Xue-li

Just this morning, before he went to university to prepare for the match, he’d insisted for you to wear his away-jersey instead. And unlike the team’s usual navy blue uniform, the away jersey was predominantly white with navy blue accents— a design the team rarely wore. So it stood out effortlessly in the crowd of navy blues filling the stadium, and across your back were the words:

BAKUGOU       10

“Wear this.”

“Your away-jersey?”

“People should know who you’re cheerin’ for.”

“Maybe I should scream your name while I’m at it.”

“Good. I should hear it when I’m on the other side.”

“I’m joking—”

“And I’m not.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by the sudden thunderous cheers of the crowd. Your eyes drifted towards the left stadium entrance just as the Yuuei soccer team jogged onto the field and towards the bench area.

At the very front of the group was Katsuki. The captain’s armband clung to his beefy left arm, while a black headband pushed his ash-blond hair away from his face— and he looked insanely hot. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one who noticed.

“Bakugou looks so hot!”

“I’d let him yell at me.”

“I heard he has a girlfriend.”

“That’s right— it’s me.”

“You wish!”

“Sorry girls, but I'm the girlfriend.”

The group burst into laughter, joking among themselves, and the three of you heard every word.

“Oh… if only they knew.” Mina murmured while you simply smiled to yourself.

As the team gathered near the bench for the coach’s final instructions, Katsuki’s eyes drifted towards the stands, sweeping across countless faces looking for someone. And when his eyes landed on you, he smiled— clearly satisfied with you wearing his jersey.

“Did you see that?”

“Oh my god!”

“He smiled at me!”

“No! He smiled at me.”

“He was totally looking at me.”

“I literally made eye contact with him.”

“I told you I’m the girlfriend!”

Mina and Kyoka beside you snickered while you bit the inside of your cheek just to keep yourself from laughing. 

As the match started, a sharp whistle echoed throughout the stadium, and the crowd erupted into cheers as both teams rushed into action. The ball moved swiftly from one player to another, then a clean pass found its way to Katsuki.

And without thinking— you stood up from your seat.

“GO KATSUKI!”

Several nearby students glanced your way, especially the group of girls sitting behind you.

“Did she just call him Katsuki?”

“How dare she!”

“Who is she to use his given name like that?”

Mina slowly turned her head just enough to glare at them before looking back at you.

“Don’t mind them.”

“They’re just gonna embarrass themselves.” Kyoka said, already looking annoyed by the group of girls.

If only they knew.

You ignored them simply because they had no idea you were the actual girlfriend. After all, this was the first game of the season— first official match with Katsuki as the team captain. It’s also the first match you attended as his girlfriend. Not a lot of people knew about your relationship yet.

Unfortunately, just because you ignored them, doesn’t mean the comments were going to stop.

“The audacity to wear an away-jersey too.”

“I bet she had that customized.”

“Exactly! Since the university only sells navy-blue ones.”

“That’s so delulu of her.”

Kyoka, sitting beside you, looked like she was seconds away from standing up.

“Just say the word, I’ll punch them.”

“Kyoka, it’s fine—”

You simply smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the field. No amount of whispering from strangers was going to ruin your excitement over watching Katsuki. If anything, it only made you cheer louder.

“GO ON DARLING!”

After more than 90 minutes of the match, the final whistle rang across the stadium, followed by the explosion of cheers from the home crowd. 

Yuuei had won. 

Students cheered loudly while waving their banners in celebration. The Yuuei team players gathered near the bench, patting one another on the back and pulling each other for a hug. Katsuki joined in the celebration, accepting the congratulations with his signature smug smirk, clearly satisfied with the way their team won— in pure dominance.

Without a hint of embarrassment, you shouted as loudly as you could.

“THAT’S MY HONEY!”

Mina immediately burst into laughter while Kyoka just snickered beside you. They both knew you shouted just to rile up the girls who have been talking shit about you the whole game.

“She’s never gonna stop, is she?”

“I’m so embarrassed for her.”

“She really thinks she’s Bakugou’s girlfriend.”

“Even I could never.”

You ignored them for the hundredth time, too busy being happy with Yuuei’s victory to care.

As the team finished celebrating together, the players turned towards the crowd and thanked everyone who supported them before making their way back to their locker room.

And instead of following his team, Katsuki broke away and jogged towards your direction.

“Hold on…”

“He’s coming over here.”

“Oh my god!”

Within seconds, the group of girls frantically reached out for their make up kits, reapplying their blushes and lipsticks while hurriedly fixing their hair, desperate to look their very best for Katsuki.

Your Katsuki.

“How do I look?”

“Is my collar crooked?”

“Fix my stray hairs please!”

“I told you he was smiling at us!”

“He totally saw how pretty we are.”

The moment Katsuki reached your section, you stepped away from your seat and walked towards the railing. Katsuki waited for you on the other side of the barrier, one hand casually resting on the railing as he slightly looked up to you.

“So…” A faint smile tugged at his lips, “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Of course!” You nodded excitedly while smiling at him. “You were so cool out there.”

His signature smug smirk only grew.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly while raising a brow at you. “Where’s my congratulations kiss?”

“In here?!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Haah… seriously.” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes at him. 

Despite your initial embarrassment, you leaned over the railing anyway, gently cupped his cheek before giving a quick kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away, you saw Katsuki with his grin even wider than before. Not giving a single care to anyone who watched him kiss his girlfriend.. In fact, it only inflated his ego knowing everyone had witnessed it.

Behind you, the group of girls stood frozen in shock, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Mina and Kyoka, on the other hand, are exchanging amused glances with each other, just watching everything unfold.

“...No way.”

“No fucking way.”

“Did she just…”

“Kissed Bakugou?!”

“That should have been me.”

“Do you think she heard all of that?”

Kyoka just burst into laughter, finally giving up trying to hold it in while Mina looked back at the girls with a grin.

“You bet we did!

All that endless chatter, Katsuki heard every single one of it. He glanced past your shoulder towards the group behind you. A smirk painted his face as he pieced together what had been happening all game.

Then he drifted his attention back to you and without sparing a moment, pulled you closer over the railing.

“Wait, Katsu—”

Before you could finish, Katsuki kissed you again, much longer than the first kiss you gave him. Long enough for your blood to rise up to your cheeks, and especially long enough for those girls behind you to finally realize how wrong they had been.

And when he was fully satisfied, Katsuki pulled away.

“Maybe that’ll shut them up.”

爆豪 勝己 — back to the main masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖🫧

(⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡ taglist for anything katsuki: @moritas-tiny-theatre @yoloforlifeee

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © my hero academia, horikoshi. © middle artwork, oroshi_mi from twitter. KACCHARINE — anything in here is written by me. do not copy, feed to ai, or repost anywhere.

he climbs onto the bed and up close he smells exactly like you imagine—expensive cologne, faint beer, and warm skin. his body is hot against yours as he settles between your thighs, muscular arms on either side of your head.

when he leans down to kiss you, it is surprisingly soft at first and then hungry, tongue teasing yours while one big hand slides down your side to squeeze your hip.

you gasp when his fingers find you already slick. he groans low in his throat. “fuck, you’re so wet for me already…”

two long fingers press in, stretching you carefully, and something tells you he knows exactly how big he is because he takes his time, watching your face with hooded eyes, murmuring praise against your neck.

“that’s it… relax for me, pretty girl.”

by the time he lines himself up, you are trembling with nerves and want. he pushes forward—slow, so slow. the blunt, thick head presses against your entrance, hot and heavy. you feel every inch of that first stretch, the burn of it making you whimper.

“is it in already?” you breathe after a few seconds.

satoru lets out a strangled laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “it’s only the tip, baby.”

“only the tip?!” you are going to die. you are so going to die. the pressure is already insane—full, overwhelming, deliciously too much. you can feel the heat of him, the slight throb, the way your body tries so hard to adjust around him.

he pushes forward another inch and you both moan. sweat beads on his forehead, sliding down his temples. his abs tighten with every shallow thrust, that white happy trail brushing against your stomach.

“shit—you’re so tight,” he hisses. “feels so fucking good… but i don’t wanna hurt you.”

you grip at his biceps, nails digging into hard muscle. “you’re huge, satoru. has anyone ever told you that?”

“yeah. you—like five times already.”

“because i feel like i’m being split open by a damn baseball bat!”

he chokes on a laugh, hips stuttering. the movement pushes him a little deeper and your eyes flutter shut at the overwhelming fullness. every tiny shift sends sparks through you—the drag of his thickness, the way he fills you so completely it feels like he is touching places no one ever has.

“stop making me laugh,” he whines, but he is grinning. “you’re gonna make me slip and then we’ll both be in trouble.”

“slip?! if you slip any more we’re gonna have to call an ambulance.”

“god, i like you. this is the least sexy sex i’ve ever had and i’m having the best time.”

another clumsy, careful thrust. he bottoms out halfway and has to pause, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. his cock twitches inside you, so hot and heavy you whimper. one of his hands slides down to rub slow circles over your clit, trying to help you relax while his body stays tense with restraint.

“you’re doing so good. taking me so pretty… look at you.”

you are equal parts mortified and insanely turned on. this is the clumsiest, most awkward sex you have ever had—full of giggles and curses and satoru’s muttered coaching (“easy, big guy, she’s tiny”)—and somehow it is perfect.

he kisses you again, messy and sweet, then rocks forward once more. “still regret coming home with me?” he teases, lips brushing your ear.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him just a little deeper, and laugh breathlessly. “ask me again when you’re actually all the way in, gojo.”

The acrid odor of the fruity homemade cocktail on Satoru’s lips shoots through your nose as he traps you and his raven-haired friend on the couch. His body falls on yours with a soft thud, bones hitting lightly. “Too heavy…” you speak sheepishly.

All while this happens, Suguru just holds you close, too sleepy to take action. His grip is tight, but it’s not enough to suffocate you. It’s comforting—warm, just like your dear old Suguru.

His head rests on your shoulder as his long dark mane falls upon your back and his face. The tips of his hair kind of tickle as it brushes over your exposed skin, but you stifle a laugh as reacting will confuse your dumbed brain further. The alcohol’s effects are too strong, and the two men around you are too—much.

You try to push Satoru off, but it’s less of a rejection and more of just an instinctive reaction to your senses being wildly overwhelmed. Their musk, mixed with alcohol and the blood and sweat that comes with being special grade sorcerers.

As you’re preoccupied with your thoughts, Suguru stats to plant slow and sweet kisses on the side of your neck. His lips were warm as it makes a path toward your jaw. “Sugu’..?” you question since he’s usually more tame with you—the gentler of the two men. Your amethyst-eyed best friend only hums in response.

“How ‘bout we play another game?” Satoru suggests with a smug smirk planted on his face. He’s clearly up to no good. “Kiss, marry, kill, okay, baby? That’s easy enough for your cute drunk self, no?”

You nod in response, a bit strained from his weight still being on you and Suguru.

Finally, he lifts himself up with his hands, and you take a deep breath. He laughs. “Are you mocking my weight, princess?”

“What? No!” you try and defend yourself, which he blatantly ignores. He just wants to tease you! Why take it so seriously (he loves when you do)?

He points at your lips. “Kiss,” then your chest, “marry” then right at your cunny, “kill?”

Before he could tell you the options you giggle. God, he finds you so cute. “Why is kill over there?” you quiz.

Satoru chuckles. Not menacing. Not malicious. Just Satoru being Satoru—cheeky, slightly annoying, but yours. “Because your cute little cunt is so perfect that it could kill, no?” he says as a matter of fact.

You flush at his inanely perverse words.

Then, he brings his hands together. Clap! “So, let’s get on with it. Your options are…” He pretends to think deeply. “Suguru, Naoya, orrrr … hm, who could it be?”

He keeps the suspense going for a second too long. It’s not until you pout so cutely that he reveals the last man on your imaginative roster. “Orrrrrrrrrr—me!?”

“Seriously? That’s kind of unfair to Nao-shit!” you mock your bottle blond ex.

“No, it’s perfectly random, baby,” he replies.

Suguru holds you tighter against him as your body shifts. Your ass wiggles over his crotch every time you speak, laugh, or literally do anything in response to Satoru’s stupid sentences.

“Shh, don’t move too much,” Suguru whispers softly in your ear. The warmth of his breath brings life to the warmth that’s been pooling in your stomach since early into the night.

“Sorry, Sugu’,” you apologize, m voice becoming significantly more high pitched like it always was with him. Satoru always teases you for it too!

You couldn’t control wanting to seem cuter around Suguru. He’s just—well, Suguru. Sweet, brooding, and oh so cool! The type of guy everyone wants to be with or be.

“‘Sorry, Sugu’,’” Satoru repeats mockingly, dramatically pitching his voice up. You glare at him in return.

“Feisty, doll.” He snickers as he pinches your cheek. “So then, answer the question.”

You pause for a moment, thinking it over. It was no secret that your sorry excuse for an ex, Nao-shit, would be in kill though.

“Kiss, you. Marry, Suguru. Kill, Naoya,” you answer.

“Marry Suguru?? Why, baby?!” He sulks like a three-year-old toddler not getting what he wants. “I’m taller, prettier, stronger, and richer! The best option there is!”

“But Sugu’ is nicer…” you murmur.

“Nicer? You want nice?”

“Mhm, I’m going to marry a nice guy!” You smile sweetly as you speak—as if announcing to the whole world that you’re engaged to one of the only special grade curse users.

“You’re going to marry me…” Suguru mutters against your skin.

Satoru pouts and pokes your stomach instead. “Guess I’ll have to settle with a fuck then, no?”

“A fuck…?”

“Yeah, fuck, marry, kill,” he restates. “Just like I said earlier. Weren’t you listening, pretty? That makes your dear best friend a little sad…” Satoru exaggerates a frown.

“You said kiss, marry, kill!” you retort.

“Mm, shhh, baby.” He puts his index finger over your plump lips to hush your running mouth. “You’re just too drunk to remember properly.”

In one swift motion, he steals you from the barely-holding-on Suguru and carries you to his room. “How about Sugu’…?” you squeak. “Why? Do you want him to watch you get ruined?”

You make a weak sound in response to his mocking.

“Oh? You like that, huh?” he smirks. “I’ll pull him in after I tie you up.”

And… that’s all she wrote. You can barely remember anything. Though, waking up next to your two closest friends, shirtless with their hair and yours disheveled, makes connecting the dots a whole lot easier.

You cover your face with your hands, feeling a certain tint of red wash over your entire body in embarrassment. “What the fuck did we do…?” you ask yourself in shame and a sprinkle of arousal.

You got really good at not looking for Dean.

Apparently, that was a skill. Something you could practice between classes, in the dining hall, and on the walk across campus, when the cold bit at your cheeks and every tall blond guy in a Briar jacket made your stomach drop before your brain caught up.

Don't look. Don't check. Don't think about it.

By the third day, you'd almost convinced yourself it was working.

Almost.

The problem was that Dean Di Laurentis had never been easy to ignore, even before you knew what he looked like half-asleep in expensive sheets, even before you knew the sound of his voice when he was trying not to say something too honest, even before you knew how his hands felt when the pretending stopped feeling like pretending.

Before all of that, he was just Dean: annoying, cocky, charming in the most irritating way — the kind of guy who walked into rooms like he already knew everyone would forgive him.

Now he was still Dean, only you knew too much. You knew what he looked like in a suit with his family watching. You knew how he said sweetheart when he wanted to get under your skin, and how he said your name when he wasn't joking anymore; how warm his palm felt at the small of your back, how quiet he got when something mattered, and how easy it had been to forget the whole thing had started with rules.

That was the worst part — not the fact that it had ended. That part made sense. Fake things were supposed to end; deals ran out, weekends ended, and people went back to their lives. Eventually, the story became something you could think about without feeling stupid for having believed any of it.

No, what you hated most was how real it had felt before you found out it wasn't.

It's not real. We had a deal.

The sentence had settled inside you in the days after, stubborn and ugly, replaying every time you started to soften; every time your phone lit up and some traitorous part of you hoped it was him; every time you remembered the look on his face at the diner, how he'd tried to make you stay, how he'd looked almost hurt when you wouldn't let him close.

Almost.

That word was starting to feel dangerous. Almost real. Almost enough.

You were tired of almost.

So when Allie dropped into the chair across from you at lunch, wearing a face that was trying very hard to look casual and failing immediately, you knew you should've gotten up and left.

You didn't — that was your first mistake.

Hannah sat beside her two seconds later, coffee in hand, wearing the exact expression she got when she'd already decided what was best for someone and was waiting for them to agree.

That was your second warning.

"No," you said immediately.

Allie blinked, thrown. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"You've the face."

"I've more than one face."

"You've the one that means you're about to make your problem my problem."

Hannah took a sip of her coffee. "She's not making anything your problem."

"Thank you," Allie said.

"We're," Hannah finished for her.

You just stared at them. Allie smiled like that helped. It didn't.

"No," you repeated, picking up your fork.

"You don't even know what we're asking yet."

"It's about Dean."

They both went quiet.

There it was.

You put the fork down. "I knew it."

Something in Hannah's expression softened. "This doesn't have to be about him."

You laughed once, without any humor. "Everything is about him when you two look at me like that."

Allie leaned in, elbows on the table. "There's a game tonight."

"No."

"You love hockey."

"I tolerate hockey."

"You've yelled at refs."

"I'm a complicated person."

"And," Allie went on, ignoring you, "We already have tickets."

"Great. Have fun."

"We already got you a ticket."

"Tell my empty seat to enjoy itself."

Hannah said your name, quiet enough that it landed differently.

You looked away first.

That was the problem with Hannah: she didn't push the way Allie did, not exactly. She just saw too much, and sometimes being seen felt worse than being argued with.

"You haven't gone out all week," she said.

"I've been out."

"To class."

"That still counts."

"And the library."

"That counts too."

"Yesterday, you went out for coffee and came straight back to the dorm."

"I was supporting a local business."

Allie shot you a look. "The local business is on campus."

"Exactly. Even more local."

"You can't stay hidden forever," she reminded you gently.

"I'm not hiding."

Allie's face made it clear she didn't believe you; Hannah's made it clear she wished she could.

You looked down at your food, your appetite gone. Around you, the dining hall carried on as if nothing had happened. A group of girls laughed at the next table; a tray clattered to the floor near the drink station. Outside, students passed the windows in winter coats and Briar scarves, heading somewhere, doing things, existing with the kind of ease that felt personally offensive.

You were fine before Dean — not perfect, not untouchable, but fine. Then one weekend had rearranged everything, and now your friends were looking at you like you needed to be coaxed back into the world.

"I don't want to see him," you admitted.

The honesty quieted the table.

Allie's straw stilled between her fingers.

Hannah's face softened into something careful. "Okay."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"No, you don't." Your voice stayed low, but something in it cracked anyway. "Because if I go and he sees me, he'll do that thing where he looks at me like I'm the unreasonable one. Like he has no idea why I won't just talk to him. And I can't..."

You stopped and swallowed hard.

"I can't handle that tonight."

Allie's face softened in a way you hated, because it made you feel mean for being hurt.

"We won't make you talk to him," she promised.

It

"You can't promise me that."

"No," Hannah said softly. "But we can promise you won't have to be alone."

Somehow, that was worse. That was what got under your ribs, because you'd been alone with it — not literally, maybe. You had Hannah and Allie, and they knew enough to know you were hurt, but not enough to know everything: not the way your stomach still dropped when you remembered Dean's voice through the door, not the way you'd walked away before hearing whatever came after, not the ugly, stubborn part of you that wondered if maybe there had been something after all.

You hated that part, too, because it sounded too much like hope.

"I don't have anything to wear," you admitted at last.

Allie's eyes lit up so fast you regretted saying anything.

