♡

They were filled with fireworks injuries, drunk men staring at the space where their fingers used to be, children flushed and trembling, forgotten in the heat by their distracted parents and other heatstroke victims collapsing on sidewalks. It was always the same bunch of disasters.

But this one…

This one was the worst fourth of July since you became a nurse. Louie had died. The word still felt wrong in your mouth, dead, dead, dead. The bed where he should have been had been stripped, disinfected, remade and a new patient had been rolled in within half an hour. The sound of his laugh had been replaced by someone else’s breathing, someone else’s pain. Someone who wasn’t Louie.

The world hadn’t paused to let you grief.

And Langdon came back. You had rehearsed apologies in your head since the beginning of the shift (long before that if you were honest to yourself). I’m sorry Lang. Sorry that you think that our friendship existed until your situation became serious. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls. That I didn’t call back. We were friends. We still are, if you accept. I’m the one who failed you. But when he stood there in front of you, the words refused to surface. There was always a patient waiting, something more urgent than your own guilt.

And as if all of that was not enough, the department had been gifted Oglivie. You were fairly certain that this guy was the incarnation of Satan on earth, sent to test the limits of everyone’s patience and to destroy all of you, Dennis first.

So yes, you fucking hated fourth of July shifts.

And it was only just noon.

──────────

You were halfway through inserting an IV into someone’s arm in the hallway (because of course, there were no beds left) when Robby appeared beside you, waiting for you to finish and standing there, hands in his jacket’s pockets. That never meant anything good. It reminded you too much of the day he told you about the pills in Langdon’s locker. Of the day he told you he was going to leave for three months away on his motorcycle like it was casual and not something that made you and Jack consider slashing the tires.

“What?” you asked, tone clipped, still focused on the vein.

“You’re going to hear this from someone, kid,” he said quietly. “So I’d rather it be me.”

Your stomach dropped before your brain could catch up, a sickening sensation spreading through your body, like his words had pulled all the warmth out of your blood at once. Robby must have seen you pale, because he immediately added:

“Jack’s fine, but…”

Your pulse felt like detonation in your ears. “But what?”

“There was a call from his SWAT team,” Robby said, choosing his words carefully as you finished securing the IV. “Some shots were fired in a house and he brought one of them in. Pretty bad shape but he’s gonna make it.”

“Is he hurt?” you asked, trying to stay controlled, professional.

“Minor. Something near his shoulder, but…he wouldn’t let anyone look at it until his guy was stabilized.”

Of course he didn’t. Of course Jack Abbot fucking didn’t.

Your hands dropped from the patient’s arm, finally turning fully toward your attending.

I want to see him Robby. I need to. I have to make sure he’s okay.

“Where is he?” you questioned instead.

“Trauma five.”

You nodded once, with a muttered “Thanks Robby,” before walking toward there, stripping off the gloves you were still wearing and tossing them into the nearest bin.

You didn’t run. No, worse: you couldn’t run. Running was for codes, meaning that someone was dying. Jack is not coding, Jack is okay, he is fine, that’s what Robby says. That it’s minor. Minor. Fuck, how I hate that word. Minor compared to what? To a body bag?

Your throat tightened as you continued to walk, each step feeling too heavy, like the floor was trying to swallow your legs. You forced your breathing to steady. Inhale. Exhale.

If he were critical, Dana would have made sure the code could be heard by everyone in the hospital. If he were unstable, Princess would have ran up to me. If he were dying…No.

Your hand brushed the wall as you turned the corner towards the room, your fingertips against the cold surface to ground yourself, to confirm that the building was still solid beneath your fingers.

You had to get in there and confirm with your own eyes that he was still breathing and alive, because you couldn’t survive being the one standing in a room and hear Robby say, ‘We did everything we could,’ knowing that Jack’s bed would soon get stripped, disinfected and remade.

You pulled the curtain open and for one brief suspended second, your heart stopped. Not because of what was there, but what could have been there.

It was him. Just him, sitting on the edge of the bed, still entirely dressed up and his hands braced on his knees like he had been waiting, waiting for me? He looked up the second the curtain moved, his hazel eyes locking onto yours.

He is here. Alive. Breathing. He is not being open on a table, not flatlining. I am not gonna see him being zipped into a body bag today.

You stepped inside, closing the curtain behind you, sealing the two of you away from the loud noises of the ER even just for a few minutes.

“Take it off,” you ordered, refusing to let any weakness slip into your voice.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“The vest, the shirt. Don’t make me repeat myself, Jack.”

A faint corner of his mouth twitched despite the circumstances. “Yes, ma’am.”

He reached for the straps first, his movements slowed by the adrenaline leaving his system, the vest ending up on the chair with a heavy thud. Then, he caught the hem of his black shirt and pulled it over his head.

Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare.

His chest was broad, muscles still defined from his years as a soldier and maintained by the whole SWAT ordeal and…fucking tanned, is that what happens when you do the night shift? You get to know what it’s like to feel the sun on your face?

You stepped behind him, checking the aspect of the wound among the lighter scratches. “Don’t move.”

“I wasn’t planning to, specially if you have scalpels nearby. Wouldn’t want to scrape this body.”

You pulled on fresh gloves, rolling your eyes. Up close, you realized that it was shallow: a long red abrasion near the shoulder blade and no blood pouring out of it. That meant no need for stitches, just cleaning, disinfecting, patching and giving a few instructions that Jack would absolutely ignore.

“You’re lucky,” you muttered, pouring saline slowly over the wound, running down his back in thin rivulets and washing away the dried blood.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Funny.”

You focused on the scrape, on dragging the gauze carefully over the torn skin and pressing it down firmly, that’s what I know by heart, to care and to heal, I could do this in my sleep: pressure, clean, protect. if only everything were that simple.

“How’s the officer?” you asked after a moment, forcing your voice to settle into a normal conversation rather than speaking about the abyss of desperation you had spiraled into all the way up to this room.

“Stable,” he replied. “The bullet entered through the neck but I intubated him on scene and I don’t think there’ll be major damage.”

Your fingers paused briefly before resuming. “That’s…that’s good.”

“It is. Officer Hiro is a good man.”

You taped the dressing down carefully, smoothing the edges with your fingertips longer than would be necessary.

“There,” you breathed, stepping back in front of him. “You’ll live.”

That was when the feeling hit you again. The fear. The images of what could have been: the version of this room where he wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bed, the version where you were outside the curtain, listening - or worse, inside it, handing the instruments to Robby, checking the vitals, bringing the defibrillator closer, hearing yourself ask ‘time of death?’ like it wasn’t also yours. The version where you promised everything you had if they would just let him stay, the one where you followed the casket down into Earth because if his body went still, you were certain that something in yours would stop answering too.

He saw it. You didn’t know how, maybe something in your face had shifted or maybe he noticed that you weren’t entirely there, your focus still somewhere past him and the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, but you couldn’t reply.

You were still in that other version of the room, I need another blood bag, clear, we’re losing him, time of death?

His hand came up slowly, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. “Sunshine.”

That pulled you back enough, your throat trying to swallow a thick ache that wouldn’t quite pass. Without a word, he guided your hand until your palm pressed flat against his chest. Right over his heart, where you felt it immediately: the steady rhythm, the most perfect, fucking stubborn cycle of thuds you ever heard.

He covered your hand with his, keeping them both there, where each beat was dragging you further and further away from the other room, he’s not flatlining, he’s okay, I won’t have to hear silence where his heart should be.

“Still here, okay?” he murmured carefully.

“Don’t…Jack,” you sniffled.

He rose slowly from the edge of the bed, not letting your hand slip from his chest as he stood, leaning forward to rest his forehead gently against yours while his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a repetitive motion. “I’m here,” he said again.

“I know,” you whispered, trying to calm your uneven breaths, to focus on the brush of his breath against your skin and the unmistakable sounds beneath your palms, alive, alive, alive, the word pulsing with each heartbeat.

After a few moments of quiet, he smiled. “I liked this morning.”

You let out a disbelieving breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“I’m very serious,” he replied, pulling back just enough to properly look at you before continuing, softer, “I was in the ambulance and all I could think about was how nice it had been to wake up next to you.”

You blinked at him. “While you were holding pressure on someone’s neck?”

“I can multitask,” he shrugged with the smallest smug smile at the corner of his lips before brushing a loose strand of hair away with the back of his fingers. “And I also thought about last night.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. “Jack.”

“And about…” he murmured, his fingers trailing from your hair to the nape of your neck, his thumb lingering just under your ear, “how I had to keep my shirt on until it was you checking me. Wouldn’t want to explain to Robby how I got those little marks and how his very professional and very sweet nurse is absolutely not that sweet in the sheets.”

Your eyes widened.

He tilted his head slightly, studying the way the redness spread along your neck, his gaze dragging slowing over your face. “But more like…” he continued, voice dropping lower, “a feral cat with very sharp claws.”

You swatted his arm, mortified and glancing toward the curtain. “You’re insufferable!”

“What?” he asked innocently, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“You cannot say things like that in here!” you grumbled.

“Well…you’re the one who started, telling me to take my clothes off the second you walked in.”

“That was on a purely profe-”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, closing the small space between you, his lips finding yours as his hand moved from your neck to cradle the side of your face, thumb slowly caressing your cheek and silencing the whole ER. You felt the exhale he released into the kiss, almost a sigh as your hand moved from his heartbeat to cling on his shoulder.

When he finally pulled back, he kept his forehead close to yours.

“You were saying?”

You blinked at him, words gone entirely from your tingling lips, like he had just wiped your mind clean.

“That it was…purely professional?” he supplied, his smugness slipping back into his tone now that he seemed to understand that the sadness in your eyes had eased.

“Yes,” you replied, clearing your throat. “Exactly. And…anyone could walk in here.”

You stepped back a little, smoothing down the front of your scrub top while he looked at you, one eyebrow slightly lifted.

“Sunshine.”

“I’m serious,” you insisted, lowering your voice. “We’re not…official to the service. And we,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “are not a public spectacle for our colleagues. Between HR who will become a nightmare, Zidan who will start betting pools about how long this lasts and Princess and Perlah sharing it to the whole department before…”

He sat back on the bed, arms folding across his bare chest, looking way too amused as he watched you unravel, which would definitely be easier if he could just put. a shirt. on. seriously, is that too much to ask? there really is no god above or at least none who has mercy on you.

“You can’t just…” you waved your hand, frustrated, “do this in the middle of a trauma bay.”

“Do what?” he asked mildly.

“This!” You gestured again, to his torso.

He glanced down at himself, then back up at you. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Put a shirt on!”

“I thought you liked the view,” he smirked. “Isn’t it what you begged for last night?”

You closed your eyes, sighing. “Where is your shirt?”

“Took a spare in my locker. It’s on the chair.”

You turned towards the corner where the vest had been dropped, the spare shirt folded neatly with it.

“You could have put this on when I finished the bandage,” you muttered, grabbing it.

“I was enjoying the lecture.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, before handing it to him, earning a “Thanks ma’am” as he, careful of the fresh dressing, pulled it over his head.

You gave him a once over, folding your arms, am I…starting to act like him? is that what’s happening? is this how it works? the more time you spend with someone the more you become insufferable like them?

“Better.”

“Disappointed?” he asked lightly.

“Oh immensely, Doctor Abbot,” you replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes okay, no, I’m definitely starting to sound like him, no wonder Dana and Robby are looking at me like I’ve been body-snatched. “How will I survive without the view?”

“I’ll file a complaint to the HR,” he smirked. “What an unacceptable loss of morale from a nurse to an attending.”

“You…” you sighed, stepping closer to adjust the collar of his shirt. “You are a nightmare, you know that?”

“And yet you keep me.”

You inhaled through your nose, trying very hard not to smile. “That is still under review.”

His grin widened as you continued: “Now, stay sit on the bed. Ten minutes. I want to make sure that you don’t get dizzy.”

“Noted.”

“And no more comments about last night in here.”

“Also noted.”

“And keep down the…smirking,” you finished, pointing at his face.

“That one might be more difficult to control.”

“Try.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You folded your arms, giving him a stern look that most definitely betrayed your fondness, hey you know what? let’s have sex Jack. like…right now, on this gurney, in a room where I thought I’d find you dead. no, I’m not insane, just very grateful that you are alive.

 “Good. Now if you don’t mind Doctor Abbot, I have other patients to check on.”

He gave you a slow, exaggerated nod. “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of monopolizing such…invaluable hands.”

You stared at him. “I should be the one complaining to HR.”

He pressed his lips together, though the amusement was still written all over his face.

You turned toward the curtain but paused with your hand on the edge of it, staring at the thin strip of hallway visible through the gap.

“Jack?”

He looked up immediately, all smugness and teasing gone from his voice at the tone of yours. “Yes?”

You didn’t turn fully back around, cause if you did, you were fairly certain that the words would spill out of your mouth without your permission.

“I…” you stopped and tried again. “I wanted you to know that I…”

“Hey.”

The softness in his voice made you finally look at him: he had stood up again and stepped closer, his fingers wrapping delicately around your wrist before lifting it up and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of it. “You don’t need to,” he whispered gently. “We have time, you and I. And you don’t have to tell me today, not if it’s because you were scared, okay?”

You nodded, a quiet, “Okay,” slipping out.

“Now go,” he added, brushing his thumb over your pulse once last time. “Before someone wonders why you’ve been gone this long for a graze on the back of an attending doctor.”

You huffed a breath, pulling the curtain open. “As long as you stay exactly where I left you. Which is on the bed. For still…” you glanced at an imaginary watch on your wrist, “…six more minutes. Five, if you promise to behave.”

“Then it will be six.”

The night you end up in bed with your attending, it feels like the entire universe has been conspiring against you. First and foremost, you’re in Philadelphia for an emergency medicine conference, part of a handful of doctors and students from PTMC rounded up by Gloria to get credits for the hospital. Second, a nasty snowstorm’s rolled in right after all of you arrive back to the hotel on the first night, killing the power, the WiFi, and cell service before the sun even sets.

And, finally, Langdon just suggested that you, Mel, and Whitaker sit down with him for a game of ‘Never Have I Ever,’ herding everyone away from the hotel bar and toward his room down the hall.

You huff as they start to move in a group, not wanting to go along, “Come on, guys, this is so childish. I should be using this time to study or something.”

“Alright, nerd.” Langdon nudges you with his elbow, his tone playful, not realizing just how uncomfortable you really are at the idea of your coworkers digging into your personal history. “Your Hello Kitty badge reel’s pretty childish, but I’ve never said anything about that.”

You glare daggers. Thankfully, with her arms crossed over her chest, Mel agrees, “I’m sure we can find a better way to pass the time.”

“I can try to make it more fun, if that helps,” Langdon offers, his expression all mischief and mayhem. He looks over to where your attendings are standing a few paces away by the bar, nursing whiskeys and sporting scowls while they recap the day and complain about the circumstances. “Robby, Abbot, we’re playing ‘Never Have I Ever’ over in my room.”

Dr. Abbot frowns and gives him a skeptical look. “That sounded harrowingly like an invitation.”

“Yeah, come on over, it’ll be fun,” he insists, flashing a disarming grin to the three of you on his other side. “A little ‘get to know you’ game.”

Absolutely refusing to move, Abbot scoffs, “I don’t think you all need to know about my personal life.”

But then Robby, amused by Abbot’s obvious discomfort, claps him on the shoulder and shoves him forward. “C’mon, Jack, it’ll be fun.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to indulge this,” Abbot groans as Robby steps by Langdon’s side.

Robby gives a shit-eating grin and gestures for Abbot to tag along. “I am – and so are you.”

There’s no way out of it now. Robby orders a few bottles of booze from the bar to take back to the room. With a grimace that you try to make seem like a smile, you and Mel follow behind all the guys over to Langdon and Whitaker’s hotel room, identical to yours and Mel’s. Inside, Langdon shoves his bed across the room to make a wide space on the floor and then plops his ass down.

Robby joins him with a cackle, Whitaker follows, and you and Mel reluctantly sit next to each other against the bed. Robby hands you and Mel a bottle of wine to share and then cracks open a few beers and a bottle of whiskey for the boys.

Then Abbot taps you on the shoulder, his fingers holding on for a moment too long, and murmurs, “Scoot over for me, ace.”

As you move closer to Mel on your other side, you’re beyond thankful for the overcast evening lighting that disguises your nerves. During a shift, you can blame it on the adrenaline, the heat, the exertion. But when it’s quiet and calm and the thing making you nervous is nothing but Dr. Abbot’s completely professional nickname just for you, his favorite resident, there’s no excuse.

The first round starts off tame, the questions not prying too much: Puking as the result of a procedure, faking sick to get out of work, smoking weed. You keep all your fingers up but still take sips of the wine to avoid being the only person sober at the end of this. The first major shift in the game comes when Mel offers up, “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”

Robby, Abbot, and Whitaker all drop a finger and gulp their drinks. Mel, loosening up now that she’s a little tipsy, gestures for them to move. “Well, doctors, I believe you have to show us now.”

When Whitaker shrinks away from the idea, you jump in, too, really just wanting to see Abbot’s, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure those are the rules.”

Robby chuckles first, shrugging off his jacket. “Well, you know I’m a total rule weenie.” He shows off his symmetrical arm tattoos -- ‘Memento Mori’ and ‘Amor Fati’ -- and then a faded one on his inner wrist that you’ve all noticed before. “Now let’s see what these two losers have.”

Whitaker sighs and concedes, rolling up the leg of his pants and shoving down his sock to reveal a stalk of wheat going up his calf. He shrugs and says simply, “To remind me of home. I’ve got Micah 6:8 on my bicep, but I don’t need to show you my spaghetti arms when you’ve just seen Robby’s.”

Once everyone finishes laughing, it’s Abbot’s turn and you’re holding your breath, praying that his tattoo is also on his ankle so you don’t have to ogle him too much. Unfortunately, you know that isn’t the case because you once caught him on his way to the gym after work, wearing a white tank top and basketball shorts, so this tattoo of his has to be somewhere besides his limbs. Fuck.

He stands up, undoes his belt (does anyone else feel faint?), tugs his white dress shirt from his pants (oh god oh god oh shit), and reveals the sharp V of his hips (shit shit fuck shit fuck). Running along a lengthy silver scar, a handful of poppies snake over his hip and up his side. Then he hikes the shirt up further – oh no, he’s got a silver and blond happy trail that connects with his chest hair – and shows a half-burned match on the bottom of his ribcage, right over another scar. Both tattoos are well done and strike you as relatively recent. When he sits back down, he gruffs, “Now, I’m not about to drop trou in front of my colleagues, so I’ll just tell you I’ve got one on my ass, too, alright? Bachelor party back in the ancient times.”

Robby gives him a whistle. “Even I didn’t know that one.”

Jack shakes his head as he adjusts his belt and shirt again. Then he looks at you, his hazel eyes so beautiful in the waning light, and says, “Your turn, ace.”

After cursing under your breath, you cross your arms over your chest, swallow down the image of Abbot’s bare torso, and rush out, “Never have I ever failed a test.”

Everyone loses a finger but you and Abbot, who nudges you with his elbow and chuckles, “That’s my girl.”

Your stomach flips.

A handful of rounds go by and you start cringing at yourself when you make it through everything, including ‘never have I ever had a one-night stand,’ ‘never have I ever used a fake ID,’ and ‘never have I ever kissed someone within an hour of meeting them,’ which get most of the group into the single digits.

After a particularly targeted blow (‘never have I ever cried in the supply closet’), Mel gives Langdon a pointed look. “Never have I ever pulled the ‘I’m a doctor’ card to impress a date.”

His finger stays frustratingly upright as he flashes that thousand watt smile. “Don’t need to when I look this good. Dennis, your turn.”

A little panicky, Whitaker stumbles out something he knows will get at least one of you: “Never have I ever been on a motorcycle.”

Robby takes a long sip of his beer and drops a finger. “Cheap shot, kid.”

Then it’s Abbot’s turn and he glares over at Robby, ready for his revenge for making him play at all. “Never have I ever screwed a subordinate.”

“Even cheaper shot, Jack,” Robby laughs as he finishes off his beer. “Let’s turn the tables here for my sake.” He stares down his ducklings and offers, “Never have I ever had a crush on a supervisor.”

Thankfully, your finger isn’t the only one that goes down, but it still makes Langdon cheer, “We finally got the ice queen!” He levels a serious but amused gaze in your direction as you polish off a long swig of your and Mel’s shared wine. “Which one is it, Abbot or Robby?”

Mel, fully aware of your big fat crush on Abbot, saves your life for the millionth time in your long friendship. With a pointed look and nervous laugh, she announces, “Oh, no, she had it bad for our attending back at the VA. Total heart eyes.”

You can feel Abbot’s eyes drilling holes in the side of your head as you nod, clamoring to move past it. “Yep. He was, ah, a really great mentor. Taught me a lot.”

Langdon snorts, “Yeah, sounds like it.”

Unfortunately for you, exactly two people in the room know that your attending at the VA was a downright terrifying woman in her 70s: Dr. Mel King, who had worked there with you before you both went to PTMC, and Dr. Jack Abbot, who went there for care a couple of times back in the day. Which means he has total confirmation that your crush is, in fact, on him – or Robby, but, given how comfortable you are around him vs. how nervous you are around Abbot, that seems like a long shot.

Thankfully, he’s merciful, laughing along lightly so you don’t realize he’s seeing right through you for the first time. But, for the rest of the night, he’s watching you more closely than over, letting his thigh brush yours, laughing a little extra loud at your jokes, and holding eye contact longer than he usually allows himself at work.

At the end of the game, you and Mel are the last two standing by a mile; she has six to your eight and you want to crawl under a rock and die. At least it’s Mel, though, because she’s totally unashamed of herself and her history. Her confidence rubs off on you the same way it does when you’re on the floor together. Both of you get competitive with each other, constantly egging the other on to do better. You barely even notice the guys watching the two of you like it’s a great game of tennis.

With nobody else to take down, you get personal with each other. She starts out light but targeted, “Never have I ever taken a nap on a gurney mid-shift.”

Rolling your eyes and taking a tart sip, you reply, “Never have I ever used Kaplan quizzes to ‘wind down.’”

She laughs and snatches the wine from your hands; you’re both bubbly and getting stupid by now. “Never have I ever corrected an attending mid-round.”

Whitaker scoffs, “Jesus, seriously?”

“I was right!”

He cackles. “No way. What did you say? To who?”

Abbot sips slowly on a beer and smirks at you, his gaze more adoring than he lets it be back at the Pitt. “She corrected my pronunciation of ‘foramen ovale’ on her third shift.”

Your cheeks burn into deeper red as you reply, mousy but self-righteous, “I only mentioned it because you tried to tell me I was saying ‘cachexia’ wrong earlier that day. I was annoyed.”

He tips his beer toward you, looking for all the world like a proud teacher. “And you were right.”

You smile shyly and then smack Mel on the thigh. “Never have I ever skipped a party to spend time in the skills lab overnight.”

She cocks her head and cuts back, “Never have I ever canceled on a date to recap a trauma procedure tape for fun.”

“Never have I ever treated my ex in the ED the day after breaking up with him!”

With a mock-betrayed gasp, Mel replies, “Never have I ever memorized my attending’s coffee order to get on his good side.”

“Liar!” After all the laughing and shoving and judging, each of you has one finger up and it’s your turn. Your final chance to beat her. There’s one trump card left in your deck and you’re just drunk enough now to use it to win. Narrowing your eyes, you lean in and tell her what she already knows, not realizing how loud you’re talking, “Never have I ever had sex.”

Mel snorts out a laugh, shakes her head, drops her pinky, and downs the last swig of wine. “Didn’t think you had it in you, roomie. Checkmate.”

“Wait, seriously?” Langdon’s staring you down like you’ve grown a second head, probably recontextualizing all his flirty banter with you. “You’ve held a still-beating human heart in your hands and you’ve never gotten laid?”

“Never even been kissed,” Mel adds seriously, and you know you’re going to struggle to forgive her for it even though she’s wasted.

Turning your voice into steel even as hot shame burns through your body, you retort, “I’ve been too busy being valedictorian, scoring in the 99th percentile on my boards, publishing in JAMA as a resident, and graduating with a dual MD/PhD.”

Abbot grins like that’s the only part of the conversation he’s heard. “Touché.”

“I’m just saying,” Langdon pushes, clearly not ready to drop it when he’s got a juicy new piece of hospital gossip, “how many people get through med school without hooking up sometime? I thought we were all screwing each other’s brains out to get our stress out.”

Whitaker shakes his head. “Yeah, maybe those of you who look like marble statues.”

Langdon shakes his head. “Even you’re not a virgin, though, Denny boy.”

Hot embarrassment rises in your throat. Your voice comes out way more defensive than you mean. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin! It’s not, like, some personality trait.”

“Well, it kind of is,” he goes on, the haze of liquor making him careless. “How are you supposed to do this job when you haven’t had such a basic human experience?”

As you get more flustered, tears sting at your waterline and you get to your feet in a scrambled frenzy. You can’t even make eye contact as you whisper, “You’re an asshole when you’re drunk, Frank.” Turning around so they don’t see you cry, you mutter, “See you all in the morning; hope you aren’t too hungover.”

Frank calls after you, “C’mon, don’t be like that! I’m just saying you-”

As you’re turning the door handle, you hear Abbot’s gruff voice: “Alright, kid, I think that’s enough. I expect you to get some sleep and apologize to her first thing tomorrow.”

After you’re out of the room, trudging down the hall, you hear Abbot’s stilted gait behind you and sigh, stopping in your tracks. Before he can see the tears on your cheeks, you spit out, “I’m fine, Abbot. Leave me alone.”

“No.” He speeds up to meet you. Suddenly, his hand is on your lower back, steadying you, and you look at him with shiny vulnerable eyes. His voice is low, gravelly, and he murmurs, “I’m not letting you go to sleep upset.”

