist. You had seen plenty of injuries working with the doctor, but this was her. Your Mikasa. The one who used to braid your hair when you were little and promise she’d always protect you.

“You’re such an idiot for going out there again,” you muttered.

You soaked a cloth in warm water and started cleaning the torso wound first, kneeling close so you could see clearly. Your fingers brushed her skin as you worked, gentle circles around the edges of the cut. She was alive, right here after all those nights you spent staring at the ceiling wondering if she was cold or bleeding somewhere beyond the walls. 

“I missed you. Every single day I missed you,” you said without thinking.

She stayed quiet at first, watching you intensely. The tension between you two had been there for years, unspoken words piling up. You loved her in a way that went beyond childhood friendship, sometimes you thought she felt it too in the way her eyes lingered or how she always found you first when she returned. But neither of you ever said it out loud. Not with the world the way it was.

“I’m fine,” she finally said. You saw the way her breath hitched when you pressed the cloth a little too close to the raw skin.

“You’re not fine. Look at this.” Your free hand rested on her knee without thinking, thumb rubbing small circles.

After months of nothing but wondering, you needed to touch her, to make sure she was real. You leaned in closer to apply the salve, your shoulder brushing hers. The scent of her, sweat and blood filled the small space. “What happened out there? No, don’t tell me. Just stay still.”

You moved to the leg wound next, rolling up the torn fabric carefully. Your fingers trembled a little as they traced the edge of the cut, cleaning it thoroughly before spreading the cooling ointment. Her thigh muscle tensed under your touch, you glanced up to find her staring at you, lips slightly parted. You wanted to hug her tight and never let go, to bury your face in her neck and breathe her in until the fear went away. Instead you kept working.

“I thought about you too,” she admitted quietly after a long pause. Her hand came up, resting lightly on your arm as you bandaged the gash. It was such a small touch, but it sent warmth spreading through you. “When things got bad. Your voice... it helped.”

Your eyes stung. You finished tying the bandage and didn’t pull away, wrapping your arms around her middle, careful of the fresh wrap on her ribs, and held on. Clingy didn’t even cover it. You pressed your cheek to her shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. 

“Don’t scare me like that again. I hate not knowing if you’re coming back. I get so angry at Eren sometimes, dragging you into all of it, but mostly I just miss you. So much it hurts right here.” You tapped your chest lightly.

Mikasa’s arms came around you then, strong despite her injuries. She didn’t say much more, but she held you back just as tight, her fingers threading through the ends of your hair. 

You pulled back just enough to look at her face, searching her dark eyes. “Stay tonight? At least until the bandages need changing. Mom won’t mind.”

You blink slowly, tilting your head. “I think you’re a weak ass man that doesn’t know how to handle Geto.”

You get rid of his hold, grab your keys and sunglasses and start walking again while Satoru audibly groans and sighs, now doing anything he can to make you stay and not see Geto because he knows you’re going to fall into the same trap he keeps falling. 

The bar is dim and hazy when you finally push through the door. Your heart is already hammering stupidly in your chest as you scan the room. And there he is, Suguru Geto, lounging in a back booth like sin itself decided to take the night off. His hair is half tied up but messy in the hottest way, a few silky strands falling loose around his neck. His simple black shirt is basically painted on, unbuttoned so low you can see the smooth dip between his pecs and the way his skin glows under the low lights. His pants ride low on his hips, tight enough to show off the lines of his thighs when he shifts. He looks slutty without even trying hard, he picked the outfit specifically to ruin whoever walked in.

The second his eyes find you, a knowing smile curls on his lips. He lifts his hand and waves you over, all affectionate and warm like you two are still on the same side. You walk up on shaky legs, trying to keep your face straight even though your brain is already short circuiting.

“Suguru,” you start, sliding into the seat across from him. “We need to talk. The stuff you’re doing it’s messing everything up and I can’t just ignore it anymore.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand so his shirt gaps open even more. “You came looking for me this late?” His voice is honey sweet, wrapping around you. Before you can push harder, he raises two fingers toward the bartender. “Two drinks over here. Make hers nice and strong. My friend needs to loosen up after chasing me all night.”

You try to protest but he is already sliding out of his seat and into yours, pressing right up against your side in one smooth move. His thigh molds against yours and his hand lands casually on your knee. 

“You’re so tense,” he whispers, fingers tracing small circles. His deep purple eyes find yours. “Let me help with that.”