Hannah hid her smile behind her coffee.

You pointed between them. "That wasn't a yes."

"It sounded like a yes," Allie decided.

"It sounded like a wardrobe issue," Hannah corrected.

"That's close enough to a yes."

"I hate you both."

Allie only grinned. "We know."

You looked between them, then down at your untouched lunch, then out the window, where the sky had already started to darken over campus.

A hockey game. Dean, out there on the ice, in his element — easy and bright and impossible not to watch. Your throat tightened at the thought, but you exhaled slowly.

"Fine," you relented. "But I'm not wearing his jersey."

Allie opened her mouth, but you pointed at her before she could argue. "Don't."

She closed it.

Hannah gave a solemn nod. "No jersey."

"And I'm not sitting anywhere near the glass."

"No glass," Allie agreed quickly.

"And if he so much as looks at me—"

"He's on skates," Allie pointed out. "You've the advantage."

You just stared at her.

She smiled, entirely unashamed. "Emotionally."

Despite yourself, a laugh slipped out — small, rusty, almost gone before it started, but real enough for Hannah to notice.

For Allie to notice, too.

Neither of them said anything about it, which was probably why you let them drag you to the game three hours later.

***

By the time you got there, the rink was already buzzing — not full yet, but close enough for the building to feel charged with pre-game energy: sneakers on concrete, music thumping through the speakers, people calling to each other over the noise, the sharp cold of the ice drifting up into the stands and slipping under your jacket.

You hated the part of you that had missed the rink and all its easy chaos: the students in Briar colors, the familiar smell of popcorn, cold air, and old rubber mats, the stupid energy of a home game where everyone seemed to believe that yelling at college boys on skates could change the course of the universe.

Allie looped her arm through yours the second you slowed near the entrance.

"Just keep walking."

"I'm walking."

"You stopped."

"I hesitated."

"Very dramatically."

"I'm absorbing the atmosphere."

"You're looking for him."

You turned slowly to look at her. Allie met your stare without an ounce of shame.

"I'm not," you lied.

Hannah, on your other side, made a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like disagreement.

You looked over at her. "You too?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You had a tone."

"What tone?" Hannah asked, all innocence.

"You're both terrible."

"And yet," Allie said, steering you toward the stairs, "here you are, being enriched by friendship."

"This feels like kidnapping."

"Emotionally enriching kidnapping."

"You need help."

"Probably."

The corner of your mouth twitched before you could stop it. You hated how good they were at this — not fixing it, because nothing felt fixed, but keeping you moving just enough that you didn't turn around and walk back out before the game even started; keeping your hands busy with a soda you didn't remember agreeing to, your body tucked between theirs like they knew that if they gave you too much space, you might disappear into it.

To their credit, the seats were nowhere near the glass; you checked immediately.

Allie caught you checking and rolled her eyes. "Relax. We're far enough away that he won't hear you if you call him an asshole."

"I'm not calling him an asshole."

"Look at you."

"I might think it."

"Fair."

Hannah sat down first, then patted the seat beside her. "You sit in the middle."

"Of course I'm."

"It's strategic," Allie explained, dropping into the seat on your other side. "Makes it harder for you to flee."

"Criminals surround me."

"You're surrounded by people who love you."

"That sounds like something criminals would say."

Allie only grinned and stole a sip of your soda.

You settled into your seat and tried very hard to look like someone who wasn't already searching the ice.

The team wasn't out yet. The Zamboni made its final slow pass, the steady rhythm almost hypnotic as it left the ice gleaming beneath the lights. Students filtered into the stands, the band warmed up somewhere behind you, and a couple of rows down, a group of guys was already arguing about whether tonight's game would be close.

You looked everywhere except the tunnel.

For a full three minutes, you managed it—then the lights shifted, the music swelled, and the first Briar players burst onto the ice.

Around you, the crowd rose to its feet. You did too, mostly because Allie grabbed your elbow and hauled you up with her.

The team burst onto the ice in a blur of white and navy, skates carving across the fresh surface as sticks tapped and helmets flashed beneath the arena lights.

You spotted Garrett first because, somehow, he always looked like the game had been built around him. He circled once with easy confidence before drifting toward the boards to bump gloves with Logan.

Tucker came next, already laughing at something one of the guys had said, and then Dean skated out.

Your stomach dropped anyway, so hard it was almost embarrassing.

It wasn't some dramatic, heart-stopping moment. There was no instant when he looked up and found you, no movie scene when he skated onto the ice and the world seemed to stop around him.

He was just there, pushing off from the tunnel, tall and fast and unfairly at home in his own body, his helmet sitting low, his shoulders loose, his stick hanging from one hand as though it weighed nothing.

Dean on campus had always been the loudest, who made people look. Dean on the ice was somehow even worse.

Because on the ice, there was no performance. No lazy grin, no easy flirting, no pretending he didn't care. He moved like he knew exactly where he belonged, every line, turn, and quick stop coming before thought. He came alive out there, locked in and effortless in the way only years of unseen work could make someone look.

You hated him a little for looking so beautiful in the one place you were trying not to love him.

Allie leaned in. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"That was the least believable 'yeah' I've ever heard."

"I'm trying to watch the game."

"The game's not even on yet."

"I'm watching warmups."

"Right. You're here strictly for the sport."

You ignored her because Dean turned near center ice, and for one terrifying second, you thought he was going to look up.

He didn't.

Instead, he fired a puck to Garrett, took the return cleanly, and snapped it toward the net. The sharp crack echoed through the arena, drawing cheers from the crowd even though it was only warm-ups.

Your grip tightened around your soda. Hannah noticed but didn't say anything. That was one of the reasons you loved her.

Warm-ups passed in a blur. You watched despite yourself, your gaze finding Dean whenever he drifted into view before you forced yourself to look away again. He looked completely normal, maybe a little quieter than usual whenever the guys gathered near the bench, though that could just as easily have been your imagination—or the pathetic part of you that needed proof he was hurting too.

Then Garrett leaned over and said something you couldn't hear, and Dean glanced up—not at you, but at Garrett instead.

Garrett tipped his head toward the stands.

Your heart lurched.

Dean turned his head without any urgency, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

His gaze swept across the section, quick and casual, like he expected to move on just as quickly. It caught on Allie, moved to Hannah, and finally settled on you.

Everything inside you went still.

Dean went still. Only for a second—probably less. His skates kept him drifting, his stick still loose in one hand, but something in his expression changed; not much, because Dean was too good at hiding what he felt in public for that. But the smile he'd been wearing—the easy one he used with the guys, with the crowd, with everyone who didn't know where to look for the cracks—faded.

His eyes stayed on yours. You hated that the question in them was still so easy to read, even from across the arena.

You actually came.

You looked away first.

Coward.

Maybe. Lately, survival had started to feel a lot like cowardice.

Allie's knee bumped yours, gentle but deliberate. "Breathe."

"I'm breathing."

"Barely."

You drew in a slow breath and stared at the ice as though the lines had suddenly become fascinating.

When you looked back, Dean had already turned away. Garrett wasn't watching you. He was watching Dean.

Dean said something you couldn't hear, and although Garrett's expression didn't change, something in his posture did, if only a little—the way it always did when he caught something everyone else had missed and silently weighed whether to step in.

Perfect. As if this day wasn't already hard enough.

A whistle cut through the arena, signaling the end of warm-ups.

Dean skated toward the bench with the rest of the team, but just before disappearing down the tunnel, he looked back. Not for long—just once, just enough to make your throat tighten.

Hannah leaned in, her voice quiet beneath the noise of the crowd. "We can go if you want."

You shook your head before you could think better of it. "No."

Allie raised an eyebrow. "You sure?

You swallowed before answering, your pulse still refusing to settle even though Dean had disappeared down the tunnel.

"No," you repeated, more quietly this time. "We're already here."

Hannah nodded without a smile, letting it go. Beside her, Allie looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

You appreciated it anyway.

A few minutes later, the teams returned for the opening faceoff. This time, you told yourself, you were ready.

Dean took his place for the opening faceoff, rolling his shoulders once as though he were trying to shake something off. Garrett said something to him before skating to his own position. Dean nodded, but before turning his attention back to the ice, his gaze found yours one last time.

The puck dropped.

For the first few minutes, Dean looked like himself again—fast, sharp, and clean. He absorbed hits, gave them back, moved the puck with effortless precision, and shouted something to Logan before cutting across the ice like nothing existed beyond the game.

For a while, the game was enough. Then Dean missed a pass. Not badly, not enough for anyone around you to react.

But Garrett did.

His attention snapped back to Dean.

Dean recovered quickly, skating hard to force the other player wide, but you caught the hesitation—that split second when he seemed to be somewhere else. The tiny gap between seeing the play and reacting to it—a gap Dean rarely had, and one that made your stomach twist.

Besides you, Allie went still.

"You saw that too?" she asked.  You nodded without looking away from the ice.

Hannah kept her voice low. "Maybe it was nothing."

"Maybe," you echoed

On the ice, Dean circled back toward the bench, his jaw tight. Garrett skated past him, and Dean said something quick and sharp.

The game went on. So did Dean.

But now you couldn't stop looking for the cracks.

Garrett didn't take his eyes off him. You could tell. Most people in the arena would've missed it. Dean was still skating hard, making clean defensive plays and throwing his weight into battles along the boards like he always had. But Garrett wasn't watching the game anymore. He was watching Dean.

Every time Dean came back to the bench, Garrett leaned over to say something. Dean replied, Garrett answered, and a second later, they were moving again before anyone else could wonder what had passed between them.

After that, the first period settled into its usual rhythm. The crowd cheered every big play, the band never stopped playing, and somewhere behind you, someone kept yelling at the referee with the confidence of someone who had clearly never worn a pair of skates.

On any other day, it would've made you smile. Tonight, every whistle drew your eyes back to Briar's bench.

Dean sat at the end of the bench, his helmet tipped back as the assistant coach spoke to the defensemen. Whatever he was saying barely seemed to register. Instead, Dean's gaze drifted past the ice and into the stands.

You looked away before his eyes could find yours again.

"You're doing it again," Allie murmured.

You glanced at her, frowning. "Doing what?"

"Looking away before he even has the chance to see you."

"I wasn't."

"Oh, you absolutely were."

"I was watching the game."

"You've watched about twelve seconds of hockey."

"I've watched more than that."

Hannah hid a smile behind her coffee cup.

"You actually counted?"

"I got bored."

"You've been sitting right next to me this whole time."

"So have you."

"Unfortunately."

Allie nudged your shoulder with hers.

"You know," she said softly, "he doesn't look okay."

The words caught you off guard.

"What do you mean?"

She tipped her chin toward the bench. "I've known Dean for years."

"So have I."

"No." Allie shook her head. "You've known the version of Dean he lets everyone see."

"And you haven't?"

"I've known him after losses."

She let the words settle between you.

You didn't have one.

"I've seen him after breakups."

You still didn't.

"I've seen him frustrated, angry, exhausted—even hungover..."

You looked back before you could stop yourself.

Allie's expression softened. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty."

"It kind of feels like you're."

"I'm saying it because I've never seen him like this."

Your eyes found the bench again before you could stop them.

Dean leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs while the coaches talked over a tablet. Garrett murmured something to him, and Dean nodded without ever looking his way.

If you hadn't been watching him so closely, you might've missed it too.

He wasn't distracted by hockey. He was holding on to it.

Your stomach clenched. Hannah's eyes followed yours to the bench.

"He hasn't really been himself this week," she admitted quietly.

Your eyes found hers. "You've seen him this week?"

She nodded. "A little."

"And?"

She hesitated. You had your answer before she spoke.

"And?" you prompted gently.

"He keeps asking if you've talked to any of us."

Your eyes dropped to your lap.

"He even asked Garrett once," Allie added. "He asked me twice."

"And Hannah?"

"Three."

Warmth crept up your neck. "That's... ridiculous."

"It's."

"He could've just..." You trailed off.

"What?"

A quiet, bitter laugh escaped you. "He knows where I live."

Neither of them said anything because all three of you knew why. Dean had never hesitated to show up before, and the fact that he hadn't this time told its own story. You hated that you understood it.

The buzzer sounded to end the first period, sending the players back to their locker rooms. Around you, people were already on their feet, conversations replacing cheers as they drifted toward the concession stands.

Allie stretched her arms over her head.

"Popcorn?"

Hannah nodded. Both of them looked at you.

"I'm staying."

"We figured."

"We'll be right back."

You nodded, grateful for the chance to breathe without anyone watching you for a little while.

The seats around you emptied surprisingly quickly as students chatted and laughed on their way up the stairs. A few rows down, someone knocked over a drink, drawing a chorus of groans before the laughter picked up again. Out on the ice, the mascot skated lazy circles while arena staff got everything ready for the second period.

You leaned back in your seat and let out a slow breath.

Maybe coming here had been a mistake. Not because Dean had said anything to you, or because he'd come anywhere near you—he'd done neither. It was because seeing him hurt was somehow worse than wondering how he was doing.

"You came."

The voice came from below, near the tunnel behind the benches. You looked down toward the sound without thinking.

Garrett.

He'd stepped out of the tunnel, his helmet gone now, dragging a towel through his damp hair while talking to one of the assistant coaches.

His gaze lifted to the stands and landed on you. There was no accusation in his expression, no amusement either—only quiet recognition.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, but before you could wave back, Allie reappeared, balancing enough snacks for four people.

"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

"I don't."

Her eyes followed yours. "Oh."

Garrett had already disappeared back into the tunnel.

"What happened?" Hannah asked.

"Garrett." Allie nodded toward the tunnel.

"What about Garrett?"

"He..." You stopped yourself, shaking your head. "Nothing."

Except it wasn't. Garrett had noticed—not everything, but enough. Enough to realize you'd come anyway, enough to notice that Dean had seen you, and enough to understand why Dean had spent most of the first period playing like part of his attention had been fixed on Section 112 instead of the ice.

If even Garrett had figured it out, Dean had probably realized it too somehow, which made the whole night feel even more surreal.

The lights dimmed again as the teams filed back onto the ice.

Allie passed you your drink. "You still okay?"

You wrapped both hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth against your suddenly cold fingers.

"No," you admitted.

After a moment, you looked at her and managed a small smile. "But I'm still here."

The pace picked up as soon as the second period began.

Briar opened the second period with far more jump than they'd had at the end of the first, and for a few shifts, it looked like whatever Garrett had said in the locker room had worked. They kept the pressure on in the offensive zone, Logan nearly buried a rebound, and Tucker brought the crowd to its feet after leveling one of the opposing forwards along the boards.

The arena settled back into its rhythm, and so did the crowd, except Dean. It wasn't obvious, though. That was the worst part.

If you'd asked anyone sitting around you, they would've said Dean was having a good game. One missed pass in forty minutes wasn't enough to raise any eyebrows.

You knew him too well for that.

You knew the way he read the game, how he always seemed one step ahead, already moving toward where the puck was about to be. Tonight, he wasn't reading the play the way he usually did—he was reacting to it. Only by a fraction of a second, but enough to make him look a little less certain. Not enough to change the game. Enough that Garrett caught it every time.

"There," you murmured before you could stop yourself.

Allie glanced at you. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, you said something."

You looked back at the ice. "I didn't mean to."

Dean had just peeled away from the crease after breaking up a scoring chance. Garrett skated up beside him, saying something you couldn't hear through the cage of his helmet. Dean answered without looking at him. Garrett frowned. A second later, the play carried them in opposite directions.

Hannah kept her eyes on the ice. "You weren't imagining it."

"You noticed it too?"

Without looking away from the ice, she nodded. "Garrett hasn't stopped checking on him."

Allie blew out a slow breath. "If anyone's going to notice something's off, it's Garrett."

"He does," you admitted before you could stop yourself.

They both turned to look at you, and you felt your cheeks warm.

"It's just..."

"We know," Hannah said gently. There was no teasing, no knowing smile—only understanding.

The game went on. You tried to watch everyone else. You really did. Logan danced around two defenders before ringing a shot off the post. Tucker was already laughing by the time he peeled himself off the boards, chirping something that earned an eye roll from the opposing forward. Garrett won another faceoff as cleanly as ever.

Normal.

Everything looked so painfully normal. Then Dean took a hard hit. One of the opposing forwards drove him into the end boards hard enough to rattle the glass. It was clean. Just hard.

The crowd reacted with the usual collective noise, somewhere between excitement and sympathy.

A second later, Dean was back on his skates.

It took your heart a little longer to catch up.

Allie glanced at you. "You okay?"

You looked down to find your fingers digging into the cardboard cup, creasing it.

"I'm fine."

"You almost crushed your cup."

"I didn't." A bead of soda slipped over your knuckles. "...Okay. Maybe a little."

Before you could argue, she took the cup from your hands.

"You know," she said gently, "it's okay to worry about him."

"He got right back up."

She looked at you patiently, waiting.

"I just..."

The rest of the sentence never came. How were you supposed to explain it? That you were worried he'd get hurt? He was a defenseman. Taking hits was part of the job.

No. You were worried because your brain had decided every hit was a punishment. Every time he went down, your chest tightened. Every time he went into the boards, it seemed to last half a second too long. As if, somewhere along the way, your mind had convinced itself that loving him meant always waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

The realization made your stomach twist.

On the ice, the whistle blew for offside. Dean skated to the bench for a line change, pulling off his helmet just long enough to rake a hand through his sweat-damp hair before the assistant coach leaned over to say something to him. He nodded on instinct. Then he looked up, and somehow, despite the thousands of people around him, he found you.

For the first time all night, you didn't look away. Neither of you smiled. Neither of you waved. You looked at each other across the arena, separated by hundreds of people who had no idea they were sitting between two people who had never actually said goodbye.

There was no pleading in his expression, no anger either. He just looked tired, like he'd spent the last week replaying the same conversations in his head, searching for an answer that never came.

Another whistle cut through the arena. Dean was the first to look away, sliding his helmet back on before hopping over the boards.

Only then did you realize you'd been holding your breath.

"You love him," Allie said so quietly you almost missed it.

You closed your eyes. "I know."

The words were out before you even realized you'd spoken. There was no defensiveness, no embarrassment—just honesty.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Without saying a word, Hannah reached over and squeezed your hand, not because she thought it would change anything, but because sometimes being there was all anyone could offer.

"You don't have to figure everything out tonight," she said.

"I already did."

"Did you?"

Your gaze dropped to your joined hands.

"I know what I heard."

"Yes."

"I can't pretend I didn't."

"No."

"And if I go back..." You paused, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. "If I let him explain and I was right..."

You couldn't finish the thought. There was no need. Hannah already understood.

"You'd rather live with the pain you know than risk discovering there's worse."

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. "When did you get so smart?"

"I've always been smart."

"No," Allie said, shaking her head. "She's just been dating Garrett for too long."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "He's rubbing off on me."

"That's concerning."

"I know."

The three of you shared a small smile.

The buzzer sounded as another shift began. Dean hopped back over the boards, but this time he didn't glance toward Section 112. He kept his attention on the puck instead.

For nearly three full minutes, his focus never wavered. Garrett seemed to relax a little. So did you.

The moment of calm didn't last.

The opposing winger chipped the puck through the neutral zone, and Dean turned back to chase it down.

Normally, he would've gotten there first without even trying. Tonight, he hesitated—only for a second, but it was enough.

The other player didn't. He gained one stride, then another, closing the distance before Dean could properly brace himself. The hit landed hard enough to echo through the entire arena.

The hit made a sound that had no place in a hockey game—too heavy, too final, like something solid striking something that was never meant to give. The glass rattled, and a collective gasp swept through the crowd.

Dean slammed shoulder-first into the boards and crumpled to the ice. You were on your feet before your mind had even caught up.

"Oh, God." The words escaped on a broken breath.