“It’s okay,” you try, sniffling and staring down at your shoes. “I know he didn’t- he wasn’t trying to-”

“He was being an ass.” Abbot’s frown is earnest and real and he touches your cheek. He’s touching your cheek. He’s touching your cheek. “I should’ve stopped him sooner. Should’ve put my foot down on that whole fiasco. I’m sorry.”

Unable to think with his skin on yours, you stammer, “Thanks. That’s- that’s really nice.”

“Come back to my room for a little while,” he offers as he lowers his hand at last, allowing your neurons to start firing again. There’s no innuendo or trace of ulterior motives. “We’ll have some water and I’ll walk you through the steps of a septal myectomy to cheer you up.”

Finally you offer the shy, hesitant smile that makes his heart pound in his chest. “With a ventricular defect and aortic valve regurgitation?”

“That would be the unluckiest patient in history,” he chuckles, just glad that you’re warming up a little in his presence, “but I’ll give you whatever you want to get you smiling again.”

That alone is enough to get your lips to twitch toward a slightly better mood. When he splays his fingers over your lower back to encourage you forward, toward his room, you follow alongside him like you always do. Trusting him is as easy as breathing, built over countless shifts digging through emergencies side by side. He’d taken a shine to you from day one, and the feeling was mutual.

Unlike the rest of you, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby both have their own rooms. After letting you in, Abbot gives you a flat smile and shrugs. “Attending perks.”

Abbot makes good on his word. He brings you a bottle of water and opens one up for himself. Then, on the couch (not on the bed, blessedly; your nerves wouldn’t be able to take it), he painstakingly talks you through a complicated surgery that makes your brain turn back into normal mode. You’ve always been fascinated with the human body – how it functions, how it fails – and, besides Mel, Abbot’s the one person who never made you feel like a weirdo for digging into your fascinations.

In fact, he’s indulged you every step of the way. All your questions, all your frustrations, all your fascinations. Abbot’s taken the time to answer your late-night texts and locker room monologuing and musings. Countless times, you’ve been acutely aware that he had something better to do than to explain when to use a thoracostomy or a thoracentesis

But he always took the time with you. He still chose you. Abbot knew you’d be an outstanding physician and he wanted to invest in that, yes, but he also just plain liked you, which was rare for him. At the beginning, it was your mind. All of his coworkers were smart, but you operated on the same wavelength as him, which made you easy to get along with. Soon enough, he was going out of his way to make you laugh, to make you bite your lip, to get you to do that thing where you touched his bare forearm when he said something funny.

And now you’re here in his hotel room, lit only by an emergency light in the corner, hanging on his every word, asking him questions that get his brain moving, telling quick jokes that fall easily off your lips, and the only thing he’s thinking is that he cannot fucking believe nobody’s ever kissed you because, God, he wants to kiss you. He can’t even remember the last time he’s wanted to kiss someone, much less the last time he actually did, but all he wants is to catch your lips with his and get lost in you.

As you get both sober and comfortable, you sigh during a break in the conversation and tell him, “I’m really sorry Langdon dragged you into that stupid game. I didn’t want you to, um-” You swallow hard and blink a few times, trying to clear your thoughts. Ultimately, the thing that tumbles out is more honest than you’d planned: “I wish you hadn’t found out that way.”

That way. Abbot’s mind reels. He’s in new territory with you and he’s not quite sure how to guide it from here. He tries for professionalism first, offering stiffly, “It’s important to me that you know this won’t affect how I see you as a doctor. The idea that your sexual history is at all related to your ability to practice medicine is beyond asinine.”

“‘Beyond asinine,’” you repeat, keeping your tone teasing and light to avoid revealing how much his words matter. “Didn’t realize how much it got under your skin.”

His next response is anything but professional. Of the countless ways he could take it, he says, “It always gets under my skin when someone hurts you. That’s not acceptable to me.”

Out of nowhere, the power comes back on. The room floods with golden light and the sudden exposure makes you flinch. Reality floods you and you stammer, “Guess I should probably go back to my room. Check my emails or- or something...right?”

But Abbot doesn’t move.

So you don’t either.

Soft as cashmere, he says, more a plea than a suggestion, “You could stay here a while more. If you want.” At your surprised raised eyebrows, he backpeddles carefully, “No pressure. Just, it’s-” He cracks a tentative smile. “I, ah, I love talking to you like this. Outside of the hospital. Not your boss or anything. Just…friends.”

You purse your lips, amused, and ask, “Friends?”

“Equals, I mean. I like not being your boss.”

You give him a conspiratorial sort of smirk. “Yeah, me too.”

Then his face darkens, becomes serious, tender. “Seriously, ace, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Not with me, at least.”

Abashedly, you prod, “You don’t think I’m pathetic?”

Abbot actually laughs. “Pathetic? You? The only doctor in the hospital besides Robby who’s willing to go toe to toe with me and call me out? No. I could never think you’re pathetic.” He sips on his water and shrugs, unaware that the little gesture makes his dress shirt strain over his bicep in a way that steals your attention. “The only pathetic thing is the idea that anyone missed their chance to be with you.”

Shoulders tensing and heart beginning to race at the intimacy of the two of you alone in a hotel room, you laugh, “Sometimes I think I should just go to a random bar and let some guy pick me up to get it over with. That way I can just say I’ve done it when it’s really time to do it with someone I like.”

“Don’t do that,” he cuts back, harsher than he meant, sounding like he’s admonishing you. When you give him a concerned sideways glance, he clears his throat and his knuckles turn white as he balls his fists, clenching and unclenching them. He’s trying to keep himself under control, to avoid overplaying his hand, to make sure you’re comfortable with him and don’t think he’s trying to take advantage. “I just mean, ah, that you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. You shouldn’t settle for ‘some guy’ who wouldn’t-” you don’t miss the way he swallows hard, the way his eyes are glued to your lips, the way he’s dropping his voice to a controlled quiet “-take his time with you. Who wouldn’t make it good for you.”

Sheepish, squirming under his intensity, you reply, “I don’t know what ‘good’ is. Nobody’s even kissed me.”

It’s a long time before he nods to himself, collects his courage, and says, “I’ll show you. I’ll kiss you.”

You let out a bitter laugh as shame rises in your cheeks once again. This can’t be real. He can’t be serious. How could he be? How could he want to kiss you? “Please don’t be a dick right now.”

“I was being serious.”

The idea makes your entire body tingle, but you’re too careful and too nervous to give in that easily. “I don’t want your pity, Abbot.”

“It wouldn’t be pity,” he tells you softly. Seriously. He reaches down to take your fingers in his hand. The contact burns in a brand new way. Your eyes meet; you’ve never noticed all those golden freckles in his irises. “And I’d like it if you called me Jack.”

“Oh.”

The little syllable hangs between the two of you. Jack. He wants you to call him Jack and he wants to kiss you.

You’re leaning in before you can overthink it.

Abbot – Jack. Jack. – touches your cheek with breathtaking reverence. The way his lip twitches up ever so slightly into a boyish smile tattoos its way onto your eyelids. Before his lips even touch yours, his other hand goes to your waist, sturdy and sure, and the hand on your cheek snakes around to the back of your head. He’s practically holding you. He’s careful and kind and handsome and he’s closing the gap between the two of you and, all of a sudden and after so much anticipation, you’re kissing him.

Fuck.

So this is what good means.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t push. His lips are so soft against yours and his hands are making you feel safe and everything makes sense when you’re in his arms. Your body and mouth move on instinct, folding toward him, and you wrap your fingers in his silver curls, the ones you’ve daydreamed about touching for years. You feel him smile against you, a chuckle low in his throat, and his hands are so strong that you can’t think.

Jack’s grinning like a teenager when he pulls back, searching your face for any sign of regret. “Was that okay?”

Breathless, you nod. “Yeah. More than okay.” You can still feel the ghost of his kiss when you brush your fingers over your lips. His eyes trace every movement. Tentative, you ask, “Would you, ah, would you kiss me…more?”

Jack traces the back of your hand with his thumb and admits like it’s a dirty secret, “If I kiss you again right now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. I’ve thought about it too many times.”

A beat passes.

You stare at his hand.

It takes you a minute to get up the courage, but you finally tell him the truth: “I don’t want you to stop.”

Jack tilts his head like a puppy and you watch his pupils dilate in real time. “You want me to…?”

You both know the unspoken end to the question. You want me to be your first?

“Please, Jack.”

Hearing his first name on your lips, he becomes a man possessed. He doesn’t shove you back on the bed and fuck your brains out, but his voice takes on a tone you’ve never heard before. It’s possessive. The next words out of his mouth shock you as much as they turn you on: “I’m not going to have sex with you if you’re doing this just to do it. If it’s because Langdon made you feel insecure or something. I need to know you want me.”

You bite your lip and nod slowly, debating how you should respond. The truth is that you want him so bad it aches. So, even though it embarrasses you to the core, you reply, “The first time I thought about having sex with you was a year and a half ago at the ED holiday party.” You whisper, somehow both sheepish and confident at once, “You flicked the bell on my Santa hat and said you liked my lipstick.”

You expect him to deny it, but instead he smirks and says, “Yeah, I remember that. Don’t think I’ve ever complimented someone’s makeup before.”

“That’s why.” Your cheeks are once again burning as you go on, “All of us girls did our makeup together at Mel’s and my apartment before we went to the bar. We all looked really nice; Santos did this smoky eye that practically went viral on her Instagram. I don’t think you’d ever even seen Mel wearing makeup. Robby and Langdon and Shen made a point of telling each of us how nice we looked. But I was the only one you complimented all night.” You press your forehead to his and whisper, “You made me feel special. You still make me feel special. That’s how I want to feel.”

“Good. You are special.” Jack’s rough thumb brushes over your chin and your eyes widen when you realize that, yes, this is actually going to happen. “You’re so special to me.”

“Then kiss me.” You grab him closer by his shirt and tell him, insistent and wanting and honest, “And don’t stop.”

The barely-audible groan in Jack’s throat is concrete proof of just how badly he wants you, too. He stands and easily pulls you up to your feet with him. His palms on your waist make your head spin and he’s pushing you back toward the bed, kissing you with every step across the room, never letting you question his desire. When he leans you back on the comforter, your whole body feels loose and new. Acting on instinct, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him close, deepening the kiss.

All of a sudden, he stops and mutters, sharp, frustrated. “Shit.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fucking incredible,” he sighs. “The thing is, ah, I don’t exactly bring condoms to medical conferences – but I know someone who does.” He hangs his head briefly, but he’s still smiling to himself ever so slightly. “God, I’m never gonna live this one down. At least Michael’s known about my thing for you for months.”

Your mind races and your eyes widen when he pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding like he’s convincing himself. “You- you’re going to get a condom from Dr. Robby? And you’ve had a thing for me for months?”

“Figured that second part was kind of obvious by now.” Jack tries not to tease you for how flustered you look right now since he feels the same. He knows it’s important, but he also loves the way you dodge his eyes before bashfully meeting them again. “And, look, I’m not saying we have to do anything at all. Frankly, we could just make out for a while and I’d be over the fuckin’ moon. Just, well, it’s better to be prepared in case you decided that you did want to.”

“I’m a doctor, Jack, you don’t have to convince me on the merits of safe sex.” You suck your lower lip, hoping to come across as sexy, as you encourage him, “And you definitely don’t have to convince me on the merits of sex with you.”

His eyes graze over your body on his bed, patiently waiting for him to make the next move, and he murmurs under his breath, “Yeah, you’re definitely worth a year of shaming.”

Jack stands upright again, un-musses his hair, and shoves his feet back into his shoes. You don’t miss how he readjusts himself below the belt, sucks in a deep breath, and shakes out his shoulders before leaving the room. With the door hanging halfway open, you can hear the exchange next door.

Jack knocks three times, sharp and short.

Robby opens it and his voice is muffled, talking around his toothbrush. “What is it, brother?”

“Hey.” Jack’s voice is low, gruff, quiet. “I need a favor.”

“This about your talk tomorrow? I told you it’s-”

“Shut up. Please.” Making eye contact, he braces for humiliation and keeps his focus on the sweet relief that’ll follow. “You got a couple spare condoms?”

Robby narrows his eyes, amusement rising up in them. “Bet they sell them at the hotel shop.”

“No, ah- Shit. Fuck it.” Jack lets out a very shaky breath and rubs the back of his neck, praying that a merciful god will wipe Robby’s memory after this. “I need them right now.”

Robby’s jaw goes slack. “Right now? Like she’s…?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ ten feet away in my bed looking at me like I just did a successful heart transplant with a pocket knife.” You stifle a laugh as he finishes off, “Help me out and you can hold it over my head the rest of my life.”

“Calling me for backup during foreplay? Yeah, it’s gonna be a long time before I drop that one.” Robby disappears into his room a second, rummages around, and returns with a small box, dangling it in front of Jack. “Variety pack. Have fun. I’ll put my headphones in so I don’t have to hear when you squeal like a-”

“I hate you.”

As Jack slams the door, Robby laughs out, “You’re welcome!”

When Jack’s back in your line of sight, he’s grinning wide like an idiot. He opens up the box of condoms, takes out the one he wants, and sets it on the couch for safe keeping. Then he walks back over to the bed, flops down next to you, and chuckles, “Now where were we?”

You laugh and grab his shirt and drag him close. Touching your lips to his cheek, you giggle, “I think we were somewhere right around me looking at you like you just did a successful heart transplant with a pocket knife?”

“You heard all that, huh?”

“You didn’t even close the door.”

He kisses you hard. He means it. Every touch. In another second he’s on top of you, his leg between yours, his arms on either side of your head. His eyes are more playful than anything. “Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking about anything besides getting back to you.” 

You respond by kissing him back. Deepening it. Chasing the taste of him and the way it lights an unfamiliar fire in the base of your gut. Jack groans into your mouth and the sound makes you grind up against his leg, letting your body react the way it wants instead of trying to talk yourself out of it. Jack makes it easy to give in. The mix of nerves and arousal is a weird kind of intoxicating.

With his hand at the hem of your top, Jack rumbles against your ear, “Can I take this off?”

Your eyes flick over his torso and all sorts of sinful thoughts take over your mind. “Only if you take yours off first.”

With a smirk, Jack stands at the foot of the bed while you watch him, leaning back on your elbows. “Fair negotiation.”

Like he did during the game, which feels like days ago instead of hours, he undoes his belt, but this time he snakes it through all the belt loops and lets it fall to the floor. Way too fucking slowly, he undoes his button-down and shrugs it off. Ugh, he’s wearing a white tank top undershirt that clings to his pecs and you honest to god want to bite him. The whimper you release at the sight seems to stroke his ego because Jack reaches behind his head and tugs off his shirt without a single beat of hesitation.

God, he’s so strong and so soft at once. You know he’d have no trouble throwing you over his shoulder, but you’d also love to rest your head on his stomach for an afternoon nap. There’s that silver happy trail again, but now you can see how it leads up to wispy chest hair and skin dotted with a million freckles.

As he stands there, kind enough to let you stare, you sit up straight again and fling your shirt off, absolutely needing to feel his skin on yours. Jack’s eyes darken and he moves toward you like an animal. He’s kissing over your waist and hips and stomach like you’re the only thing that can cure him. Every contact of his lips, no matter how brief or how lasting, makes your toes curl and your thoughts evaporate.

Jack’s hands go to your sides, thumbs pressing into your hips, holding you tight, as his mouth travels upward, over your sternum, along your collarbone, and back to your lips. He swings you into his lap and you finally feel the start of his body pressing to yours. The warmth of it all is so delicious. It’s impossible not to feel him getting hard beneath you and your head is spinning at the idea that you could affect him like that.

Noticing your expression getting floaty, Jack touches your chin with his thumb and checks, “Doing okay?”

You nod hard and reply urgently, “Doing amazing. Don’t stop.”

Once he’s managed to wipe the grin off his face, Jack starts worshiping your neck. He traces your pulse with his tongue and sucks into the hollow of your collarbone. He’s careful not to leave any marks on your smooth skin, but, god, he’s definitely imagining doing it next time when you’ve talked about it. With every breath he murmurs praises into the curves of your neck. “So beautiful. Gorgeous. Fucking perfect. Every inch of you.”

With his fingers at your bra’s band, Jack pauses. At the needy little whine you release, desperate for more contact, he chuckles and shakes his head. You’re so adorable it aches. You make charged eye contact as he says, low and slow and steady, “Tell me if anything is less than perfect. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. As your heart pounds against your ribs for a million reasons, you nod. “I will. I promise.”

And then he unhooks your bra, tossing it aside to the floor.

“Christ.”

Jack completely freezes. You’ve never seen him looking like he’s buffering. Rebooting. Trying to turn his brain back on after short-circuiting. His eyes are all over you, consuming you, setting your skin on fire.

You start to squirm under his gaze, insecurity blooming in your chest with someone so handsome looking at you mostly naked for the first time. With your eyebrows pinching together, you stammer out, “I know I’m not really- that my body isn’t-”

Jack silences you with a stern look. His pupils are blown dark. That’s new. That’s hot. His voice is urgent and serious. “Baby, I won’t hear a single negative thing about your body. You don’t need to worry about the way you move or what you sound like or look like or-” He shakes his head and smiles almost to himself. “You’re perfect. Just let me enjoy you.”

Before you can think, his mouth is on you. Jack Abbot’s lips are wrapped around your nipple and he’s groaning because of it. His hand goes to the other side and mirrors the movements of his lips and tongue. He’s methodical about it, trying out different things that make your breaths and sounds change. When he nibbles lightly, his teeth grazing your sensitive nerves, you let out a gasp so loud it takes both of you by surprise. He’d back up to check in but you clutch the back of his head tight to your check, a clear and direct order to keep fucking doing that.

Still working your tits, Jack reaches down with his free hand and undoes the button and zipper of your bottoms one-handed. As he helps you shimmy out of the rest of your clothes, you giggle, “That was a really hot move.”

Jack pulls off of you just long enough to throw you another one of those cocky smiles and laugh, “What can I say? Being a doctor for a couple decades has made me awfully good with my hands.”

That thought makes you breathless. Thoughtless. “Show me.”

He absolutely growls, “Fuck yes.”

Jack stands for a second, rips your bottoms away from your body, and shoves your knees apart. You let out a surprised squeal when he uses those beautifully strong arms of his to yank you to the end of the bed. He kneels down in front of you and takes so long admiring your pussy that you squirm. Now that you know that these pauses in his flow mean he’s taking you in, they’re extra delicious with anticipation.

Then he spits on your pussy and a shiver rocks up your entire body. Two of Jack’s fingers go to your throbbing, wanting clit. He rubs in painstakingly slow circles, watching you with a clinical precision that reminds you of the day he first walked you through placing a chest tube. In this context, it’s beyond hot to be studied like that. To be the object of his complete and total attention.

Jack’s fingers are so unlike your own – thick and calloused and experienced and knowing – and they’ve got a bright heat building inside of you so fast it would be embarrassing if it weren’t so glorious. And then he slides the middle finger of his other hand inside of you and your back arches so intensely you might as well be floating up into the ceiling and through the sky. You’ve never had anything there before and, when he curls that finger back toward himself, your toes flex and your whole body clenches up and releases at once.

When he adds a second finger, certain you can take it with how wet you are, you let out a wailing moan that makes Jack smile and murmur, like he’s talking right to your cunt, “There you go, baby.” His affirmation pulls another moan out of you and his movements get more sure as he urges, “That’s it; let me hear you.”

It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the way he’s touching you. He times every thrust back against your walls with the brushing of his fingers around your clit. The tempo is agonizing. He doesn’t speed up or slow down; he just lets you build. And build. And build. Being with him is everything you’ve ever wanted for your first time.

It’s like he can feel your thoughts. When he can tell you’re close to the peak, holding back from jitters, Jack whispers, “Breathe for me. Don’t rush yourself. Trust me; I could do this all fucking night and it’d be my favorite night in years.”

That idea is what sends you over the edge. The thought that Jack would spend hours fingering you, learning you, exploring your body, and you know he’s being completely honest that he could do nothing else and be happy. You’re safe here. You’re worshiped. And, as you drink in that knowledge combined with Jack’s purely adoring expression, your walls start to clamp down around his fingers.

Still, he doesn’t speed up. Jack keeps you steady, working you open for him with his fingers, as you cum hard and slow. It’s nothing like the quick sparks you manage to get from yourself with your fingers beneath your panties late at night. It’s burning, roaring, catching. You’re a candle melting all the way down and Jack is murmuring out the filthiest praises to get you through the roiling pleasure.

Your mind goes totally, blissfully blank for what feels like hours but has to be only a few seconds. There’s no such thing as shame or the ED or anything but Jack’s touch. Tears bite at your eyes as you resurface, pulling in oxygen for dear life. All of your synapses are freshly blown out matches, embers still smoking. It’s hot and it’s wonderful and it’s hazy.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Jack might as well be an angel standing at the foot of the bed, the soft curls of his hair catching the moonlight as he strokes your inner thigh. He touches your cheek to bring your focus back to him, grinning at how glassy with pleasure your eyes are. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

Dreamy and floaty, you breathe out, “So good. So, so good. Just a little…nervous, I guess.”

Concern overtakes his kind face. “You wanna stop? Slow down a while?”

“No, fuck no,” you rush out, eliciting another laugh from Jack. Trying to steady your panting, you tell him feverishly, “I want more. So much more. Everything.” Finally, after a deep breath, you say, clear and sure, trying to make your complete lack of doubt clear, “I want you to fuck me. I want your cock.”

If Jack were an even slightly younger man, he might’ve cum in his pants at the needy, honest look on your soft features. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding and unzips his dress pants. Underneath, he’s wearing tight gray boxer briefs that hug the muscles of his thighs and the straining outline of his cock.

When he has the pants halfway off, he pauses. For the first time tonight, he looks nervous. Sounding bashful, he rubs the back of his neck and stammers, “My, ah, my leg.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What about it?”

“I usually take it off when I’m with someone,” he says, like that explains anything. “Would that be okay?”

In that moment, you realize that you’re not the only one with insecurities around sex. You don’t know who made Jack feel like less than because of his leg and his scars, but you’re definitely not going to continue the trend. “Of course it’s okay.” Mustering all your confidence because you know he’s lost some of his, you get up off the bed, push him back by the chest, and kneel. “Sit. Let me.”

“Baby, you definitely don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t have to. But would you like it if I did?”

“Well, it’s, ah- That’s-” When he feels your hands on the sides of his knee, his bare skin, the most sensitive part of his body, the most neglected, all he can manage is breathing out, “Fuck, please. I’d love that.”

As you doff his prosthetic, Jack lets out a long sigh that’s different from any of his others that you’ve heard. It’s low and rumbling and sweet. It’s the sound of relief that comes with being cared for.

Voice soft, somewhere between a doctor and a lover, you ask him, “Do you have any pain still? Phantom?”

“I’m lucky; I really only get phantom pain when I have nightmares,” he replies. You know it’s a big deal that he’s told you that, but you don’t make anything of it, just file it away as you set his prosthetic parts aside and run your hands over his thighs. Then he goes on, “It was a field amputation, really gnarly hack job, so I’ve got a few neuromas that I’m supposed to go and have massaged every week, but, with my schedule, that’s not really- Christ, that’s incredible. Fucking hell.” Jack throws his head back and moans as your thumbs work light pressure into the tightened ropes of nerves just beneath his thickened skin. “Oh my god, baby, where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“When I worked with Mel at the VA,” you hum lightly, beyond delighted at the way his mouth’s fallen open softly, his eyelids heavy as he gazes down at you with pure adoration, “I did plenty of collaborating with the physical therapy and rehab teams. Picked up a few things.” You give him a flirty glance and add, “Keep me around and I might get you on that weekly schedule you’re supposed to follow.”

His laugh sparkles through the room. “Honey, I was definitely plannin’ on keeping you around no matter what, but if that could be part of the deal, then-”

Words once again fail him, tumbling into a grunt, as you lean forward and mouth over his straining cock, clothed and leaking. With one hand still massaging his leg, you reach up and tug the waistband of his boxer briefs down. When his cock springs free, you swallow hard and try to stop your eyes from widening. You may not have much of a frame of reference for size, but the thought of his cock in your mouth is definitely intimidating. The thought of it inside of you is intoxicating

Wanting nothing more than to hear what sort of filthy noises you can get him to make, you wrap your hand around his shaft and take his head between your lips. He tastes so uniquely Jack, clean and salty and somehow like honey, too, but that might be from how addicted you are to the feel of him stretching your lips right away.

Jack’s hand goes to the side of your head, not pushing or demanding but just needing to touch you somehow. To look down at you learning to use your tongue just right for him. His thighs straining as he tries to stop himself from fucking up into your inexperienced mouth, he groans, “I must’ve been a goddamn superhero in a past life to deserve you.”

After a few more bobs up and down, you pull off of him and, with a bead of saliva still connecting you to him, reply, “You’re kind of my hero already, Jack.”

You’re about to get back to work when you feel his hand in your hair. He beckons you forward with a finger and rasps, “That’s it; I need you right now.”

With a shy smile, you stand up, grab the condom from behind you, and ask, “How do you want me?”

“I want you every way I can possibly imagine and then about a hundred more.” He shakes his head with a chuckle and wraps his hand around his cock, fisting it slowly as he looks at your naked form. He leans forward, takes the condom from your hand, and then settles against the headboard while he rolls it on. “How about you ride me? Let me watch your pretty face while you take it for the first time.”

With an eager nod, you crawl toward him and position yourself over his hips. If there’s one thing you’ve learned while you’ve been with him, it’s that this just isn’t as complicated as you expected. Being with Jack makes perfect sense. Your body knows how to move before your mind even tells it to.

As you line yourself up, balancing by holding onto his biceps, Jack puts a hand on your waist. With barely controlled lust tightening his features, he tells you sternly, “Remember, the only thing I want is for this to be good for you. If you’re uncomfortable, then we’ll slow down or we’ll table this for another-

You sink down on Jack’s cock. It slots easily inside of you and that shuts him the fuck up. His hand on your waist turns bruising and the next sound he makes isn’t a grunt or a groan. It’s closer to a whine, if anything. No matter how incredible you feel engulfing him, he still ensures this is about you first: “You alright, ace?”