You feel like a total loser with him right now. Your eyes keep dropping to the way his hair frames his face, to the exposed collarbones, to the smirk playing on his lips. You want to stay mad, to lecture him properly, but he is right there looking like every dirty thought you have ever had about him comes to life. “Geto, please. This is serious. People are getting hurt because of what you are building.”

He pouts, full lips pushing out in a devastating way, head tilting so his loose hair brushes your shoulder. “Always scolding me. It makes me sad.” 

Then he reaches up, pulls the tie from his hair completely, and lets all those long, dark strands tumble down around his shoulders. He runs his fingers through it slowly, arching his back just a bit so the movement pulls his shirt tighter across his chest. The act is pure slut, shameless and beautiful, and you cannot stop staring. Your face feels hot. Your mouth is dry. You are losing so bad.

Suguru notices and he manages to lean even closer. “You like it when I let it down, don’t you?” His hand slides higher up your thigh, squeezing gently, possessive but teasing. The heat from his palm burns through your clothes. 

“Geto, no.” You’re trying, you’re really trying but it just sounds terribly pathetic.

“Drink with me. Let me take care of you tonight instead of fighting.”

You try to pull your thoughts together, but he shifts again, pressing his chest lightly against your arm so you feel how solid he is. His hair smells amazing, every time he moves it fans across your skin like silk. 

“The… the damage…” you mumble, but it comes out weak, almost a whine. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against you.

“Shh. Just look at me for a second.” He turns fully toward you, one leg hooking over yours under the table, he looks like he’s about to straddle your lap right there. He bites his lower lip while watching your reaction. “See how much I want you here? I dressed like this hoping you would show up and get all flustered exactly like you are right now. Pathetic for me, aren’t you?”

Your brain melts. You cannot even deny it. He is too much. Too hot, too close, too good at playing you like this. His fingers trail up your arm now, light and teasing, stopping just below your collar. “Just one drink. Touch me if you want. I won’t stop you.” His voice drops, filthy and sweet all at once. “I have been thinking about your hands in my hair all week.”

You are gone. Completely lost in the sight of him like this, hair down and messy, body pressed against yours, eyes dark with want. Every serious word you came here with is crumbling away under the weight of how badly you need him right now. Suguru smiles, he knows he has already won, lips hovering inches from yours, waiting for you to finally give in.

You stumble back to the school sometime after midnight, legs still shaky and your mind a complete mess. The bar feels like a fever dream now. You lost so bad.

Now you are slumped on the old couch in the common room, staring at the wall. Your face feels warm every time you remember how easily he broke you down, you melted the second he let that long hair down and started grinding against your thigh under the table. Regret and embarrassment hit in waves. You were supposed to talk sense into him. Instead you let Suguru Geto seduce you like a complete loser and you loved every second of it.

Footsteps echo down the hall, you don’t even look up. Gojo walks in, hands in his pockets, that blindfold pushed up on his head. He stops right in front of the couch and just stares at you for a long moment. You know you look wrecked as Gojo lets out a low whistle.

“Damn,” he says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Look at you. Regretting every last decision.”

You groan and cover your face with both hands, sinking deeper into the couch. You feel pathetic. Hot and pathetic. 

“I told ya,” Gojo continues, flopping down on the arm of the couch. “I fucking told you not to go. But nooo, you just had to call me a weak ass and march in there like you could handle him.”

You peek through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Shut up, Satoru.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your suffering. “Did he do the hair thing? He always does the hair thing. Gets me every time.”

You don’t answer, but the way you shift on the couch and press your thighs together gives it away.

Gojo leans closer, poking your shoulder. “Hey, at least you lasted longer than me last time. I came back after twenty minutes. You were gone for hours.” He pauses, then smirks again. “So… you gonna go back tomorrow or what? Because we both know you will.”

You bury your face back in your hands, but when you close your eyes: Suguru’s smile, his touch, the way he looked at you. Yeah. You are so screwed. And the worst part is, some stupid part of you is already thinking about the next time.

“Do you think that if we go together we could get him?” you suggest, letting your hands down and resting your head in the back of the couch. 

Satoru imitates your position, hands folding in his lap while he thinks about it. “I mean, we definitely can handle him together. Right?”

“I think we could.”

Satoru looks at you. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

a/n: look at you being a loser for a man

You keep smoking, the cherry of your cigarette glowing softly in the dark as you exhale a slow cloud of smoke into the warm summer air. The breeze feels nice against your skin, making the thin fabric of your nightgown shift and cling in all the right places. Shoko had already disappeared inside the building, but her little smile and the way her gaze lingered on your chest still replay in your head. Weird girl. Cute, though.