Players rushed toward him from every direction.

The referee's whistle cut through the arena, and an unnatural silence settled over the building. Garrett reached him first, dropping to one knee at Dean's side while the opposing player was still apologizing to the referee.

Dean stayed down.

Something in your chest seized.

"He'll get up," Allie said, too quickly. "He always does."

You couldn't look away.

Dean had one forearm planted against the ice, but he didn't attempt to push himself up. Garrett leaned close, saying something you couldn't hear as he kept one gloved hand steady on Dean's shoulder. Tucker skated over next and bent low enough to catch Dean's eye.

A trainer hurried onto the ice. Another followed close behind.

The arena had fallen almost completely silent. Only a few scattered voices drifted through the stands, hushed and uncertain, as every eye remained fixed on the small group gathered around Dean.

"Why isn't he getting up?" you whispered.

Nobody answered because no one knew.

Garrett leaned in closer.

After a long moment, Dean gave a single nod.

Relief hit you so hard it almost hurt.

He was awake. He was answering them. He was—

Then Dean tried to stand. The moment he put weight on his skates, pain flashed across his face. He didn't cry out or stumble dramatically—he only swayed enough for Garrett to catch him by the elbow before he lost his balance.

Something in your stomach sank.

"He probably just landed wrong," Hannah said gently.

"It could just be his shoulder."

One of the trainers said something you couldn't make out. Dean rolled his eyes—or at least it looked like he did.

Even from halfway across the arena, you'd recognize it anywhere.

For one ridiculous second, you almost laughed.

Garrett wasn't smiling. He folded his arms across his chest and fixed Dean with a look that said he wasn't buying it for a second.

Then Tucker said something you couldn't make out, but Dean shook his head without hesitation. When the trainer gestured toward the tunnel, Dean looked ready to protest, only for Garrett to reach over and quietly take the stick from his hand. Dean met his eyes; Garrett held his gaze, and whatever passed between them was enough. Dean let out a long breath before giving a single nod and slowly skating toward the bench.

The entire arena rose to its feet in applause. You hated every second of it; it felt like everyone had already decided Dean was okay before anyone actually knew.

Something still felt wrong. His stride was just a little off, his left arm barely moving, every push looking a touch too deliberate.

Garrett never left his side. He wasn't touching him, but he stayed close enough to reach him if he needed to.

"He'll probably just miss a shift," the guy behind you said to his friend.

"Happens all the time," his friend replied.

You wanted to turn around and tell him he didn't know what he was talking about. Instead, all you could do was watch Dean disappear into the tunnel.

He never looked back.

The game restarted. The puck dropped.

You didn't notice.

At some point, someone scored. The arena erupted. It took Allie jumping to her feet, cheering, for you to realize who had scored.

You finally looked away from the tunnel. "What happened?"

"We scored."

"Oh." Your eyes were already drifting back toward the tunnel.

She watched you for a long moment.

"You weren't even watching."

"No."

Hannah kept her eyes on the tunnel, too.

"He should've been back by now."

You followed her gaze without thinking.

Something about the bench had changed. Garrett was back. Logan and Tucker were, too. There were only three defensemen on the bench.

Dean wasn't one of them.

Something was wrong.

Five minutes passed, then seven, but Dean still hadn't come back.

Every time Garrett returned to the bench, his eyes flicked toward the tunnel. Logan wasn't much different, and even Coach Jensen glanced that way more than once.

The longer Dean stayed gone, the harder it became to believe they were only being cautious.

"I can't just sit here."

At your words, Allie turned toward you.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't just wait."

"We don't know what's happening yet."

"I know he should've been back by now."

"That doesn't mean—"

"I know." The words came out quieter than you meant them to. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything, but I can't just..." Your hand lifted toward the ice before falling again. "...keep sitting here."

The final seconds wound down before the buzzer sent the players skating toward the locker room. Garrett was among the last to skate off. Just before disappearing into the tunnel, he looked up toward the stands, his eyes finding yours.

This time, there was no mistaking it. He held your gaze for a beat before giving the smallest tilt of his head toward the tunnel.

The meaning hit you almost instantly.

"Was that..." Allie started.

"You saw that too?"

Hannah gave a slow nod.

"I think he wants you to..."

None of you finished the thought. Around you, the crowd rose for the second intermission and conversation returned to the arena, but the three of you stayed exactly where you were.

"I probably shouldn't," you said.

"I don't think you should," Hannah admitted.

"But?"

"But if I were you..." She met your eyes with a small, understanding smile. "I don't think I could stay here either."

Allie let out an exaggerated sigh. "I hate that you're both being so reasonable."

"I haven't made a decision yet."

"I think you already have."

Your eyes were already back on the tunnel.

By the time you realized what you were doing, your feet were already moving.

"I just want to make sure he's okay."

Allie huffed a quiet laugh.

"Sure."

"I'm."

"I don't believe you for a second."

For the first time all night, you didn't bother pretending otherwise. Whether Garrett had meant it or not, whether you'd read too much into it or not, none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was seeing Dean for yourself.

You slipped into the aisle before either of them could stop you.

"Text us," Allie called after you. You nodded without looking back.

The concourse buzzed with conversation, somehow louder than the arena had been. Students lined up at concession stands, laughing over oversized sodas and paper trays of fries, as though nothing had happened, while you wove through the crowd without slowing.

The closer you got to the tunnel leading toward the locker rooms, the thinner the crowd became.

Eventually, the crowd gave way to arena staff, security guards, and the occasional member of the athletic department, all moving with the quiet confidence of people who belonged there. You walked past them as though you belonged there too.

The question didn't really occur to you until a security guard stepped in front of you.

"Sorry, miss. Team access only."

"I know. It's just... one of the players got hurt, and I..."

He gave a small nod. "I know, miss."

"I just wanted to see if he was okay."

"I'm sorry, but I can't let anyone through."

You couldn't blame him. You weren't family, you weren't media, and you weren't even Dean's fake girlfriend anymore.

You hadn't expected that thought to sting quite so much.

"I won't be long."

"I wish I could help."

You nodded once. "I understand."

You couldn't make yourself walk away.

The guard's expression softened. "You're welcome to wait here."

"Thanks anyway."

It wasn't much, but it was enough. So you waited.

Beyond the security desk, the hallway remained mostly quiet. Trainers moved in and out with equipment bags in hand, while a couple of reserve players walked past, discussing the goal that had tied the game, barely sparing you a glance.

Every time the locker room door opened, your eyes went straight to it. Every time, it was someone else.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Allie: Any updates?

You: Nothing yet.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again before another message came through.

Allie: We're not going anywhere.

The corner of your mouth lifted. They already knew you weren't going anywhere.

"You came."

Your gaze lifted. Garrett was already walking toward you, his helmet tucked beneath one arm, his hair still damp with sweat. The unzipped jacket he'd thrown on for the intermission did little to hide the collar of the shoulder pads beneath it.

He stopped in front of you, and for a moment, you looked at each other.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Neither was I."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a tired smile. "Figures."

Your eyes flicked past him toward the locker room.

"Is he okay?"

Garrett glanced over his shoulder toward the closed training room door.

"He'll live."

Only then did you realize you'd been holding your breath.

"What happened?"

"Separated his shoulder." Your brow furrowed. "He tried to act like it wasn't."

"Of course he did."

"He almost had us believing him."

"You don't sound so sure."

"I'm not."

Garrett rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"He spent five minutes trying to convince the trainer he could still play before someone reminded him he only had one working arm."

A quiet laugh slipped out before you could stop it. It was the first time you'd laughed all night.

"He wanted to keep playing?"

"He wanted to go back out there."

"He's an idiot."

Garrett smiled faintly. "I've been saying that for years."

Your eyes drifted back to the closed training room door.

"He saw you in the stands."

Your gaze drifted to the concrete floor.

"I know."

"He settled in after that."

Your eyes found his again.

"What?"

"He looked different after that."

You didn't know what to do with that.

"Then he took the hit."

He nodded. "Then he took the hit."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Behind the closed training room door, quiet voices rose and fell, too muffled to make out.

Your eyes stayed on the door.

"I heard him." Garrett lowered his voice. You looked at him. "After you left."

You hadn't expected him to say that. There was no accusation in Garrett's voice, only a quiet kind of exhaustion.

"I wasn't trying to listen."

"I know."

"I just..."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

"I heard what he said."

"No. You only heard part of it."

You went still.

He glanced down the hallway before looking back at you.

"You only heard half the conversation."

You didn't trust yourself to speak. Garrett watched you for a moment before he continued.

"Dean nearly took my head off when he realized you'd left before he could explain."

When you spoke, your voice came out quieter than you expected.

"...What do you mean?"

Garrett scrubbed a hand over his face. "...That's not my story to tell. But I can tell you this: you've spent the last week believing something that isn't true."

Nothing about that made sense.

"I heard him say none of it was real."

"I know."

"I heard him."

"And that's exactly why we're standing here."

"He said that's all it was—a deal."

He didn't argue. "You're right. He did."

"Then why does everyone keep telling me I got it wrong?"

"Because," Garrett said quietly, "you didn't hear the rest."

For a moment, you couldn't think. The hallway seemed to fall away, and the noise from the arena faded until there was nothing left but Garrett's voice.

You searched Garrett's face for any sign he was joking. There wasn't one.

"You should hear the rest from Dean."

Before either of you could say anything else, the training room door opened. You both turned toward it. The athletic trainer stepped out first, a clipboard in hand.

He spotted Garrett and headed straight for him.

"Coach wants to see you."

"I'll be there in a second."

The trainer nodded and continued down the hallway. Dean stepped through the doorway a moment later.

His left arm rested in a sling. A strip of white athletic tape disappeared beneath the collar of the Briar T-shirt someone had helped him into. His hair was still damp with sweat, the ends curling slightly against his forehead. Aside from the color drained from his face, he looked more irritated than anything else.

He stepped into the hallway.

The moment he saw you, he stopped so abruptly that Garrett glanced between the two of you before quietly clearing his throat.

"I'm gonna go find Coach."

Neither of you seemed to hear him. Garrett disappeared around the corner, leaving you alone with Dean.

For a long moment, Dean just looked at you.

Then, very softly—

"...Hi."

You couldn't look away.

For a second, you couldn't seem to move. Dean held your gaze, his good hand tightening around the edge of the doorframe before slipping back to his side.

"Hi," he repeated, like he wasn't sure what else to say.

You breathed out slowly.

"Hi."

Neither of you said anything for a long moment. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable—it was uncertain, delicate enough that neither of you seemed willing to risk breaking it.

"I didn't think you were coming."

"I didn't plan on coming."

"Can't say I blame you."

For a moment, he looked down at the sling instead of you.

"I'm sorry."

You stared at him, caught off guard by the apology. "What?"

He lifted the injured shoulder a fraction, then winced and let it drop again.

"...Yeah. That was stupid."

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself.

"You got hurt, Dean. You don't have to apologize for that."

He gave a small shake of his head. "Not for that."

You realized, with a slow kind of certainty, that he wasn't talking about his shoulder.

You folded your arms across your chest.

"Shouldn't you be sitting down?"

"Yeah. They already told me that."

"And?"

"Turns out I'm a terrible patient."

"That sounds about right."

"They're getting me a chair," he said, glancing back toward the training room.

"You could've just stayed in the training room," you pointed out.

"Needed some air," he replied with a small shrug, immediately wincing at the movement.

The hallway suddenly felt much smaller.

Quieter.

Dean took a cautious step toward you, careful not to crowd your space. It was just enough to close the distance, enough that you could see the exhaustion etched plainly across his face. The bruise along his jaw had already begun to darken, and a faint crease lingered between his eyebrows, one you didn't remember seeing a week ago.

"I've missed you," he said softly.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

"Dean..."

He held your gaze. "I know."

"No," you whispered, shaking your head. "You don't."

A flicker of something crossed his face.

"I think I do."

"You don't."

When you looked at him again, your vision had begun to blur.

"I heard you," you said quietly.

His expression faltered.

"I know."

"I heard you say we weren't real."

"I know," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I heard you say we had a deal."

His jaw tightened.

"I know."

"You don't get to tell me I misunderstood when I heard every word."

"I won't," he answered.

You frowned.

"What?"

He took a slow breath before answering.

"I won't tell you that you misunderstood."

Your brows drew together.

"Because you didn't."

The words settled heavily between you.

"You heard exactly what I said."

The floor seemed to disappear beneath your feet.

Dean never looked away.

"But you didn't hear everything."

Garrett's words echoed through your mind.

That wasn't the end of the sentence.

Dean's fingers curled against the denim of his jeans.

"I've replayed that conversation in my head a thousand times this week," he admitted quietly.

"So have I."

His gaze dropped for a brief second.

"I know."

"I kept thinking..." He paused, swallowing around the words. "If I'd just followed you..."

His voice grew quieter.

"If I'd walked out one second sooner..."

"You didn't," you said.

A muscle shifted in his jaw.

"No."

"You stayed."

"I did."

The admission seemed to cost him.

"I thought I'd have time."

Neither of you spoke.

Dean let out a slow breath.

"The sentence didn't end where you walked away."

He searched your face, giving you every chance to stop him before he continued.

"I need you to let me finish it now."

The words caught somewhere behind your ribs.

You couldn't trust yourself to speak.

So you nodded.

Dean waited.

He didn't rush to fill the silence or mistake your nod for permission to unload everything he'd been carrying for the past week.

He just looked at you.

"I said it wasn't real," he began quietly. "I said we had a deal."

The words still made something inside you tighten.

"I wasn't lying."

Something must've flickered across your face, because he immediately shook his head.

"Please," he said softly. "Just let me finish."

You drew in a slow breath and forced yourself to stay still.

Dean did the same.

"Garrett asked me why I looked like I'd just won the lottery."

You frowned.

"What?"

"He asked why I couldn't stop smiling," Dean replied, the faintest, humorless smile tugging at his mouth.

For a moment, the words didn't make sense.

Dean's gaze dropped to the floor.

"We'd just gotten back from my parents' house."

The memory came rushing back.

His mom pulling you into a hug the second you walked through the door.

His dad laughing from across the dinner table.

The easy way you'd settled beside Dean, like you'd been part of their family all along.

His hand finding yours beneath the table when no one was looking.

Dean looked up again.

"You remember Garrett asking if I was finally going to tell him what happened?"

You nodded.

Barely.

"I told him..." His jaw tightened. "'It's not real. We had a deal.'"

Your arms folded instinctively across your chest.

"I heard that part," you said quietly.

"I know."

His eyes never left yours.

"But then Garrett laughed."

Your brows knit together.

"What?"

"He thought I was screwing with him."

Dean let out a quiet breath.

"He said there was no way I was looking at someone like that if it was still fake."

Something shifted inside you.

"I told him he didn't know what he was talking about."

He rubbed his thumb absently along the seam of his jeans.

"I told him it had started as a deal."

His voice softened.

"And then I told him..."

The words caught in his throat.

Not because he'd forgotten.

Because saying them still wasn't easy.

"When did you stop?" you whispered.

Dean held your gaze for a long moment.

"I don't know."

The answer caught you off guard.

A tired smile crossed his face.

"I've asked myself that every day this week." He let out a quiet breath. "I still don't know."

His thumb continued tracing the seam of his jeans.

"Maybe it was when my dad started talking to me like you were already part of the family."

Your eyes stung.

"Maybe it was when you fell asleep against me on the couch."

A small smile touched his lips.

"Maybe it was when you looked at me in that stupid diner after your exam because I'd shown up with fries."

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

"I honestly couldn't tell you."

The smile faded.

"I just know there was a point where pretending stopped feeling like pretending."

His eyes met yours again.

"So I looked at Garrett..."

His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"...and I said, 'It started as a deal.'"

He paused.

"'But somewhere along the way...'"

He swallowed.

"'...I fell in love with her.'"

The words lingered between you.

...I fell in love with her.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The hallway, the arena, the faint noise bleeding through the walls—it all faded beneath the weight of a single sentence.

Dean searched your face carefully, almost as though he were bracing himself for you to turn around and leave again.

Instead, a tear slipped down your cheek.

His expression crumpled.

"I turned around," he said quietly, "because Garrett was laughing at me."

You frowned through blurred vision.

"He was laughing?"

A quiet breath escaped him, somewhere between a sigh and a humorless laugh.

"He told me I was the last person on campus to realize I'd fallen in love."

Another tear slipped free before you could stop it.

"I told him he was an idiot."

The corner of your mouth twitched.

"He said maybe."

A faint smile tugged at Dean's lips before fading again.

"But he also said nobody smiles like that over someone fake."

He held your gaze.

"And he was right."

The silence that followed no longer felt heavy. It was tentative, fragile, held together by everything the two of you were finally saying out loud.

"I didn't know how to tell you."

"You could've just..." Your voice trailed off.

"I know," Dean said quietly.

"You could've said something."

"I know."

"You let me believe—"

"I know."

Each interruption was softer than the last.

He wasn't arguing.

He wasn't trying to defend himself.

If anything, he seemed determined to accept every accusation before you had the chance to finish making it.

"I thought..." He paused, drawing a slow breath. "I thought if I told you too soon, you'd think I was trying to change the deal."

You stared at him.

"What?"

"You were so clear," he said. "You kept reminding me this wasn't real."

Something inside you twisted.

"So I figured..." He let out a quiet laugh at his own expense. "I figured I was the idiot who'd broken the rules."

"You thought..."

"I thought you were counting down until we could go back to being friends."

Your mouth parted, but no words came.

"I wasn't."

"I know that now."

"No." You shook your head quickly. "I wasn't."

Dean searched your face.

"I stopped pretending too."

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The first night."

He looked at you, completely still.

"The first night?" he repeated quietly.

A watery laugh escaped you.

"I kept trying to convince myself it was because we'd spent the whole day together."

You brushed your sleeve across your cheek.

"Then I kept making excuses. It's because we're fake dating. It's because we're spending so much time together. It's because you're nice to me."

Dean didn't move.

He barely seemed to breathe.

"But none of that was true."

Your voice cracked.

"It was because I loved you."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Dean closed his eyes briefly. When he looked at you again, your eyes were shining.

"You've no idea," he whispered, "how many times I imagined you saying that."

A sad smile tugged at your lips.

"I rarely got the chance."

His expression fell immediately.

"I know."

"I heard seven words."

Dean's jaw tightened.

"'It's not real. We had a deal.'"

"I know."

"I never heard..."

He gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper.

"'...but somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her.'"

Silence settled between you again, softer now.

Dean took one careful step closer.

"So..." He hesitated, a nervous smile flickering across his face. "Is there any chance you'll let me make up for being the biggest idiot alive?"

A watery laugh escaped you.

"You'd have a lot of work to do."

"I know."

"I was miserable."

"I know."

"I cried."

Pain flashed across his face.

"I know."

"I hated you."

"I know."

"I hated myself for still loving you."

The words knocked the breath out of him.

Dean lowered his head, blinking hard before he looked back up.

"I'm so sorry."

The apology came quietly, without excuses or urgency.

"I'm sorry I let you walk away."

His voice caught.

"I'm sorry I didn't come after you sooner."

He drew another careful breath.

"I'm sorry you spent an entire week believing I didn't love you."

He held your gaze.

"Because I did."

His voice softened even more.

"I still do."

Your chest ached.

"I don't want to pretend anymore."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"I don't either."

He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.

"I don't ever want to call you my fake girlfriend again."

Despite the tears still clinging to your lashes, you smiled.

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that."

This time, Dean's smile reached his eyes.

It was small, disbelieving, and filled with the kind of hope that looked almost unfamiliar on him.

"So..." He reached for the back of his neck before stopping himself with a sheepish wince, reminded of the sling. "This is probably the least romantic timing in history."