In lieu of a response, you push your lips against his and start moving your hips. You may not know exactly what you’re doing, but you know that his cock feels fucking good and the way you roll your body puts friction on your clit and it’s all perfect, so who care about anything else?

That definitely works for Jack. One of his hands snakes around your lower back, gripping your ass, and the other roves across your breasts, your waist, your neck, anywhere he can reach. It’s like he wants to commit your every millimeter to muscle memory. He’s quiet but he’s intense, practically growling when he does speak or make a noise. His hands are claiming and his eyes are locked to yours.

Jack kisses you again and then orders, soft but serious, like it means the world to him, “Touch yourself for me. Wanna see you cum again. Feel you lose it around me.”

Dropping your hand between your two bodies, your fingers find your still swollen clit and move lightly. It’s already overstimulating, but it’s really goddamn good. Your cheeks are hot, your lips are puffy from kissing and biting, and your mind is totally clear for the first time in your life. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder and whimper, “So good, Jack. So fucking good.”

His fingers knit into your hair and he holds you close. You’re completely held and completely safe and completely, utterly, totally fucked. You want to make him cum so bad it hurts. You push yourself until your thighs burn and then some, savoring every moment of him stretching and filling you.

Jack feels your movements losing rhythm and chuckles, “Hold on, baby.”

Then he flips you onto your back, smooth and easy, like your weight is nothing to him. That reality has your head swimming back toward another crest. When Jack’s thumb goes down to your clit as his hips piston faster, you know you’re done for. Sweat slicks the arch of your back and your nails dig into his biceps and his name is the only thing rolling off your tongue.

“Jack, I’m- I think I’m-”

“Me too, love. Let go with me.” And then, lips ever so slightly touching yours, eyebrows pinched together, thighs tensing, he adds softly, “Please.”

You can’t do anything but listen.

With one last cry, raw and delicate at once, you cum harder than before. Jack’s cock inside of you makes each pulse more intense, like your body’s begging to hold onto him, and he follows you, beyond willing, over the edge of the cliff. Your eyes crash together in that final moment of ecstasy and you’re both thoughtlessly lost in each other.

Your eyes flutter shut when the pleasure becomes too much and you have to catch your breath. Jack’s tying off the condom and tossing it in the bathroom trash before you’re even aware that he’s left. But he’s back by your side in the next second, bringing you to his chest, kissing the top of your head, holding you as close as he can.

Rubbing your back lightly, Jack murmurs, “Thank you.”

You let out a sharp laugh and roll your eyes as you nestle into his pecs, breathing deeply and sleepily. “You did not just say ‘thank you’ because I let you take my virginity.”

Jack smirks and closes his eyes. “No, I said ‘thank you’ because nobody’s made me feel that good in a long, long time.”

-

It started after a brutal shift.

You’d both been running nonstop for eleven hours. Your ponytail was half falling out, your sneakers were stained with something you didn’t want to identify, and Jack had dark circles beneath his eyes that somehow only made him hotter.

You were both restocking supplies in an empty trauma bay at nearly two in the morning when he handed you gauze without looking.

“Last pack,” he said.

“You hiding the rest from me?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re selfish, Abbot.”

“You survive.”

You snorted softly.

He glanced over then, just briefly, and there it was again—that little almost-smile he only ever showed around you.

Most people got professionalism from Jack.

You got warmth.

Tiny pieces of it, carefully handed over.

You didn’t know exactly when the crush happened.

Maybe it was the first time he brought you coffee without asking how you took it because he already knew.

Maybe it was the night he sat with you in the ambulance bay while you cried after losing a teenage patient.

Maybe it was because Jack looked at you like you were something precious even when you felt exhausted and wrung out and fraying at the edges.

Whatever the reason, you were gone for him.

Hopelessly.

“Hey,” you said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got something.”

He frowned faintly. “Where?”

You stepped closer before he could think too hard about it.

Your hand curled lightly into the front of his scrub top.

Then you kissed him.

Quick.

Soft.

Barely more than a brush of your lips against his.

Jack froze.

Actually froze.

His eyes widened slightly as you pulled back.

And there it was.

Color rising up his neck.

“You—”

You grinned.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “You blush.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

Jack stared at you like he’d forgotten how words worked.

Which was shocking, considering this man regularly handled medical catastrophes without blinking.

“You kissed me,” he finally managed.

“Yeah.”

“In the middle of work.”

“Mhm.”

“You can’t just do that.”

“But I already did.”

His jaw flexed.

You watched the pink deepen in his cheeks and nearly lost it laughing.

Jack pointed at you like he was trying to regain control of the situation.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“You assaulted me with affection.”

“You survived.”

“That’s your defense?”

“You use it all the time.”

He made a low sound in the back of his throat that suspiciously resembled a laugh.

Then someone called for him down the hall and the moment broke apart.

But before he left, he looked at you again.

Longer this time.

Something softer in his expression.

Something dangerous.

“You’re trouble,” he said quietly.

And walked away.

After that, it became a problem.

Because now you knew.

Jack Abbot—competent, composed, terrifyingly capable Jack Abbot—completely lost his mind when you kissed him unexpectedly.

And you had zero self-control about it.

You started small.

A kiss against his cheek while he charted.

A quick peck to the corner of his mouth when he handed you coffee.

One stolen kiss in the elevator that left him staring at the closing doors like he’d just been shot.

Every single time, he reacted the same way.

Stillness.

Blinking.

Blushing.

Occasionally short-circuiting entirely.

It was incredible.

“You do this on purpose,” he accused one night.

You looked up innocently from your seat beside him in the break room.

“Do what?”

“Weaponize affection.”

You gasped dramatically. “Weaponize?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“You kissed me and walked away while I was talking to Collins.”

“And?”

“I forgot what I was saying.”

You burst out laughing.

Jack looked deeply unimpressed.

Which would’ve been more convincing if his ears weren’t bright red.

“Oh my God,” you wheezed. “You’re still blushing.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You like me.”

He looked at you then.

Really looked at you.

And suddenly the teasing atmosphere shifted into something quieter.

Warmer.

More dangerous.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

Your laughter faded immediately.

The room felt smaller.

Jack leaned back in his chair, gaze steady on yours now, and somehow that was worse than the blushing.

Because this— this calm honesty— felt terrifyingly real.

“How much?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His expression softened.

“Enough that you’ve turned me into an idiot.”

Your chest hurt a little.

Jack wasn’t smooth when it came to feelings.

That was part of what made him so devastating.

Everything he said felt honest.

Carefully chosen.

Real.

You stood slowly from your chair.

Walked over to him.

He watched you the entire time.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

You stopped between his knees.

Rested your hands lightly on his shoulders.

“Kissing you again.”

“See? Problem.”

You smiled softly this time.

Not teasing anymore.

Then you kissed him properly.

Not quick.

Not playful.

Slow enough that his breath caught.

Jack’s hands settled instinctively at your waist, careful and warm and solid.

For one suspended second, he didn’t kiss you back like a man unsure of himself.

He kissed you like someone who’d wanted this for a long time.

Deeply.

Completely.

Your fingers slid into his hair and he made a rough sound against your mouth that nearly ruined you.

When you pulled away, both of you were breathing harder.

Jack rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“You can’t keep doing that to me,” he murmured.

“You hate it?”

His hands tightened slightly on your waist.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No?”

“No.”

You smiled against his mouth.

“Good.”

Then the break room door swung open.

“Abbot, I need—”

Dana stopped dead.

You jerked backward.

Jack looked profoundly unimpressed with the interruption.

Dana’s eyes moved between the two of you slowly.

Then she sighed.

“Finally.”

You blinked.

“Finally?”

“You two have been making eyes at each other for months. It was embarrassing.”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m helping plenty.” Dana pointed at you. “Keep doing whatever this is. He’s less grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You threatened a printer yesterday.”

“It started it.”

Dana walked out muttering something about emotionally constipated emergency staff.

You dissolved into helpless laughter.

Jack looked at you for three seconds before giving up and laughing too.

God.

You loved that sound.

Dating Jack happened naturally after that.

Like slipping into something that had already been waiting for you both.

You learned quickly that beneath the calm exterior, Jack loved quietly but intensely.

He remembered everything.

Your coffee order.

Your favorite snacks during night shifts.

How you liked your fries stolen but not your pickles.

He’d press tired kisses into your hair while passing behind you in the kitchen.

Would rest a hand at the small of your back absentmindedly.

Would look at you across crowded rooms like he still couldn’t quite believe you were his.

And you never stopped stealing kisses.

Never.

In supply closets.

Hallways.

Parking garages.

Against his shoulder while he charted.

One memorable time while he was mid-sentence talking to Robby.

“You were saying?” Robby asked dryly after you walked off.

Jack stared blankly ahead.

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Probably.”

The worst—or best—incident happened three months into your relationship.

Jack was focused on stitching up a patient’s arm while you stood nearby assisting.

Completely professional.

Composed.

Until the patient’s elderly grandmother looked between the two of you knowingly and said, “You’re in love.”

You nearly choked.

Jack remained calm.

“We’re dating,” he corrected gently.

“No,” she said wisely. “You’re in love.”

Silence.

Then she pointed at you.

“You look at him like he hung the moon.”

Your face burned.

Then she pointed at Jack.

“And he looks at you like he’d fight God for another five minutes.”

The entire room went quiet.

Jack’s stitching paused briefly.

You looked at him.

And there it was.

That look.

Open affection so intense it made your chest ache.

The grandmother hummed triumphantly.

“I’m old, not blind.”

Later, after the patient was discharged, you cornered Jack in an empty hallway.

“You’d fight God for me?” you asked lightly.

Jack looked down at you.

Completely serious.

“Without hesitation.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Jack—”

“I mean it.”

There was no teasing in his face.

No embarrassment.

Just certainty.

You reached for him automatically.

“Come here.”

“What?”

“I need to kiss you.”

A faint blush appeared immediately.

You grinned delightedly.

“There he is.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re blushing again.”

“Because you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you adore me.”

You softened instantly.

“Oh,” you whispered. “That’s because I do.”

Jack stared at you for half a heartbeat before pulling you into him suddenly.

His mouth found yours hard enough to steal your breath.

Not shy.

Not flustered.

Certain.

One hand cupped your jaw while the other settled firmly at your waist.

You melted against him immediately.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again.

“You’re gonna kill me someday,” he murmured.

You smiled softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. “Worth it.”

Two years later, Jack still blushed when you stole kisses.

Especially when you did it unexpectedly.

Especially when you smiled afterward like you’d won something.

Maybe you had.

“A…a joke?”

In mild concern, the two of you can only watch as stoic, composed Yaga lets out what sounded like a strangled sob. Before whispering to another PR manager on-site, “Write a company statement.” 

“Oi-” Gojo pipes up, “Why would you need a company statement when I’m perfectly- user Fushidaddy type another pick-up line and I’m blocking you.”

The dark-haired man chokes through almost tears, “Just start writing already.”

You try to smooth things over from your seat right beside your best friend, this was not what you’d anticipated after Gojo had practically begged on his knees asking for you to join him in one of his Bubble lives. Then again, what else could you expect from anything to do with him? “Ah, it’s alright. I don’t mind-”

“I do.” 

Snowy brows furrowed, he’s leaning in closer to the camera to take in every traitorous word- 

satorusxkitten: okay but guys think ab it!! he’s rlly talented but no actor so it’s okay if he’s ass at pretending to not be a simp!! can u blame him??

“Blocked.”

P1BANG: took a shot every time he stares at her thinking he’s slick now I’m at the hospital (this live started 3 minutes ago)

“Blocked.”

Fushidaddy: Pretty girl, blink twice if you’re being held hostage x.

“Blocked and reported what the-” Gojo frowns glancing over at you from the corner of his eyes, (thinking he’s slick, thank you very much). Before catching the way you lean in dramatically to flutter your eyes- “Don’t you dare blink.”

As you’re bursting into ribbing laughter, so are the sheer amount of comments asking about you- and he can’t help but entertain the sneaking suspicion that his own viewers were here simply because of you.

At least, that’s why he would’ve kept watching.

Fushidaddy2: Put us out of this pining misery or end the live, kid.

“I thought I blocked you.”

“Okay then.” You clap your hands once to gain the room’s attention, slightly worried about the blood vessel about to burst near Yaga’s temple. “Satoru, I think you brought me here to do a Q n’ A, right?”

“Well yes…” Gojo’s grumbling underneath his breath - that was the initial plan, to finally introduce one of the most precious parts of him to the fandom. 

He just didn’t account for the possibility that everyone on the livestream would fall in love with you - when that was clearly supposed to be his job! “Alright- ask away, and no funny business. I’m looking at you, user Fushidaddy.”

sugu-rizzed: Are you single?

“How dare you-”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You’re nudging the towering man right next to you, subtly moving his hand off of that treacherous block button. “Lighten up, Satoru—”

“Yes, ma’am. Correct, ma’am.”

What a sight it was. 

Honestly, you’re sure you hear at least several management staff gasp at just how easily you’d shut up their arguable star. Being the center of one of the fastest bands to sky-rocket into the k-pop world hadn’t made it any easier for an agent to pose authority over Gojo Satoru - Yaga was barely hanging on by a thread and he submitted at least a few resignation letters every week.

Once the on-set whispers break out, you’re squirming in your seat. Rattling off yet another question-

ge.akuge: what do you think about the allegations of him wearing wigs?

“Well-”

“Blocked.”

KunaLuvrr: does he wear wigs?

stanjutsu: will he wear wigs?

Fushidaddy3: Y’know I don’t wear wigs, baby, x. 

“I-”

“You- blocked.”

haibarabias: Did u know he was yapping about you non-stop on the last live?

You’re blinking in slight surprise, turning to Gojo - who’d now stuffed himself into his oversized designer hoodie until you could only make out the tips of his ears. His bright, burning red ears. “Really?” Turning to the feverishly nodding staff at his silence, “Really?”

One of the fresh-faced interns in charge of lighting tries to hold back a squeal, “Y-yeah! We tried to keep a tally of your name to edit on-screen but it went into…the triple…digits- eep!”

“E-hem.” Gojo cuts the newbie off with a slight glare, snitches. The whole lot. “I was just talking to them about what a boor you are and to be prepared-”

realistic.one: liar, you were giggling and kicking your feet the whole time-

“-which you would have known if you actually watched me.” Finishing off with relish, he’s mockingly glowering down at you. The perfect vision of a neglected best friend - if it wasn’t for the way that he was flushed all the way from his cheeks to the back of his neck, that is. 

And then your fingerpads reach out to pat the silky crown of his bangs, soothingly. “I do watch you, Toru. I must have missed that stream, sorry about that.”

He melts. And there’s tens of thousands to watch him.

“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s briefly snapping a scowl at the screen, already knowing that this particular clip of his voice breaking would be making rounds on the internet tomorrow. Crossing his arms with a huff, he acts like he isn’t nuzzling his head even closer for you to caress, “Tch, you make a shitty best friend, my star.”

Somewhere across the room, Yaga puts his head in his hands and sighs. 

sugu-rizzed: My star?? Guys is he…

CandyKento: that moment when you highkey ship them but realize bro has no game

sunflowerboy: Gojo-san fighting!!

Fushidaddy7: I could treat you better, girl x. 

torutoaster: wonder what her type is from our boys^^

It’s as if the room itself had hiked a few degrees in temperature, and you’re darting your eyes away from Gojo’s burning ones. From the staff that was snickering behind their hands, giving you knowing looks. 

Instead, choosing to distract yourself by answering that last question– “Hmm, my ideal type from Six Eyes, huh?”

“Hah- what a silly little question.” Your best friend cocks his head with a smirk, “Why- tell ‘em, my star. Who else has the visuals? The dance moves? The charisma? Of course, it’s-”

“Suguru.” You smile innocently, whilst the flashy idol next to you crumbles. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

returnofP1BANG: five more shots for that wet cat look he gave her

Fushidaddy9: Ouch (lol).

sugu-rizzed: F in the chat

CandyKento: f

sunflowerboy: F

Fushidaddy10: F

ge.akuge: F

“Tch- childish.” Gojo scoffs at the wave of that same letter flooding his comment section, he’s counting about twenty…before typing his own ‘F’ in there. 

Immediately reinvigorated, he’s stabbing a determined finger in the air. “But- but I have something that none of y’all and that stinky Suguru doesn’t have-” And it takes every ounce of will, every shred of shamelessness in his body to wrap two strong arms around you and crash you to his broad chest. Emulating all those hours he’s spent watching k-dramas with you, Gojo’s barking out. “-she’s mine!”

Fushidaddy14: Yeah. Your best friend. LMAO.

“Blocked-”

Masamichi Yaga handed in yet another resignation letter that very same night.

Which was likely why the livestream didn’t last too long after that little catastrophe- and it’s about a few hours later once you’d safely made it home with excuses of work the next day, and Gojo was lying wide awake on his phone, that it happens.

It is sent to him, by none other than Geto - the most unthinkable, unspeakable link to a fan-made YouTube video aptly titled ‘100 Gojo Satorus vs. trying not to make a fool of himself in front of his baddie best friend challenge (failed)”

Edited and clipping every single moment he’d completely n’ utterly destroyed his cool idol façade during the brief live. Every (fine, not-so-slick) glance your way, every blush, every voice crack.

Fuck.

In two seconds he’s sending Geto a paragraph of middle finger emojis, and in one he’s slowly downloading the video…for research purposes. 

.

.

.

As a celebrity hair stylist, Miwa Kasumi had never felt that she wasn’t paid enough - after all, nearly unlimited contact with her favorite idols and she gets to see her work come to life on stage? What could go wrong?

Well…she’s feeling her weary eyelid twitch just about the twelfth time she hears the same repeated meme audio blaring from Gojo Satoru’s phone. 

Headphone-less. On full volume. 

All on the set of one of the most important comeback shoots of this year, the much-anticipated music video for their single ‘Blue.’ Penned by none other than the giggling idiot that was her client. 

And it was only considering all her years of professionalism that she didn’t whack the phone out of his hands the way she’s been dying to for the past hour. “Gojo-san, you are quite the fan of that video, hm?”

Subtle cues- subtle cues!

But Gojo was never one for subtle cues, as she has the misfortune of learning. And he only blinks up from his padded seat in front of her, “Huh? Oh yes-” In fact, increasing the volume of the dramatically edited fan video - one of those crack compilations she had the guilty pleasure of watching before bed sometimes. 

But Gojo didn’t seem to be watching for the laughs, his twinkling sapphire eyes were only locked on one thing on-screen - you. 

Sighing at a short clip of you from the livestream a few days ago, grimacing at one of his bragging monologues. Giggling, he zooms in on you- “Isn’t she gorgeous–?”

“O-oh!” Now, introductions and love for artistry might be two of the main perks of working in such close proximity to idols - but who could forget the gossip. Immediately perking up, she’s setting down one of the curlers and working on fluffing up Gojo’s ethereal white hair for the camera. “Girlfriend, Gojo-san?”

“Not at all.” Dreamily, he’s taking a blatant screenshot of the zoomed-in visual of your face. A man in heaven. “Not. At. All.”

Huh? Maybe all celebrities were just eccentric. What was that one saying about never meeting your heroes? 

Well, it seems that the universe decided that Miwa hadn’t learned enough of her lesson just yet- which is why she’s startled by the swoosh–! of curtains being drawn back in the dressing room, and the heavy footsteps of none other than Gojo’s bandmates. 

Who could mistake them?

Geto Suguru, long inky hair tied back, slow strides almost predatory, is the first to reach the two - one of them shivering in rapt excitement, the other glued to his phone. “Oi- Satoru, they want you for your solo shot.”

Gojo grunts noncommittally, hands gripping his phone. “Hm-”

Irritation gripping the other’s tone, his best friend taps his feet. “Satoru.”

“Mm.”

“Satoru.” 

“…”

“You little-” 

It’s a damn miracle that the thin glass of Gojo’s phone screen doesn’t crack with how swiftly Geto’s snatching it from the other’s hands. Only to get a glimpse of the screen and have his mouth drop.

“Satoru…” 

“…Suguru.”

Pierced brows furrowing, Adam’s apple bobbing with a guffaw at the blatant screenshot of you displayed. Clearly taken from that one compilation video that he had sent the link to a few days ago. Their center gulps. “Satoru, what…the…f-”

“Gojo-san! Gojo-san–!”

The youngest - Haibara’s - sweet, sing-song voice dips through the tense dressing room as he stumbles in - all sunny smiles and the cutest bowl cut. Followed excruciatingly closely by a cameraman recording behind-the-scenes content, “Kento and I are done, so Director Shoko wants you on set now or she said she’ll do some violent things that can’t be said on camera~”

“Of course, of course– you should go, you strange little lecher- I mean, Satoru.” Geto waves the other over, “C’mere Yu, let your elder show you a little something.”

Gojo blanches, “No-”

“Oh? What is it–?”

Gripping onto Geto’s jacket, “No.”

Careful of the rolling camera, he’s mercilessly sidling up to the other and flashing the latest addition to Gojo’s photo album - that soft, slightly blurry screenshot of you. Simply smiling. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right.” Geto’s smizing out such a cat-like grin at the camera- this was sure to have the internet talking. Maybe even screaming. And as the staff with the lens steps closer in curiosity, he’s swiftly covering the screen, “Let’s just say our Satoru is ah- quite the fan of our cute little fans’ creations.”

Haibara titters, “Enough that it’s filling up his phone storage-” Catching Gojo’s groan, ready to jump out of his seat- “Ah, my apologies, Gojo-san~”

Geto nods, “No no, he’s right.”

“He’s not.”

“I am?”

“And remember, kids—” The pierced man calls out, finger hovering over the glaring screen of the phone. 

Gojo gasps- “No-” Realizing. Shooting to his feet. “No no no-”

Registering the way his other best friend was giving particular attention to that bright, burning DELETE button. “-always help your friends in need.”

The scream that Gojo Satoru, most polished idol of the 21st century, lets off is devastated. 

Enough that the cameraman - watching each interaction like a hawk - jumps, enough that even ruthless Geto Suguru himself feels a semblance of slight regret. Almost turning his thumb over to click on the recycle bin before Gojo can cry himself hoarse- until he’s scrolling just an inch - an inch - along the full camera roll and finding…more…screenshots?

About 75,328 in his album, to be exact. Of you. 

He looks at Gojo Satoru - knees cradled in such a pitiful fetal position on the floor, whimpering at the loss of his prized screenshot. And he looks at the 75,328 screenshots. He looks back at Gojo. Then at the screenshots, all 75,328.

Then back at Gojo.

And Geto doesn’t even feel bad about the good kick he’s planting on the other’s back, “Get out.”

If the dressing room was a hellhole made to ruin Gojo’s life - Geto being the devil incarnate, of course - then being on set wasn’t any better. 

The long lens of Shoko’s famed camera stares him down like it knew exactly how he was acting minutes prior, and any false façade of coolness would easily break through. 

“Ugh…” Shoko’s crinkling her nose in slight distaste at the footage playing on her screen, motioning for the rest of the crew to start putting each prop back in place for a reshoot. 

Make-up airy, white bandages haphazardly falling from his eyes, surrounded by sparkling ivory decorations of stars; it was supposed to be something on theme with the song, something romantic, something that didn’t make her want to hack up her coffee in a bad way.

But she could feel her stomach churning already. Leveling a glare at Gojo that’s enough to make the much-taller man flinch- “You- if you can’t do the sparkly idol thing, just try looking at the camera and smiling. It’s all we need for the solo shot today.” Tapping her camera, “Look at the lens like you’d look at a lover.”

Voice octaves higher, “A-a lover?” 

His dignity was scarred! 

“You got this, Gojo-san! Twentieth try’s the charm–!” Haibara’s voice echoes. “Ah- or was this the thirtieth…somewhere along the line I lost count.”

“Thirty-seventh.” Nanami helpfully supplies.

His reputation as a reliable elder ruined!

“Satoru, good luck! Geto called me- I don’t know why but um, good luck!”

He didn’t call himself the king of idols for nothing!

In a split-second, Gojo perks at the slightly-metallic sound of your voice through the other end of the line. Breath hitched, flashing irises widened- it doesn’t take him even a nanosecond to snap his head towards where Geto was holding his phone up for the sound to project.

Your name flashing on the caller ID, Geto’s smile priggish at the reaction wrenched out of his best friend. 

And Gojo can’t help but let the mere sound of your voice make him smile—

“There we go- that’s the shot! That’s the shot.”

The music video is edited and uploaded only a few weeks later, that behind-the-scenes following hastily afterwards. 

It was a hit, of course, as every management and billboard had already predicted it would be. But what was unpredictable were the eagle-eyed comments-

SIX EYES - ‘BLUE’ MV

torutoaster: KYAAA THEY REALLY FED US LOOK AT HOW OUR TORU AND SUGU LOOOKKK

ryomichael: not even a satoru bias but…wow…his visuals…the way he looked at the camera made my heart just go…wow

zbstan: stream this song (and esp Gojo’s bridge) for clear skin guys!!

SIX EYES - ‘BLUE’ MV Behind [All]

getosuggs: Geto and Haibara giggling at Gojo’s phone screen…wonder what they were looking at…

torutoaster: wonder why the filming of toru’s solo shot was muted?? strange but as long as we get more content of my bias oh well^^

sugu-rizzed: @torutoaster I think because they were on a call? Oooo imagine if it was Gojo’s best friend from the livestream…

mahitoe: @sugu-rizzed smh delulu shippers

zbstan: @mahitoe STFU look at that caller ID ik they tried to blur it but like there was an anonymous hair stylist on set who said it was so GUYS IT COULD BE-

Fushidaddy17: I would’ve had no problem looking cool for her aha x.

.

.

.

“Takada-chan! Takada-ch-AAAAAAN–!”