A few minutes pass. You sip your wine, letting the cool glass rest against your lips, when your phone buzzes on the windowsill. You glance down, expecting maybe a spam text or something from a friend. Instead, it’s from an unknown number. But you know who it is. You swapped numbers that night at the bar, back when the flirting felt light and fun and you had no idea she lived right across the hall.

The message is a video. Your thumb hovers for a second before you tap play, keeping the volume low just in case.

The screen fills with Shoko’s face first. She’s in what looks like her own bedroom, dim lighting, messy sheets behind her. Her dark brown hair is loose, falling over one shoulder, and she stares straight into the camera with a lazy smile. “Hey…” she whispers, voice a little breathy. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you at the window. Your nipples looked so pretty poking through that dress.”

Then the camera tilts down. She’s lying back on her bed, legs spread, completely naked. Her fingers are already between her thighs, sliding slowly over her pussy, glistening a little under the lamp light. She lets out a soft sigh as she circles her clit, hips twitching just enough to show how into it she is. “Mmm… wanted to tell you in person but this is easier. Look how wet you made me just from that little peek.”

The video keeps going, her fingers moving faster, dipping inside herself with wet sounds that make your face heat up. She moans quietly, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Come over if you want. Or keep watching. I don’t mind either way… your tits are still on my mind.”

It ends there, the screen freezing on her flushed expression.

You stare at your phone for a long moment, heart beating quicker than it should. Part of you wants to be offended, even harassed but the other part can’t ignore the rush spreading through your body, nipples tightening again like they know they’re being thought about.

Before you can even decide what to do, another text pops up. Just three words.

3ºA. Door’s unlocked. 

You bite your lip, glancing toward the widow to gather your thoughts. You could ignore it. Pretend you never saw the video. Or—

You take one last drag of your cigarette, crush it out and set the wine glass down. Your bare feet pad across the floor as you grab a light robe, though you don’t bother tying it too tight. It takes you less than a minute to get to her door, you don’t even bother knocking.

You keep smoking, the cherry of your cigarette glowing softly in the dark as you exhale a slow cloud of smoke into the warm summer air. The breeze feels nice against your skin, making the thin fabric of your nightgown shift and cling in all the right places. Shoko had already disappeared inside the building, but her little smile and the way her gaze lingered on your chest still replay in your head. Weird girl. Cute, though.

A few minutes pass. You sip your wine, letting the cool glass rest against your lips, when your phone buzzes on the windowsill. You glance down, expecting maybe a spam text or something from a friend. Instead, it’s from an unknown number. But you know who it is. You swapped numbers that night at the bar, back when the flirting felt light and fun and you had no idea she lived right across the hall.

The message is a video. Your thumb hovers for a second before you tap play, keeping the volume low just in case.

The screen fills with Shoko’s face first. She’s in what looks like her own bedroom, dim lighting, messy sheets behind her. Her dark brown hair is loose, falling over one shoulder, and she stares straight into the camera with a lazy smile. “Hey…” she whispers, voice a little breathy. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you at the window. Your nipples looked so pretty poking through that dress.”

Then the camera tilts down. She’s lying back on her bed, legs spread, completely naked. Her fingers are already between her thighs, sliding slowly over her pussy, glistening a little under the lamp light. She lets out a soft sigh as she circles her clit, hips twitching just enough to show how into it she is. “Mmm… wanted to tell you in person but this is easier. Look how wet you made me just from that little peek.”

The video keeps going, her fingers moving faster, dipping inside herself with wet sounds that make your face heat up. She moans quietly, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Come over if you want. Or keep watching. I don’t mind either way… your tits are still on my mind.”

It ends there, the screen freezing on her flushed expression.

You stare at your phone for a long moment, heart beating quicker than it should. Part of you wants to be offended, even harassed but the other part can’t ignore the rush spreading through your body, nipples tightening again like they know they’re being thought about.

Before you can even decide what to do, another text pops up. Just three words.

3ºA. Door’s unlocked. 

You bite your lip, glancing toward the widow to gather your thoughts. You could ignore it. Pretend you never saw the video. Or—

You take one last drag of your cigarette, crush it out and set the wine glass down. Your bare feet pad across the floor as you grab a light robe, though you don’t bother tying it too tight. It takes you less than a minute to get to her door, you don’t even bother knocking.