Your gaze dropped to his injured shoulder.

"It really is."

"I've only got one working arm."

"You do."

"I smell like sweat."

A soft laugh escaped you.

"You definitely do."

"And I'm pretty sure the trainer's about thirty seconds away from dragging me back inside."

"Probably."

He took a steadying breath.

"But..."

His eyes found yours again.

"...would you let me do this properly anyway?"

Your heartbeat stumbled.

Dean swallowed.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

You laughed, shaking your head.

"Dean..."

"No fake dating," he said gently.

"No deals."

"No rules."

He smiled, nervous enough that it almost made your heart break all over again.

"Just... us."

You didn't answer with words.

Instead, you stepped closer until barely any space remained between you.

Careful of the sling, careful of the bruises hidden beneath his jersey, you rested one hand against his uninjured shoulder and lifted yourself just enough to kiss him.

Softly.

Dean froze for the briefest moment before melting into the kiss with a quiet, relieved breath, like he'd been holding it for an entire week.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, neither of you quite ready to let the other go.

"So..." he murmured.

You smiled.

"So."

A grin spread slowly across his face.

"I've a girlfriend?"

You rolled your eyes.

"You had one before."

His laugh came easily this time.

"I was really hoping you'd say that."

"You just wanted to hear it."

"I really did."

"You're unbelievably needy."

"I've had a rough week."

Your smile softened.

"So have I."

His expression turned serious again.

"I know."

He brushed his thumb gently beneath your eye, catching the last tear before it could fall.

"I love you."

There wasn't a trace of hesitation left.

No pretending.

No audience.

Just the truth.

Your own smile came without effort.

"I love you too."

A loud throat cleared somewhere behind you.

Neither of you jumped.

You already knew who it was.

Garrett stood at the end of the hallway with Tucker beside him, both of them watching with expressions that landed somewhere between relief and amusement.

"So..." Garrett said dryly. "Can we have our defenseman back now?"

Dean didn't even look away from you.

"No."

Tucker laughed.

"I'll let Coach know you've become emotionally unavailable."

Garrett snorted.

"He was emotionally unavailable long before this."

Dean laughed—a real one this time, warm and unguarded.

You hadn't realized how much you'd missed that sound until you heard it again.

Garrett shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Took you two long enough."

Dean slipped his fingers between yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

This time, neither of you walked away.

DEAN DI LAURENTIS TAGLIST: @05gwyn, @gojodaddy1029, @carlossainzapologist, @cosmosnkaz, @pearled-wings, @parker-barnes-af, @idgasb, @laceyvt3, @coc4aine, @saltyfriendsaladbandit, @ethanthequeefqueen, @fromasgardandback, @stevesxwhore, @itmekelpy, @nellyboosworld, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @kmc1989, @biologicallyyours, @zoereyna, @fentyqloss, @aetherysis, @chickenburger22, @aarohisharma, @homeslices, @indigohazardconduit, @gingerihardlyknowher17, @sammiib444, @kennedy-brooke, @marieisbored, @tita004, @infiremejoon, @cari87, @rexit-mo, @jtheteenagewitch, @justkeepingitpeachy, @hoetel-manager, @freezing82, @elixirandstars, @proooof, @beebeechaos, @cherrypieyourface, @shatteredinkpot, @phoebesatoru, @maybankslover, @aria1108, @stcrmflyy, @genterom903, @loveeverythingsblog, @nizzasspot, @nikfigueiredo

“Damn.” Logan whistles as soon as you step out of his room after changing. He pushes off the wall, and his hands instinctively find your waist, skimming the dress appreciatively. “You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart. The color looks perfect on you.”

“Thank you.” You smile bashfully up at him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he pulls you closer. “Is it not too short? Does it not bother you?”

“The length is perfect as long as you are comfortable wearing it,” he says softly, “And no, I am not bothered, and I will never be. You can wear whatever you want, whenever you want to, baby. You look gorgeous in anything, I can assure you that.” His eyes now have that look in them, but you quickly shut it down, knowing where it’s going.

“Nope.” You laugh, pushing his face away playfully. “We’re going out, baby, so maybe after the club?” You grin. “And also, you’re not going to tell me I can wear whatever I want because you can fight?”

“Sweetheart, I am a six-foot hockey player—I can bodycheck someone without blinking if they even look at you wrong, but I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear from me,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes.

“You’re right, it’s not.” You can’t help but feel moved by how much Logan knows and understands you. “But anyway, that’s enough softness for tonight. I need to drink and dance the night away!” You pull away and take Logan’s hand, tugging him towards the stairs.

“Easy, baby, we’ll get there.” Your boyfriend laughs behind you, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb soothingly.

“I know, but it’s almost ten, so we have to get there now.”

“Alright, I’m sorry.”

—

It’s half-past eleven when you start feeling the buzz from the alcohol grow stronger. You, Hannah, Allie, and Dean are on the dance floor, while Logan, Garrett, Tucker, and Beau are in the booth you and the group had reserved for tonight.

You are engaged in a dance battle with Dean—who is absolutely winning—when it happens.

“Damn, Di Laurentis!” You whistle as Dean outdances the three of you. “What did your mother feed you?”

“I did eat a lot of those corn flakes as a kid—they were all I ate for, I think, a year.” He laughs when you all gape at him.

“Criminal.”

“Is Lori okay after raising a barbarian?”

“Hey!”

You watch as Logan excuses himself from the booth to walk over to the bar, and with the three of your friends bickering, you barely notice the unfamiliar man sliding into the small space beside you, nearly pressing himself against you. None of you thought badly of it at first—the dance floor had just gotten more crowded, so you simply shift closer to your group to give the man some more space.

But he clearly has other plans.

He moves even closer to you, and that is when the fun around you dies down. You fidget uncomfortably, Hannah’s smile fades instantly, Allie turns to glare at the seemingly unsuspecting man trying to press himself up against you, and Dean moves between you and the unfamiliar person, effectively shielding you and the girls away from the guy. He is facing the man, his imposing presence making him seem larger than the stranger despite their similar height.

“Hey, dude—” The guy says, but Dean cuts him off swiftly.

“Walk away, man,” Dean says calmly. “The club is big enough for you to be in someone’s personal space like this.”

“Come on, I was just trying to—”

“Nope.” Dean crosses his arms, unflinching as the man tries to reason his way out of the mess he created—or into your pants, probably. “She clearly looks uncomfortable. Just walk away, and we’ll have no problem here.”

“Whatever,” the guy grumbles, “She’s not worth it anyway.”

Your friends’ brows raise at his words, but they do not say anything, not wanting to escalate the situation.

You wait until the grade-A asshole is out of earshot before speaking, “Guys, I’m gonna go back to the booth.”

They all turn their heads to you, smiling at you with sympathy.

“I will too,” Hannah says, slipping her hand into yours.

“Han, you don’t have to,” you say, squeezing her hand gratefully. “You guys stay here if you want to. I’m okay, I promise.”

“No, you’re all good, babe,” Allie says, pulling Dean off the dance floor to walk back with you and Hannah. “It’s getting too crowded in there anyway.”

“Okay, but can we please not make a big deal out of this? It’s all handled anyway. I just don’t want to spoil the rest of the night,” you say, your clammy hand still in Hannah’s warm, grounding grip.

“You know you’re going to have to tell Logan, right?” Dean notes, uncharacteristically soft.

“I know, I know.” You nod. “But give me time to process, please?”

Your friends reluctantly agree, and as you walk back to your table, they try their hardest to stay calm and act as if nothing happened. Thankfully, the rest of your group see nothing out of the ordinary.

You keep replaying that encounter in your head. Every time you think about it, you feel like you should have done more—maybe stepped away, spoke up instead of letting your friends deal with your problem, or did literally anything other than freeze. You are grateful that Dean and your girls were there with you, but you could not help but let your mind drift to what could have happened if you were alone.

Logan, having gone back from the bar holding a tray of glasses filled with water, immediately notices your glum expression—a stark contrast to the buzzed, giddy expression you had when you left the booth to dance. He slides into the booth beside you after putting the tray down on the table and places a grounding hand on your thigh. “You okay?” He leans close enough that only you can hear. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, baby,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Just tired.”

He stays silent for a few beats, his hand still stroking your thigh soothingly. “Are you sure?” He asks.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to brush it off and put it all behind you, but the other part of you feels like he deserves to know. Ultimately, you decide to be honest, so you pick your head up to look at Logan. “There was this guy on the dance floor… well, he was, like, right up against me, so that made me uncomfortable.” Your words have your friends turning to you, alarmed, while your boyfriend’s grip tightens on your thigh—not enough to hurt, but enough to have you saying, “But it’s all good. Dean handled it, and he’s gone.”

“Okay, baby.” His eyes never stray from your face—he can deal with everything else later. “Where do you want me?” He asks, and you know that it is his way of asking whether you are okay with him sitting with you.

“Right here,” you murmur, shifting closer.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he hums, moving away briefly to remove his jacket and drape it over your shoulders. He hands you the last glass of water from the tray—you end up drinking the entire glass once you realize how thirsty you have been. He places the glass back on the tray and leans back to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him.

You stay wrapped up in his jacket and his arms for about twenty minutes, while your friends return to their respective conversations after making sure you are alright. Then you start pulling away from Logan, and he automatically follows you, but you stop him. “I’m okay, babe, I just need to get some water.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“No, please let me. You’ve done enough already, plus I need to stretch my legs for a bit,” you say as you stand.

He reluctantly lets you go alone, but he keeps a careful eye on you.

Meanwhile, your gaze is fixed on the bartender as he attends to another customer, so you do not notice the man from earlier standing beside you by the bar.

“Hey,” he drawls, and you freeze as you recognize his voice, a chill running through your spine. “Finally got you alone, huh? Your boytoy finally let you out of his sight?”

“He’s my friend,” you say weakly, willing the bartender to finish with the other customer faster and turn to you, but alas, the position you are in does not look compromising from the outside—just a woman looking nervous beside an attractive man. Nothing suspicious, nothing dangerous, but in reality, it’s anything but harmless.

“Your friend, huh?” He chuckles, leaning closer to you. “That’s what they all say, sweetheart. Now, how many of those boys have you fucked yet?” He nods towards your table.

You decide that you are not that thirsty anyway, and abandon your hunt for a glass of water completely. You push off the bar with a quiet, “Excuse me.” You hope he will just drop it and leave you alone, but you quickly learn that hope is a dangerous thing to hold on to during times like this.

“You look a little tense, beautiful. Why don’t you smile a little for me?” He drawls from behind you, making sure to keep his distance so as not to look too suspicious.

However, Logan catches on to what is happening as soon as you are close enough that he sees the panicked expression on your face, and he is on his feet to meet you halfway. He had been watching you since you stood from the booth earlier, but he had chalked up the tension in your posture while standing at the bar to the traces of panic and discomfort left behind by your encounter not even an hour prior.

“John,” you call out to him, your voice tinged with a deep sense of discomfort, and Logan’s heart drops almost violently, but he willed himself to stay calm for you as he lets you step behind him.

Your friends spring into action—Hannah and Allie gently pull you into the booth, while the guys stand behind Logan.

“May we help you with something, buddy?” Logan asks, stepping closer to the other man.

“No, I—” He stammers, your group’s sharp gazes making him feel small. “I didn’t know she was yours.”

“Huh,” Logan wonders aloud, “Why does it matter who someone is with for you to respect their boundaries?”

“Look, I’m sorry.” The guy raises his arms in surrender. “It was all just a misunderstanding, and I’d gladly apologize to your girl.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for apologies, bud?” Dean chimes in from his place. “We’ve told you to cut your shit earlier, but you still didn’t listen. I think it’s time for a conversation, dude, just a man-to-man conversation. No big deal.” He shrugs.

“Hey, aren’t you the dude from Eastwood?” Beau pops in casually, and the guy pales.

Of course he knows who they are—he had seen Garrett Graham pummel Aaron Delaney into the ice for messing with his girl, so he knows how these men get when it comes to their women.

“Eastwood, eh?” Tucker grins wolfishly, mirroring Dean’s and Garrett’s expressions, while Logan remains completely serious.

“What a great coincidence, buddy!” Dean claps the guy on his back rather roughly.

“It’ll be a fun game for us, you think so?” Garrett teases, still grinning, while the guy does nothing but stand there awkwardly—and rather weakly.

“Baby, do you want this guy’s apology?” Logan turns to you, his eyes softening, but his expression quickly hardens back when you shake your head. He turns back to the guy. “It’s settled then. I’ll see you on the ice, buddy.”

“If he ends up playing,” Beau quips. “Dude’s been benched since the start of the season. Guess that’s both his damnation and his saving grace.”

Before anyone else can speak, the guy quickly walks away with a shameful expression on his face.

Once he is gone, your friends leave you and Logan to give you some privacy.

Your boyfriend slides into the booth beside you. “Hey,” he murmurs, hooking his pinky with yours on your lap—he is not sure how much skinship you can take right now. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“Why are you apologizing?” You ask quietly, taking his hand into yours. “It wasn’t your fault. You defended me, even.”

“Bare minimum,” he says, offering a hand as he stands, “Wanna get out of this place? I think the rest of us are ready to leave too.”

“Yes please.” You nod, taking his hand. “Thank you again for defending me.”

“I am hating your exes even more now,” he says, half-joking.

“What a weird turn of conversation, babe.”

“No, seriously. They made you feel like you had to thank me for standing up for you,” he says, all worked up now. “That’s not even the bare minimum.”

Sukuna freezes beneath your cheek, every muscle going rigid. After a moment, he drops his book onto the nightstand, tilting his head down, crimson eyes blown wide with pure, flat-out bewilderment. He stares at you, genuinely trying to figure out if he heard you right, like you’ve suddenly started speaking a completely foreign language.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" he asks, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, stunned rumble that cuts right through the quiet air. He shifts under you, eyebrow cocked, shooting you a look like you’ve just sprouted horns. "Where the hell is this coming from? Who put that stupid shit in your head?"

"Dunno," you mumble, heat creeping up your cheeks as the words hang in the air, sounding even more absurd now that they’re out. Your fingers fidget with a stray thread on the duvet, eyes glued to the fabric. "My brain’s just being an asshole tonight."

A deep, exasperated scoff rumbles out of your husband, but the tightness in his jaw softens almost immediately, replaced by a raw, unguarded fondness that settles over his face.

“Woman, have you been paying attention to me at all these past few years? Seriously, think for one fucking second, idiot." The command comes out rough, but there’s no bite to it, just a lot of tired fondness. He jerks his chin at the bed, making you actually look at the state of things. "Look at you. You’re basically glued to my side, I can’t even move my damn arm. You’re in my shirt, you stole my socks, and your freezing-ass hand is between my thighs. If I wanted space, trust me, you’d be on the floor."

A tiny, involuntary giggle slips out of you, but he’s not finished. His hand squeezes your waist as he shifts beneath you just enough to remind you how much bigger he is.

“I’m a grown-ass man. I’m stronger than you,” he goes on, his voice rumbling right through his chest and into your cheek. "If I wanted to move, I'd move. But you? You’re glued to me every fucking day, stealing my personal space since day one. You climb on me when I’m trying to read, treat me like a mattress—and I never stop you. Ever think that’s because I want you there?”

His hand comes up, large and rough, calloused fingers curling gently beneath your chin, tipping your face toward his. Shadows flicker across his features, but his eyes lock onto yours with a fierce, protective devotion that knocks the breath right out of you.

“I agreed to that stupid ‘hear me out’ cake just to hear you laugh,” he rumbles, shaking his head, and at last, a wide grin splits his face. “I drove across the city so you could look at ducks. Does that sound like a man who wants less of you? Your brain’s being a dick. Tell it to shut up.”

“…fair,” you admit quietly, and the heavy, tangled knot of overthinking in your chest finally starts to unravel under the weight of his logic.

“Actually, hold the fuck on,” Sukuna growls, moving from underneath you to lean over you, completely wrapping you in his bulk. “You think you’re the clingy one?”

Caught completely off guard by the sudden intensity in his voice, you blink up at him.

“I call you every fucking day, or you’d forget to eat,” he starts, not giving you a chance to interrupt, his eyes locking onto yours. "Started doing that stupid skincare with you. Hid roses around the apartment just so you’d smile all day. Crawled under a fucking car because you wanted a cat. I panic if you’re not in bed, can’t fall back asleep till you’re back in my arms. Let you tank my fucking CS rank ‘cause apparently you gotta touch my arm every six seconds. And you think I want more space? You think I’d still be here doing all that shit if you were too much for me?”

You stay completely silent, your mouth parting slightly as you stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs from the weight of everything he’s just said. He, on the other hand, is looking at you like you’re absolutely hopeless.

“Use your goddamn brain, woman,” Sukuna murmurs with a crooked grin, his deep voice thick with fondness. “Who’s actually clingy in this relationship? I’ve been chasing after you for years…” He trails off, clicks his tongue, then reluctantly admits, “…like a fucking idiot.”

Whatever heavy, stupid fog was clouding your mind finally lifts, swept away by a rush of pure warmth. A bright smile breaks across your face as your hands slide up his bare chest, arms winding tight around his neck to pull him down into a deep, lingering kiss.

Sukuna lets out a satisfied chuckle against your lips as he pulls back just slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "Understood?"

A breathless laugh escapes you, your chest still fluttery with relief. "Yeah. Thanks, Kuna." You kiss him again, softer this time, lips lingering on his. When you pull away, you can’t help but smile, teasing, "And it’s definitely you."

He groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "Don’t start, brat."

a/n: okay, so this happened because someone asked me to write about insecurities, and that ask somehow sent me down a completely different rabbit hole. i started thinking about the difference between insecurities and your brain just deciding to be an absolute asshole for one evening and… well, this happened.

dunno, maybe it's because my previous adhd meds used to make me overthink once they wore off, and it'd always be the most ridiculous stuff i'd never question in a million years otherwise.

Maybe, if you’d had more sense, you would’ve broken up with Naoya in that moment and saved yourself a whole lot of trouble. Instead, just like always, you made excuses for him. You figured he was just having a bad day - that you just needed to prove yourself to him and then he’d be happy to have you as a climbing buddy. 

He was just concerned about your skill. That was all. 

So you’d worked hard at the club - learned plenty of skills, did plenty of hours in the gym, made dozens of friends with the other club members to ensure you weren’t dependent on Naoya to teach you everything. 

You tried to ignore how uninterested your boyfriend seemed in your progress, tried to ignore the way he’d flirt with the other women at the club - you were sure he’d be so impressed with you on your first major outing to Mount Hotaka that he’d forget about everything else and be pleased with you for once. 

That was all you wanted, for him to be proud of you outside of the offhanded thanks he’d give whenever you’d make him dinner. 

Your first trip out to the mountain had several people in attendance. Beyond you and Naoya there were a handful of women from the club who you’d grown close with: Shoko, Utahime and Yuki, and then a few men. There were a couple of older guys you didn’t know very well, and then a few in your age range who had been helping develop your skills - the most notable of that group being Sukuna, who had dedicated lots of time to teaching you knowledge that Naoya had brushed aside. 

It had surprised you at first, that the hulking pink-haired man had any interest in helping you do anything. Others in the club had claimed that he tended to be aloof, harsh and generally unfriendly - and while he was harsh in his teachings, unfriendly was certainly not the word you’d use to describe him. 

He’d gone out of his way to help you, chasing away others like Satoru with the claim that they were ‘too stupid to teach you right’. Spending hours at your side, he’d taught you all you needed to know about equipment, rope skills and climbing. He wouldn’t provide praise unless it was deserved, but once you’d finally started getting things right he’d always made sure you knew he was pleased with you. 