Honestly, what a woman to be able to smile politely in the face of a big, beefy high schooler ripping his shirt off from the stands of the stadium. The Idol Star Athletics Championships were always quite rambunctious considering the star-studded players, especially this year. 

All lined up in their groups, donning flashy colored tracksuits. 

And as the boy starts crying, Geto winces–looking back at their own section of fans invited to attend the annual celebrity sports tournament. Some squealing at the feeling of Geto’s stare, some waving banners hysterically - but thank goodness that none were as bad as-

“MY STAAAAR–!”

Geto takes that back very quickly.

Deadpan, exhausted- the leader of Six Eyes is turning to stare down their infamous center, the exact one who’d been hogging every headline for the past few weeks for his exact antics with you. “Satoru…what are you doing?”

Ignoring him for your figure seated at the very front row–“MY STAR, YOU BETTER CHEER FOR ME.” You pretend not to hear him as he waves frantically, and Geto reaches over to tug Gojo back in line. “Oi- OIII, DON’T LOOK AT NANAMI LOOK AT ME!”

On second thought, he backs away into another group’s line. 

You weren’t the only one looking at him now- so were the announcers. Seasoned entertainers who’ve probably never seen a scene in all their years, “Aaaand over in this row we have Six Eyes. Their center - that Gojo boy - seems to be a little preoccupied, no?”

“With the girl? Oh, when is he not? Have you seen the clips from that livestream?”

“Ahh–you know my wife showed me and-” Seemingly catching the eye of whatever higher-up, or maybe the way that Yaga was swooning in his bench as if he was about to faint right then and there. “Ehem- anyways, welcome all to this year’s The Idol Star Athletics Championships–!”

It goes off without a hitch. 

Well, as much as it could with Gojo Satoru being in attendance. 

Which meant having to wrangle him back by the scruff of his neck every time he meandered off to the shrieking stands to ask you to pet his tired head - “for good luck.”

Which meant having him blow kisses to the stands suspiciously near you as he dribbled expertly during the basketball event, their team tied with yet another idol group.

With only a few seconds on the clock, every eye glued to his sprinting figure - breath stilling just as soon as he does near the netted hoop. Gojo had jumped, and pointed straight at your figure—“This one’s for my star.”

Before he swung. 

And…

…missed.

But that was all water under the bridge.

It didn’t matter that it was a failure recorded in 4K on hundreds of cameras, it didn’t matter that you’d been the one laughing the most while watching his precious shot completely miss the hoop and bounce sadly on the floor. 

It didn’t matter that his ears were still burning red from embarrassment by the last leg of the tournament - the track-and-field events. 

Geto had already won the gold medal in archery, Haibara with silver in football, and even woe-is-me Nanami had snagged a silver in fencing. 

And this time, this year’s new addition - one of those borrowed item races you’d play in middle school, those ones where he’d have to run to a box and pick out something silly to bring over the finish line - was about to be his turn. 

“Ready…”

Gojo’s steadying into position, making sure his back flexed just right so that you’d be able to see from the stands. And if the way that Nanami sighed was anything to go by then it was working, right? 

“Set…”

Azure eyes locked on the small wooden box that loomed a few yards in front of him.

“Go!”

It’s a blur- one moment his expensive designer sneakers touch the ground, and the next he’s one of the first idols to run over to the box. Fighting to stick his hand inside, Gojo’s sure he elbows someone’s dolled-up face to grab the first slip of paper he can. 

Tugging it out with a grin, the neat typing stares back at him mockingly—‘Someone you love.’

Fuck.

Why did it have to be this one?

The announcer’s booming baritone breaks through- “What’s this? Six Eyes’ Gojo seems to have stalled? What could that paper say?”

“Run!” Geto’s voice calls over the chaos of countless other artists bee-lining towards their own missions, their own ‘item.’ He’s waving at Gojo impatiently, “Run, you fool-” 

“Gojo-san, you got this–!”

In a confused hurry, he’s darting a look down at the staff manning the box - some older, dryly deadpan man who merely takes a peek at his slip of paper and gives a thumbs up. And Gojo could have sworn he smirks.

Well.

“Oh- oh, he’s running.” Both hosts gripping onto the edges of their tables, “The legs on that boy- Gojo Satoru is overtaking his peers easily- ah, we promise we’re not biased.”

Yaga and the rest of his overworked PR team would have to forgive Gojo for this later- but his legs are turning towards your direction in an instant, just as they always have. Running. Sprinting. 

“Gojo- Gojo! Is it true you two eloped?”

“An insider source is saying that your best friend was present on-set of Blue- any comment?”

“Are you two dating?”

It’s like he’s running through a tunnel where the only thing he can see is you at the end. Announcers’ voices cotton in his mind- “Oh, we think we know where this is going, ladies and gentlemen.” The only voice his popped ears can hear are yours-

“S-Satoru–!” You’re shrieking, nearly as loud as the throng of fans and cameras surrounding you. Clawing down his beefy upper bicep as your best friend leans his long torso over the barrier of the stands and throws you into an easy princess carry, “Are you crazy-”

“Nah, we’re gonna win, my star.” He has his arms steady, jaw clicking - and you can’t help but feel his strength thrum gently in his arms. Those lucky to be near enough for the entire ordeal would later claim to tabloids that they’d never seen Gojo Satoru this serious.

This…responsible when he’s carefully striding with you in his hold - an easy first place running past the finish line. 

Stars in his eyes, mouth turned up into a smile that twitched when he gazed down at your own. Wantingly. 

But he only hugged you in thanks, and took your half-joking swats with a smile. 

They couldn’t quite blatantly show the cameras what Gojo’s little paper had required him to bring, but you got to keep Gojo’s gold medal after the tournament - it was always meant for you, anyway.

And he gets an earful from Yaga, Geto, Haibara (though that was more grumbling about why those last two weren’t the ones carried like a pretty princess instead), and a few articles speculating your relationship, and a Twitter timeline having a complete meltdown over clips of his race. 

A video of those particular few seconds with you in his arms racked up a solid few million views in only a few hours since it was posted- but honestly, one million of those views might just be from him alone.

@torutoaster: THE WAYYYY HE CARRIED HER OMG- GOD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS-

@CandyKento: did anyone watch the isacs? no but i am soooo curious what gojo’s item was-

@chorusito replying to @CandyKento: no but to bring his ehem ehem- “best friend” it has to be something scandalous right~

@CandyKento replying to @chorusito: right??

@mahitoe replying to @chorusito: lmfao idols can’t date. you guys cant handle anything it was obvs just a friend or something. delulu. 

@sugurusshampoobottle replying to @mahitoe: FIGHT ME.

@satorusxkitten: gojo and geto’s arms are so big!! fuck!! 

@sugu-rizzed: That staff-member manning the box saw what the paper said oh what I would pay to know…

@fiendingforsixeyes: AHHHH I BET IT WAS SOMETHING OR SMTH HE LOVED IK U GOJO U LOVERBOY

@Fushidaddy33: She would’ve looked better in my arms tbh…

Gojo reports that last account.

.

.

.

“So, who do you think is the cutest from Six Eyes?”

“Me.”

“And who do you think is the best dancer?”

“Me.”

“The most romantic?”

“Ah…” Regular interviews could be tedious - but an interview with a lie detector strapped to you somehow surpassed even the ninth chamber of hell. And Gojo thinks that anyone would shrink under the beady, unwavering gaze of the hostess interrogating- ah, interviewing him right now.

Not a hair out of place, not a lie she wouldn’t be able to catch.

Damn that management for signing him up for one of those lie detection interviews - part of him already felt that this was punishment for rejecting Yaga’s seventh resignation letter since the chaos of the Idol Star Athletics Championships.

And damn Geto for goading him into going first.

The rest of the group watch leisurely from their comfort of a sofa away from the spotlight - thankfully lie detector-less for now - tittering as their bandmate cowers. Gulping through a slightly-wobbly grin, “Me. I’m the most romantic.”

Nodding as the polygraph examiner gives the thumbs up for truth.

“Not quite humble, but quite honest aren’t you, Mister Gojo?”

Gojo’s cracking his neck in his uncomfortable seat, the sooner he can get this over with, the better. Still strapped with leather buckles, “I think you’ll find that I’m very honest about things I truly feel.”

Geto sputters through faux coughs- “Pfft– Liar.”

Nanami looks away- murmuring just loud enough for the microphone to pick up, “Ehem…fibber.”

And Haibara? Haibara merely snaps his fingers in realization- “Aaaah–! I see, they’re calling you a ‘liar’, Gojo-san, because you aren’t honest about your feelings towards-”

“Ah ah!” He tries to make a motion to shut up, but only ends up rocking the chair from side-to-side. And Gojo already knew he was done for the very second he’s catching the hostess’s eyes gleam at this juicy morsel of information.

“Well, I actually did have…” Trailing off, she’s shuffling through her pack of pre-written questions. Painted nails fingering one at the very back that she seemed to have stowed away for when the interviews took a particular turn, she clears her throat. Saying your name-

“Impressively high heart rate.” The examiner drones out, bushy brows raising at what his screen flashed. Just from hearing your name.

As his self-proclaimed friends cackle - those traitors - the hostess shows off her pearly smile, “Mister Gojo, is it true that she’s your best friend?”

Gojo shifts slightly, “Very true.” Truth.

“And she is very beautiful- correct?”

“Very true.” Truth.

“And smart?”

“Very true-” Truth.

“And you’re in love with her?”

“Very tr-” He gasps, “Wait no-”

To which the older lady cocks her head in genuine confusion, “Despite all the shipping- well, it’s all everyone’s been talking about online these days- you’ve never done anything? You don’t have feelings for her, young man?”

“N…no.” 

Geto raises his hand in a split-second, almost as if he was some model student in a classroom. “You’re mistaken, my lady, he doesn’t have feelings for her. He has a lot of feelings for her-”

“Suguru!”

The final nail on Gojo’s coffin might just have been the way the polygraph examiner tries - and fails - to keep a largely neutral face. Instead raising his fist in the air, into a blatant thumbs down, next word tinged in amusement. “Lie.”

Gojo fights against the belts tied to his wrist, monitoring his heartbeat, his deception. “It’s faulty, I tell you- faulty. Did you know that polygraphs are actually only 80% accurate and–”

“So you honestly wouldn’t mind if your best friend showed up with a fresh new boyfriend to introduce to you?”

“-I would rather die.”

It’s silence.

Gojo basking in the shock of what he’d just blurted out, everyone else squinting at the overtly clear thumbs up that the examiner was gesturing. A truth. Trying to see whether it would change shape whether they stared hard enough.

Clearing her throat, their seasoned hostess is the first to speak- “Ah- well, that was certainly, um.” Shuffling her cards, she stares at the rest of Six Eyes in bewilderment and they stare in bewilderment right back. 

Muttering, “I wish my husband was more like that- anyways.” She leans in close to Gojo, “So if I showed you…” Waving her hand at a few of the tech specialists in charge of the projector behind him, “-this picture with a particular known tattoo artist?”

It wasn’t even a question.

And a damn good thing it wasn’t, because as soon as the screen behind Gojo lights up with a paparazzi shot - one of you, from years and years ago when you were dating that damn tch- asshole Ryomen Sukuna. All bathed in the light of the city at night, pretty hands in his, smile blinding - oh-so-gorgeous that he feels his heart stop.

Literally.

There’s a slight, sharp beeeeep–! that emanates from the lie detector—

Geto stands, “Satoru, what-”

“Gojo-san, are you okay-”

“I know CPR.” Hell, even Nanami was looking on with some degree of concern, “But I wouldn’t do it on you, no offense.”

As the examiner fiddles with his contraption, the hostess is the one to wonder whether she should call over the medical personnel in the studio. Reaching over her lil’ interrogation table to tap Gojo’s pale hand lightly- “U-uh, Mister Gojo-”

Gojo gasps- “Huh? Oh yeah-” 

The steady rhythm of his pulse beeps once more on the monitor, albeit it slightly faster than before after he’s setting his eyes on you. After his poor, pathetic heart had skipped a beat just at the mere sight of you. 

“He’s ruining the picture.” Gojo’s nose bridge wrinkles, gaze straying back to your smile the way an anchor follows a ship to see. No matter how far and deep they may go. The examiner signs out ‘truth’ as the other man continues, “Can you crop the buffoon out and give me five printed copies of that photo, please?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?”

“Gojo-san, eh?”

Nanami rubs his aching temples, “This is why I’d never give him CPR.”

That particular episode easily became one of the most watched of the season. 

Six Eyes’ Gojo Satoru Takes a Lie Detector Test | Heart-stopping Revelations!

torutoaster: WHAT THE FUCK WHEN THEY SAID HEART-STOPPING THEY MEANT IT FRFR-

eathaibara: the pure aura to have your heartbeat stop then the first thing you do is simp over your girl.

100menvsmpreg: @eathaibara wait so are they actually dating?

fluffykento: @100menvsmpreg worse

jennyk10: @100menvsmpreg I meannn-

ButterSixKpop: Need me a real freak like this.

CandyKento: kento is so real ngl

getosuggs: @CandyKento the only thing we love more than satoru is bullying satoru

fiendingforsixeyes: LMAO GUYS HAVE YOU SEEN THAT PERSON GOIN’ ON RANTS UNDER SUKUNA’S INSTA-

Gojo didn’t read these comments, unfortunately, or see any of the edits they were making of him on tiktok. He was too busy spamming comments of his own on Sukuna’s official instagram. 

Very colorfully-worded ones. 

.

.

.

“What’s your name?”

“Gojo da strongest.”

“What are you drawing?”

“A star.”

For an eight-year-old, Gojo thinks you had the most pensive expression on your face after that particular answer. Brows scrunched cutely, and your tongue sticking slightly between missing teeth- and it was alright, Gojo wasn’t a stranger to the staring.

He knew how to handle all the cooing from aunties at the marketplace, he was used to all the praises for being the fastest kid in all of primary school. 

So surely the great, wise, nine-year-old Gojo Satoru could give a fellow classmate as much time as you needed to muster up the very best compliment-

“It’s kinda ugly.”

“Wha- huh?” How dare you- Gojo’s pouting, snowy brows scrunching until you’re giggling. “My star is not ugly.” Sticking a thumb proudly between his puffed-up chest, “And I should know because I’m going to be a star.”

You’re nodding, seriously. “Mm, that’s good.” 

And that makes him falter- just a bit, because true superstars never falter. “Y-you think so?” Okay, maybe they falter a bit. But in Gojo’s defense, no one had ever taken his little daydream so seriously, “You don’t think it’s stupid? That I can’t go up on stage?”

“No, why would it be?” Oh. You’re tapping his smudged crayon drawing, “But that’s still an ugly star.”

Stomping, “Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is…” He looks at you - in all you sparkly humor - then back at his fifteen-pointed star. He looks at you, then back at his brown-colored star for “artistic purposes.” He looks at you, then back at his star with a spotty face on it because it reminded him of Patrick Star.  He looks at you and-

“Fine…”

“Let me teach you how to draw an actual star.” You’re stumbling over your words a little, and it offends the great Gojo Satoru that he should be taught by such a child like you, a year younger. 

But he does have to admit that you drew pretty nice stars. 

Crossing his arms with a pout, “Fine then- teach me how to draw stars-” And the grin breaking your tiny face was too bright, too pretty. Suddenly the classroom is too humid, and he’s scrambling for something - anything - to throw back in your face. “-star.”

“‘Star’, huh?” But you only smile, “I like that.”

Only to have it thrown back in his. 

In a way he’s remembering nearly two decades later, your hand in his, your mouth near his earpiece. Quieter than the producers screaming in his ears, but louder than his very own racing heartbeat.

“Take it easy, Satoru.” You’re humming, over the velvety-smooth voice of the MAMA award announcer. The one that was ecstatically saying the name of the very band that Gojo might just have forgotten he was a part of the moment your hands wound ‘round him. 

You lift up his dark blindfold, part of his outfit for the day. “Go up, you fool.”

It wasn’t every day that Six Eyes won a MAMA grand prize, and it also wasn’t every day that the best friend he’d begged to be let in as the group’s honorary plus one (also the very same best friend he’d been in love with since he knew what love was) was in his arms like this.

But you’d been in them when after he’d drawn the first star all those years back that you’d deemed ‘acceptable.’ You’d been in them when he decided to take up dancing lessons in middle school, waiting all those hours after dark to walk back home with him. You’d been in them when he entered high school and told you he’d be a trainee slaving the days away in some dingy company basement. You’d been in them even tighter when they debuted. 

And you’d been in them the very second their name had been announced as artist of the year.

In front of all those cameras. All those gasping audiences.

And Geto who thumps him heartily on the back, “Get a room later, lovebirds- if Yaga doesn’t kill you that is.”

“Come on, Gojo-san, we have to go up for our award–!”

Nanami flashes you what you swear was a slight smile, “I am happy for you.” Before frowning at a shining-eyed Gojo, “Not quite for you, though.”

“Aww Nanamin, you love me~”

“O-kaaay-” Once the 6’4 mess of limbs had finally set you free, Geto was pushing them all to climb up the stage. In time with the blasting background music of their very own Blue, “Let’s have the aneurysms when we’re on stage.”

But what Gojo had on-stage wasn’t anything to make Yaga wish to retire, or to have Nanami’s pounding migraine throb harder. It was a single, sliding tear - and if the lights glaring down on them were bright enough that no one could tell for sure, then all was well with him.

“To our fans, our family-” Gojo’s starting off into the mic in the middle, deep tone dry and hoarse, metal award cool in his hands. He’s looking at you. “-and my star, this one’s for you.”

It’s all. 

And later they’d write articles about the hug, the speech, and what it means that you’re his ‘star’ - but for now, that was for Gojo to know. And for him to step away from the booming mic, letting Geto take his place with much more eloquent words; knowing that in future interviews they’d joke about all the speeches that they had planned.

That Gojo had planned in particular, but nothing came out just right. 

Later, he would also wonder why he waited so long - when you were always there in the audience, clapping louder as if it was just for him. 

And your best friend mouths—all bedazzled in his dangling earrings, white suit starkly handsome. “Meet me after the show.”

That very same clip is made into a gif that gets replayed about twelve million times before the award show actually ends. 

.

.

.

“O-oh fuck-” Your tongue lolls out until it’s hitting midway down your chin, mouth watering with every curly swipe n’ prod of Gojo’s tastebuds. 

His nose hits the edge of your treacly cunt and he whines, watchin’ the cute way your pupils roll allll the way to the back. The front of your chest polishing with a few wads of saliva that he can’t lick up right now- no.

Not when his mouth was already so occupied.

All it took was a single step - a single step - inside Gojo’s personal dressing room after the MAMAs, before he’d crashed your lips against his in a way he’d just been dying to do.

Folding you easily over the armrest of the fluffy pink sofa, door locked, sparkly dress hiked up. Gojo hadn’t even bothered to take off your flimsy panties before he’d started making out with your sweet, sweet pussy from behind.

Lavishing his tongue between the crevices of your cunt like he was a man parched- “Fuck, my star.” With your underwear just pushed to the side and his throat vibrating with a guttural groan once he’s feeling your tight, cozy hole clench ‘round his tastebuds.“Fuck- s’all I want-”

“A-are you seriously- ngh–!” And you couldn’t believe anything your hazed mind was telling you right now - not of those familiar lyrics, and not of the smooth, frigid brush of something metallic studding just the end of Gojo’s tongue. “-quoting your song right now?”

“Mmm– can’t help it. Wrote it just for you y’know…” Voice just a bit hitched, just a bit raspy. 

There was something in it that made you oh-so-much wetter, and Gojo’s summer blue eyes flash as he’s taking in the sappy slick gluing your shivering thighs together. 

“Sh-shit.” Gurgling out the candied taste of you, you were dripping all down his tongue. He’s pulling you close with a hand stuck on your hip, letting your slick splash at the bottom of his throat- and it still wasn’t enough. 

“Shit, my star.” His usual lip gloss smeared all over your pussy, Gojo takes the time to lean in and lick it all clean off. Before pursing his lips to once more spit—“Shit-”

He didn’t know what to say.

Your pretty pussy had him speechless, and it’s a damn miracle that he’s not tearing that suit off of his body. Stained all down the front with a snail-trail of your sappy juices-

“Need- this-” Once his heavy fabric strikes the floor, Gojo’s inching even closer in his kneeling position. Thick fingers slide-slide-sliiiiding teasingly between your swollen folds, before tugging on your poor panties. “-off.”

Ripping.

And his little prize is now finding a home somewhere inside his pocket for later, but right now Gojo has to stop himself from fucking salivating as you’re exposed for him.

It takes one kiss before he pants- “Oh my god.” 

And another- “O-oh fuck- oh my god.”

Fully shoving his face between your legs and letting you shiver at the feeling of his bejewelled earrings. That sunken in. 

Flattened tongue slapping down between your driveling slit, Gojo takes his agonizing time lapping up every inch n’ cranny you have. “My star—” Humming almost drunkenly, his pointed muscle swerves between the insides of your pussylips. 

“F-fuuuck–!” Just where you were most sensitive, Gojo lets the stubbed piercing on his tongue slip inside your hole and streeeeetch you out. Slipping out to draw a wet, sickly sweet star– “Since when did you have a- nghh- a tongue piercing, Toru?”

The first answer you’re getting is a sharp swat on your pussy, “Mmm- ever since you dated that fucking bastard with a tongue piercing.” Sukuna. Gojo croons out, more honest than he would’ve usually been. “Never put it in but…I got it because I thought it was your hah- type.”

Another smack!

Another squeezing inch of his pierced tongue trying to fuck into your entrance, he’s impatient. He’s throbbing in his pants with every tiny clench of your gooey insides, “Got buffer, too- cooler.”

“Oh my…god- your tongue, it’s- hck! going in-” Crying out through whines.

“Wrote so many songs for you, my star–” He’s drawling out, and you can feel the scorching breeze of his hot breath. The way that Gojo’s parting his lips even wider to let his tongue glue against your cunt, grinding all the way inside- “Well- heh- not for her, but…”

You’re still hypnotized by the sensual massage of his ridged taste buds rubbin’ across the front of your dripping pussy. 

So much so that the lecherous sluuuurp–! drawn out into the claggy air almost shocks you. Your cunt’s letting off the most sexual noises once Gojo’s dragging up a hand to tease your wet clit. “-but I’ll write a song for her as well.”

His metal rings are just sparkling with coats of slick, and your best friend doesn’t waste even a second latching onto your sensitive nub. Dexterous fingers drawing cute circles over and over that have your hips lurching off of the sofa- 

“Please- ngh- pleeease-” Your head throws backwards, legs already starting to quake at the utter pressure of having his fingers on your clit. Tongue inside your pussy. 

So lengthy that the slimy tip of it mazes between your walls, and Gojo’s purposefully stirrin’ around your insides with the icy edge of his piercing. Chin rubbing all red with friction as he’s leaning in even closer to dig the muscle of his tongue into your sweetest spots, “Yeah- yeah n’ I’ll have her sing-” Another hand this time, another finger - pushin’ deeply inside you. And the syrupy sound is enough to make him close in on the side of the couch and rut- “-lead…h-heh.”

And if you thought being fucked into the cushy surface by Gojo’s tongue was making your head spin, then you’re being driven positively mad by the wild lashes of his fingertips. 

Two ringed fingers fighting for space right along with his sticky tongue, Gojo glues the thick crowns of his digits to the top of your g-spot and watches as you shrill. “All the reading paid off, hmm–?”

“Y-you read about this?” You’re blinking through your tears, mouth dangling open once he’s pulling back. All the way to the rotund tips of his fingers- and slamming right down to press on your favorite nerves like a button. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- just for- for me?”

“You don’t know what I’d do for you, my star.” And it would sound sweet coming from your usual best friend. 

But Gojo right now looked feral - pale eyes half-lidded, hair unruly, light make-up replaced by slimy oodles of your slick. Worn like a badge of honor, he’s gnawing down on your outer pussy, voice turning into something breathy. Octaves higher. “Noooo fucking idea what I’d do.”

Gripping onto the dampening covers of the sofa, you’re bucking animalistically like you don’t know whether you want to pull away or grind back down for more, more, more. Yelping, “T-Toru-!”

“No- no no no- come back.” Gojo panics, beefy arms wrapped enough around your body to haaaul you backwards. 

And when that wasn’t far enough, Gojo’s lust-fogged mind tugs off the blindfold still looped ‘round his neck. Tightly restraining one over your thigh and manhandling you deeper onto his face-

“Sh-shiiit, Satoru–”

“Fuck- haven’t had anything so sweet- so addictive, my star.” He’s murmuring into your pussy, knuckles getting sloppier with all the spanks against the front of your cunt. Tongue lurching in n’ out until his jaw was sore and raw with all the movement- but he’s still rummaging his muscle along your insides. 

Gojo’s eating you out like a man lacking a proper meal for eons, and you swear you could feel the way his Adam’s apple bob with each heavy gulp of your saccharine slick. “N’ now I don’t think I can- haaaah- live without your sweet pussy on my face, sweetheart.”

The furniture creaks with every bump of his ravenous hips against the sofa, because Gojo didn’t even want to spare a single handle to jerk himself off.

Not when he could target the throbbing nub of your clit, rolling over it until the harsh pleasure makes you squeeeal. “Don’t have to- don’t- ngh-”

“D’you think so?” That overeager thumb latched to your clit does a quick circular motion that renders your mouth drier than the Sahara. Swooping. Pressing down. “Really really th-think I can?”

“Yes- fuck- yes-” Whining, back arching into such a perfect curve. “Just make me cum, Satoru-”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gojo huffs out a cloud of breath, long lashes fluttering. The rapid thump-thump-thumps of his two fingers burrowing into your g-spot hasten, “But only if you mmmm– say my name.”

“Satoru.”

“Louder?”

“Satoru.”

With your wailing tone knocking off each corner of the wall, it’s like he’s rattling off all the unspeakable dreams he’s had of you. “Thennn– spit in my mouth?”

Almost like he’s testing it out- and you’re snapping your head over your shoulder. Not knowing whether to give him a piece of whatever’s left of your mind, or whether you would spit in his mouth. 

But you didn’t need to wrack your pretty brain over it any time soon.

Because Gojo’s shaking his bleary head, “Hmm- guess you already have, though- heh.” Partially-closed eyes locked onto your agape cunt every time you’re suckin’ his tongue in- and it’s only then that you realize he’s talking to your pussy. 

Letting your pussy spit out wads of juices that slip n’ slide down his throat, that get fucked back in by his relentless mouth.

Your hands grip the couch, “S-stop teasing– please, m’so close.”

“And then finally—” The tender edges of his fingers scrape your sweet spots in that strangely swooping motion that makes your toes curl restlessly. Dragging it oooon with his lilted bass, “-spell this out, my star?”

Your thighs twitch, the semicircles he’s drawin’ on your g-spot taking the formation of an ‘S’. Then an ‘A’-

“Sa-sa-”

“You got it. You got it, sweetheart.”

With the probin’ deepness of his fingers, he’s flicking his fingertips until your vision flashes white. ‘T’, your favorite dragged-out ‘O’ that makes his pierced tongue swoop in tiny circles, too. “Sato-” 

You knew where this was going. Faster. Harder.

You knew, and yet, you’re still letting him finish off a soppy ‘R’ and ‘U’ - branded in big capital letters from the gooey, heated insides of your pussy until you’re finishing off, too. “Satoru- Satoru. M’cumming, oh fuck, m’cumming…ngh.”

With a slight, stiled sob, you’re being run over by your high - just in time for Gojo to twist the orbed piercing on his tongue over in a S-A-T-O-R-U as well. Sloppily salivating down the sides of your slit, your thighs trickle with every ounce of sap you’re spraying out. 

Whimpering, deep into the cavern of his mouth- “Sh-shit-” Gojo’s hissing in that airy tone of his, feeling hot wetness seeping into his pants the very second you’re cumming - he is, too. 

And yet, the only thing he can think about is dragging out your high. 

To strike the bruised n’ battered areas of your walls until your thighs are shaking with every peak of your orgasm, mouth slobbering everywhere and anywhere.

From the pearly spatters of slick sheening your legs, to the pulsing top of your clit. Fucking and fucking your quivering entrance until your body feels all raw and sizzling. Every thrust of his fat, velvety tongue makes your pupils whirl stupidly in the whites of your eyes. “Sh-shit- nghhh- shit.”

And it takes him such a long time to let go of you - especially when he’s this drunk on your pussy. 

Pulling back with a final push of his piercing on top of your clit, and the loudest squeeelch—!

“H-heheh.” Gojo whispers against your pussy and you mewl, falling onto your elbows over the cushions of the sofa. 

Wearily, you look over your shoulder to take a good, solid look at him - only to feel your heart stutter at the utter grin on his face. Dopey. Glittered with slick. It beads down your best friend’s sharp jawline as he speaks, “Replaced my lipgloss- heh.” He cocks his head to the side, sapphire eyes fluttering priggishly. “Did I ever tell you that was my first time? Been savin’ myself for you, my star…”

Your mouth drops open at his words.

Oh.

Oh.

You weren’t making it out of this alive. 

Within a few bats of your teary lashes, Gojo has you pushed onto your back on top of the springy cushions. His towering form hovering over you-

Pinkish tongue snagging at the end of one glistening lip, “You should know…I’ve never done this before either.” He shivers, top layers shrugged off into a pile, golden clasps of his pants unbuttoned—pop! pop! pop!

With your stringy panties pulled out of his trousers, n’ the rest pushed down until he’d sexily bare in front of you. You can’t tear your widened eyes away as Gojo wraps your underwear ‘round his thick, bulging cock and jerks.

And fuck- did it make your mouth water.

Oh, fuck.

Because Gojo was just so big - in every sense.

From the width of his towering shoulders, all chiseled with bouncy pecs. To the way he was so ripped with lean muscle that you couldn’t stop imagining how it’d feel to have them pressed down against you. 

A feverish blush drifts down the back of his neck, alllll the way down between his pale happy trail. And right up to the fat, pinkened globe of his cock - all heavy and long. So, so long that it had your thighs squeezing in both fear and anticipation. 

You breathe, “Y-you’re so…”

Gojo gnaws down on his bottom lip with a moan, “Mm- yeah, tell me, sweetheart.” Vein-covered fist flying up and down his shaft, the rub of your panties was just so delicious that he’s splurging out a thick wad of precum straight down your slit. “Tell me- tell me.”

“So big.” You’re wondering where he even hid something like that.

Making such a mess. 

And he’s made a mess before too - cumming in his pants just from eating you out. So your cunt was being soaked with a few wires of his ivory sap. 

Being pushed in the very second Gojo slouches over your body and slaps his thick mushroom tip between your pussylips. Rutting his sloppy hips without even realizing-

“You don’t think it’s weird, my star?” Head hunched, white bangs covering his eyesight. The tone in his voice is thick with something primal, “How I was- haaaah-” And so was his cadence, sandwiching between your soppy folds back n’ forth back n’ forth. “-fisting my cock to the thought of my ngh- pretty lil’ best friend for yeeeears?”

Dragging it out. 

Just aaaaaching with a particularly sensual slide of his vein-covered shaft down your cunt, “Just aaaaching.” The knobbled top of his length slips against your oversaturated pussy and plugs up your hole. Hitting it with a damp plop! “For one taste- for anything.”

Your hands claw up to the tufts of his soft hair, pulling and it makes his cock twitch. “Want it in. Please, Satoru?” 

“A-are you sure I- hah-” And fuck- his eyes gape as he looks down between your cute, shivering legs. Marvelling at the sheer size difference between the plump girth of his cockhead, and your tight hole. “If it’s too much, I can just put the tip- oh, fuck.”

But you were impatient, and you’re wrapping your legs ‘round his toned waist to tug him closer. Deeper. Inside. 

To feel the tender underside of his length scrape your walls, each n’ every zig-zagged vein snaking inside your cunt. Gojo was just so big that your vision flashes black and white with just a few inches stuffed-

“I take it back.” He gasps. He heaves - pants so labored that it was like he’d given up on catching his breath. Trying to hold his head up - failing. 

“Take- oh, you’re so big- take what back?”

And the only thing Gojo can do is grab both sides of your waist and use the lecherous leverage to pull and pull you further down his rock-hard shaft. Straining out, his thumb cranes over to push inside a gluey wad of cum. “I t-taaake it back. Just the tip- n-never-” Just one singular taste of your sopping wet pussy on his cock and his voice cracks. “-never gonna be just the tip, my star.”

He’s so untouched, biting down furiously on his lower lip. 

Biting down furiously on your sodden panties just as soon as he remembers they’re still in his hands, muffling every whimpering wail that threatens to leave his maw. 

“Ngh- ngh- what the f-fuck.” Gojo’s ripping from the back of his throat, head falling backwards to bare his attractive throat as he slips deeper in. Fighting against that snug resistance with a few good half-thrusts, not even able to pull out properly. To even move. “It can feel this good?” 

And through your half-closed eyes you’re making out the fact that he’s pinching himself with a free hand. “Or m’I just in heaven?”

You feel his big, bulbous tip swab near your g-spot and start to mewl- “Mmm– and what if you are?”

“Don’t even wanna know if s’real.” Strings of saliva stick to Gojo’s lips as he babbles, still lathered in a layer of your pussy juices from before. And his mouth only waters even more when he’s feeling your hot insides clench around him, “Don’t need to know anything else- ngh.”

Every syllable is punctuated by an almost vulgar rut. 

You’re screaming as he’s bullying his slimy, pre-glazed tip inside. Letting the rotund crown of his cock pry apart your cute walls, harder. Deeper. 

Gojo smears your pussylips further open with one of his thumbs, letting just the top part of his digit fit into your entrance. Just so that he can fit his cock in fully. 

“P-please fit.” Muttering underneath his breath, teeth clenching tight on your panties. Looking up at you ferally through his lashes, “Please- please, didn’t wait s-so fucking long for you not to take it, my star. For this pretty pussy to be left unsatisfied.”

Your nails dig into his back, “Fuck- please- oh my god.”

“It has to fit-” 

“Will it?”

“Yes- yes, you’re gonna take it alll, my girl.”Fucking you furiously, sloppily. No rhythm or rhyme - or even sanity in each of his jagged strikes aiming for the very bottom of your pussy, “Has to it has to it- fuck! It has to-”

And when it does - when it finally, finally does - Gojo Satoru is left gaping, your underwear now dropping from his mouth and cleanly onto the floor. Speechless. 

Shit, if he hadn’t cum just minutes prior then he’d be creaming himself all over again.

Blinking once, twice down wordlessly at the sultry vision of your bloated pussylips kissin’ his pelvis. Bottomed-out until his cock was swallowed all the way up until those tufts of white at his base-

And then it all happens at once.

In a singular split-second, Gojo has your legs thrown over his shoulder, your knees pushed all the way down to your tits. Striking your spongy cervix with a dull thud of his weepy cocktip, before he’s reeling out halfway and doing it all over again.

And again.

And again and again and again-

You’re just shrilling– “Toru- hck!” Feeling your weary throat clog up with so many sobs n’ whines every time his globular head was piercing your cunt, pushin’ all the way into your womb. “Toru Toru Toru-”

“M’on vocal rest after this, y’know?” He blurts, seemingly out-of-the-blue. 

That is, until Gojo stares down at you with such a heady grin, leaned down just close enough that his hot respiration wafts the shell of your ear. And his tongue lurches out to lick up the drooling spittle leaking from each side of your mouth, “So you hafta scream twice as loud f’me, my star.”

Slamming the lines of his chiseled hips against yours, Gojo’s shaft was oh-so-veiny enough that you’re feeling your mind melt at the constant massage of your g-spot. “Like that- nghhh please-”

“Like- like this?” And it’s so difficult to remember that this was still Gojo’s first time– especially when he roams a palm over your tummy to feel for a particular bulging outline and press.

Carnally caressing the cylindrical bump that he was pounding into you, branding the fatness of his length right against your girth. “Shit- you really took it all.” He’s in awe at the feeling of his rotund cockhead pokin’ your very womb, “You wanna be fucked like hngh- this, don’t you? Want it hard? Fast?”

He was speaking utter filth, but his cadence was even filthier. 

Shivering hand pushing down on your stomach, the other slithering between your sheeny legs to toy with your neglected clit. 

“Your legs are shivering, my star- m’in trouble.” He arches his sculpted back to pick up the ruthless pace, throbbing cock stirrin’ within you to bash constantly straight into your g-spot. “S-sooooo much trouble.”

“More- ngh! Satoru, more-” You’re crying out through wobbly lips, “Want it even harder.”

“Fuck-” Hissing underneath his breath, Gojo’s doughy fingertips speedily smack your slope. Making your legs grow all numb, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- then ngh- yeah, open those pretty legs and take this fat fucking cock-”

With a few more strokes he’s holding onto your throat, pinning you down so that Gojo can scratch the rough texture of his happy trail down your clit until you cry. “This fat- haaah- fuckin’- cock-”

You’re so dumbified by the size and sheer pleasure that you can only repeat after him, stupidly. “Fat- ngh- fuckin’...”

A velvety tongue drags over your salty beads of tears, “Atta girl—” Grindin’ the circumference of his thick cock against your g-spot, Gojo’s biting down on your earlobe just to hear the way you sing. “Louder.” The dangly metal of his earrings are frosty against your own clammy face, sensual. “Louder- let them hear, let them know.”

Uncertainly, your eyes drift over to where the door of the dressing room was innocently positioned. Notably closed. Notably locked.

But your moans were reaching a fever point at the rough bludgeons of Gojo’s cock, the way he was swervin’ his hips juuuust right to snag your sweetest spots. 

All those years of dancing helped him expertly target long glides down your g-spot. Leaving a trail of wet mucus from that particular bundle of nerves, n’ straight down-down-dooown to your cute cervix. “Let them all see-”

“S-see?” You’re gasping out in disbelief. 

With what almost sounds to you like a growl, “Mhm- yeah, fuck!” Gojo spanks his hips hard enough against yours that the impact leaves his v-line reddening, the papping sound echoing within the dressing room. “You think I wouldn’t fuck you in front of every nosy lil’ camera out there?”

You don’t even know what to say - what to do.

The only thing your pathetic body is capable of doing is gyratin’ back down to meet his tempo. Letting your limp legs tighten over his shoulders, “Y-you would?”

“Oh, my sweetheart—” Gojo’s crooning, snowy brows scrunching together. Giving your treacly cunt yet another hard jackhammer, “If this pussy wasn’t mine and mine alone, then that door wouldn’t even be- hah- locked right now.”

And he was drilling into you like he meant it - like he was furious with himself for holding out this long on the heaven of your sweet, sweet pussy.

Wailing, your eyes crossing at the sheer pleasure.

Now that he’d slurped up one sip, he was eager for the next- and before you know it, the blindfold that’d been dangling on your thigh was suddenly coiling ‘round your ankles. “You’re not getting out of this- oh.” Gojo’s beefy biceps flex as he’s tying your legs behind his neck, all for him to pull back on—“Gonna- gonna fill you up so we hafta be- ngh- prepared.”

Your salivatin’ chin hits the front of your chest and you whine, “Please- please make me cum, mm-”

“Yeah? Gonna make you cum- hah-” Gojo’s mouth hangs ajar, blush so rosy. He feels your goopy walls tighten on reflex and that makes his hardened cock twitch, “Then- then m’gonna fuck you through that.”

Strike after strike. 

His swollen lips lean down to suckle on one of your fingers - your left hand’s ring finger, to be precise. “Then m’gonna put a ngh- ring on it. Gonna- gonna I swear-”

Push after push.

“Toru—” Your tits jut up as you’re bowing your back off of the drenched sofa, “-not gonna- gonna- fuck!”

You don’t even have the privilege of letting that sentence finish before your orgasm takes you over, thrumming white-hot zaps of pleasure through your veins. Your teeth set on edge at how utterly good it feels to have Gojo’s fattened cock swabbing your tight hole through every peak, “Oh my god- oh my- fuuuuuck, there’s jus’ so much, Toru.”

Toes curled, mouth unfastened.

Pinching your clit until you’re squeeealing- “So- so much.” He’s echoing in a whisper, crushing you tight to him once Gojo’s finishing off, too. 

Abs plastered against your front until you memorize each ridge, his pecs smooth n’ plump against your tits. Your best friend just looked so pretty with his pearly whites grit in a snarl, brows knitted as he’s pumping you with cum until you overspilled. 

With thick, seedy knots of cum that blanketed your pussy - his pointed cockhead nudges every droplet inside until you can feel your walls stretch with the utter size. 

Thighs shaking with your release, his mess sploshing around inside of you. Your vision was still completely hazy- “Fuck- fuck, Satoru.”

And it’s like the sound of his name plummeting from your mouth sends shockwaves down his spine.

Because Gojo’s staring at you - mushroomy tip still leaky, still slidin’ through the sappy puddle he’s formulating at your cervix. For a good few seconds, maybe even minutes until he’s chuckling–“God, they could see right through me. Everyone could.”

More to himself.

Although those next words were entirely for you. 

“I love you.” Gojo’s pale lashes flutter, almost shyly, and you’re speechless at the fact that he was still fucking you. In slow, aching grinds that have him fucking his cum deeper n’ deeper inside you. “I’ve always loved you, my star.”

Your heart quivers, and you can’t help but reach a hand out to run through the sweaty valleys of his locks. Smile dazzling - something he could write songs, ballads, sonnets about some day. But for now it only makes his azure eyes wet, “And I love you, my Toru.”

Something weeps out of Gojo that sounds like a husky, drawn-out groan— and you can feel his thick tip twitch inside of you with a few more beaded dollops of seed.

Cumming for the nth time tonight until all his heavy balls could let out was misty white, just from hearing that you loved him back.

And for once it’s silence.

Calm, warm silence— that is, until Gojo’s pulling his ravaged, red cock just far enough that your cunt lets off the soppiest wet sluuuurp! 

You’re gasping, still feeling the rush of your high make your head whirl. Thighs clenching around his broad deltoids automatically, “Satoru- wh-what are you-”

“Oh, well…” Long, pale hands reach for the pile of fabric on the floor - your boyfriend’s pants. And Gojo has the sleaziest grin on his face as he’s digging his fingers into the depths of his pockets, promptly pulling out a lengthy line of condom foils. One he’d packed just in case, just for you.

You’re mentally counting about twenty before he’s letting his proud stack drop right down to your front. “You didn’t think we were done, right, my sweetheart?”

Oh, fuck.

Neither of you are making it out of this alive.

.

.

.

“There’s the wall of perfume, my books- especially songwriting books. And these clothes and, yeah, that’s really it for my room…” Gojo kicks away the pile of his Digimon socks on the ground with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. 

Something he was sure the cameraman intruding his dorm room would capture, and yet still edit to make something cute out of it anyway. 

Ah- such was the life of an ever-popular idol.

And here he was, up bright and early in the morning to let some variety show stomp all through the Six Eyes’ penthouse as a sort of ‘house tour.’ Well, sure he knew that this was bound to be a hit with the fans that probed into his life, but was it really necessary to not even give the man a heads-up?

Plastering on his most polished smile, he nods politely as the camera records a few more details. The hosts cooing over each little thing - all those fan letters he kept, a pretty crayon drawing of a blue star from years ago, and the-

“Eh?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?” Geto’s poking his head in, grin already plastered just in case there was to be some sort of chaos upheaved in Gojo’s room. And why wouldn’t there be?

Gojo’s following both hosts’ lines of vision, all the way down to his bed, “Eh?” Was it not made properly? Was it an offense to have sheets of his own boyband at this day and his age? Or was- “Oh.”

And then Gojo sees it - that. 

The familiar, gauzy fabric of your panties that he’d stolen all those nights ago. Hidden neatly underneath the puff of his pillows - well, almost hidden.

Because obviously it was exceptionally still in the bedroom right now- fuck, even Geto had gone quiet from his station near the door, realizing what it was. Attracting the attention of two very curious other members that were currently fighting to get a glimpse-

One of the hosts clears her throat, “Um- Mister Gojo, is that…” Eyes dazzling at the possibility of a scoop this big - all in their almost-family-friendly home-touring show. “Is it possible there’s a lady in your life the fans and world may want to know about? Is this that very same best friend everyone says you pine over?”

And the other host cackles, “Well, they certainly don’t seem to be your size, boy. And ones so skimpy- oho, kids these days.” 

Unabashedly pushing a mic into his face, “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Ah-” Gojo coughs out, jumping once the cameraman immediately swivels his lens towards him for his response. “Aha, well- you see-”

Gojo looks at Geto.

“…”

At Haibara.

“…”

At Nanami.

“…Fucking idiot.”

And finally at the camera itself- “Cut the cameras. Deadass.”

Yaga might have bribed the network to never air that particular episode, and Dispatch might have done their best to leak it, anyway.

Right along with a few grainy paparazzi shots of figures that looked undeniably like you two. Hand-in-hand, suspicious blemishes on both your necks, wandering down the sidewalks of Han River. 

And if Yaga was having a tough PR day with just that then it would’ve been too merciful of the universe. Because how could you discount the fact that Gojo Satoru, notorious dodger of paparazzi questions, had proudly held up your joined hands and exclaimed at a few buzzing reporters—“Fuck yeah- my girlfriend now, suckers!”

No resignation letter would ever be enough.

@sunflowerboy: let it be known that I always believed in Gojo-san!!

@eathaibara replying to @sunflowerboy: we bow before you great sunflowerboy (the only one to believe in toru’s loser rizz)

@torutoaster: i luv how #go(jo)outthefriendzone is trending worldwide- LOSER RIZZ ALWAYS WINS 

@fiendingforsixeyes: HE DID IT?? MY BOY ACTUALLY DID IT??

@mahitoe: tch whatever

@zbstan replying to @mahitoe: womp womp

@sunflowerboy replying to @mahitoe: LMFAOOOO SUCK IT YOU LOSER HATER FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK-

@eathaibara replying to @sunflowerboy: omg sunflowerboy??

@sunflowerboy replying to @eathaibara: sorry got a little excited^^

@sugu-rizzed: I just know pr is SCRAMBLING rn but not as much as my boy scrambled to get that cookie.

@satorusxkitten: bi panic is wanting both of them!!

@ge.akuge: idk what she sees in him it must be the wigs

@CandyKento: the ‘my star’, isacs, the awards speech, the PANTIES?? gojo satoru it was always meant to be idk what to tell ya. now get married

@Fushidaddy107: I still think she’d be better with me smh.

@officialgojosatoru replying to @Fushidaddy107: Blocked.

A/N. This was SOOO self-indulgent omg- ALSO DADDY TONY’S BAAAACK!!

Even with your highest heels on, the pink-haired leader of Curses Epsilon (Curses ε, the most sought-after fraternity on campus) seemed to loom above you. Crimson eyes narrowed. Smile predatory. Signature black t-shirt tight.

He always had caught your eye, you had to admit.

C’mon, it was impossible for him not to: a few heads taller than most of the student body, more sculptured, more attractive. You’d heard a rumor that he did modelling down in Shibuya sometimes and you didn’t doubt it. He walked around this very university like he owned it. He probably did.

Sukuna pushes back his cotton-candy locks, and you’re seeing the roots of reddish brown where his undercut was.

The shade was so at odds with the utterly devilish look those tattoos gave him. Even now you could see the ink peaking out at his wrists, his collarbones, his nose bridge. They snaked all over his body. Sensual. And when he slowly dips his head down to kiss the underside of your jaw, you start to wonder just how far those patterns went…

“Oh.” You gasp, grabbing onto his well-built shoulders.

They flex through his thin t-shirt when he’s leaning even closer, and you’re suddenly remembering that he was here on a scholarship for wrestling. The infamous leader of his weight class on your university team. The King of the Court. At least that explained his irresistible build - you wonder whether he was a semi heavyweight? A heavyweight? Did they even have those?

You couldn’t think.

You’re tipping your neck further to the side, and from the edges of your peripheral vision you see the way that Sukuna raises one pink brow- before draaaaagging a line of soft kisses down the side of your throat. Filthy. Fleeting. 

You’ve seen that look on him before - it’s the one he’d shoot at admirers that dared to stare too long. That sort of ‘if you want it come and get it’ look. That sort of challenge. Prowling through campus corridors that seemed to shrink whenever his figure waded through, sports bag slung over his shoulder, hair still wet from his shower, you could expect the sports superstar to throw at least ten at a time. 

Though you couldn’t really blame them! You suspected that about half the student body - and perhaps even some professors - held a burning fire for Ryomen Sukuna, and the other half simply wouldn’t admit to it.

And just as long as his list of admirers was his roster.

Or so the whispers claimed…‘His latest catch is actually the mother of-’ ‘They say he has five girls at once and they know about it but stay-’ ‘He swings both ways so what I’d give for a chance-’ ‘His longest relationship was two days and that’s because they begged him-’ ‘Stay away.’ ‘Stay away.’ ‘Stay away.’

Stay away.

You didn’t have to be told that to know. 

It was an unspoken rule on campus, the lay of the land.

Quite the dichotomy, wasn’t it? Stay away from Ryomen Sukuna, unless he’s the one that approaches you first and then it’ll be like your wildest fever dream, your wettest, and when he finally leaves- well, weren’t you told to stay away?

That’s the way things were. And all any heartbroken ex-companion would get is a few soothing words by the very same people who would turn around and make an example out of you.

‘Didn’t you see what happened to so and so…? Stay away.’

He was like a guilty pleasure that most people knew better of, knew would become an addiction. However, still indulged in anyway.

And so here you were. Cooped up in some dimly-lit frat party, cramped until every breath felt like it was singed with the copious amounts of alcohol around you, surrounded by booming beats and bellowing boys. In nothing but the most sinful dress you’d stowed away for a night just like this. Though you had to give yourself some credit- you didn’t wear this just for Sukuna, that’d only happened to be a happy accident!

In fact, you hadn’t even been expecting to meet him here.

Sure, it was the fraternity that he was the leader of, but Sukuna was always quite the…busy man. To put it lightly.

No—when your friends had urged you into this very party, you’d worn it with the thought of another man in mind. None other than your two-timing, two-toned, two-inched ex Zenin Naoya.

Your relationship was never meant for a happy marriage with two kids and a house that had a picket fence, but the straw that surely broke the camel’s back was about a week ago when you’d sneakily scrolled through his social media likes. And say whatever you want about privacy, but the multiple other girls he was entertaining and the deplorable podcasts about women he’d been secretly listening to let you say whatever you wanted.

And your first words to Naoya afterwards had been that you wanted to break up. Your second had been cussing him out.

Which was why, when Utahime had told you that he’d be attending (likely to try and pick up another poor girl), you’d immediately rifled through your closet for this skimpy dress you knew he’d hate. And still jerk off to later.

Speaking of…how ironic was it that you’d run from one red flag and straight into the arms of another.

The thought mulls lazily in your brain, before it’s quickly overtaken by the feeling of Sukuna resting his hands just over the small of your back. Something stirs carnally at the pit of your stomach, and you don’t think you’ve felt this way for a long time - not even when you were still with your ex. 

“Prove it.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He stops, raising those brows of his again.

And you don’t hesitate a single second before looping both arms around Sukuna’s neck and bringing him closer to you. And the hulking man lets you manhandle him as you please, lets your lips whisper just a breath’s distance away from his. In the distance you think you can hear a few gasps, feel a few stares. “Prove that I want you. Badly.”

And Ryomen Sukuna’s realizing that he didn’t need the alcohol, not really.

Not when he was already drunk on you.

His lips are on yours before you can say anything else.

Your first time meeting Ryomen Sukuna ended up with you pushed into the bedroom at his frat house and holding onto the headboard so that it won’t break against the wall. Bang-bang-bang. He’d lifted your trembling hands off of them, eventually, and placed them between your legs to roll over your clit. You don’t think he cared for a single sultry moment if any of his frat brothers happened to hear.