It was praise you were desperately starved for, praise you’d love to receive from your boyfriend, and you were ashamed to admit that Sukuna’s simple compliments lingered in your mind for longer than they should have.

You’d grown rather fond of him since joining the mountaineering club, even despite his somewhat prickly demeanour to everyone else, you felt he was someone you could rely on, someone who wouldn’t call you stupid for asking him questions. Even if he’d sometimes tease you for getting upset or frustrated for not understanding something, he’d still take the time to help you understand. 

Unlike Naoya, who would roll his eyes and once again point out how unfit you were for something as involved as mountain climbing. 

The comparison between the two was something you found yourself making more and more often, eyes straying over to your pink-haired friend when he wasn’t looking, your stomach flipping when he’d speak to you, or when he’d place a large hand on your shoulder in congratulations at a task done well. 

You knew it was wrong, chastising yourself whenever the thought of Sukuna would stray into your mind late at night while Naoya was snoring away next to you. Not only did you have a boyfriend, but you were certain Sukuna didn’t think of you in anything beyond a friendly manner anyway.

So you kept those feelings locked deep within your chest and tried to focus on why you were in the club in the first place - to prove to your boyfriend that you’d make a good partner for his mountain expeditions, to prove that you were worth more to him than being a glorified maid in his house.

The first few hours of the hike, starting in the early morning, had gone by fairly uneventfully. Your training had paid off and your legs felt good as you winded up through valleys and fields, trailing a little behind the group of boys, favouring a slightly slower pace and jovial conversation amongst the girls. 

Despite Naoya’s reluctance for you to join the club, you felt like it was where you were supposed to be. You loved being out in nature - taking in the fresh air and drinking from mountain streams, wandering along with like-minded people and encouraging each other along through the gruelling uphills. 

It wasn’t until late afternoon that things started to get more difficult, with the altitude creeping steadily up, and the group stumbling across snow fields that still hadn’t melted in the late spring air. It was nothing you weren’t prepared for, but with everyone feeling a great deal more tired than they had in the morning hours, the pace slowed considerably. 

A group of the more experienced men ended up going on ahead at a quicker pace, saying they’d get the next big section of uphill completed and scout out a good camping spot for the night, since the plan was to make a summit push in the early morning to watch the sunrise. 

You didn’t mind that so much - you didn’t like the feeling of slowing them down and that arrangement meant that you could keep going at a comfortable pace without feeling stressed about it. The girls you were with were perfectly experienced in their own right, and Naoya had chosen to hang behind with you anyway rather than going on ahead. 

That was a decision that you’d convinced yourself was on account of him wanting to keep an eye on you, but a part of you believed it was really because he didn’t get along with any of the men at the club. 

Or perhaps it was just so he could keep staring at Yuki’s ass like he had been for the entire hike up to that point. 

The next couple of hours were difficult, and everyone grew more withdrawn under the effort of a constant uphill - facing switchback after switchback with no clarity on how far you had to go beneath a freshly settled blanket of fog lowering the visibility. Shoko had been struggling for a while, and after an extended rest on a rock decided that it was best if she turned back and camped somewhere lower in the valley. 

She’d been having issues with her lungs and didn’t think it was wise to keep going. 

At her decision, Utahime also suggested that she wanted to go back, mentioning that she also didn’t feel in the best physical condition, and Yuki insisted on going back with the two of them to make sure they got back down safely. You’d considered joining them, but you were still feeling good both physically and mentally and were keen to continue upwards towards the peak. 

Considering Naoya’s experience, you were certain that the two of you would be fine even without the girls, so you waved them off and continued upwards into the mist, eager to reconnect with the other half of your group and get settled with Naoya in the tent for the night. 

—

Sukuna had found a pretty good camping spot. He was pretty sure it was in a similar position to where he’d set up on his solo winter ascent a couple of years before - a location that should be downright comfy in the mild spring weather. 

Assuming that weather stayed mild. 

It was hard to tell through all the fog, but he was almost sure he could see dark clouds rolling high in the sky. He hoped he was wrong. There hadn’t been a storm on the forecast, and if one was to roll in that could make for a very harrowing evening, especially for people like you who’d had little experience of the mountains. 

He hoped one bad night wouldn’t be enough to put you off entirely. 

“Yuki just radioed.” Satoru called out to him. “She, Shoko and Utahime are all going back down. The others are still coming I think.” 

Sukuna hummed in affirmation as he moved to set up his tent. He wished it could’ve just been you coming up, rather than you and your shithead boyfriend, but he supposed he’d rather you have a buddy in the mountains than be out there alone. If he’d had things his way, he would’ve hung back with you for the whole duration of the hike, but he didn’t need people casting suspicions on his actions. 

He’d already received some strange looks over his eagerness to teach you - the last thing he needed was the rumor mill in full operation. 

Even if the rumor mill was right in this case. 

He liked you. He really liked you. 

Feelings that he needed to keep to himself, because your boyfriend was one jealous asshole, and he was almost confident that any sign of flirting on Sukuna’s part would have Naoya taking out his anger and jealousy on you, which was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t sure what you saw in that guy, but god, Sukuna wanted to bash his teeth in. 

He’d been watching it for months now - the depressing life you lived in which you’d excitedly bound over to Naoya to show him something you’d learned only for him to react with total disregard. Sukuna had watched the light in your eyes flicker and die each time, doing his best to control the rage boiling in his chest. 

You deserved better than that fucker. 

But he got the sense that you weren’t able to see that. 

Almost everyone had set up their tents, laughing and joking and tearing into provisions by the time Naoya appeared from the mist. A couple of hours had passed since the group first found the camping spot, and Satoru welcomed him enthusiastically as he stepped into the clearing. He looked surprisingly exhausted for a man who was supposed to be experienced. 

Sukuna’s red eyes scanned the fog, waiting for you to appear behind the man. His chest squeezed when only silence followed, no sign of your presence in the mist. 

“Is it only you?” Satoru asked, voicing the very question that was on the tip of Sukuna’s tongue. 

“Yeah, the girls went down,” Naoya responded nonchalantly, shrugging off his backpack. “Is there a good place for me to set up?” Satoru’s lips parted, as if to question the man’s statement, considering Yuki had relayed specific names, but he clearly thought better of it, nodding and pointing Naoya in the direction of a clear patch of dirt for him to pitch his tent. 

Sukuna wasn’t so happy to shrug it off. 

“Yuki only said she was going down with Utahime and Shoko,” he called out to Naoya. The man turned to look at him, irritation shining in his amber eyes. Sukuna was well aware that Naoya despised him just as much as he despised Naoya. 

“They all went. Think I don’t know where my own girlfriend is?” Naoya snapped. 

Sukuna stared him down for a moment before leaving him be, heading over to Satoru and asking for the radio. Speaking into it, he called out for Yuki, praying that they were still within a reasonable range to pick up his voice. 

He was met with only silence, cursing under his breath at the realisation that they were probably all the way back in the valley by that point and likely impossible to reach. His crimson gaze fell to Naoya once more, watching him hum as he set up his tent without a care in the world. 

Something in the pit of Sukuna’s stomach told him that there was something wrong. You hadn’t gone back with Yuki. You’d been so happy all day, so excited about your first major peak. Not only that, but you’d been in good condition - he’d been watching you whenever he could, he’d been proud at how well you were doing. 

You wouldn’t have turned back. And if you had, Yuki would’ve listed your name when she was heading down. Yuki was no newcomer to the mountains - she was responsible and experienced and she always emphasised the importance of good communications. And if you’d have turned back any later, Naoya should’ve gone with you - it's what any sensible person would’ve done. 

But he was here, and you weren’t. And you hadn’t gone with Yuki. So you were alone. 

Sukuna’s first instinct was to bash Naoya’s head in. He wanted to walk over there and silence that bastard’s humming with a well placed rock to the head. What kind of a man - an experienced mountaineer, no less - would abandon their inexperienced girlfriend on the side of a mountain? 

It wasn’t like Sukuna doubted your ability. He’d taught you all you needed to know, but putting those things into practice alone, at altitude, and in adverse weather was a whole other thing. 

Instead of doing anything about Naoya, he parked that issue temporarily and quickly moved to dismantle his own tent. He wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing while your location was unaccounted for. Even if you had gone down shortly after Yuki, even if you’d made it back to the valley by yourself, he wasn’t going to roll the dice on your life. 

He’d go back the way they’d come and he’d walk until he found you - even if that happened to be safe and sound at the bottom of the mountain. 

“What’re you doing?” Satoru asked, hovering as Sukuna put his stuff back into his pack. Naoya had stopped to watch, a sneer on his already ugly face. 

“I don’t think she went down with Yuki. I need to make sure the boyfriend of the year over there didn’t leave her in some bad situation,” Sukuna explained.

“Oh my god, she’s fine.” Naoya snapped from across the campsite. “Yuki just misspoke, she went down with them. Why is it your problem anyway? It's not like she’s your girlfriend.” 

The defensive edge to the man’s voice told Sukuna all he needed to know, and he ignored the jabs in favour of packing up more quickly. He didn’t want it to get too dark - if something bad had happened and you didn’t have your headlamp on it would be impossible to find you at night. 

Unfortunately, Naoya seemed to have no interest in letting up. “I mean seriously? You’re actually doing this? I know you wanna fuck her but she’s always been a loyal little thing - she ain’t gonna put out for you because of this. I think she’s realised that she isn’t cut out for this type of shit - she went back down to safety with the rest of the girls and I think she’ll probably quit the club. She can get back to what she’s good at.” 

Sukuna’s hands stilled as he zipped his bag shut, his expression calm as he finally looked at the man before him. There was malice in his expression and a clear, guilty desire to keep Sukuna from trekking back down the mountain path. 

“‘She can get back to what she’s good at’?” Sukuna asked, drawing himself up to his full height. “And what would that be?” 

The smug grin Naoya shot him was sickening. “Making me dinner.” 

Sukuna laughed, a deep unpleasant sound rumbling from his chest. “Right.” He took a step forward, towering over your boyfriend who he deeply hoped would be your ex-boyfriend after that expedition. Before Naoya could react, Sukuna grabbed him by the front of his raincoat. “Listen. I’m going back down that path. If I find her out there, abandoned and alone, be assured that I’ll beat you so badly that you’ll never climb another mountain again. Do you understand me?” 

Fear flickered in Naoya’s amber eyes, but he pushed it down quickly, replacing it with a scowl. “Get the fuck off me.” 

Sukuna let him go, revelling in the way he stumbled about off balance, barely keeping himself from careening onto the floor. If he was being honest with himself, the desire to enact justice on Naoya in that moment was tempting, but he could wait. Every moment he spent in that camp was another moment of peril for you. 

And unlike Naoya, he wouldn’t leave you to a night alone on a mountain. 

—

You weren’t sure when you’d lost Naoya. 

He’d been picking up the pace significantly while you’d been getting slower and slower, and despite calling out for him to wait for you to catch up, eventually he just disappeared off into the fog - the sound of his footsteps fading entirely. 

It had left you at a loss, unsure as to whether you should keep going or turn back. You were certain that the summit camp probably wasn’t too far off, but you had no real idea of how far that distance might actually be, and had a vague concern that you might take a wrong turn in the ever-thickening fog, leaving you stranded for the night. You and Naoya were sharing a tent which he’d been carrying, and subsequently ending up alone for the evening wasn’t ideal for you. 

The most you’d be able to do is wrap yourself in your sleeping bag and find a sheltered place to hunker down for the night. 

But it shouldn’t come to that. 

Getting down to the valley would take too long, and you weren’t sure where Yuki and the gang would’ve settled anyway. Naoya had the radio. He had everything really, which meant that the only thing you could do was continue upwards and hope that you stumbled across the other half of your group. 

It was a plan that was going okay until you’d carelessly stepped on a loose rock, sending you tumbling back down a hill of scree you’d spent the past half an hour climbing. 

At first you’d thought only your morale was damaged, your mind exhausted at the prospect of having to get back up and reascend a slope you’d already climbed once. But as you struggled to get to your feet, you realised that it wasn’t only your mind that had undergone damage.

A hot pain spread through your ankle as you tried to stand, sending you straight back down to the floor with a yelp. Panic instantly overcame you, the sudden realisation of where you were hitting you like a tonne of bricks. Naoya, your boyfriend, had abandoned you on the side of a mountain. He’d left you in the fog, beneath the setting sun, without a tent and without a radio. And now you were injured.

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve said he was actively trying to kill you. 

But what was more likely was that he was just proving the point he’d been trying to make all along - that you weren’t cut out for the life of a mountaineer. 

And considering your condition, could you really disagree with him? 

Soft sobs overtook you, and you began to spiral. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, shivering as the cold grew more intense, mumbling incoherently to yourself about how you should’ve gone back down to the valley with Yuki. 

Perhaps you never should’ve tried facing the mountains in the first place. 

Maybe Naoya was right. 

They were thoughts that fled from your mind at the blessed sight of a headlamp cutting through the fog from above, footsteps crunching evenly on scree, picking up in speed the moment the light shone upon your sorry figure huddled on the ground. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” Sukuna’s voice had a tremor of relief shooting through you, and more tears swelled at the corners of your eyes. He was crouching down in front of you, expression laden with concern as he scanned your cowering form. One of his hands reached for your face, wiping away tears carefully while he waited for you to answer him. 

“My ankle…” You mumbled. Everything was too overwhelming for you to articulate any further, your words already coming out all choked and shaky. Sukuna didn’t need to hear any more, attention instantly shifting to your foot. His hands moved to prod gently at it, watching your face for a grimace which came quickly under his touch. 

“Does that hurt?” 

You nodded. He bit down on his lip and quickly moved to untie the lace of your boot. A soft whimper left your lips as he pulled it from your foot, but he was right to pay your reaction no mind since you were overcome with relief once your ankle was freed from those rigid confines pressing down too tightly upon it. 

It had swollen up significantly in the time you’d been sitting there waiting for someone to come for you. 

“Right. I’ll deal with the ankle soon but I want to get us to someplace better first before it gets fully dark.” It was only just occurring to you that the wind had started to pick up a little, your clothes ruffled by air rushing against you. It would be best to be in a less exposed place - Sukuna had taught you that exposure made all the difference when dealing with bad weather.

“There was a plateau back down at the bottom of this slope,” you mumbled, remembering the slight respite you’d had from the seemingly neverending onslaught of uphill.

Sukuna gave you a proud smile and it made your heart flutter. “Yeah, that would work. I’m gonna carry you down there, if that’s okay? I don’t think you should try walking on that ankle until we give it a proper look.” 

You wanted to collapse into fresh tears at the suggestion. While your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to look after you, had abandoned you on the side of your first big mountain, Sukuna was here offering to carry you to safety. The feeling his offer was giving you had a risk of overwhelming you entirely, utterly grateful that he was the person who’d come back to look for you. 

Naively, you wondered if Naoya had sent him down to look for you. It was a weak hope, a desperate, delusional belief that your boyfriend wasn’t as cruel as he truly was. 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” you said, quietly. You tried to ignore how pleasant it felt when Sukuna crouched down to scoop you up into his arms. His touch felt warm against your body which had grown cold over the past few hours of inactivity. The arms holding you were strong and secure, building a feeling of safety knowing he was there with you. 

Naoya would’ve taken issue with it, but you wished you’d asked Sukuna to stick with you throughout the whole trip. Things would’ve felt better if it was him you were relying on rather than your boyfriend. In his lessons he’d always emphasised the importance of matching your pace with a mountain buddy - always checking that they weren’t far behind. 

Rules that a supposedly experienced mountaineer like Naoya should’ve been well aware of. 

Sukuna strode down the rest of the hill with ease, keeping you tucked close against him in a princess carry. Considering that you had your pack still on your back you were surprised at how easy he made the whole thing look, because he wasn’t exactly carrying a light load between you in his arms and his own bag on his back. But he didn’t complain or demonstrate any signs of struggle. 

Outside of the fact that he was largely silent until you reached your destination. 

You didn’t mind that. It wasn’t like you were in the mood to talk either, your mind swimming with all kinds of things now that you were in safe hands. Naoya had left you behind to die. You could’ve died if no one had come back for you. Exposure could’ve gotten to you, or an animal, or some person with ill-intent prowling the mountainside. 

He’d left you helpless and defenceless. 

And, as rain started to drip from the sky above, you realised that if Sukuna hadn’t come for you, it would’ve been an evening out in the storm, at altitude, with nothing but your rain jacket and sleeping bag to huddle within. 

You could’ve died. 

Sukuna found a well sheltered area and placed you down while he set up the tent. You were in awe at how quickly he got it done - the same actions would’ve taken you three times the time it took his experienced hands to get it sorted. You were grateful for the speed, because it meant the two of you made it inside before the worst of the rain began to hammer down from the sky above. 

“Okay. First the ankle. Then everything else.” 

You tilted your head a little at his statement, not quite sure what he meant by everything else, but you assumed he was referring more to your mental condition and questions around how you’d ended up in your terrible position in the first place. You hoped he wouldn’t be mad at you for failing to make it up to the peak after how much time he’d spent teaching you things. 

You thought maybe he’d chastise you for things like not having your own tent or radio, but Naoya had been insistent about carrying those items for you, assuring you that he’d stick at your side and claiming his actions were out of a desire to keep your pack as light as possible. 

You were stupid to have believed him.

Sukuna knelt by your foot, removing your sock and inspecting the damage carefully. His fingers pressed delicately against the skin and you found yourself admiring his concentrated expression in the lamplight. “I don’t think it's broken,” he said. “Probably just twisted.” 

Reaching into his first aid kit, he found a bandage which he wrapped around the problem area, before pulling out an ice pack and snapping to activate its effects. He placed the pack down on your ankle, earning a little hiss from you which pulled a small smile from his otherwise serious face. 

He’d been really serious since he’d found you, his expression all irritated and stormy. 

Was he angry with you? Frustrated that he’d had to come back down the mountain to your aid? You didn’t like the idea of being his burden. 

“Endure the cold for a bit - it’ll make you feel much better.” he said, placing a warm hand on your calf. Your breath hitched involuntarily at the contact and Sukuna quickly withdrew from you, a tinge of guilt flickering across his handsome face. He instantly busied himself before you could question it, moving onto the next stage of tending to your injury.

He fumbled about in his pack and withdrew some clothing, bundling it up into a small pile and wedging it beneath your foot to elevate it a little. Nothing he was doing was particularly revolutionary - on the contrary, his actions were all things he’d taught you to do in the event of an injury. 

You’d just been too panicked to do anything on that scree slope. 

Perhaps he was mad at you for that too. 

Sukuna laid out his sleeping mat next to you, his nose wrinkling at the revelation that you didn’t have one because it was in Naoya’s possession. He slid his mat beneath you, keen not to have you lying on the floor, before pulling out his sleeping bag and sitting on top of that for some amount of comfort. 

“So, what happened?” Sukuna asked. His voice was a little clipped, as if he was holding himself back from saying what he really wanted to say. 

“I was rushing and lost my footing on some scree-”

“No. I mean, why are you alone?” 

“Oh.” You shrugged, taking a deep breath and avoiding his eyes. There was a sticky feeling building up in your throat, keeping your words down. If you said the truth aloud you were certain you’d burst into tears again. “I don’t know,” you mumbled finally. 

“You don’t know?” He echoed. 

“It just sort of happened. The girls went back down the mountain and Naoya kept going quicker and then we got separated somewhere in the fog. I imagine he was probably waiting somewhere up ahead for me but then I slipped.” You weren’t sure why you were trying to defend your boyfriend. You weren’t naive enough to truly believe he’d been waiting up ahead for you. 

He’d left you. 

But the idea of airing out just how stupid you were to be in that relationship in the first place felt humiliating. You wanted to at least pretend that Naoya didn’t leave you for dead - that you weren’t the fool who had stayed for years with an abusive boyfriend when you should’ve just left. 