In fact, with the way that he’d been plunging his massive girth between your legs (the rumors really hadn’t exaggerated!) you’d almost wondered if he wanted them to hear. You wouldn’t be surprised.

Sukuna fucked hard, fast.

He made you stupid on his cock and chased his high like an absolute madman- though, that’s not to say he was a selfish lover. No—perhaps for his own ego, you were made to cum at least thrice on his fat, throbbing length.

And after the deed was done he’d rolled over to the side of the bed and tugged off the sticky condom. Discarding of it into the nearby trashcan, Sukuna rifled through his bedside cabinet for some wet wipes. 

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t the type of after-sex cuddles and aftercare, you’d come to learn. As he’d handed them over to you gruffly, and flicked at his lighter to burn up a cigarette.

Taking a deeeep drag of it, he turns towards you and brings his lips so close that you think he might just kiss you—only to puff out a smoky cloud in your face. “Inhale.” You do as he says, and let the fumes burn your throat. The side of his lips were quirking up in a smirk, “Mmm, good.” Sukuna gestures at his walk-in closet, one that you’d been eyeing for the sheer luxury of it when you’d first entered. “Might wanna find a t-shirt in there, your dress is a little…”

You looked at the sad heap of silky fabric on the carpet - torn now. “And whose fault is that?”

“Heh, just go get yourself a t-shirt, girlie.” Sukuna sits back on the headboard, and you’re appreciatively eyeing his half-naked figure. Prominent pecs. Ladder-like abs. Tattoos that stand out against his golden, tannish skin. He’d tugged on a pair of black boxers by now that did nothing to hide the happy trail of dark pink hair that you had your nose pressed up to minute ago. “Or don’t.” He looks at you with a sleazy smile- shit, he’d caught you staring. “I don’t mind.”

“S-sure ya don’t.” You’re managing out, tight.

And almost robotically, you manage to pull yourself onto your wobbly legs and take one step—Sukuna chuckles to himself as you stumble.

With a glare thrown over your shoulder, you walk into his closet. About as large as your entire dorm. Rows upon rows. Shelves upon shelves. Clothes upon designer clothes that made you wonder just how loaded a future professional wrestler is.

There were brands on his shelves that you couldn’t even recognize but knew were high-end simply from looking at their logo. Gawking, you flip past a few hangers - Versace, Burberry, Burberry, Gucci, Loro Piana, Dior, Dior, Dior, Dior-

Eventually, you simply give up to snatch the (hopefully) least expensive thing you could find: a wrestling hoodie with colorful logos on its front and ‘Sukuna’ emblazoned across the back. 

The fabric was oh-so-soft in your hands, made of pure cotton that tempted you to tug it on your body as soon as possible. Oh, you’re marveling at the way the ending hem of it reaches well past your torso, engulfing you like some sort of blanket. Experimentally, you’re pulling the hoodie flap over your head and giggling at the way it droops down all the way to your nose. Unable to help yourself, you tug the sleeves up to where your wrists were and press the pink fabric to your nose.

Strawberries.

What a smell for such a guy.

“Fuck-” You’re whispering into the fabric, slightly muffled. The rush you were feeling gets dampened down a bit as you remember where you are, “I’m getting way too ahead of myself.”

When you’re finally walking out of the closet, Sukuna was lounging on his king-sized bed and scrolling through his phone. You take a moment to admire him like this- his long limbs stretched across the mattress, hair still sex-ruffled, your nail marks prominent down his shoulders, hands hugging a pillow to his chest.

He looked as if he was carved by the heavens themselves. Though he fucked like the devil.

He’s flicking his eyes casually your way, eyebrows slightly raising as he takes in your attire. “Nice choice.” Sukuna hums, voice deep with sex. “Didn’t think ya had it in you.”

And then he’s patting the empty side of the bed once more.

More, his eyes said. He wants you even more.

You almost instinctively take a step forwards before-

“Actually-” You start, fighting to keep your words steady. You keep yourself rooted in front of his closet and fidget with your fingers. “Before we do anything more, I wanted to make some things clear.”

“Mn.” He’s turning his phone off with a slight sigh, placing his hand atop his head. 

Sukuna says nothing more, and you take it as a signal for you to continue. Taking a deep inhale, “I don’t really do this one-night stand thing often- not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Heartbeat quickening at the way his lazy smile grows, you don’t know why he made you feel the need to explain yourself. “But since we’re-”

“And who says we’re a one-night stand?”

Your heart does something funny with its tempo, “Wh-what?”

He tilts his head as if analyzing you, almost feline with his movement. Sukuna’s pinkish tongue darts out to wet his lips, still sweet with the taste of your pussy. “What if I want two nights? Three? Four? What’re you gonna do then, girlie?”

“Th-then-” You’re clenching your fists—fuck, it made it so hard when he was looking at you like that. “Then you’d have to get tested.”

And that…seems to make him pause.

“What?”

“Then you’d have to get tested, duh.” You’re crossing your arms in front of your chest - oh, it was quite amusing to watch the Ryomen Sukuna scramble for words. And you can’t help the spike of satisfaction, as he so-very-obviously didn’t expect that. “And we’d have to set boundaries. And share schedules. And you’d have to tell me if you meet up with another one of your ‘friends’ so that we can get tested again.”

“…”

“…”

Without warning, he bursts out laughing. “Thorough, aren’t ya?” 

He wipes away a tear of mirth from the right side of his face and- c’mon! You honestly didn’t think it was that funny! Sure, you hadn’t had any…arrangements like this before but you couldn’t have been too far off for the requirements?

“What are you-” But as you start to protest Sukuna only guffaws even louder.

“Alright, alright-” He’s raising up a hand as if to tell you to stop before his (well-toned) sides start to split. It’s only once you take a step back and huff n’ puff yourself into silence that the man finally starts to calm down. Looking down at his lap, “Damn- fuck, I’ve never had my boner killed so fast.”

“It’s just the requirements.” You’re grumbling.

“Girl, I might as well cut off all my ah- ‘friends’ as you so-nicely put it and marry you.” Quite dramatic, but alright. You notice that he doesn’t push back against your boundaries, however. Sukuna stares you down, eyes twinkling with something that you couldn’t quite discern. “And what exactly would you like to call our little relationship then?”

“Friends-with-benefits, what else?”

“Mm, I like it.”

“And nothing more- no marrying any time soon.” You shudder when you think of your last failed relationship.

Sukuna grins, “Keh- don’t have to worry about that.”

.

.

.

“Okay-” Utahime slams! all one-thousand pages of Shoko’s anatomy textbook down on the cafeteria table, rattling your trays and making the surrounding students glance at your trio. You’re watching as her glass of orange juice splashes precariously around the rim and inches one watery hand towards the pages of the book. “-spill.”

You’re startling at her sudden interrogation, “What?”

And to your horror, even Shoko puts aside her medical notes to pay full attention to the commotion between her friends. Both of them staring—squarely at you.

“You heard me.” Utahime crosses her arms, “Something’s up with you these days- and we want to know what.”

Shoko nods, sighing the way she did whenever she was assigned a particularly difficult medical case to discern. “Sudden glow about you- likely a mix of estrogen and dopamine boosts, slightly dazed look in your eyes, increased screen time, unconscious smiles, unexplained disappearances at odd times of night.” She taps her pen on her chin, “Science says you have a boyfriend.”

Utahime gasps, “And we haven’t heard about it?” Throwing an arm around a deadpan Shoko, who says nothing when the other girl shakes her to and fro. “We- we, your very best friends since freshman year, haven’t heard about him.”

“So who is it? I’m curious.” Shoko probes.

“Tell us or I cry-”

“It’s no one.” You’re finally managing a choke out, to which you’re met with the most dramatic groans from both your friends. This time, they’re loud enough to garner the attention of over half this section of the cafeteria- and in your peripheral vision, you swear you could feel the intensity of two crimson eyes…

Your eyes flick to the side - and there’s your first mistake.

Utahime gasps, kneeling on the bench to look over Shoko’s head. “He’s there-” Above your frantic pleas for her to just settle down, “Don’t lie, I saw your eyes move! He’s there I just know it-”

You grab onto her dress and start tugging, “Uta, for heaven’s sake just sit- down-”

“Hmmm, the only ones there are Professor Yaga- no. Todo- no. That PhD student, Higuruma- maybe.” As her options dwindle, she sweeps her eyes. “Ijichi- no, eugh. No offense, my dear, it’d just get so troubling to have to peg him all the time.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “U-Utahime, oh my god!” Even Shoko simply lets it happen in amusement.

Until finally, her eyes waft over the group of fraternity brothers that sat tall amongst the rest of the students. She wrinkles her nose at them, “One of the Curses Epsilon boys- no way, you’re smarter than that.”

They were such a boisterous bunch. Murmuring what were most likely innuendos with each other, clapping each other on the backs with guffaws. Almost handsomely stupid the way they kept looking to their pink-haired leader for approval. Occasionally, someone from a neighboring table would walk up to them in an attempt to talk to Sukuna - and the entire table would fall over themselves to erupt in wolf howls. 

You were almost thankful for the way Utahime had given you the excuse to stare right at him. The way he’d wave off whichever newcomer, the way he’d roll his eyes at his friends’ antics. You’re realizing that his group was mostly composed of athletes, evidenced by the team jerseys and the trays upon trays of food were wolfing down.

Sukuna, noticeably, wasn’t wearing his wrestling hoodie.

The thought makes something shift at the pit of your stomach.

“Oh my god, it’s one of them-” Utahime’s following your line of sight with something akin to horror, and even Shoko seems to be rapt with an attention that she didn’t ever have in her classes.

Both of them had easily let their eyes slip past the boys, it seems. And it’s only once they saw your lingering gaze, only once they saw that familiar smile across your face, that they’re realizing.

Widened eyes slipping back to the rambunctious table.

You snap your eyes to your purple-haired friend once you register her words, “N-no, wait-”

“You stuttered!” She squeals, and you don’t know whether it’s out of excitement at the gossip or sheer fear. She turns to Shoko, “She stuttered, right? I’m not dreaming? She stuttered?”

Shoko nods, “She stuttered.”

Utahime whirls back to face you, “You didn’t even stutter when you told off that asshole Naoya- thank you for that recording by the way, it was quite the pleasure to listen to.” Shaking her head as if to make herself get back on topic, “Either way, are you or are you not dating one of the Curses Epsilon boys?”

“I am…” You pause, “-not.”

They both groan at your response. Utahime even reaches over the table to shake you by the shoulders, “Tell us- I can- tell- when- you- lie-”

“No- no listen!” You’re defending yourself, swatting away her grabby hands. “I’m really not dating one of them, promise! It’s just…”

Shoko asks, “Just?”

You sigh, there was no getting out of this now. “Remember that party we went to at their house a few weeks ago?” Continuing as they nod, your heartbeat starts to accelerate as you realize you’re getting to the meat of the story. “Right- and remember how I disappeared halfway through the night and told you that Akari dragged me off somewhere?”

Utahime gasps, “I have connected the dots.”

Shoko frowns, “You haven’t connected shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” She replies, “I always assumed you ended up hooking up with someone that night and didn’t think much of it. Now you’re telling me that it was one of them-”

“Keep your voice down!” You plead, “But yes, it was…and the thing is that one night turned into two, two turned into three.” Your skin starts to heat up as you remember just last night when you’d snuck out to be let in through the back door of Curses Epsilon. To be pressed onto all fours and ruthlessly ploughed into- “But look, the point is that now we’re kinda…sorta…friends-with benefits.”

They gasp in unison.

Utahime’s all but standing on the bench once more, “Who is it-”

“Whose dick do I need to cut off.” And Shoko is, too.

You put your face into your hands with a groan as they start listing off names.

“No.”

“Choso?”

“No.”

“Larue?”

“No.”

“Kenjaku?”

“No.”

“It surely can’t be fucking Sukuna-” Both of them look at you, look at the impression on your face. And they turn to each other with serious expressions, “She’s fucking Sukuna.”

There was no use in telling them to keep their volumes down now - people turned their heads your way and started to whisper. You could only imagine what the rumor mill was conjuring up now. Hell, even Sukuna himself casually flicked his head your way in interest.

And you wished you could sink even deeper into your seat.

“Did you see that-” Utahime hisses.

“I saw.” Shoko replies.

And the purple-haired girl reaches over to clasp your hands, “He was giving you that look- oh my god. He looked like he was about to eat you up—” And you think that Utahime is perhaps the only one who’d look over and glare at Ryomen Sukuna the way she did just then, “You know what they say about him, right?”

“I’m well aware.” You breeze off, “It’s nothing serious- just no-strings-attached fun, promise. I could break it off at any time and not feel a thing, and I know the same goes for him.”

“Well, that’s good.” Shoko crosses her arms, “And you’re getting tested, right?” 

“Of course.”

Utahime scoffs, “Yeah but it’s not like he’s seeing you that often, right?” A pause. “Right?”

“Well…”

You’d been saved in that very instance by a bzzzz—! in your pocket: a text from the man of the conversation himself. And with a quick apology to your friends (you loved them, you really did, but you supposed that was enough interrogation for the day) and a glance at your calendar to make sure you didn’t have any more classes for the day—you were racing out of the cafeteria.

Followed suspiciously closely by a certain pink-haired wrestling superstar.

You didn’t quite care who saw what or thought what, because a few hours later found you back in your single dorm room.

Fucked stupid.

Sex still hung in the air.

You were sprawled out across your humble single bed, heaving as if you’d just ran a marathon. Head sinking into the pillows. Cunt all drooling with your splashin’ slick. Still reeling from the aftershocks of your multiple highs.

With Sukuna’s athletic stamina, however, he seemed to be barely affected. Taking a light drag of his cigarette (you’re sure the building had a no smoking policy…), he looks over your dorm room with faint interest. Much smaller than his but also much…cozier, you had to admit.

Lived in.

He takes in the polaroids of you and your friends, all the cutesy lights, the columns of books. Sukuna stares hard at one of the pictures above your headboard—it was one of you, Utahime, and Shoko after shotgunning a few beers. On the verge of throwing up.

“Cute- the dorm, I mean. S’nice.” He says, blowing out a streamline of smoke at the photograph. “This purple-haired one s’the one that was screamin’ about us in the cafeteria today?”

“You heard that?” You exclaim.

“Girl, the entire cafeteria and Gakuganji’s senile ass heard y’all.” He rolls his eyes with a grin, “Dunno whether you’re louder then or…” Such a devilish, devilish grin. “-here.”

“Shut up.”

“You certainly didn’t-”

“They threatened to cut off your balls if you broke my heart, y’know.” You don’t quite know why you’re telling him - Sukuna was probably used to the threats of his love interests by this point. You’re turning to your side and facing him, trying not to shiver at the way his eyes glide appreciatively down your exposed body. “Not that there’s gonna be anything at stake to break.”

“Of course.”

“Of course.”

“And what if?” He asks you, to which you only look at him in confusion. Sukuna takes his sweet time puffin’ on his cigarette once more before satiating your curiosity, “What if I break your heart?”

You think about it for a little bit, “I won’t cut off your balls.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll cut off your entire dick and feed it to you myself.”

The cigarette falls from his hands and onto your carpeted floor- which Sukuna hastens to put out with an uncharacteristic yelp. You guessed wrestling scholarships didn’t cover burnt-down dorm rooms, and you have to stifle a giggle at his actions.

“You-” He pants out, finally looking up after picking the scorched nub between his fingers and throwing it into your trashcan. Almost glaring those rosy eyes down at you, “You think you’re soooo funny, huh, mama?”

You chuckle, “I do.”

“Well, yer lucky you’re cute.” He grumbles to himself, at least- you think that’s what he grumbles to himself. Because the moment you’re looking at Sukuna in slight surprise, he turns his head.

You see nothing but the sharp edge of his jawline, those high cheekbones, the tips of his ears that were flushed with…the sex? Surely? Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, Sukuna brings a hand up to cover them under the pretense of scratching his sweaty undercut. “Never met anyone with this much fuckin’ audacity.”

You yelp, “H-hey!”

“Hey yerself.” And then he’s heaving himself up and digging underneath your own fucking bed as if it was his. How strange, this familiarity. The two of you had only known each other for a few weeks (though you had to admit you had spent considerable hours together) and here Sukuna was rifling through your room like nothing - you just wasn’t sure whether that was a him thing or…He’s finally pulling out—

“That- that’s my rose toy?!”

“Yeah, let’s give ‘er a spin.”

.

.

.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Itadori Jin’s voice echoed out from the other line, almost reaching a fever pitch in defensiveness. 

Sukuna rolls his blush-red eyes, he’d been standing outside this godforsaken café on a call with his brother for what felt like hours now. With you inside and waiting. All warm. All…fucked-out—anyway! The point was that you were inside all comfortable, and he was a hulking figure looming outside some frilly café grumbling profanities underneath his breath. 

In his defense, it was after one of your ‘hangouts’, alright! 

It was just another day with you. After he’d pumped deep into your lungs, Sukuna just-so-happened to hear your stomach rumble in hunger. And he was the one to have suggested taking a stroll down to the lil’ café down the block. It was packed with college students, and he didn’t really care who saw - besides, bearing through the gaudy interior theme and re-play of music certainly not his taste was almost bearable for the pleasant surprise in your ears.

And the refueling, of course. The main reason he was taking you here was because (surprise, surprise!) a house full of college men didn’t quite have the nutrition needed to last a few more rounds. And Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t done with you just yet.

He just didn’t expect to have been assaulted by a phone call from his older brother the very second he’d taken a step inside. And Sukuna had told you to find a seat for the two of you, deciding to take the call outside. He knew his brother wouldn’t give up if he declined the call.

They always were alike, Sukuna and Jin.

Sure, maybe not in personality - Jin was always a bit of a goody-two-shoes, though he could hold his own in a fight. Sukuna was the one everyone said they had to watch out for.

The one that didn’t get invited to birthday parties by fearful parents, the one picked last during team sports because they said he’d start a brawl, the one visited only by his brother and his father the first time he’d ended up in the ER after a fight, the one who only had those two to cheer at his wrestling matches. Only ever those two.

Whatever. 

Same rosy hair.

Same features (for the most part, at least. Sukuna’s constant trips to the gym and the ER had resulted in him having a rather more rugged look than his twin).

Same stubbornness.

They’d ended up going to different universities, with Jin attaining a scholarship for marine biology a few hours away. Which meant that family functions weren’t quite as frequent as they used to be, but he could still hear it in the man’s voice - that stubbornness.

It made the younger of the two brothers feel the heat creeping up on the back of his neck, slightly squirming as Jin admonished him—“I’m just saying that you sound happier than usual-”

“Jin.”

“And that’s a good thing!” He could practically envision the bespectacled man throwing his hands in the air, trying to hold back his smile. “Hell- Ryo, it’s a wonderful thing! You finally have someone making you happy! You’ve finally met someone special! You finally have someone in your life-”

“I don’t have trouble getting around.” He grumbles, and—well. Ryomen Sukuna isn’t quite the type to explain himself, but with his brother…

“Ryo.”

“Alright, alright!” Sukuna bursts out, and a mother nearby grabs her child by the hand and speedwalks away. “Alright, I haven’t met up with anyone else! I’ve cut off all of my ah- friends, for lack of a better word.” He could hear the smug hum of his brother, “But that’s not because it’s special or anything, it’s just because…”

Jin urges, “Go on…?”

“Because s’just convenient, alright?” He’s finally answering, “S’too much of a hassle to get fuckin’ tested after each one, so I might as well only have her in my life- ah wait, fuck, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I knew it.” Comes the squeal, “Listen, Ryo, I just don’t want your stubbornness to get in the way of something special-”

“And I don’t want to hear yer voice- goodbye, old man.”

The ringing tone to denote that the call has ended is much more soothing than his brother’s voice, he decides. And he takes a few deep breaths before tucking his phone back in his pocket- turning it on silent mode.

He turns around to step inside and—there you are.

Dressed in that hoodie of his that he’d forgotten to take back from you. The air of someone that’d just been properly fucked. Through the glass, he sees you staring at the other people outside. He strays his gaze himself to see what you see- you’re chuckling at that little boy who skips along the pavement, you gasp at the delivery driver with a stack of boxes who almost trips, you coo at the elderly couple walking their dog. Hand-in-hand.

Sukuna looks down at his own empty hands.

Scarred and calloused. 

Before he’s reaching his dominant one upwards and pushing open the swinging café doors. You look up from the booth you’d chosen for yourselves as he enters, waving him in the right direction. It was one by the window, he notices, though in the very corner of the place as if you’d wanted to hide yourself away.

Perhaps hide the two of you away.

Hm…Sukuna thinks, rubbing at his chest. And thrusting both hands into his pockets, he’s sauntering right up to you.

He’s not blind to the stares he garners from some of the other customers, and though any other time he might have thrown a stray wink or two - and honestly, nothing was stopping him now - he simply sides into the seat opposite you. “Sorry ‘bout that, mama- emergency calls.”

“Emergency?” You raise your brows in amusement, peering at the man opposite you as if you were analyzing every inch of him. And he almost couldn’t believe that just a few minutes ago, you’d been shaking and whining underneath him. “I don’t know anyone named ‘Emergency’ at our school.”

“Goes to another school.” He quips, knees bumping against yours as he stretches them out underneath the table. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, girlie~”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

In almost no time, the waitress is bounding up to your table and jotting down your orders. He orders his coffee black, no sugar—and you roll your eyes at him. 

The older woman then coos down at the little interaction, “Oh, you know we’ve got a special offer just this week in honor of our upcoming fifth anniversary? 100% off on all desserts for couples!” Her eyes wrinkle beautifully at the edges, “Would you two perhaps be…”

You open your mouth, “Oh, we’re actually-”

“Completely in love.” Sukuna interrupts you casually, his large hand settling over yours on top of the table. “Maddeningly. We’ll take one of everything for the lady and a strawberry shortcake for me, thanks.”

“Oho, you two.” She chuckles, walking off. “Ah, young love~”

You watch as she leaves—and snap your head towards Sukuna so fast that you think you may have gotten whiplash. “You-”

“It’s for the offer, don’t overthink it.” He lets go of your hand and crosses his arms. You almost miss the heat of it - was the air conditioning in this place too high? You’re sinking your hands into the sleeves of your- his hoodie, and Sukuna’s slouching in his seat. “Take it home- all the desserts, share it with your friend or whatever. It’s for you, anyway.”

“Right.” You’re not quite sure what to say- “Thank you?”

It’s a rather long and awkward silence that follows.

You attempt to break it by grasping for some shred of conversation, “So ah- is everything alright?”

He raises a pink brow in question.

And you don’t know how he manages to do it - how he manages to make your veins bubble and bolt inside of you with just a single look. “The ah- the call, I mean.” You’re squirming in your seat at his half-lidded gaze, so intense. He always looked at you with this certain fire, whether in bed or…here. “You were just out there for so long, I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”

He rests his chin on one hand and tilts his head, “Not worried about me, are you? If it was anything serious?”

“And if I was?”

“You shouldn’t.”

To which you furrow your brows in confusion, “What do you mean? Of course I’d care if something bad happened to you.”

Sukuna only holds your gaze, his expression unreadable.

He reaches a hand down his chest - right over his heart - and lightly rubs that spot. Finally looking away from you, the frat leader answers. “No- no, it’s nothing serious. Just a…friend.”

“I see.” You still.

“You said I could still have ‘friends’, right?” He asks, a note in his voice that was imperceptible. Sukuna looks at you with a meaning that you didn’t fully understand, and you’re realizing that the two of you had been leaning over the table for quite some time. “Or has that changed?”

It seems like an age before you break his eye contact, “Nothing has changed.”

Sukuna leans back in his seat, “I see.” There’s silence between you both once he reaches into his pocket and starts scrolling absent-mindedly through his phone. “Then yeah- it was a friend that called. I’ll get tested afterwards though, don’t you worry that pretty head of yours over it.”

“Good.”

A few more minutes of silence.

He can’t bear it. “Lemme eat you out in the bathroom as an appetizer before our food?”

“Be quick.”

.

.

.

“Truth or dare! Truth or dare! Truth or dare!” Utahime chants, jovial words slurring into a nearly-incomprehensible mess as she claps her hands. Messily, she’s pulling you and a few others into a haphazard circle on her bedroom floor.

All cooped up in a room that was decidedly not designed to hold this many people. The air dimmed with LED lights and cheap alcohol. Bass thumping throughout the bones of her apartment - it was a small get-together that’d turned into a large get-together that’d turned into friends of friends of friends both invited and uninvited 

You swear you’d seen a few graduates sneak themselves onto the living-room-turned-dance-floor before you were being pulled into her room by your inebriated friend. One who, as the host, was deciding what the game of the night would be. “Truth or dare!” 

Pronouncing, more like.

Shoko rolls her eyes, “Your ability to turn into a twelve-year-old when you’re drunk both fascinates and abhors me.”

“Jokes on you I don’t know what that word means.” Utahime sticks her tongue out, to which most of the group giggles. 

“But seriously- are we twelve?”

“Fine…” Utahime grumbles, and clicks her fingers as if happening across a sudden epiphany. “Dare or drink, then!” She’s peering towards Shoko with a smug smirk, “How’s that for all adult and mature, hm?”

“That’s almost worse.”

You’re taking the opportunity to sweep a look at the (likely) players: some more of your friends, Ijichi, Haibara, Higuruma from the PhD students, a few sweet sorority girls, some strangers, one Curses Epsilon member-

Your eyes widen as you take in the long-haired man—Choso, you believe his name was.

He catches you staring and smiles at you shyly, an expression that you hope you’re returning without it looking too much like a shocked grimace. 