You didn’t want Sukuna to think you were completely pathetic. 

“Naoya arrived at the camp hours ago,” Sukuna said, his tone detached, as if he wanted to avoid projecting any of his own emotion onto you. “He said you’d gone back down with the rest of the girls.” 

The horrified expression on your face must’ve said it all, because Sukuna’s impartiality quickly faded, rage burning within those crimson eyes. Naoya really had abandoned you. And not only that, he’d also attempted to sabotage any retrieval attempt that might be made for you. He’d outright claimed you were safe when he knew no such thing. 

It was a thought that made you sick, and once again the tears started to flow, dripping down your cheeks. You’d spent years with that man, feeling like you were less than good enough. You’d let him break you down, put up with his endless bullying and tormenting, all because he’d been sweet to you at the start. 

You’d always thought you weren’t good enough, always thought that it was your fault he was so unpleasant with you. 

Now it felt like your eyes were open for the first time. 

He’d left you on the side of a mountain. He couldn’t care less about your wellbeing. He couldn’t care less about you unless you were making him dinner. 

And you’d put up with it. 

You were a fool. 

“I knew that fucker was lying,” Sukuna hissed. “Yuki didn’t say your name when she radioed in to say she was heading back. She’s always good with that sort of thing. Fuck, I’m glad I came down to check, who knows what would’ve happened if-” 

He cut himself off, faltering before he could finish the sentence. It was clear that he didn’t want to scare or upset you further, not when you’d already reduced yourself to a puddle of tears. You didn’t want to imagine what fate the night would’ve brought if not for Sukuna arriving as your saviour. 

Falling silent, he shuffled a little closer to you. Reaching out delicately he began to wipe away your tears with his thumb. The touch of his skin against yours felt pleasant, and you found your sobs faltering at the new found comfort he was providing. A deeply loyal part of you urged you to pull away, reminding you of your boyfriend. You immediately pushed the thought aside. 

Naoya wasn’t your boyfriend. 

Not after what he’d done. 

“Don’t cry. You’re okay. I found you and we’ll make it through the night together. I’m not going anywhere.” Sukuna’s words were soothing, and you found yourself nodding between sniffles, your tears gradually drying up. You hadn’t realised you were shivering until Sukuna tentatively wrapped an arm around you, pulling you up and close to him. 

The storm had worsened outside, and you huddled down in your jacket, letting yourself lean into Sukuna’s chest to keep the shivering at bay. If this was how you felt inside a tent with another human to warm you, you hated to think how you would’ve felt still stuck all alone on the scree. 

It didn’t bear considering. 

“You should report that asshole to the police once we get down. Nothing will come of it because it's hard to prove intent, but this was an active attempt on your life. He had a duty of care he ignored, stripped you of shelter and then tried to prevent a rescue. I have half a mind to kill him myself.” Sukuna’s voice rumbled through his body. 

No one had ever really stood up for you before. Naoya was always good at being charming when it mattered. Your parents and the rest of your family had always seen him as a good prospect - a polite and handsome man from a well off family. With your friends, you’d done the damage on your own, always defending him, manipulated by him to act like the perfect picture of an abused girlfriend. 

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered. 

“What?” Sukuna asked, pulling back ever so slightly so he could look at you properly. You hadn’t spoken at all since the reveal, and your quiet words clearly caught him off guard. 

“I’ve wasted so much of my life with him. Spent so much time defending him like he was some good guy. I only joined this club to impress him and all he ever did was tell me how useless I was at stuff like this - at everything. Did you know that he spent most of this hike staring at Yuki’s ass? And yet, when I’d tell him about how much stuff you’d taught me he’d get all mad about me talking to another guy and verbally berate me until I cried. And I just let it all happen. You must think I’m an idiot.” 

Sukuna hesitated, searching for the right words. It made you smile in a twisted sort of way, because he was definitely trying to find something to say that wouldn’t indirectly call you stupid - an impossibility considering the circumstances. Now that your eyes were open you could finally see how foolish you’d been. 

You just wanted to go home. Forget mountaineering or anything else you’d tried in an attempt to bond with that asshole.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said finally. “I think guys like that are very good at getting their way, and you happened to be his victim.” The words were uncannily gentle, and at a glance at Sukuna’s face you could tell he was out of his comfort zone, but trying his best. He tightened his grip on you as a sudden gust of wind battered the tent. 

The touch had your heart fluttering, and you wondered how Sukuna felt about your current position. It was probably just a necessity in his eyes - a bid to warm up a tired and stressed woman, nothing more than that. 

With your loyalty to Naoya stranded somewhere on the mountain never to be recovered, you found yourself wishing the contact was something more than that. 

But considering your woefully pathetic attempt at summiting this relatively easy peak, you doubted Sukuna held you in high regard at all. His type was probably some strong, confident girl who already knew all her outdoor skills without Sukuna’s input. The type of woman he could rely on to partner with for dangerous and difficult peaks. 

That wasn’t you. 

You weren’t sure you’d step foot on a mountain again after this. 

“Maybe you don’t think I’m an idiot for that, but you probably think I am for all this.” You gestured in the general direction of your foot, still humiliated at the thought of Sukuna having to rush down the mountain to your rescue, like you couldn’t be left unsupervised for a single moment without finding yourself in need of rescue. 

Much to your chagrin, Sukuna laughed. “An idiot for getting injured? No, that’s practically a rite of passage. You were doing great through most of the hike - I was keeping an eye on you before the group split in half. We’ll get you down the mountain and get your ankle sorted, and then you can try this peak again another time.” 

Sukuna’s optimism had butterflies swarming in your stomach, but years of insults and abuse weren’t so easily displaced. You lowered your gaze, staring down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know. I just wonder if Naoya was right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” 

Sukuna pulled a face, clearly displeased by that statement. 

“Do you like being in the mountains?” He asked simply. 

He made no statement on your skill, no attack on anything your boyfriend had told you. Asked nothing more than whether you liked being out in the fresh air, doing what you’d been doing before your ankle had been injured. 

And you did. 

You really did like it. 

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Then you are cut out for this. Enjoyment is literally the only requirement,” he said earnestly. “Besides, that guy’s full of shit. I taught you everything you needed to know and I have faith in your abilities. If you need to listen to someone else’s opinion to determine your value, how about you consider mine instead of his.” 

A flush appeared across your cheeks. Those were the kind of compliments Sukuna would always pay you. Nothing particularly special or flowery, but deeply genuine in a way that had your whole body bursting with pride, pushing the rot of Naoya’s insults from your veins and replacing it with Sukuna’s approval. 

“We’ll come back here together in a few weeks, just the two of us, and we’ll do this peak. I can promise you it’ll be better. I won’t abandon you in the fog.” You believed him, nodding a little in agreement. Even in your fragile mental state that evening, you couldn’t help the excited flip of your stomach at the thought of Sukuna wanting to do something alone with you. 

The mountaineering club had been a means for you to learn your skills to climb alone with Naoya. You hadn’t expected that it would leave you excited at the prospect of climbing with another man. 

Still, you tried not to get ahead of yourself. Your little crush on Sukuna, which had been present for several months more than you were really willing to admit, seemed to have finally found the freedom to really take over your thoughts. Your heart was practically in your throat at your current proximity to him, a desire coursing through your whole body. 

You needed to push it back down even with Naoya out of the picture, because you were certain Sukuna was just being friendly, just being a better person than Naoya was. You couldn’t afford to let your mind run wild with fantasies. 

At least, that’s what you’d told yourself. 

The two of you had sat in silence for a while after Sukuna’s offer of climbing alone together, still huddled together and listening to the wind and rain outside the tent. You found yourself calmed by the steady rhythm of Sukuna’s heartbeat, basking in the warmth of his body which took your mind off the cold compress burning at your ankle. 

“Do you mind if we share the sleeping mat? It's okay if not, but it would be warmer for you and more comfy for me that way.” Considering that the two of you had been cuddling for a while, you didn’t see the issue. Anything was fine in matters of survival and you were more than happy to remain close to Sukuna. 

“Yeah, sure. We can zip our sleeping bags together.” 

Sukuna’s lashes fluttered and you swore you could see a dusting of pink on his cheeks, but you were quick to disregard it. It had been a long and exhausting day, and you were likely just seeing what you wanted to see. 

The cold compress had started to lose its effect, and Sukuna removed it from your ankle while the two of you shuffled about to get ready for bed. Your ankle was feeling much better after a period of rest and elevation, and you found you could move it again without excruciating pain. Getting back down the mountain might still be an issue, but it was one you could leave to figure out in the morning. 

Zipping your sleeping bags together and settling down on the sleeping mat, Sukuna made space for you beside him. You had to half lay on him for you both to stay on the padding, but with how warm his body seemed to run, you really didn’t mind. He wrapped his arm around you, nestling you close against him under the guise of conserving space - an action that had your whole body thrumming with electricity. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that way. For months, maybe even years, the only thing you’d felt under Naoya’s touch was mild dread. This was something nicer, something more exciting - a feeling you wanted to experience over and over again. 

“Warm enough?” Sukuna asked, giving you a reassuring squeeze. The tent was relatively cool, the fabric being battered by the storm outside, all of which seemed distant as you lay there in Sukuna’s grip. It was a safe and warm place to be, one where you could take your mind off troubles and anxieties knowing he was there to keep anything and everything at bay. 

Troubles which Naoya had actively brought upon your life, were effectively chased away by Sukuna. 

How you wished you’d met the pink-haired man earlier in your life. 

“Warm enough,” you echoed, your voice coming out muffled as you buried your face into his chest. 

Again, the two of you fell into comfortable silence, listening to the whistling of wind and basking in the feeling of your bodies pressed close together. You were half asleep and almost convinced that Sukuna was already asleep, when his deep voice cut through the darkness and silence. 

“I don’t usually go on these things, you know,” he confessed quietly. “This is my first one. I’m only in the club because it gives you connections for exhibition funding and learning new skills. Usually I do mountains solo and usually I do stuff much harder than this.” He waved his hand in the direction of the tent’s exit. 

A guilt blossomed in your gut at the speech, recalling similar words from your boyfriend when you’d brought up the trip. He’d said that climbs in the Japanese Alps outside of wintertime were nothing special, and that the whole thing would likely be so easy that he could do it in his sleep. He’d only agreed to go after you’d begged him, reminding him that you didn’t have the experience he did. 

“I’m only here because of you,” Sukuna continued. The guilt within you only grew sharper. Was Sukuna trying to imply that he was only present out of concern for your inexperience? Had you forced him along because he knew something like this would happen? Had he known he’d need to come to your rescue?

“Sorry. I must be such a burden,” you mumbled quietly, burying your face in your sleeping bag. 

Did Sukuna really want to commit to climbing alone with you knowing that you were so much less experienced than he was? Or was he just doing it because he felt bad for you? You were likely a pitiful sight with your messed up ankle and an abusive boyfriend who had abandoned you. 

Sukuna blinked rapidly, astute enough to swiftly connect the dots. “What? No, that’s not- I was trying to say something nice. I was saying I only came along because I enjoy spending time with you. I don’t like these group things and I prefer to do harder stuff but I’m here because you’re here, and I like you.” 

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears, completely drowning out the sound of any thoughts on how you were supposed to reply to that. You were too caught up on the word ‘like’, on the way Sukuna shifted ever so slightly against you, pulling you more firmly against his body. 

“What?” You asked, dumbly. 

“I like you,” he repeated. “I think you’re so cute and I love how happy you get whenever you learn something new and I’m so fucking exhausted of watching your boyfriend ignore you and take you for granted when I’d cherish you.” 

Again, your stomach flipped, your ears growing warm. 

“And when that fucker showed up at the top of the mountain without you, I wanted to kill him. When I found you all cold and alone on the slope I just- fuck. I want to keep you safe. I want to be the person who looks out for you, I want to take care of you in a way that guy seems unwilling to. He has no idea what he has- had, while I understand exactly what you’re worth. I want to take you to the mountains at my side because unlike him, I’d be thrilled to have you as my hiking partner.” 

Before you knew what was happening, you were crying again, wetting his clothes immediately with your tears. Your shoulders were shuddering and you could feel Sukuna’s heartrate picking up. It seemed like he was starting to panic - concerned that you were upset by his words when the reality was the total opposite. 

You’d never heard something so romantic from Naoya and you never would. To have someone speak such beautiful words to you felt surreal and your body had no idea how to react beyond sobbing from being so overwhelmed with love and affection. 

“Sorry,” Sukuna said quickly. “I know it's been a long day, now probably wasn’t the time to say anything. You don’t have to respond-”

He faltered as you peered up at him, your face wet with tears. He usually looked so confident, and even then there was still some atmosphere of certainty about him, but he couldn’t fully hide the glimmer of anxiety in his lovely red eyes. There was a fear of rejection buried within him, a fate that he seemed almost certain he was going to face. 

If only he could step into your shoes for a moment and feel all the emotion rushing over you at his confession

You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t think of anything that would suffice as a response to his outpouring of desire. Instead you tilted your face upwards, lips parting softly in a clear signal - one that Sukuna caught onto immediately. He closed the gap swiftly, lips slotting perfectly against yours with a warmth you’d never experienced before. 

Naoya’s kiss had always been domineering - a wet and unpleasant experience. Sukuna’s kiss was gentle and exploratory. His lips took the time to appreciate yours, to linger on that lovely shared warmth and soak in the feeling of being connected so intimately for the first time. 

His tongue ran along your lips carefully, requesting for you to open your mouth. You complied easily, letting him hold you ever closer as his tongue pressed into yours, deepening the kiss in a way that felt so natural despite the fact that you’d never kissed each other before. 

A rumble of thunder overhead had the two of you parting for a second, and you found your shivering renewed as a particularly cold wind blew through the tent. Sukuna’s red eyes went to the entryway, the space illuminating for a second as another flash of lightning ripped through the sky above. His hands rubbed your back soothingly at a louder rumble overhead. 

“I’m so glad I came down to find you,” he whispered. 

“Thank you for coming to find me,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on his handsome face, your mind still struggling to catch up to all that had transpired in the past few minutes. Thoughts of Naoya and all the suffering he’d put you through seemed distant in the intimacy of that tent. “I feel so lucky. Injured ankle aside.” You giggled softly, heart jumping at the way Sukuna grinned back at you, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. 

There was a gratefulness to his expression, a soft affection in his gaze which made you feel seen and special in a way you’d never felt with Naoya. It had you sinking deep into another kiss, your lips locked against his in a deeply intoxicating manner. All the stress and the anxiety of the day seemed to wash away beneath his grip. 

Even with the storm raging outside, you felt safe and warm with him there beside you.

You should’ve known about his feelings for you - should’ve understood the moment Yuki had made a comment about how Sukuna never usually spoke to anyone. He’d spent so much time on you, being so gentle in his teachings, making sure you knew what you were doing, making sure you were praised. 

He’d liked you from the start and you’d been too blind to see it. 

Too beaten down by your own experiences in relationships to believe that any affection directed towards you would be legitimate. 

You wished you could’ve puzzled it out sooner. You wished you could’ve noticed the soft look that always sparkled in Sukuna’s eyes whenever he looked at you. You wished you’d dumped Naoya several years ago, because it shouldn’t have taken an abandonment on the side of the mountain for you to realise how truly awful your ex-boyfriend was. 

But what was done was done. Sukuna’s hands were on you now, and that was all that mattered. You’d made it in the end, even if it had taken you a little longer to get there than you would’ve ideally liked. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered as the two of you broke apart for breath, red eyes scanning your face like he was committing your features to memory. “How Naoya could be so stupid, I have no idea.” 

“He’s not a smart man.” 

“No. He really isn’t.” Sukuna agreed. “But his loss is my gain.” 

You hummed, leaning against Sukuna’s chest once more, listening to his heartbeat beneath you. Despite the excitement, you were suddenly aware of how tired you were, and how much the cold was still seeping in through your clothes and down into your bones. Altitude was no joke, and the pleasant spring warmth was nowhere to be found on the mountainside that evening. 

“Are you still cold? You’re shivering.” It wasn’t possible for Sukuna to physically pull you closer to him than you already were, but he gave it an attempt all the same, practically crushing you in his grip. 

“A little, yeah.” 

“Shit. Once sec.” Moving away from you for a moment, he reached out of the sleeping bag and rummaged about in his bag, withdrawing his down jacket and draping it around your shoulders like an additional blanket. You were grateful for the added warmth, coccooned in between that and Sukuna’s warm body. 

For a few moments you lay there, your shivering finally subsiding, only for all the hairs on your neck to raise at the feeling of Sukuna’s voice vibrating against the top of your head. “There is another way I could keep you warm.” 

His tone was suggestive and perhaps a little amused. The comment had heat billowing throughout your body, your gut tightening at the suggestion of something you’d never allowed yourself to think of before. Sukuna was very attractive, and sometimes your mind had drifted in his direction when your hand had been caught between your thighs. But you’d always scolded yourself for it, had always driven away the idea of picturing a man you actually knew when you had a boyfriend. 

Now the suggestion was right there on the table as something real and tangible, and your mind was conjuring all sorts of exciting imagery. 

“O-oh. Yeah, that could be nice,” you said with a sudden rush of confidence. It was Sukuna’s turn to falter, red eyes suddenly wide with surprise, as if you’d called some bluff without even realising it. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmured, pushing you back ever so slightly so he could look properly at your face. “Sorry, I wasn’t actually expecting…this.” 

“I am on the pill,” you offered a little bashfully, embarrassed to have reacted so enthusiastically to what you were now realising was a joke. “But we can wait if you’d rather use a-” 

“No, no-,” his face was definitely a little red this time, seemingly caught off by your willingness. “If you want to, I’d like to. I just…” He rubbed his neck a little awkwardly. “I was just teasing and you surprised me, I guess. You’re always surprising me.” 

Before you could backtrack or come up with some witty response, Sukuna recovered himself and his lips were on your neck. You let out a soft whimper at the sensation of his teeth dragging against your sensitive skin, his lips latching onto you and sucking purple marks onto you with no concern for who might see them the next day. 

As far as he was concerned you were his. Naoya could rage all he wanted. If he wanted to keep his girlfriend he shouldn’t have discarded her on the mountainside. Bitterly, you hoped Naoya found out exactly what you and Sukuna had done that night. Let him seethe. Let him reflect on all that he’d lost. 

The bastard deserved all that misery and more. 

Sukuna’s hands found their way beneath your clothes, calloused fingers pressing against your skin with care. You hadn’t realised how much your whole body was aching until he was touching you like that, your muscles flexing at the new contact. 

You took his actions as a sign to do the same, sliding your own fingers beneath his shirt and pressing them against his abs. You knew he was well built - on hotter days he’d been shirtless when working on teaching you to lead climb, and you’d pretty shamelessly stared at him until your mind had reminded you of your boyfriend.

It would be nice for him to be shirtless now, but neither of you felt like removing any layers of clothing in the cold, so for the time being your touch would have to suffice. That was a freedom that Sukuna seemed to be taking full advantage of, mapping out your body with his hands, his fingers moving to your breasts and squeezing, red eyes lighting up at the little moan it earned him. 

“Really shouldn’t be doing this now,” he whispered huskily against your ear. “Had the whole thing planned out. Figured once you’d broken up with Naoya that I’d take you out on a nice date and then bring you back to my place so we could do this properly. But here we are.” 

You giggled softly at the dismay in his tone. “We can still stop.” 

“No. I want this now. You aren’t so easily resisted. But mark my words, once we’re back home, I’m going to take my time with you. I want to look at you properly beyond just fumbling about in a dark tent - as hot as this is.” 