You’d seen this very man around Sukuna sometimes, and he seemed to be one of the quieter amongst the bunch. Below Sukuna in terms of rank, certainly, they seemed to have an almost brotherly relationship that stood out to you when you looked at the group. And, listen! It’s not that you didn’t realize a member of his fraternity could attend parties - in fact, Curses Epsilon was synonymous with parties. 

So you should have expected this. So you should have been prepared for this.

But the fact that he was here…a part of you couldn’t help but wonder whether that meant Sukuna was here, too…

What that meant he was doing…

Who…

You’re startled out of your little reverie by a call of your name- and to your horror, you’re realizing that you’d been staring right at Choso. The man was squirming before you, his ears tinged just the slightest rosy shade.

Heart thundering at your throat, you look away and turn back to Utahime. Slightly breathless, “Wh-what?”

“You’re up first!” 

She’s pointing down at the carpeted floor, which had a glinting vodka bottle in the middle that’d been spun, it seems. Its transparent circular nozzle stares you down in an almost-accusing way and makes you shift uncomfortably—you didn’t even know that they’d begun spinning bottles yet. And whoever was to fall victim to the end of its vermicular spine was the first up for their dares.

And it just-so-happened to be you. 

You gape, “I-I…”

“C’mon, c’mon! You can’t back out now-” Utahime taps her chin and pretends to think, “I dare you to—”

“Fucking hell…” You already know that this wasn’t going to end up well for you.

And just as you expected, her eyes slide over to meet another pair of eyes—dark, doe-like eyes that had been fixated on you ever since you’d been fixated on them. Subconsciously or not. She smiles as she drinks in the sheer intensity that Choso had been staring at you with, “I dare you to make out with the person sitting opposite you for ten seconds.”

Your brows furrow, “Sitting opposite…” Eyes lifting up to meet—his. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Choso’s pink lips part, the tips of his ears furiously red.

And there’s a few seconds of silence- between you two, but not the drunken students that surround you two. They erupt into cheers and wolf whistles, ribbing at a quiet Choso Kamo to get on with it. 

As you stare, stunned, he peeks up at you through his long lashes. “W-would you mind?” His quiet voice was almost inaudible.

“I…don’t.” You find yourself answering, mouth moving faster than your brain can compute. 

And before you know it, you’re rising to your feet and making your way to the middle of the circle. Those dark eyes widen as you draw nearer- so different from the red ones that you were used to.

Something in your stomach clenches, and you feel a strange buzz zing! throughout your entire body. You’re not sure whether you like it or not.

Choso himself starts to get closer to you, and your pulse quickens at his closing proximity. His eyes turn half-lidded as they flick to your lips and back up to your face, like he was making sure that you were okay with this. Tentative. Almost…shy. You’re admiring the tousled look of his hair, that tremble of his lips, and the way his eyeliner makes him look so soft. 

You wanted to run. You wanted to kiss someone. You wanted to run. “I- I really don’t.”

Choso kisses you.

For a beat. Two.

One of his ringed hands snake upwards to grip the column of your throat, and you’re parting your lips with a moan! Fuck, you were getting wet. Just in time for him to slip in his tongue and-

CRASH! THUD!

You’re wincing at the rush of light that assaults your retinas, and as you slowly blink back your vision- you realize that there were tears in them. Because of what, you’re not too sure. But you chalk it up to the harshness of the light as your eyesight clears back up.

And then you’re seeing—oh, it couldn’t have been a figment of your imagination.

You’d never mistake that cotton-candy hair anywhere.

Sukuna was on Choso, with the other man sprawled out on the ground and the rugged wrestler on top of him. Chest heaving. Skin flushed. A vein throbbing at his neck. His entire body was rigid and honed for a fight that he knew he was going to win. He had one tattooed hand gripping the front of Choso’s shirt, and the other pulled back mid-punch.

A punch that he was frozen in.

A punch that clearly hadn’t landed yet.

From what you’re surmising of the situation, Sukuna had pulled the other man off of you by his collar. From what you’re surmising of the situation, he was all but about to attack the other man just because he was kissing—

“Ryo.” You’re starting, a hand reaching out as if to stop the fight yourself. 

Any and all floatiness from the liquor had now completely dissipated from your body, and you were only left coiling in thick, unyielding tension. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t waver. “Don’t do anything fucking stupid or god help me-”

Almost as if jolted to life by the sound of your voice, Sukuna lets go of Choso in a single, jerky movement.

Though he doesn’t speak - and you’re almost thankful for it, you don’t know what you’d say to him. Instead you’re breaking out of your little trance and pushing aside Sukuna—yes, pushing him to the side so that you can get to Choso.

Stunned, he lets you move him.

He always has.

With both hands gently placed upon either side of Choso’s handsome face, you’re inspecting him for any injuries. He flushes slightly at your touch. And - tactfully - no one nearby says a single word about it. “I’m- I’m alright.” Choso says, his tone slightly hoarse.

But you don’t give up until you’re completely and utterly sure that he’s okay. “Hm, well alright.” Finally letting up, you start to move yourself- and only then do you realize that you’d been straddling Choso’s hips. Hurrying to scramble off, “O-on behalf of him, I apologize.”

You’re lightly bowing and he stops you with a hand at your shoulder- only to glance at Sukuna and let you go as if you burned. “No, no! It’s my fault for not knowing-”

“Don’t worry.” You spare a glance at Sukuna, who had his eyes downcast and his expression revealing nothing. “There’s nothing to know.”

And that…that makes the Ryomen Sukuna flinch—

As if he’d just been stabbed.

As if the temperature in the room had dropped to freezing.

As if you’d plunged your hand right through his ribcage and torn out his heart.

But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at his point. “Again- I’m so sorry.” Turning back to Choso, who’d been watching the exchange with side eyes - right along with half of the party that’d turned up from the living room now at the whispers of a commotion here. Especially one with the wrestling star—and over a girl at that! “And about that ah…” You gesture at his hips…the ones you’d been straddling.

Choso blushes even deeper, waving his hands in front of him frantically. “No- no, I didn’t mind! I mean- I mean, it’s alright and you don’t need to apologize! But you didn’t need to apologize anyway because I didn’t-”

“Man.” Shoko rests a hand on his shoulder, “Stop talking.”

He immediately clicks his jaw shut.

The next thing you’re doing, you don’t even know if you even fully thought it through. Because one second you’re standing up—and the next you’ve got your hand wrapped around Sukuna’s waist—and the next you’re dragging him through the packed party—

Through the crowd that turns their head to look at your unlikely duo, that turns their head to watch the gruff leader of the wrestling team be led out as if he was a naughty child.

Sukuna lets you take a few steps out of the apartment’s front door, before he’s halting in his tracks and gripping onto your waist instead. Not hard enough that it hurts, not gentle enough for you to be diverted anywhere but his one-track destination to…well, you weren’t quite sure.

“Ryo- I mean, Sukuna—” You squeal as your heels click-clack! down the stairs. You don’t pull yourself free from him, because you know he would let you. “Sukuna, I demand to know where we’re going-”

“There’s nothing to know.”

Your stomach drops.

It’s the last thing he says. The only.

And you can only follow as Sukuna draaaags you out into the night-lit street, cars lining the pavements like the straps of lingerie on a faceless body. An outstretched. A ready. 

You’re recognizing the gleaming black body of his new Audi in an instant - you would anywhere, to be honest. It took up about half the street. Imposing, just like him. It always did make your heart skip a beat to see it parked outside whatever rager you were attending for the night. Just as soon as you’re registering the car, you’re having your back pushed up against it-

“What are you-” You gasp out, before his lips are on yours.

Furious. Feral. Fighting to open them roughly with his own mouth, he’s taking a single look at your prettily parted lips and spiiiiitting straight onto your tongue- before stuffin’ it with his own tastebuds, just in the way that Choso was about to mere minutes early.

You muffle out, “M-mmpf- Sukuna!”

“Ryo.” He rasps, blindly unlocking the door and pushing you into the spacious backseat. “You know m’always your Ryo.”

That night he fucks you harder, faster than any time before.

As if he was claiming every inch of you.

And you don’t end up going home for the night—no, you end up at Sukuna’s instead. And if he made you moan his name even louder than usual, well, it’s only in the morning that you realize that Choso’s bedroom was right next door.

.

.

.

Ryomen Sukuna had flowers—

An entire bouquet of red roses that he’s sure the florist ripped him off for - surely something grown out of the dirt couldn’t be that expensive?! But he did have to admit that it looked wonderful taking up more than half of his backseat—the very same backseat he’d fucked you senseless in not too many nights ago.

The two of you hadn’t seen each other properly since Utahime’s party.

What with his wrestling practices for the upcoming tournaments, and your finals rounding the corner. It’s honestly by sheer miracle that Coach Kashimo had cancelled today’s training for some reason or the other (he honestly didn’t look too closely, merely glancing at the email before driving to the nearest florist whilst texting you to ask whether you were free). And, well, here he was…

So fucking pathetic in his excitement to meet you that he’d forgotten the damned flowers in his car!

Sukuna hopes that they weren’t wilted as he struggles to put on his ripped jeans, discarded on your bedroom floor right along with the rest of his clothes. He’s looking around frantically for his t-shirt, when you glance over at him from the bed.

And he doesn’t see the flicker of hurt in your eyes.

“Leaving so soon, Ryo?”

“Uh huh.” He’s absent-mindedly responding—where the fuck where his socks? Did he even need socks just to go down to his car-

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, “Another appointment?” Another person, is what you really wanted to ask, but…

“Something important that I forgot.” Sukuna replies, looking underneath your bed and ah- there they were. He feels you sitting up on the bed, blanket clutched to your naked chest, as he sits on the mattress with his back turned and finishes dressing up. “Fuckin’ hell, can’t believe I even came up here forgetting-”

“Right.” Your tone was clipped.

“Should’ve gone down the second I remembered but-”

“Should have.”

“Because it’s mad urgent-”

“More than me.”

“I just got a little distracted, y’know?” The pink-haired man glances over his shoulder with a teasing smirk, slightly frowning at the way you turn your head away from him. Hm…he attempts to lighten the mood, “S’all your fault, girlie~”

“Sukuna.”

And that makes him slightly wither in on himself. That tone. That name. Trying to get a good look at your face, he leans towards you. “What’s wrong…?”

“I think we should end this.”

Everything.

Everything was wrong.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t fight your decision, Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t try to get you to explain. He lets your words sink into his being like a pebble cast out in the vast and unceasing Blue—and he lets them fester within him just as mysteriously.

He’s walking out of your dorm a hollow man.

Right up to his car, he’s taking automatic steps. Where he flings the door open and grips the bundle of stems of those- of those fucking roses.

He wants to destroy them.

Sukuna’s hand trembles as he raises them high in the air to chuck- before his peripheral vision features two familiar faces. Unbreathing, he’s turning his head jerkily to the side and staring at them—matching crows’ feet, a slow hobble, the slightly hoarse laughter between a whispered conversation. A vision so private that he almost wants to look away, he didn’t know how you did it.

It scares him how quickly he recognizes the elderly couple to be the exact same one you’d been admiring from afar that one day at the café.

It scares him.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t know why he hands his heartbreak bouquet to the old couple that day. But he does remember one thing - the delighted smiles on both their faces, the way the old man had so-clearly wanted to hold the blushing, beautiful flowers. But he’d given them to his wife anyway.

Seeing the young man staring, the old man had winked. 

A knowing smile on his face.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” To which the sweetly older woman had reached down to pluck! two blossoms from the bouquet. And without hesitating, she’d tucked one behind her husband’s ear—and then beckoned Sukuna to lean down to tuck the last one behind his. Rosy red against lovely pink.

His eyes widen as her slightly roughened hands cup his cheek.

Humming with a smile, “You are so easy to love, my dear.”

Something in him breaks a little at that very moment.

And Ryomen Sukuna drives the entire four hours it takes him to drive to Itadori Jin’s university, to damn-near bang down his apartment door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez…” His older brother’s familiar voice - stubborn, so stubborn just like his calls out from inside the apartment. He doesn’t care that it’s 2AM and Jin’s neighbors would be complaining, right now he just…really needed his big brother.

He can hear the footsteps get even closer. “Who the hell is it at this time- I swear if it’s rent then I already paid it two weeks ag-”

The door clicks open.

Jin’s face freezes in surprise—before it’s dropping at the look on Sukuna’s face.

“Oh, Ryo.”

His arms are around the taller man’s instantly.

And if Itadori Jin felt his sweater drench where Sukuna’s face rested, then he doesn’t say a word about it.

“What did I tell you about keeping your someone special, Ryo?”

.

.

.

It’s the next day when you’re waking up to an incessant knocking at your door.

It pounds like the headache you’d been sporting all night.

And you’re getting up, your eyes swollen - not just from sleep (in fact, you don’t think you slept a single wink all night) - and your movements all sluggish. Looking down, you realize that your pyjamas- Sukuna’s wrestling hoodie, was still drenched in tears. Your blinks were heavy. You felt a mess.

You barely even wanted to get out of your bed, and you don’t think you would have had it not been for the sheer ferocity of the knocks. 

Were they trying to break down your damn door?!

“C-coming!” You’re coughing out, sure you had a doorbell that was going unused. Disgruntled, you’re unlocking the door and reaching for the doorknob. “Jeez, Uta, I swear this isn’t really a good time if you’re going to-”

The first thing you see is red.

Red.

Red.

Red roses.

Bouquets of it lined every inch of your dorm’s corridor, as far as your eye could see, some even piled on top of each other, the largest held between Ryomen Sukuna’s trembling hands.

And the second thing you see is, well, red again.

The blush that dusts his handsome face, rivalling his pinkish locks. Sukuna takes a half-step forwards- before he seems to think better of it and lurches right back. His thick brows furrow in sincerity, as if he just wanted to make you feel his words— “I love you.” He pants, as if he’d just run here. And it feels like all the breath has been knocked out of your lungs. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Oh, Ryo.”

And it’s all the confirmation Sukuna needs to let the bouquet in his hands drop down to the floor. Rustling. Letting the blossoms be replaced with something that is, to him, far more beautiful.

He crushes you so tightly into his embrace that you almost can’t breathe - nothing but the soft strawberry scent that engulfs you whole. And you almost don’t think you need to. Not right now. “I love you.”

“You idiot.” You choke out, “You idiot- you’re so- fucking- stupid.” You punctuate your words with punches to his chest, which makes it rumble with a chuckle. “And I’m even more stupid because I…”

“Yes?” Breathless.

“I love you even more, Ryo.”

He sighs with his entire soul and collapses in on his world—you.

A few minutes later.

What feels like absolutely no time later.

You’re finding your back laid flatly against your single bed - a humble compartment in your dorm room. But now it had you sprawled out across it and reaching for your rickety headboard to hang onto dear life, Sukuna kneeled at the foot of the bed and clawing at your tear-stained sweatpants.

Pulling at it.

Tearing through it.

Your whines intermingle with the rip-rip-riiiip of fabric once he’s exposing your naked legs. You were wearing nothing underneath it, and Sukuna’s fucking groaning as he opens up your thighs to take the heavenly sight in-between.

“Fuh-fuck…” You swear you see a line of glittering drool fall down the side of his mouth, one that Sukuna’s gulping back as soon as it comes. “Holy fuck, sweetheart, how do you look even tastier every time I see ya?”

You’re huffing, unable to stop yourself. “Maybe you’re just mixing me up with-”

“Don’t say that.” And though his voice was quiet, it was stern. It meant every word he was saying, “Never say that.”

Gliding his roughened hands down the tender inner parts of your thighs- you’re shivering as you feel every line and callus from his palms. Remnants of wrestling. The softness of holding you. It makes something in your heart lurch, “I-I just-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself.” Sukuna looks away with a light blush as he cuts you off, “But I do. We have much to talk about…but the one thing I need you to know is that ever since I met you, I have never, and will never, so much as look at anyone else.”

“Ryo—” You whimper, feeling the thick crowned edges of his thumbs inch towards your drippin’ core.

“And I want you to know that m’yours.” He nudges his handsome head closer, until he could breathe in the sultry scent of your pussy. You could feel the cold breeze of his inhale- “Soul…and body.”

And then he’s lavishing his loooong tongue out to lick a wet stripe at your clothed pussy.

Sluuuuuurp—! Such a greedy taste of your cunt. Before Sukuna’s drawing his muscle back in just to do it all over again - flick after flick where you were most tender. With the tip of his tastebuds he’s outlining your glistening crevice, and pinpointing them right where the knob of your clit was located.

You’re twitching as you feel him enter his lengthy tongue juuuust underneath the drenched fabric of your panties, before fishing it back out whenever he feels he got too close to your pussy. 

“P-please-” You’re grabbing onto Sukuna’s head of pink hair, trying to move him even closer. “Want you even closer- stop teasing now.”

He rolls his eyes rudely, “Teasing? You think this is me teasing, sweetheart?” And before you can register it, he’s reeling his tongue all the way back into his mouth. Leaving your poor cunt all throbbing and completely untouched. “This is me teasing.” As you buck your hips pathetically with the desire for his ridged texture, “What I was doin’ earlier was just savoring, mama.”

You throat was thick with need, “But- but what is there to savor-”

“What the fuck are ya talking about?” One of his pink brows raise.

“I mean-” You hasten to explain, your entire body radiating pure heat and need. “You’ve already had me like this before-”

“Oh—” And suddenly, the most lecherous smile plasters across his attractive face - already slicked with copious amounts of wadded slick that sticks to him like some sort of adhesive. “Girlie, you don’t even know the half of what m’capable of.”

And before you know it—Sukuna’s rugged fingers come down to spank! right on top of your pussylips. 

Before you know it, he’s clasping the side of your ass cheeks and flipping you right over as if you weighed nothing more than a feather. With one finger hooking onto your panties- you can distinctly sense when the wrestler seems to think better of it and instead bites his pearly white canines down on your soaked underwear.

You’re muffling out with your face pushed into your pillows, “Wh-what are you-”

Before he’s teeeeeeearing your panties right down with nothing but his mouth.

Exposing your quivering pussy all for him to see, smearin’ apart your folds with both his thumbs. He takes a few seconds to admire the slick that splashes out of your entrance, before spitting vertically down your slit.

Simply to add onto the mess.

It’s the only warning you’re getting before Sukuna completely surges in and shoves himself nose-deep between your puffy folds. Just the tip of his nose drags down the middle of your cunt from behind, and before you know it- his tongue is zig-zagging at your hole wiiiiiildly—

He’s like a madman. He’s like a man starved.

Gulping at the excess of your leaking sap and then munching himself even close to lap at the dewdrops of slick just about to fall out of you. They don’t even have to be pouring out of you for your greedy Sukuna to be gluing himself to your cunt.

Shovelling his tongue even deeper. 

And when your tight orifice can’t take any more of him, he’s grunting out into your cunt and spitting.

“Fuck.”—He’s clenching his jaw and spitting out once more at the slight resistance of your hole. Just the way that Sukuna’s wet muscle was oh-so-thick, and he kept having to pry apart your pussy folds even further just to inch inside. Until you’re shivering at the feeling of his knobbly tastebuds dragging down your walls, “C’mon c’mon c’mon- just fucking take it my girl, I know you want to.”

“I swear your tongue got even bigger, Ryo-”

Your velvety walls close in on him, keeping his slippery tongue hostage while he only tries to ebb even deeper. He’s clenching his jaw at the slight resistance of your tight hole. “S’only been a day and she’s forgotten me this much?”

Fisting at the pillows, “I didn’t, it’s just you’re too big.”

“Appreciate the flattery, mama.” You could feel his grin against your softened flesh. “But it’s my fault.”

Instinctually, you’re raising your head off of the spit-drenched pillows to ask just what he meant-

“But I guess I hafta eat her out so she remembers this time, hm?”

But you didn’t have to ask for the answer.

You didn’t even have to think—honestly, you don’t think you can even, well, think by the time he’s got a hold of you.

Because Ryomen Sukuna was going to do well on his promise—Ryomen Sukuna was going to do well on all his promises.

He was latching one ruthless hand onto the side of your hips and manhandling your hips to start gyratin’ down onto his open maw. Angling you in just the right position so that his swollen lips can latch onto your throbbing clit-

“Bet’cha didn’t know that m’a good multitasker.” He’s gurgling out, wads of slick n’ spittle clogging up his throat. And the thing was—Sukuna didn’t care how much he had to suffocate on your pussy, he fucking loved that shit.

“I-I don’t think I did.” You’re replying.

“And bet’cha didn’t know that I- fuck, I can reach in so deeeeeep.” The large muscle of his tongue swipes in so deeply inside of you- you can’t even fully comprehend whether he’d plunged inside all the way up to his chin because of how dumb he was fucking you.

Rough, hard strikes at all your most delicate spots inside.

Finishing off with the most sinful noises - it’s like the deeper he gets, the louder those noises get. “Bet’cha didn’t know that I r-reach yer- hah, g-spot this fast, hm?”

You’re furrowing your brows. Sure, you were slowly getting more and more dazed on his cock - but surely you weren’t that mindless that you wouldn’t notice? “Wait, but I don’t think you ever actually—oh.”

And then you’re feeling it.

And you’re realizing that Sukuna had timed it precisely for the middle of your sentence, when he can hear the effects of you stumbling and falling apart on his very tongue.

Mazing all the way inside as if searching for treasure, his thorough inches are spreading out your walls so well. Not leaving a single crevice unturned, a single drivelling orifice, a single bundle of nerves- that he’s honing in on and darting straight against.

Pushing down on the area of your g-spot, you’re suddenly jolted by the electricity of your pleasure. He snickers, “There it is.”

Crying out, “Th-that’s just mean, Ryo.”

“Th-th-that’s just mean.” Mocking, in a lilting pitch that was most certainly not reminiscent of your own. With a tough roll of his eyes, he’s only unfastened his maw to take you even deeper from behind. “Bet’cha didn’t know that I could be meeeeean—fuckin’ meaner than you even even thought.”

“I-I think I know too well.” Or so you claim - but shit, Sukuna had never eaten you out like this before.

With his pointed chin jutting against the base of your treacly cunt, and his nose curving against your slit. Sukuna isn’t just thrusting his tongue inside you, he’s also making sure to flick and linger his tastebuds into any orifice he knew you were fragile at.

Again. Probing.

Again and again and again.

And with a smug chuckle, Sukuna claims. “Bet’cha didn’t know that I could go reeeeeal fast.” Until you’re hanging your head down to stare between your slick-sheened legs and all you could see was a pink blur intruding at your folds. “Or reeeeeeal slow.”

“F-fuck, that feels so good.” Your back arches into the perfect curvature when his velveteen tongue starts slowing down into an agonizing pace.

It was just so slow that you could feel each line and crevice of his rows of tastebuds, and just so thorough that speckles of your syrup were darting from your orifice and splattering! down onto the mattress. It starts forming a puddle on the sheets beneath you- one that Sukuna was certain not to go to waste.

His free hand skids down the insides of your thighs, layering his fingers in a thin glaze of your pussy’s slick. And whence his fingertips were all done and coated, the pink-haired man was raising them up to his mouth and sucking the sweetness off.

Not. A. Single. Drop. Wasted.

With a groan, he’s not letting his time go to waste, either. And he’s back funneling your snug channel with his tongue—in and out, in and out, in and out. “Take yer pick- s’all for you, mama.”

“Sh-shit, but I like both.” You didn’t even know whether he was talking to you or your pussy by this point - but you were too gone on his tongue to even care. Slightly bucking your hips into his mouth, “But I- ngh, do like it a bit better when you go…faster…”

A sudden spank down on your clit once more, “Atta girl.”

Nose pressed up against your slit, tongue lashing ruthlessly inside.

Ruthlessly.

If you thought you were ruined on the movements of his tongue just earlier, then this sudden sloppy cadence has you seeing fucking stars. 

The gooey end of his tongue swabs against every tender spot at your innards, somehow forking at your luscious g-spot and attempting to reach even deeper. Perhaps your cervix. Perhaps your womb. And Sukuna’s permanently patterning his tastebuds against your walls. Swirling and swirling and swirling right on time with the caresses at your clit.

He didn’t care how much you bucked and trembled at the sheer pleasure of it, the frat leader’s fingernails dig deep into your flesh every time you lurch away.

“Ah ah-” Only to be hauled back down in mere seconds by one of his strong arms. Back and forth, back and forth, baaaack and forth. With an unceremonious squelch! your pussy’s being plastered back down onto his mouth. And Sukuna tongues your folds back open to start jutting in between your lips, “Don’t- haaaah, fuck, don’t fucking run away…how m’I supposed to eat out my girl’s pussy if yer fucking running away?”

“I don’t know, you’ve never- hck!” Before you can open your mouth with your next few words, Sukuna’s showing you what it means to be his girl.

To have his knobbly fingertips pinch at your clit and start drawing—“H-heh…can ya spell it?” He rovers his thumb even harder on top of it like a button, “Bet’cha didn’t know I could do that. Spell it. Or are ya fucked dumb on m’mouth already?”

You’re replying crossly, “M’not fucked-”

“Then spell it.”

With a pitiful moan, you’re throwing your head in a downward direction to try and see exactly what he was-

Smack!

Yet another mean swatting on top of your puffy pussylips, and Sukuna’s tutting against them. It was as if his lips were glued to your pussy using the slick adhesive of your juices, and he didn’t want to detach himself even to speak—even to speak. “Ah ah- no cheating now, mama. Noooo cheating.”

“Fuh-fuck—” He angles his fingertips as if he was about to strike you once more. “Fine- I meant fine! The first letter is, mmm…”

“Yeeeees?” Drawling out.

And your pupils are swirling in time with the sultry motions of his digits. It was a pattern that makes every hair on your body stand on end - too curly to be a particularly pointy letter like ‘A’ or ‘K’ and yet not even half as curly to have been an ‘S’ that might mean his name. “Is it…R?”

“Atta girl.” Yet he plants another slamming of his fingertips that makes you throw your head back and whine, “Whoops- accident, sweetheart, accident.”

“F-fu—” Fuck you, is what you meant to say.