Giggling again, you nodded, in total agreement with his sentiment. Doing things like this, while a little limited, did feel exciting in its own way. It felt like you were keeping some secret with each other, doing whatever you could in the dark without anyone else knowing about it. There was an allure to it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

With Sukuna’s attention on your breasts, you were the one that ended up making a major move first. Your hand slid down beneath the waistband of his trousers, finding its way into his briefs. He let out a groan at the feeling of your hand brushing against his cock, which twitched erratically at the slightest touch. 

It felt big beneath your fingers, and you hadn’t realised that your breath had hitched until Sukuna was letting out a chuckle. 

“Impressed?” 

“Maybe,” you mumbled shyly. You didn’t have much of a point of reference for such things. Naoya was the only man you’d ever been with, and you imagined that he wasn’t packing anything particularly unique down there. Not if Sukuna’s size was anything to go by. You wrapped your fingers around the shaft, enjoying the way Sukuna shivered in pleasure. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna mirrored your actions, his fingers moving down your body until they were grazing against your panties. It was a little embarrassing how damp the fabric had grown, your pussy desperately slick from the events of the evening. Your body wanted Sukuna just as much as your heart and mind did, and it was making that fact glaringly obvious. 

“So wet,” he said with a chuckle. “There I was all nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same. Shows what I know, huh?” 

You flushed, glancing away from him in embarrassment as his fingers pushed your panties to the side, giving him free access to your pussy beneath. His fingers moved deftly through your folds, moving the slick around before rubbing at your clit, leaving you whining his name and squeezing his cock a little tighter. 

“Cute,” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours. One of his fingers prodded at your opening, pushing in with a little effort. He took a few minutes opening you up with two of his fingers, languidly stuffing you full with them to prepare you. You didn’t want to admit to how emotional the whole thing made you feel, because Naoya had always said that foreplay was a myth. 

Never before had you been prepared for anything, and Sukuna taking so much time to do so had your heart fluttering. 

You tried your best to return the favour, stroking his cock as best as you could while it was still confined beneath his clothes, but he didn’t seem to pay that too much attention - completely fixed on making you cum around his fingers before moving onto anything else. That was another thing that Naoya had never done. Cumming with him was so infrequent that you’d almost grown certain that you couldn’t do it with another person. 

And yet, Sukuna had you doing it in a matter of minutes - your toes curling in desperate pleasure as you gushed over his fingers with a sweet little gasp. 

There was no time for you to catch your breath before he was pushing your trousers and panties down ever so slightly to give him access whilst still keeping you dressed and warm. He did the same for his own clothes, gently displacing your hand from his cock and repositioning the two of you so that he was on top. 

The sleeping bag was still wrapped snugly around the two of you, keeping the warmth in effectively while he lined himself up over you, his muscular body keeping you pinned down beneath him in a position you’d be more than happy to remain in for the rest of your days. It was so nice to be under him like that, to be so surrounded by his body and heat and scent. 

It was where you were supposed to be. In some uncomfortable tent on the side of the mountain feeling happier than ever because he was there with you. 

You’d gone to the mountaineering club for Naoya, but you couldn’t help but think fate had guided your actions and really led you there for Sukuna. 

“All good?” He asked, hot breath brushing against your ear. The tip of his cock was pressed up against your opening, and you realised that he was giving you a chance to back out - showing you a level of consideration that Naoya never would. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, lashes fluttering as you peered up into lovely red eyes, letting out a whine when he finally pushed into you.

You hadn’t been prepared for just how big he was, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your skull as he pressed his way into your tight pussy. Your nails dug into his arms and a whimper left you at the intensity of the feeling. You felt like you were aware of every ridge and vein on his cock, your pussy squeezing around him each time he’d involuntarily twitch within you. 

It didn’t take long for the uncomfortable fullness to give way to pleasure once he bottomed out inside you. It had a pleasantly warm buzz running through your body once he started to thrust within you, the weight of his body keeping you still and secure, keeping you warm even as the storm picked up outside. 

Any fears of the thunder and lightning were pushed aside in favour of focusing on the feeling of being split in two. Sukuna’s lips found your neck once more, overstimulating you as he bit and sucked on the juncture between your neck and shoulder, bringing tears to your eyes beneath all the pleasure he was giving you. 

Even through the stretch it felt right to have him inside you, and it was downright heavenly each time one of his long strokes hit that one specific spot inside you, bringing stars and light to your vision each time. 

This was where you were meant to be. 

Neither of you lasted particularly long. Not after the day you’d just had, and certainly not after months of mutual crushing. You’d cum first - your body already sensitive from the previous orgasm and totally overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all. Sukuna had reached down to play with your clit while he fucked you, and that set you on a high unlike any other. 

If Naoya had known where the clit was, he’d certainly never touched it. 

And yet, there Sukuna was utilising it. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d cum from penetrative sex, but Sukuna had pulled an orgasm from you like it was easy. 

And maybe it was easy. 

Maybe Naoya just fucking sucked. 

Sukuna wasn’t far behind you in reaching his release. When you’d cum you’d clamped down around him tightly, locked in a spiral of pure pleasure unlike that which you’d experienced before. It felt better than anything you could achieve with your own hands - infinitely more intimate and lovely. 

The way you’d squeezed him so tight had sent Sukuna over the edge, prompting him to groan your name in that low tone of his as he filled you with his seed, riding out his own release to the point where you were growing overstimulated and begging him for mercy. 

Mercy which he gave you with a gentle smile and a kiss planted atop your sweaty forehead. 

The two of you lay then in the darkness, soft pants drowned beneath the howling of wind. Sukuna was holding you tightly, keeping you secure in his grip like you might vanish if he didn’t cling to you with all his might. He was still inside you, softening but present in a way that felt blissfully intimate. Whenever you’d laid with Naoya, you couldn’t wait to escape his grip and get cleaned up. 

With Sukuna, it was different. 

You could stay there with him sheathed inside you for hours - connected in a way that just felt right. 

His lips were ghosting against your hair, soothing you with kisses, running his hands over you repetitively in a bid to ensure you stayed warm at his side. Your ankle was throbbing a little from all the movement, but with Sukuna’s legs intertwined with yours you found yourself able to ignore it. All thoughts and discomforts overridden by how happy you felt in that moment. 

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll look after you.” 

“I know,” you whispered. 

He smiled softly. “Just making sure you know it. Apparently you can’t take for granted that everyone will look out for you.” His tone came out a little bitter, but instead of feeling anger at the reminder of Naoya’s actions, you felt a warmth blossom across your chest at Sukuna’s display of care. 

You liked that he was angry about it. It was nice to have someone care about you for once. 

In hindsight, it was a blessing that you never made it out into the mountains alone with Naoya like you’d intended to at the start of your mountaineering training. If you had, perhaps you would’ve ended up left for dead - freezing on the side of the mountain while Naoya summoned some crocodile tears and dismissed your fate altogether. 

You were lucky to have Sukuna. Lucky to be able to continue going into the mountains with someone who actually wanted you there. Someone who would really take care of you. 

“I’m glad you’re here to look after me.” Your hand reached for his face, tracing his tattoos with great care. As pleasant as your evening with him had been, you were looking forward to making it down the mountain - to spending time with him outside of that tent. It would be nice to see just where those tattoos disappeared off to beneath his clothes. 

But that would have to wait. 

You knew that the next day would be long. An arduous trek back down the mountain was ahead of you, along with a no doubt vicious confrontation with your ex. One that you were sure Sukuna would take the lead on, but still not something you were looking forward to experiencing. 

Either way, you wouldn’t dwell on it that evening. 

Because for the time being, there was nothing you needed to worry about. The storm could rage on outside for as long as it needed to. You were safe in your tent, in the arms of a man who would never leave you alone on the side of a mountain. 

And it was possibly the happiest you’d been in a very long time. 

a/n: after getting down to the bottom of the mountain the next day I promise reader slapped naoya and sukuna beat the hell out of him :)

had such a fun time writing this its literally the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written as I love being in the mountains hehe

hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are appreciated as always!

perma taglist: @calicatzz @suzunu @winkii @sukubusss @bobis-notmylover @tetsuski @torupilled @brattyxackerman @r0vena @chaos-4baby @moonlitreveri3 @feyrinnn @strawberryrosey @creamofsneky-blog @zeeseekay @p1nkfl0wers @apricityn @keiiiluv @dogggggggblog-kaye @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich @t4ters @himezoro @pandabiene5115

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”

𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔧𝔦

໒꒱ nearly dies.

໒꒱ "AN ANGEL...! I'VE BEEN BLESSED!!"

໒꒱ nosebleed. dramatic tears. hearts floating everywhere.

໒꒱ genuinely believes heaven personally sent you.

໒꒱ your wings are sacred to him.

໒꒱ he refuses to touch them until you explicitly tell him it's okay.

໒꒱ once you do... he handles every feather like it's made of crystal.

໒꒱ wing cleaning days become luxurious spa days.

໒꒱ warm water. expensive oils. soft brushes. homemade conditioners.

໒꒱ fluffy towels warmed by the stove.

໒꒱ he'll spend literal hours grooming every feather.

໒꒱ "my love deserves only perfection."

໒꒱ kisses the base of your wings because he knows that's where they're hardest to clean.

໒꒱ if your wings molt...

໒꒱ he carefully collects the fallen feathers and keeps them.

໒꒱ absolutely refuses to throw them away.

໒꒱ "they're precious..."

໒꒱ if anyone dirties your wings...

໒꒱ he'll take it personally and ifrit jambe them outta this world.

𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔤𝔞𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔴

໒꒱ congratulations, you're his new fixation.

໒꒱ immediately wants to know how they work.

໒꒱ "interesting." "do the bones extend from your scapula?" "can you feel every feather individually?"

໒꒱ apparently you're now also the subject of thirty medical questions.

໒꒱ but only because he's fascinated.

໒꒱ absolutely thinks they're beautiful.

໒꒱ he'd just never admit it so directly.

໒꒱ if your wings ache..

໒꒱ he's already examining them.

໒꒱ "hold still."

໒꒱ cleaning them is surprisingly intimate.

໒꒱ law is incredibly thorough. i mean, he's a surgeon after all.

໒꒱ checks for broken feathers.

໒꒱ irritated skin. muscle strain. parasites.

໒꒱ literally everything.

໒꒱ he'll even massage where your wings connect to your back because he knows carrying that weight hurts.

໒꒱ his fingers are warm. surprisingly gentle.

໒꒱ he enjoys running his hands through your feathers while reading.

໒꒱ it's absentminded.

໒꒱ he doesn't even realize he's doing it anymore.

໒꒱ your wings become his stress relief.

໒꒱ you'll catch him resting his face against them after difficult days, sniffing them..

𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔨𝔢𝔶 𝔡. 𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔶

໒꒱ the first time he saw your wings, his eyes practically became stars.

໒꒱ "WHOA!! YOU CAN FLY?!"

໒꒱ that was the first thing out of his mouth.

໒꒱ asks approximately a million questions every single day.

໒꒱ "do they get tired?" "can i sleep under them?" "if you flap really hard, can i go wheeeee?"

໒꒱ yes, he absolutely thinks they're the coolest thing ever.

໒꒱ your halo? he tried poking it. then tried balancing meat on top of it. neither ended well.

໒꒱ he learns very quickly that your wings are sensitive after hugging them a little too enthusiastically and making you squeak.

໒꒱ immediately apologizes, then spends the next hour petting them as gently as possible because he feels bad.

໒꒱ your wings become his favorite blanket.

໒꒱ after a long day, he'll simply crawl beside you and disappear beneath one of them.

໒꒱ "it's warm..."

໒꒱ helping you clean them turns into a game.

໒꒱ he'll happily fetch water, soap, towels, and every feather that floats away becomes "treasure."

໒꒱ he isn't the neatest helper, but he's trying so hard..

໒꒱ he's incredibly touchy.

໒꒱ not in a weird way.

໒꒱ if you're sitting together, one hand is absentmindedly running through your feathers.

໒꒱ when you're upset, he'll wrap himself around you and stroke your wings because he noticed it calms you down.

𝔯𝔬𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔞 𝔷𝔬𝔯𝔬

໒꒱ thought your wings were another weapon at first.

໒꒱ "...those could break someone's neck."

໒꒱ somehow, that's a compliment.

໒꒱ definitely finds them beautiful, but doesn't say it often. instead:

໒꒱ "...they suit you."

໒꒱ he's surprisingly respectful.

໒꒱ never touches them without asking first.

໒꒱ the first time you let him, he freezes for a second because they're softer than he imagined.

໒꒱ "...didn't expect that."

໒꒱ helping clean them becomes one of your quiet routines.

໒꒱ he sits behind you with a bucket and cloth while you tell him stories.

໒꒱ he's meticulous.

໒꒱ every feather gets checked.

໒꒱ if he notices damaged feathers, he'll carefully smooth them back into place with rough, calloused fingers.

໒꒱ secretly enjoys brushing them. it's calming.

໒꒱ if someone tries grabbing your wings without permission...

໒꒱ good luck.

໒꒱ they now have three swords pointed at them.

໒꒱ during naps, one of your wings somehow always ends up draped over him.

໒꒱ he'll pretend to complain.

໒꒱ though, he never moves it.

𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔨𝔬𝔟𝔶

໒꒱ poor guy forgets how to speak.

໒꒱ "...a-an...a-a-angel..."

໒꒱ he's blushing so hard he might pass out.

໒꒱ spends weeks wondering if it's rude to look.

໒꒱ finally asks,

໒꒱ "...may i... u-um...see your wings...closer..?"

໒꒱ the first time you let him touch them, he's so gentle he's barely making contact.

໒꒱ "is this.. okay?"

໒꒱ constantly checking if he's hurting you.

໒꒱ researches bird grooming because he wants to help properly.

໒꒱ he literally studies wing anatomy.

໒꒱ buys soft brushes specifically for you.

໒꒱ cleaning your wings becomes a weekly ritual.

໒꒱ he'll hum quietly while brushing them.

໒꒱ somehow every feather ends up perfectly aligned.

໒꒱ your halo fascinates him.

໒꒱ he catches himself staring.

໒꒱ immediately apologizes.

໒꒱ if you're exhausted after flying...

໒꒱ he'll carry you instead.

໒꒱ "you've done enough today."

𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔥𝔞𝔴𝔨

໒꒱ the first time he sees your wings, his expression barely changes.

໒꒱ "...how unusual."

໒꒱ that's it.

໒꒱ but later, when you're not looking, his golden eyes linger just a little longer.

໒꒱ he finds them breathtaking.

໒꒱ he simply isn't the type to gush over them.

໒꒱ your halo amuses him more than he'd ever admit. once, a ray of sunlight caught it just right, and he quietly remarked,

໒꒱ "...it suits you."

໒꒱ you think about that compliment for the next three weeks. he understands immediately that your wings aren't decorations.

໒꒱ they're part of you.

໒꒱ so he never, EVER touches them without permission.

໒꒱ if someone else reaches for them uninvited...

໒꒱ they receive a look so cold their hand mysteriously changes direction.

໒꒱ when you finally tell him it's okay...

໒꒱ his fingertips barely graze the feathers.

໒꒱ slow. careful. almost reverent.

໒꒱ "...remarkably soft."

໒꒱ that's the closest thing to awe you'll ever hear from him.

໒꒱ cleaning your wings becomes a peaceful ritual at his estate.

໒꒱ it's usually done in silence.

໒꒱ the windows are open. birdsong drifts through the room.

໒꒱ neither of you feels the need to fill the quiet.

໒꒱ he'd prepare everything before you even ask.

໒꒱ warm water. clean cloths. soft brushes. oils to keep the feathers healthy.

໒꒱ everything laid out with perfect precision.

໒꒱ mihawk is incredibly patient.

໒꒱ he'll inspect each feather one by one.

໒꒱ smoothing bent ones back into place.

໒꒱ removing dirt you couldn't reach yourself.

໒꒱ if he finds a damaged feather, he'll handle it with astonishing care.

໒꒱ "this one will need time." "don't pull it."

໒꒱ the base of your wings is always the hardest place to reach.

໒꒱ without a word, he'll move behind you and clean them himself.

໒꒱ his touch is steady. gentle. almost soothing.

໒꒱ every movement feels deliberate.

໒꒱ after long flights, he'll notice your shoulders are tense before you say anything.

໒꒱ he'll simply stand behind you, resting warm hands where your wings meet your back.

໒꒱ "relax."

໒꒱ his massages are slow, firm, and somehow melt away every ache.

໒꒱ he's surprisingly fond of preening your wings. not because they need it.

໒꒱ because it's calming.

໒꒱ he'll often do it while the two of you sit on the castle balcony during sunset, wine in one hand, brush in the other.

໒꒱ if you molt... he quietly gathers the fallen feathers instead of sweeping them away.

໒꒱ one day, you discover several pristine white feathers pressed between the pages of one of his books.

໒꒱ when you ask why...

໒꒱ "they were beautiful."

໒꒱ and that is the entire explanation.

໒꒱ he's not outwardly affectionate.

໒꒱ but when the castle is quiet and no one is around...

໒꒱ you'll occasionally feel him resting his forehead against one of your folded wings while reading.

໒꒱ he never comments on it.

໒꒱ neither do you.

໒꒱ if you wrap your wings around him during a chilly evening...

໒꒱ he pretends to continue reading.

໒꒱ he doesn't ask you to move. doesn't even glance up.

໒꒱ but his hand eventually slips beneath the feathers, absentmindedly stroking them while turning the page with the other.

໒꒱ the first time you fall asleep with your wings draped over him, he remains completely still for hours.

໒꒱ not because he has to.

໒꒱ because waking you simply isn't worth it.

໒꒱ if anyone ever injured your wings...

໒꒱ they would quickly learn why the world calls him the strongest swordsman.

໒꒱ he wouldn't raise his voice. he wouldn't threaten them.

໒꒱ they'd understand the moment yoru left its sheath.

𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔯

໒꒱ smiles beneath his mask the moment he sees them.

໒꒱ they're beautiful.

໒꒱ he doesn't need to say it aloud.

໒꒱ you can tell.

໒꒱ asks before touching them.

໒꒱ always.

໒꒱ his rough, calloused hands are naturally gentle despite how intimidating he looks.

໒꒱ helping clean your wings quickly becomes "your thing."

໒꒱ he'll sit behind you in comfortable silence.

໒꒱ brushing each feather slowly.

໒꒱ occasionally asking,

໒꒱ "this spot okay?"

໒꒱ he learns exactly how much pressure you like.

໒꒱ somehow gives the best wing massages.

໒꒱ especially near the joints where your muscles get sore.

໒꒱ if your wings are too large to reach properly...

໒꒱ he'll happily do all the difficult spots without complaint.

໒꒱ loves when you wrap your wings around both of you.

໒꒱ it's the safest place in the world to him.

໒꒱ sometimes, you'll feel him absentmindedly tracing patterns through your feathers while you're talking.

໒꒱ if you start shedding feathers...

໒꒱ he quietly gathers the prettiest ones and tucks them into a small box.

໒꒱ not because they're magical.

໒꒱ bcause they're yours.

໒꒱ if anyone grabs or pulls your wings without permission...

໒꒱ they won't make that mistake twice.

໒꒱ killer is calm by nature.

໒꒱ but the protective look in his eyes under that adorable mask is enough to send most people walking away.

——————————————————

𐔌 ᛝ taglist .ᐟ : @chocolateshortcakesblog

⟢ Part of your everyday life..

ᯓ if he isn’t waking you up, it’s because he’s still asleep beside you or in his office with piles of clothes beside him.

ᯓ you always stop by his workshop at least five times a day unless you’re on a mission, and by the time you’re back there’s always a new outfit waiting in your room.

ᯓ people always knew you’re together, and it’s weird to some since a lot of people were used to walking past him, but Eisha was happy to see someone stand beside him!

⟢ How he’s different with you..

ᯓ if you’re overwhelmed, then for a rare moment— he’s quiet. Not silent, but quieter, a lot more concise with his words.

ᯓ the clothes he makes for you aren’t his usual style, they’re made to match yours.

ᯓ you get previews of all his designs, before and while he’s making them, giving you free samples of fabrics to test for him.

⟢ When he defends you..

ᯓ if you’re out on a date and someone says something insulting about you, he turns like he’s possessed and starts yapping like crazy, you can hardly even decipher what he’s saying but you can make out a few things.

ᯓ “no drip” - “better than you” - “you’re ridiculous”

ᯓ then he tugs you to his bike, leaving that person both shocked and confused, and when you ask him what he said? He just cackled and moves on from the topic.

⟢ Holding his hand..

ᯓ his gloves are almost as callous and rough as you’d think his hands underneath them are, you rarely hold his hands without them.

ᯓ but you’ve grown used to the way his work gloves feel, it doesn’t feel like they’re disconnecting you from him, they’re as comforting as they’d be without it.

ᯓ and while you love holding his hand without his gloves, your favourite thing to do is rubbing the inside of his wrist— his pulse point, with your thumb while the rest of your hand rests on his glove.

ᯓ that’s also his favourite, though his favourite is really anything that lets you hold him.

︶︶୨୧︶︶

your brows furrow a bit and you grip the blanket to see what he’s doing but before you can lift it, his finger starts to circle your clit agonizingly slow causing you to let go of the blanket and breathe deeply in soft pleasure, eyes closing and brows raising slowly

“mmm— so gentle” you coo at him with a slight teasing to your tone, grinding your hips into his finger which seems to motivate him to add another to swipe slowly against your throbbing nub. toji’s never so gentle, usually ravishing you with his tongue or slamming you against his fingers or cock. not to mention, he’s being so quiet, normally he’d be teasing you by now

“why are you being so quiet— f-fuck!” as if he’s intentionally cutting you off, he quickly presses his flat tongue over your clit in place of his fingers. but he doesn’t move it, he simply adds pressure. you feel so pent up, likely because he’s been toying with you long before you awoke, that the soft natural shake of his tongue is driving you crazy

“stop teasing me, toji,” you whine pathetically, still half asleep, attempting to grind your hips against his tongue. but you don’t get far because he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down with such strength that it hurts

you sit up with a hiss, leaning on your elbows and adjusting your hips as much as he allows, to get more comfortable

his unmoving tongue begins to make slow basic licks up against your clit, ignoring your attempt to adjust your position. it seems like he’s not using any technique, like he’s just gliding his tongue over the entirety of your clit instead of targeting the underside of it or the side. it works to stimulate every nerve within your little bundle softly, and gently.

“s-shit— that feels really good,” you coo between deep breaths, head tilting back and hands gripping the sheets. little moans start to escape your throat, your legs beginning to subtly shake in need. it’s like he’s teasing you intentionally, that or he doesn’t know what he’s doing. but forty-one year old toji is experienced to say the least so it can’t be the latter.

you whine after minutes of this taunting, wanting more. “toji, baby, this is sweet and all but i need more.”

and as if punishing you, he nips at your clit, causing you to jolt and squeak in surprise. it’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘you’ll take what i give you.’

you pout and whine dramatically in protest, but that quickly turns into a confused tilt to your head, eyes peeking open at the bulge of his head when he pulls his tongue away and uses one hand to spread your lips apart. you wait for some kind of touch, his tongue or his fingers but it doesn’t come. it’s as if he’s analyzing your pussy, he’s most definitely just looking at it because he’s not even stimulating you now.

you’ve only ever been insecure with toji when you first started getting intimate, but that quickly changed as toji praised your body relentlessly the entirety of your first time together. but now, heat arises on your cheeks as he just stares at your throbbing pussy. it definitely doesn’t help that you can’t even see his expression or know why he’s doing this

“what’s gotten into you, toji? quit it,” you whine, reaching to pull the blanket up once again but before you can, he harshly takes hold of your wrist with the hand connected to the arm wrapped around your thigh and holds it against your lower belly as to stop you from moving. it’s so dark that you can barely see his hand around your wrist

you tsk, pouty and irritated as he continues to stare. before you can say something else, he suddenly closes your pussy lips until they touch each other with the same fingers that were holding them apart. you gasp softly in surprise, only becoming more confused when he opens your lips again, it feels weirdly good and extremely teasing. he continues to slowly repeat the motion a few times over, and you can’t help but feel awkward and embarrassed as your squelching fills the room. it’s like he’s curious how pussy folds and lips work. you aren’t sure if this is due to his age, maybe something guys of his time used to do? but it confuses you

“toji, i swear to god,” you groan at him, impatiently. and it’s like he just doesn’t care because even though he stops opening and closing your pussy like an accordion, he starts to brush his fingers through your small patch of hair above your pussy instead. he does it like he’s brushing his fingers through the hair on your head. and it’s just too weird to feel pleasing. toji had told you he liked when you grew out a lil patch for him because when he sheathes his cock completely inside, your pubes combine and he thinks it’s romantic. you don’t question it, he’s an older man after all, there’s a lot of things he prefers that you don’t quite understand.

you pull against his grip on your wrist frustratedly and when he doesn’t relent, grip instead becoming harsher, you use your free hand to reach under the blanket in attempt to grip his hair and push his head down to -get to work, so to speak.

frankly, you’re exhausted, it’s gotta be something like one or two am and you had a long day yesterday. it seems like he just woke you up to toy with you and you genuinely have no idea how he has the energy to pull this shit when he’s been working his ass off at work recently. you guys hadn’t even had the chance to fuck the last few days.

just when your fingers feel the tips of his hair, his hand that was brushing through your pubes snaps up and brings it down to join your other hand in prison. it happens so fast that you feel like you have whiplash. he transfers both of your wrists to one hand, his one hand being large enough to encase both. he uses his now free hand to keep your thigh open for him.

“so mean,” you whine loudly, “you know i like to touch you.” you grumble, pulling sharply against his hand holding your wrists in resistance. it’s not unusual for toji to be controlling or demanding in a ‘mean’ way but he’s never kept you from touching him, especially when he’s between your thighs. and though your intention was to push his face into your folds, it’s not like you don’t wish to simply touch him too.

then, you feel a cool breeze of air blow against your wet folds, causing you to shiver and hiss in mild relief. your chasm clenches and your nub twitches from the stimulus and after a moment of seemingly watching your pussy react, he does it again.

now, you’ve never growled in your life and why would you? but you find your fed-up self growling in annoyance. your growling threat does make him move on, but not to what you need. you gasp as he uses two fingers to pull the hood of your clit back to expose your sensitive nub.

embarrassment is bursting at the seams but not as much as confusion is. and just when you’re about to say fuck this and utter your safe word so you can finally go to sleep, he lays his tongue against your exposed clit. it feels as though electricity shoots through your body. a shockingly loud whimper strangles out of your throat and your eyes clench shut when he starts to kitten lick it.

“w-what the fu- what are you doing- too much!” you shout at him, head tossing back and forth with eyes clenched shut as your toes curl. it hurts just as much as it feels euphoric, half of you wants him to stop and half hopes to god he doesn’t. your thighs close and open around his head sporadically in futile attempt to cope. if you weren’t in such a distraught state, maybe you’d have noticed how his hair feels a bit different on your thighs, shorter layers on the top that are sticking out in all different kinds of directions.

after he seems to have his fill of torturing you, he lets go of your hood and allows it to cover your exposed nerve again. you sigh deeply in relief, taking deep breaths and relax your clenching eyes into gently closed, relaxed ones. you throb painfully as arousal leaks from your hole, trials down your ass, and pools on the sheets— it’s as if your pussy is crying and if it could cry, it would be.

then, after just a breath of a break, you feel one of his fingers make contact with the lowest part of your pussy. your brows twitch in confusion as he attempts to push it inside, quickly realizing your chasm curves up a bit when his fingertip push against your bottom wall as your other walls cling to him

he twists that finger into you slowly and awkwardly, opening you up and working you open as the room fills with gasps and wet mushing sounds

but even though you’re moderately wet, it still stings when he tries to add another finger before even getting the first one in all the way. you hiss, hips attempting to jolt away from his insertion.

“ngh—hurts,” you whine, hinting to stimulate your clit while he fucks his fingers into you to ease you into the intrusion but instead, he freezes. a beat passes as you await his next move. but he doesn’t do anything.

it’s not the craziest idea that toji is just teasing you intentionally but something feels off. but you’re so tired and he’s been taunting you this entire time, so you help him.

“your tongue, wan’ your tongue,” you coo at him, impatiently. instantly, he takes your advice.

but you aren’t prepared for the speed he fucks his fingers into you when he finally starts sloppily making out with your clit. you practically scream at his force, back arching off of the bed, it’s not harder than he’s ever fingered you but its definitely faster. and it’s odd because the way he’s finger fucking you is so sloppy, no direction and no technique. it reminds you of your high school boyfriend when he finally got his fingers in you, toji can be so impatient sometimes. you assume he’s just fingering you to prep you for his cock and not for your pleasure.

so when one of his jabs push against your top wall where your sweet spot is, you moan loudly.

“there! right there! please!” you beg, whining and legs now shaking something violent.

you can’t help but babble ‘thank you’s’ over and over like a prayer when he listens, immediately focusing on your g-spot.

you get so loud that you start to bite harshly on your bottom lip in attempt to stay quiet.

“m-megumi! he’s sleeping, can’t stay quiet— s-slow down!” you slur out, eyes rolled back and thighs basically crushing his head with force. the morning breakfast with megumi after an intimate night with toji is always awkward to say the least. he’s kind enough to act as though he didn’t hear anything but you know he did

and for the first time all night, he moans against your pussy from your words. you can barely hear it over your desperate moans and squelching. the only reason you know he did is because the vibrations of it rip through you.

your high sneaks up on you so harshly and quickly that you feel as though you black out for more than a few moments as tears fall from your eyes.

“c-cumming!” is all you can grit out, and it’s not like you had to tell him that, he can feel your pussy tighten around his fingers like a vice. somehow you’re not so out of it as to not notice the stutter in his movements, the way the bed creaks where he lies on his stomach, and how he pathetically groans louder than ever. you’re not an idiot, he just came in his pants.

and maybe it’s the fact that he jizzed his pants from just eating you out, his sounds, the abuse of your g-spot, or the painfully annoying teasing he conflicted on you leading to this but you cum harder than you have in weeks. your orgasm lasts minutes and you see fucking white.

as you come down, you whimper as you grind your hips against his face. he catches onto what you’re doing and sticks his tongue out eagerly, slipping his fingers from your sticky, slippery hole to allow you to focus on his tongue.

“oh baby, you’ve gotta start teasing me more often. that was— fucking amazing,” you praise, catching your breath and slowing your grinding. even though it was a little too slow sometimes, it was nice to feel toji being so gentle and taking his time with you for once.

he again, stays quiet to your dismay but he collects the cum escaping your chasm with his eager tongue, making you whimper in overstimulation.

“jesus. you really missed me, huh?” you breathe out deeply in relief and he pecks your clit one last time in affection, as if silently saying ‘your welcome,’ before letting go of your bruised wrists and readjusting your panties to cover you again.

and though it’s a bit odd that he’s been so silent tonight, when his silhouette crawls out of under the blanket and slips out of the dark room, you think nothing of it. toji’s always getting up to get water or a snack after you fuck. “hurry up— wan’ cuddle” you slur out, groggily as your heavy eyes fall closed

you’re so tired from the day before that you allow yourself to close your eyes and drift to sleep, the post orgasm relaxation taking over. toji will wake you up if he wants to fuck or cuddle when he comes back, you assume he will so it’s no big deal

waking up the next morning, you turn on your side and cuddle into toji’s bulky body lying beside you, nuzzling your head into his chest before opening your eyes to look up at him.

“wow~ goodmorning, little one. what did i do to earn such a cute greeting this morning?” toji’s deep voice inquires as he wraps an arm around you and squeezes the fat of your ass, he’s likely been awake for a few minutes before you.

“can’t a girl just be happy to wake up next to her sexy boyfriend for no reason?” you tease with a playful smile, big doe eyes gazing up at him, subtly grinding your panty-clad pussy into his thigh. the gusset of your panties are still a bit damp from having not changed out of them last night

he smirks down at you and lays a long kiss onto your lips, humming into you before parting and peppering your neck with kisses that make you giggle as he holds you deep into himself.

“how lucky am i? you still find this old man attractive, sweetheart?” he mumbles into your neck and you giggle.

“i don’t know.. you’re getting a bit slow these days, old man.” you tease, biting your lip as you smile up at him playfully.

you squeak when he flips you over and pins you down by your wrists. he leans into your ear and nibbles on it. “careful, this old man is getting real close to fucking that attitude right out of you, girl.”

you nudge the side of your head against his affectionately and hum, seductively. “oh yeah? you all talk or are you actually gonna do it?” you wrap your legs around his hips and lift yours to grind against his hardening cock through his sweatpants.

he chuckles and pulls away from your ear to look you in the eye, gaze flickering down at your unrelenting hips with a clench to his jaw. “fuckk, i wish i could baby.”

and immediately you whine, a pout forming on your lips. “noo, again? you’re really gonna go to work now?”

you love being toji’s little housewife but he’s been so busy lately. the only company you have is megumi and his friends while he’s away and it gets so awkward since you’re all around the same age

he gives you one last peck to your lips and you chase his lips as he parts from you. he sits at the edge of the bed before stretching and grunting, loudly.

“sorry, sweet girl. wish i could say i’d be back later but ‘fraid it’d gonna be a long one. i’ll be back in a few days.” he sighs as he stands and enters the master bathroom to brush his teeth

you groan to yourself dramatically, pouting as you lay back with your eyes closed. “shiu might as well be your girlfriend at this point.”

“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, baby.” toji shouts to you as the faucet turns on. you know he hates leaving you like this too but someone’s gotta pay the bills, he’s got you and a kid to support after all

you sigh, there’s no use in making him feel worse than he already does so you put on a playful smile and press your thighs together.

“oh really? i’m still sad you didn’t wake me up to fuck last night after you ate me out like that.” you sing at him, seductively causing him to chuckle deeply.

“last night? you want this old man so bad that you’re dreaming about my tongue now? i was at work last night sweetheart, didn’t get back till late.” he shouts back at you, you can tell he’s speaking with his toothbrush in his mouth.

you immediately shoot upright with blinking eyes, suddenly wide awake. you chuckle, nervously as your face drains of blood. there’s just no way that was a dream, it was so vivid. you quickly check your wrists and sure enough, you have slight bruises forming on them of finger prints— but they’re not prominent enough to be sure.

“a-are you sure? it felt so real,” you gulp, almost speaking more to yourself than him.

“very sure. got here like three hours ago, was wondering why your panties were so wet. naughty, naughty girl.” he teases you, thinking nothing of your dream

you look down at your panties and your brows twitch in confusion. your pussy feels all kinds of sensitive, like it always is the morning after getting sexy with toji. can wet dreams get that vivid to where you can feel the after effects of it?

you shake your head and stand up before changing your panties and slipping on some sweatpants. there’s no use in dwelling on it, it’s not like someone broke in last night to eat you out and then left, right?

“pancakes this morning?” you inquire as you open the bedroom door.

“eh—too sweet, toast? kind of in a hurry,” toji calls back as the shower turns on.

“okay, baby.” you call back before leaving your bedroom and entering the kitchen.

as you put on the coffee pot for toji, you hear megumi walk in with a yawn behind you before he takes a seat at the kitchen table. you clench your eyes shut briefly in embarrassment. you aren’t sure if he heard you having a wet dream last night or if you even made any noise at all

“good morning, megumi.” you greet him, kindly as you lean your back against the counter to face him.

he hums groggily and offers a small smile. you exhale in relief, usually megumi won’t make eye contact after a night of hearing you and toji fuck so you figure you’re in the clear.

“i’m making toast for your dad but i’m down to make whatever if you’re craving something specific.” you cheerfully offer as you throw some bread in the toaster.

“uh- no it’s okay. i’ll make my own.” he voices as he turns on his phone to scroll on it. megumi’s always rejecting your offers to make him food, do his dishes, or his laundry. you can tell he thinks it’s weird that you’re only a year older than him and acting like his mom while fucking his dad. but still, megumi is hard to read, he’s even more bitch-faced than his father is.

you sigh and put on a small smile. “okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

and then it’s pretty silent until toji comes in, showered and holding his work bag.

toji downs the coffee you offer him quickly and shoves a piece of toast in his mouth before he pulls you in and slaps your ass then grips it, making you squeak and blush with megumi just feet away on his phone.

“t-toji!” you gasp at him, futilely pushing his chest away as he chuckles and finally lets go of your ass but he still holds you close.

“oh hush. he doesn’t care, do ya, kid?” toji nonchalantly asks megumi as he takes a long wiff of your neck.

megumi simply sighs, clearly annoyed with his father like usual.

ignorant toji kisses you deeply before reluctantly letting you go and snatching the other piece of toast you made him.

“be back soon,” you pout lovingly, following him to the front door before he opens it and turns to you.

“i’ll miss you too, sweet girl. i’ll call you.” he looks down at you with affection and sighs as he finally exits with a wave.

you watch him pull out of the driveway and leave as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you fiddle with the lock on the front door and it seems to be working fine.

once you’re back in the kitchen, you sit at the kitchen island and lean your chin onto your palm as you watch megumi cook for himself, back facing you by the stove. you just can’t drop the idea that your ‘dream’ wasn’t just a dream. the way toji poked and prodded at you like a teenage virgin was so odd— not to mention how he didn’t speak or let you touch him.

“how’d you sleep?” you inquire and megumi stops moving the spatula around in the pan when you speak briefly before clearing his throat and then continuing.

“good. why?”

“just wondering, do you know for sure if i locked the door last night before we went to sleep?” you ask, obviously not wanting to scare him into thinking someone broke in— but at this point it’s a possibility.

“uh- i think you did, what happened?” megumi inquires, not even turning to face you as he stirs his eggs

you sigh and blink down at the counter top, “nothing, nothing.”

now, he turns to you with his natural lidded eyes and indifferent face but he seems more observant of you right now.

“you think someone broke in or something?” he huffs out of his nose but he doesn’t even smile, as if he’s more focused on how you react.

you gulp. “i- probably not. i’m being ridiculous.” you wave him off.

and he simply hums before turning back to his eggs.“something happen?” he asks after a few moments of thinking to himself.

it’s not like you can just flat out tell your boyfriend’s son you think someone broke in to eat you out and left.

“just didn’t know when toji came in last night.” you utter, as if that’s a plausible explanation for thinking someone broke in.

“think it was four.” megumi hums, turning back to face you once again with his natural, bored gaze.

you blink at the counter and then up at him with a confused twitch to your brows. “you.. you were up last night?”

and you gulp as you gaze at his hair that sticks out from all directions, unlike his father.

he hums in confirmation, the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips as his gaze flicks down to your bruised wrists, his smile so faint that you’d believe it wasn’t actually there. lips that make you think about if you ever felt toji’s scar on your pussy last night.

your breathing begins to quicken but you’re deep in denial, your mind protecting you by forcing yourself to deny the idea that megumi could have been the man between your thighs last night.

“o-oh, couldn’t sleep?” you inquire, attempting to steady your voice and hold a normal looking smile. honestly you couldn’t care less that he couldn’t sleep, but at this point, you’re trying to continue the conversation like normal so he doesn’t suspect that you know anything.

“yeah, i had a sweet tooth.”

————-