But Sukuna’s roughly bashin’ away at your sweetest orifice a few more times, leaving a big bruise against the side of your walls with his tongue. And it simply leaves you speechless, “Mmmm, nope! The next letter isn’t ‘F’, try again.”

“Y—!” You’re bawling out, your jaw falling agape at the sheer incredible speed at which he was drawing out all those whines and noises. It was simply unbearable in the best way. Unbearable. 

You could tell that he had so-very-clearly been holding back at your previous…hangouts. And you could feel the burning sensation of bliss start up at the pit of your stomach, “And is the rest of the word ‘Ryomen’?”

“Mmm, three correct.” He answers, to which your hazy mind guesses that the first letters were R-Y-O…“Quite the sneaky lil’ thing, aren’t you? And ah- here’s a little hint, this next one’s an apostrophe.”

“Fuuuuuck, m’close.” You’re whimpering out in response- and his response, he’s only slashing at your g-spot at a faster rhythm. Only plucking at your tender clit—“S, and the next letter is- ngh, P.”

“Good, goooood—”

“U.” You gulp, and you’re unsure whether it was because of your oncoming high or because a lecherous part of you already suspected what the rest of what he was writing may be. “S…S…” Your entire body shivers, limbs unravelling - and you’re not quite sure whether you’d make it until the end of-

“Final letter.”

“Y!”

“And wha’s that spell—?” Sukuna grins out, “Her pretty lil’ name.”

Your lips wobble as you try to enunciate, “Ryo’s pussy…”

“That’s my girl.”

You’re seeing a split-second of flashing lights before you’re suddenly pushed onto your high - hard, overtaking waves of pleasure that leave you all boneless against Sukuna’s eating mouth. But that worked just alright for him- he’d simply white-knuckle onto the side of your hips and lavish your tight entrance with his entire tongue.

Probing, again and again.

The cushy edge of his tongue swipes forwards to strike your g-spot right on time with the peaks of your euphoria. Like a perfect button for him to press on and increase your pleasure until you were simply shaking, “And my girl feels so goooood on her Ryomen’s mouth, doesn’t she?” He pants, fingers pinching your clit now and rolling between the roughened pads of his index and thumb. “Feels so nice cumming on Ryo’s tongue- bet’cha didn’t know it could feel this good, huh, sweetheart?”

Furiously shaking your head, “Didn’t- didn’t know- hck!”

And with a few more moans you’re just splashin’ your clingy wads all down Sukuna’s throat, all across his handsome lower half. “Ooooo- aaaaaatta girl—”

“C-can’t stop cumming.” You shake, tears sparkling at the edges of your eyes. “It just feels so good-”

“Leave some for m’cock, alright?”

But he was the one that wasn’t leaving anything, that wasn’t showing you any mercy.

Even once the sparks of your startling orgasm have bated, he’s plunging his wide tongue in and out. Scouring the inside and outside of your treacly pussy. Licking up every single ounce of slick sploshed down your front. 

Dripping wet.

Only once you’re well and thoroughly overstimulated does Sukuna actually falter his movements, “Mmmm, there ya go, girlie~” He’s pulling his prolonged muscle out of your hole with a sloppy squeeeeeelch! He looks down at your mindlessly clenching pussy and admires his handy-work. “And now for the real deal.”

“Th-that wasn’t the real deal?” You’re asking through a whimper.

“That? That was just my appetizer, y’know?” The pink-haired man snickers at his own joke - though it really didn’t sound like a joke to you.

You attempt to flip yourself over- but Sukuna keeps you firmly in place with a hand at your hips. “Ah ah- don’t you think of running from me. Not now. Not ever.” And while you’re still draped across your front on the bed like this, Sukuna’s starting to tug off your hoodie—

Before he realizes just which one it is - his, his name on the back - and he stops immediately. 

“Actually…” Sukuna stands, and you know that tone of voice didn’t bode anything good for you. “Why don’tcha keep it on, hm?”

Instead, he’s the one that’s stripping now.

That skin-tight shirt.

Those baggy pants.

Those boxers that were—oh.

Your eyes widen, “Is it just me or did…grow even bigger since last time, Ryo?”

“Mmm- why don’t we ask my pussy about it later, hm?”

And with that said, you’re getting to turn around and admire all of Ryomen Sukuna’s toned, tanned muscles. They ripple as he discards his clothes somewhere over his shoulder, making those tattoos of his look as though they were moving by themselves.

Greedily, your eyes follow the circles on either of his deltoids. The snake-like patterns down his pecs. The rings around his beefy biceps. The rings around his wrists. All the way down to the rings around either of his meaty thighs.

Shyly, you’re realizing that you’d skipped over one spot in particular.

And you drift your eyes back up—Sukuna’s erection was hard and hot between his legs. The most furious red at his mushroom tip that made him look as though he was so achingly needy he might as well fall off.

That you might as well count each one of his throbs.

Biting down on your lower lip, you’re impatient as you follow a bead of milky pre that dollops on top of his thick tip. Smearing just a bit. Travelling down, down, dooooown the veiny length of his shaft- until it ends up at the unruly tufts of pink at his base.

His tattooed base.

One more ring around his hilt, and next to that—you gasp.

“Oh…oh my god.” Without a second thought, you’re leaning in to get a closer look at that irritated patch of skin next to Sukuna’s v-line. And if your eyes weren’t deceiving you - that part of his skin had a swirling black calligraphy of none other than your fucking name on him. “Don’t tell me you’ve-”

“I did.”

You gape up at him, “Ryomen Sukuna, you’re fucking crazy-”

“I know.” He shivers as you reach out to touch it. Sukuna was fully unclothed now and prowling towards you on the bed, like a predator closing in on his prey. “But I couldn’t just name that pussy of yours ‘Ryo’s pussy’ and not contribute my part, too, could I? I had to show my dedication too, mama.”

“But putting it permanently on your skin-”

“Is the best decision I’ve ever made.”

You knew there was no talking him out of it, and Sukuna’s eagerly smoothing his calloused palm on top of your stomach. Caressing you. Drinking you in with his eyes.

Flipping you onto your stomach once more-

“Now face down, ass up- I wanna fuck my girl right.”

You’re barely managing to let your sweaty scalp hit your pillow before Sukuna suddenly has his obtuse tip squeezed between your pussylips and pushing and pushing—

“Oh—”  Your eyes are scrunching as tight as they could close, and the only thing you can do is utterly melt into Sukuna’s carnal desire. You don’t think you’d ever get used to his sheer size. “Oh my god- oh my fucking- ngh, I always love h-how you feel-”

“For now-” And it’s a damn miracle that the man could speak - especially when your tender walls were squeezing him like that. “F-for now just pretend it’s the first time.”

Did he just stutter? What was he even…“Wh-what- oh.” You’re being shut up by Sukuna’s rugged, ravenous tip once more. He’s swabbing every treacly spot of your insides without even trying - simply just attempting to fit and fit and fit—

“Just- hah- just pretend s’the first time.” He kisses his lips to his teeth, both clammy hands plastered onto the side of your hips to help him funnel his massive cock inside.

His flared slit lodges against the roof of your cunt, and you’re arching just so beautifully into him- that he can’t help but lean down and bite at the side of your throat. Humming in satisfaction at the way the marking is just covered by his hoodie, it gives him the courage he needs to say those next few words. “Pretend s’just you and I. Pretend s’our first time- ngh.”

“You mean to say—oh.” You’re dizzy on the way his honed tip was perfectly opening up your hidden spots, and every time he’s reeling his hips back it’s just a constant back and forth. “Don’t think I even knew I had a spot there…”

“Good- good, jus’ like that.” He grunts out, holding you even tighter to his muscular body. “Pretend s’like we’ve never fucked before. You’re my girl- always have been. M’your Ryo- always have been. Always will be.”

“A-always will be-”

“And right now s’our first time, I’ve never fucked you before- oh, forget about all those fucking times in my room and in the car.” He whispers out, something desperate cracking primally at the back of his throat as he eases his way inside. “S’our time now—and I get to finally, finally fuck you as mine.”

All his.

And you’re finding that when Sukuna’s fucking you as just his…it means he’s so much more ravenous than you’ve ever known him to be.

So much more ruined.

So much more out-of-control—

It’s like he’s truly realized his full potential. “Since yer mine I get to- hah! stop you from running from my cock whenever I like.” Hauling you down like a ragdoll with both hands on your waist, you shrill at the slamming contact of his hips against your hips. His thighs against the backs of your thighs. His large cockhead against your ready cunt. “I get to fuck you raw for the first time. I get to fuck you so much- s-so fucking much n’ I don’t even have to worry about the marks I leave.”

“What marks?”

A slam so hard that you swear you can feel the globular end of his shaft right near your throat—“These marks.”

And you’re almost about to repeat your question in search of an answer once more- before you’re realizing what exactly Sukuna means.

Marks.

The marks he was leaving on every gooey orifice inside your cunt, on the globes of your ass being pummeled by his hips, on the sides of your body under the mercy of his grip.

Using that very same grip, he’s folding you on all fours underneath him. Tighter and tighter. Closer and closer to his hulking body. Before your muddled brain can register it, Sukuna’s reaching over his meaty right leg to plant right on top of your sweaty scalp.

Yes—on top.

The heel of his foot ends up on your head, and your eyes snap open in- perhaps shock, perhaps at the sheer audacity of him. You jolt.

“Ah ah-” The only thing you hear before one of his hands clasp ‘round the cottony fabric of your hoodie and tugs it down - it seems that your sudden lurching movement had made his uniform bunch up by your head. 

And the famed wrestler wasn’t just bringing it down to take a good look at your pretty self. No—he was also bringing it down to read the name - his name - emblazoned across your back and jostling to and fro while you were being fucked by his ruthless hips. “Theeeeere we go, gotta rep the name, mama. Especially the first time.”

“Rep the set? You’re already fucking me- ngh, senseless.”

“And yet I already get to have you- fuck, wear this f’me. My girl. My lovely, lovely girl.” His toned figure leans down and he’s sloppily kissing at the name. 

His name—fuck, how he loved this position. That was why he’d purposefully chosen it, to have his name peak up at him as he ploughed himself into you like a madman. Grunting out once your sopping lips squeeze him at the stretch, “The girl with my- hck! last name-”

“Ryo!”

“Whoops- too soon?” He doesn’t even sound the least bit regretful. And you can’t even answer, because then he’s only fucking your surprised whines out of you, “Mmm, and don’t forget that I also get to do- heh, this.” And as if it was even possible, his vicious hips accelerate their tempo against you. “I get to do whaaaatever I want with my girl’s pretty pussy- ah, apologies, my pretty pussy just to fit my thick cock inside.”

“I-inside-” You mindlessly babble out, “Want it inside-”

“Yeah? Want it all the way until my tattoo? Never been fucked like this before, have ya?”

Well, he has fucked you like this before. But that coherent part of you realizes that that wasn’t exactly the answer that Sukuna wanted right now—“No- no, never. You’re the first to fuck me like this, Ryo, mmm.”

“Good.”

Whether he was praising you for keeping up with his conversation - or whether he was praising you for taking his cock until he’s bottoming out - you’re not quite sure. Either way, the curly pink hairs at his base finally reach your folds—and they scritch-scratch at your pussy in such a carnal way you never knew you needed.

As he’s fully inside of you, the wrestling superstar hunches his entire body over and shivers. And pants. And throbs his entire length deeply inside of you in a way that makes your head pound with a rapid ba-thump! Ba-thump! Ba-thump!

“H-here….” One of his hands lifts off of your hip to caress down the front of your stomach. Sukuna feels for where his swollen tip was pulsating against your womb, and presses doooown against that lil’ bump. “S’my first time kissin’ my girl over here, isn’t it?”

“It- it is—”

And Sukuna truly is fucking you like it’s the first time - he’s fucking you like he’s angrier he didn’t have you earlier, he’s fucking you like he’s making up for all the lost time.

Just roughened, piercing bashes against your g-spot- he doesn’t even have to try to locate that bruised n’ battered little area on your channel. The rounded orifice of it gets pummeled by his shaft, and you’re seeing stars due to the sheer pressure of him. “It feels so- ngh- fuck.” You could barely even string together a sentence, head feeling all airy. 

“Feels soooo—?”

“I don’t- I don’t even…” He doesn’t even have to be fully inside to let his curvaceous tip poke into your cervix. Purposefully angling his hips, Sukuna’s rub-a-dubbing the door to your womb with his puckered tip. “Th-think m’cockdrunk, Ryo.”

And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the way that his rude cadence seemed to stutter. “C-cockdrunk?”

Nodding through your tears, “I am, I am—oh.”

But of course, never let Ryomen Sukuna be known as the man that doesn’t take care of his cockdrunk partner. 

Never. 

Because in a split-second, he’s lifting his rude foot off of your head and you jolt at the sudden rush of blood to your scalp. “Oh- oh my…”

Only mere moments of mercy before you feel your entire limp body be hoisted off of the mattress.

Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your scalp, and you’re flailing at the feeling before- “Shhh, shh sh- be a good girl f’me before you make me put that foot atop your head again, mama.” Sukuna grunts, and suddenly you’re feeling one of his strong arms look around your neck.

You could feel all those developed biceps of his bulging against your throat once Sukuna cradles your neck and squeeeeezes. Spittle flowing out of you and down his veiny forearm like a fountain, “D-did you just put me in a fucking- ngh, headlock?!”

“Mhm.” He shows absolutely no remorse, “And I don’t hear her complaining.”

In fact, he could only hear the most sopping wet squelches emanating from your cunt.

And so Sukuna keeps holding you in this treacherous headlock whilst he’s pummeling you from behind. All those veiny inches of his cock being slurped right up between your pussy lips. Again. And again. And again and again and again—

It feels like hours have passed before you’re jolting at the sudden feeling of Sukuna’s warm fingertips slithering down between your sheeny legs once more. Your clit throbs like it’d missed his touch- and never one to leave you wanting more anymore, he’s twisting his rugged fingers on the nub.

Letting the patterned edges of his digits start twistin’ and turning that swollen knob in his hand. Your cunt squelches out a wet splash of slick at the sudden pleasure, “I-it just feels so good-”

“I know.” Sukuna hums, all smug with himself. “She’s told me- heh, think about thaaaat—I get ta speak with her for the first time tonight.” Before you can say anything else, he dips his head down to look at your cunt from underneath you and coos. “Hey, girlie, how are ya~?”

“Y-you’re unbelievable-” And yet he’s rovering his thumb all over your clit in a way that just has you gasping for more, and your cunt squelching out even louder.

“Mmm, m’doing good, thanks for asking.” He continues…a fucking conversation with your pussy. And at your widened stare, he shrugs. “What? M’only having a chat with- hah, my pussy. Wha’s wrong with that?”

“N-nothing…” You suppose.

“Exactly.” And then he times the ministrations of his thick thumb just right to roll over your clit in synchronization with his cock. You’re feeling one incredible thud! at your g-spot, and then you’re feeling another drag on your clit. This time…a pattern that you’re finding strangely familiar- “Can you spell, mama?”

“Are you asking—” Smack! A rude spank on your cunt, “F-fuck…”

“Apologies ‘bout that. S’my first time with you, remember? And I hafta get to know you. Get to do this.” He hums, and it’s not to you anymore. He’s completely and utterly devoted to keeping all his concentration on giving your pussy the utmost pleasure possible - from two different places of origin. “So about that spelling—”

“Fuck, Ryo, what are you trying to…”

This time, he’s not cutting you off. This time you’re trailing off out of your own volition, your ears listening for the sequences of letters that Sukuna calls out.

A sequence that sounds oddly familiar.

A sequence that spelled out your name.

He drag-drag-draaaaags your clit and it lets out a particularly loud lecherous sound that the larger man beams at, “Mmm, exactly. Perfect pronunciation and all- now let’s see if you can spell the rest.” And without further ado, Sukuna’s expert fingertips start outlining a different set of letters on your throbbing clit.

Making you shake with pleasure, “W-wait that spells…” Silently mouthing along.

S—he’s accelerating the thumps all the way at the back of your cervix, until you’re feeling dizzy.U—K—just the sheer amount of tears that streamed down your cheeks already told you that you were getting close to your high. U—

Your eyes widen, “Y-you’re not seriously-”

“Shhhh.”

N—but oh, he was. As if he was reading off of that sports hoodie on your back. And he was letting you tremble uncontrollably in the aftermath of his constant strikes and thumps at your greedy orifice, drilling into you with a hunger that never satiates. A hunger that tells you he’s wanted to do this for a long, long time. A—

You whisper what exactly it spelled out.

Your name, with the last name of-

“-Sukuna.” The man himself finishes off, before leaning down to leer at your drivelling cunt. The very same that was slurping and squelching away maddeningly at your gushing slick—“S’gonna be your name very soon, my girl.”

You don’t quite know which one of you he’s talking to - you or your pussy.

But you don’t quite care at this moment, either. Because in almost no time, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night - it’s no longer simply your second anymore.

Because as soon as you’re crashing into the white-hot wave of your second, you’re plummeting into your third. Your fourth. Your fifth. Seemingly dragged out of you as if it was oh-so-easy by none other than Sukuna’s ruthless cock.

You shake as it explodes through you, harder than any other orgasm you’ve experienced in your entire life.

Toes curling.

Lashes staining with tears.

The only thing you can do is arch your back into Sukuna’s sculptured one and let him thoroughly bash you through your zaps of euphoria. Over and over.

He lets his veiny shaft glide down your gooey insides, caressing every inch of you that seemed to explode with pleasure any time he was pistoning into you. “Yeah-” He grunts, feeling you uncontrollably clench around him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah- cum around my cock, sweetheart. Only around my cock—” His headlock on you tightens, “-got it?”

“Got it-” You babble out stupidly, your cheek slipping along the sheen of saliva you’d created on his forearm. “I got it, I got it- but…”

One pink brow raises, “But…?”

“But I also want you to do o-one thing f’me.”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “Anything.”

“Cum inside?”

And, well, Sukuna did say ‘anything’—didn’t he?

Because with a few more vulgar thrusts, the infamous frat leader is tipping his head back and emptying himself out inside you. You could feel the way that his thiiick balls clench from behind you, each of those wadded webs of ivory sap being poured out into you.

Each and every single one.

Stuffed and stuffed inside of you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you take in the second skin that he’s layering on top of your insides. Something so warm and filthy feeling heavy inside of your orifice—fuck, you’re discovering that a primal part of you loved the feeling.

It sploshes! out into your deepest depths and create a lil’ puddle that you can feel even at your cervix. Just swirled around by his thickened tip, “C-cumming—” The man rasps out, voice botched with a primal sort of hoarseness. He stutters as he cums. He shakes as he cums. Crimson eyes shuttering at the most blissful feeling in the world, spurting his seed inside your needy pussy. “And then there’s that- hah! I get to cum inside you for the f-first time…”

And it really was the first time he was filling you up like this. All the way up to the brim and fucking those pearly beads of cum right back inside you, “Kinda- ngh, always wan’ you to cum inside me.”

He pecks the side of your temple, hips still shifting filthily. “Hey then we’re gonna have a- mmm, mini-Sukuna before you’re even Mrs. Sukuna, girlie.”

“M-maybe I don’t mind…” Bucking your hips back into his for more friction.

“Talkin’ outta that pussy, I see.”

With yet another sudden spank! on top of your sultry folds, you’re being flipped over once more and stuffed right back up to your womb with Sukuna’s thickened inches. All of them shoved right up until you can feel them at your very throat- “We might have to dumbify her too, I’m afraid.”

“S’gonna be a long night.” You’re commenting with a shiver.

Sukuna grins, “How’d you spell ‘the first of many’?”

.

.

.

The tournament was in an uproar by the time you’re running into the stands.

Well, more bowing and apologizing as you scramble to your seat past rows of other supporters- but you stand by it nonetheless. You’re letting out a pant of relief as you finally plop unceremoniously down onto the only empty chair in the stands, placing down your bag and pulling on the collar of Sukuna’s wrestling hoodie in an attempt to fan yourself. 

“You’re late, my dear.” Utahime hisses from the row behind you, flipping off the middle-aged man that grumbles at her.

“I know, I’m sorry!” You whisper back - ah, so that’s where they were. A few more rows behind her were some of the Curses Epsilon brothers - including Choso - that you had been starting to get to know, little by little. They wave happily at you and you wave back with a grin. You’d been wanting to get seats next to all of them, but it seems they’d filled up faster than you’d hoped.

At the very least you were lucky to have your friends so close by you, and you’re shooting them an apologetic smile - after all, you were the one that’d bugged your two best friends to join you watching Sukuna’s wrestling match. You mouth, “Whole story. Explain later.”

“Traffic?” Shoko asks from next to your purple-haired friend, looking up from her anatomy textbook. For what reason she had that, you weren’t quite sure…and you weren’t brave enough to ask, either.

Choosing the short story, you’re nodding at her suggestion.

You’d run all the way here, truth be told.

Sukuna was already halfway through his final match of the tournament, one more and he’d win this collegiate title. And though a part of you was upset that you’d missed out on so much (sure, you could watch them later on the recordings, but it was the principal that counted!), it made you so-very-proud to see so many of the recruiters with their eyes locked on Sukuna and Sukuna only.

Your boyfriend of just shy of a month.

You couldn’t blame them—fuck, you just wished you hadn’t had to wait so long at the dry cleaner’s! Apparently there had been some sort of mix-up that’d resulted in you being quite delayed while you actually waited to claim the hoodie you knew and loved too much.

Sure, it’d been slightly stained from some of last nights…activties (somewhat of a good luck ritual, he claimed, though you knew what he really wanted to do was fuck you in the hoodie with his name), but beloved nonetheless! 

Anyways—after falling behind your schedule, you’d been hit by traffic, and then there was the issue of actually trying to navigate the stadium, and then- well, here you were!

Evidently, it seems that Sukuna is sensing the same thing.

Because in the middle of an ankle lock, Sukuna’s crimson eyes flick upwards towards the stands- and they’re meeting yours instantly.

A charged tension only the two of you could feel.

Squirming slightly in your seat at the intensity of his stare, his realization, you give him a wave.

In mere split-seconds, Sukuna has the other man slammed down onto the floor and his sweaty body struggling to even move. You cheer, that had to have at least been two points.

“We’re lucky you’re here, my dear.” Utahime leans down to whisper to you. “You won’t believe what that boyfriend of yours was like before the game- moping around, calling you, staring longingly at his phone wallpaper of you—eugh! I didn’t even know that a man of that size and strength could act like a lost puppy.” She shudders.

Shoko states plainly, “What she means to say is that your boyfriend missed you.”

And you’re just about to open your mouth to answer- when right beside you, a jittery voice speaks up.

“P-pardon me.” The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the man that’d been seated to your left, you hadn’t paid much attention to him considering the frantic state you’d been in when you first got here. “Did you say ‘boyfriend’?”

And now, you almost wished you did.

Because the man beside you looked exactly like Sukuna only…softer. Quieter. Calmer. With an air about him that told you that perhaps he was the type that grew up with quite a bit of responsibility. He wore a sweater with the shapes of some marine animals sewn into it. He didn’t have any of Sukuna’s tattoos or the chiselled look of a recent athlete or the gruffness he wore like a cloak - but the resemblance was uncanny. 

The bespectacled man adjusts his glasses and your jaw drops—this must be his older brother that he told you so much about! “You must be his girlfriend that he’s told me so much about.”

“Y-yes!” You snap out of your little reverie at his words, and you’re immediately reaching out your hand for a handshake. “You must be his older brother, Jin?”

Jin pulls you in for a hug, sighing out against you. “Thank you so much for taking care of him.”

“No- not at all! The pleasure’s all mine, and he’s the one that takes care of me most of the time.” You’re sheepishly admitting, “Thank you for taking care of him all this time, I know he looks up at you so much.”

The other pink-haired man blushes, scratching behind his neck. “W-well I wouldn’t say that…” He glances to his left, “Oh! And silly me- I forgot to introduce you to our father.”

You’re beaming at the gruff old man seated next to Jin, a furrow between his brows that you could’ve recognized anywhere on his younger son. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

The introductions between you and Sukuna’s family go swimmingly (if there was a wrestling alternative then you’d have said it), and you’re finding that they were the absolute sweetest. Jin was soft and compassionate, the polar opposite of Sukuna and yet so similar to him at his deepest core. Wasuke was more like Sukuna on the outside, and you swear you could feel your sides splitting at the quips he’d comment about his son while you all watched the match.

Eventually, the three of you along with your friends in the latter rows are chatting up so much of a storm that you almost don’t notice—“He’s about to win.”

At the sound of your voice, the rest of your group looks over at the ringed boundaries of the match.

Instantly, you’re all up on your feet and cheering at the top of your lungs. 

All of you.

Jin and Wasuke.

Shoko and Utahime.

The Curses Epsilon boys.

You.

And when Ryomen Sukuna finally defeats his tough opponent, you can’t decide which one of you cheered the loudest.

But what you do know is that he’s sauntering up past the boundary the minute his win is announced - all sweat-streaked and spitting out his mouth guard, all panting and toned with his muscles, all uncaring whether or not his coach is talking to him right now.

He doesn’t care

He doesn’t care.

Sukuna’s breaking into a sprint once he sees you getting off the stands—and scoops you into his arms whilst you yelp in delight. 

You knew you must look such a sight, you and this hulking man.

You feel him bury his face into the crook of your neck, whispering. “Could you all have been any louder?” And you could feel the way his face burns against your skin.

“What- the King of the Court fan club?” You’re innocently questioning, “Yes, that is our name and you can thank Jin for that. And no, we don’t show signs of stopping any time soon- we actually plan on expanding to the rest of the campus by the end of semester-”

He peeks up at the group behind you, here just for him - his brother and father, your friends, his fraternity brothers - and groans. And you can only laugh.

“You all are insufferable.” Sukuna says, baritone dramatically pained. “Especially you.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

He presses his lips to yours, “That, I am.”

A/N. A MAN WHO YEARNS IS A MAN WHO WHAT??