rin luv club

he works hard to find new places he thinks you'll like and at some point, you guys just stop working on reports altogether and just start having fun around campus

sends you game pigeon texts throughout the day, lets you win at 8ball, but never, ever backs down from word hunt. he will score 30k points over you and not break a sweat.

rolls up his lab coat once in class and your brain short-circuits, man has an insane sleeper build, grabs your microscope slides for you and easily returns your microscope for you. "you okay?" "yup! completely and totally fine!"

i cannot stress enough how oblivious he is, though. you guys go to parties together, he grabs your drinks for you, holds your waist when someone gets too rowdy, and leave together. somehow, this man still thinks you don't reciprocate his feelings.

he wants to confess, he does, but there's all these logistics and things he has to plan for, has to do it in just the right way, at the right place, wracks his head at night trying to think of a way to just tell you. yuuji calls him fucking stupid one night and for once, he agrees.

gets too busy fussing and concerning over what he would do when the time comes, doesn't even stop and consider the fact that you might just beat him to it!

"'gumi," he literally has his head on your lap while he's doing an assigned reading for class, and it's probably one of the most peaceful days he's had in a while, but the way you smile and say his name makes his heart skip a beat. "wanna go out with me?"

man, it's like the floodgates open after that. he gets so much more direct and confident—"we're gonna go volunteer at that animal shelter this weekend," and "i'm picking you up for dinner, is chinese okay?"

not the type for public displays of affection, but makes sure you're in his orbit all the time, somehow. glances across the lab when your professor blunders in the middle of the lecture, a hand on the small of your back while he maneuvers you through the street, places his hand above yours on the train while you're holding onto the pole

takes photos of you all the time, has a collection of different cameras, makes yuuji take photos of you and him on nights out with the disposable camera, photos of you looking absolutely adorable on the digital camera, and dumb, funny photos of you that you hate but he loves

nights spent at his dorm watching trashy reality shows (he acts like he doesn't give a shit but gasps louder than you whenever someone gets slapped), studying for your next exam only to end up making out on the floor, cooking ramen noodles just to end up making out on his twin bed, getting ready together and making out when he hoists you up to the counter and knocks all his (and your) shit over. "gumi, i still have toothpaste in my mouth—" "hm, i like mint."

loves loves loves to kiss you. will have hours-long make out sessions in his dorm or yours, will keep going even if your roommate walks in, doesn't even register their presence—too focused on whatever flavor of lip gloss you've got on or that cute top you're wearing that day

his second favorite thing to do is to leave marks in places only he can see. doesn't mean to do that, he swears, but you can see a ghost of a smile when he helps readjust the straps of your dress to hide a blooming hickey on your shoulder.

has this dumbstruck look on his face when you have sex for the first time, gasps and grips your ass with a strength that you were only vaguely aware of when you sink down on his length for the first time, low groans and narrowed eyes. "god, i think you're gonna kill me."

slowly ends up being the one to control the pace, bouncing you up and down on his dick for his own pleasure, even as you're squealing and scratching his back and deliriously trying to thrust back, only to be overpowered

could eat you out for hours, but also loooooves receiving head, loves the way your eyes shimmer when you take him deeper into your throat, the gagging, lewd noises that you make and the way you look up at him, asking if that was good. "that was fucking amazing. 10/10, no notes."

remember how he takes photos of you all the time? he has some polaroids of you in some.... scandalous positions hidden in his drawer that he likes to... use in times of desperation

doesn't initiate a whole lot at the beginning because he's still in the "learning phase," but once he gets you to cum within two minutes, it brings out his competitive spirit. "wonder how many more times you can cum again... think you got another two in you?"

basically living together by the end of the year, because he sleeps better when you're near and his whole dorm is littered with mementos that remind him of you. has that coffee blend you love in his kitchen cabinet, your toothbrush on the other side of his, and when he comes back from lecture to see your smiling face hanging upside down from his futon, thinks he might just want to spend the rest of his life with you.

“so good, ‘s good,” you slur, his question sounding ridiculous as you fist his navey sheets. another suck to your clit and you’re purring again, “i’m close.”

“i know,” megumi hums, his tone raised slightly.

your teeth tense around your bottom lip, you feel hopeless, practically pinned below him as he gets you off.

he’s hard as fuck. grinding slowly against his own mattress, hips rolling and stuttering with every beautiful noise you let out.

“so pretty,” he mutters, blue eyes flickering with lust as he watches you from between your legs, “so pretty, all for me…”

“g-gumi—“ you almost choke. your hand sprawls out to him them, grabbing at air, “please.”

the sight of your reaching fingers alone makes his heart swell, and he takes it with zero hesitation. “i got you,” fushiguro says, his spare palm reaching up to slip some fingers inside you. “doing so well for me… fuck…” the way you clench around his digits with every word makes his mouth fill up with drool.

“god, i’m—“ you gasp sharply, “i’m gonna cum, i- i’m gonna cum, megumi—“

“go ahead, baby. i’m right here.”

a flurry of curses swarm past your lips then as your thighs squeeze around his shoulders and your grip almost shatters every bone in his hand.

slick gushes from your cunt and he laps it up, eager, bound by your flavor. for a second, you’re almost sure you’re going to pass out, but his grounding presence keeps you there, liberating you from unconsciousness as your body rides out your orgasm.

and when you come down from it, he’s still there, like aways, holding you so tenderly as if you’d break any second.

you can taste your essence on his lips as he moves up to kiss you. it’s sweet and warm, like honey; your tongue rolls at the sensation. your noses brush together, bump and kiss themselves. you’re too wound up with him to care.

eventually, you both need air, so you separate with the softness so familiar, glazed foreheads touching and swollen pupils looking into the other.

“i love you so bad,” you tell him, breaths caressing one another in the small space between your lips.

the amount of greed he has when it comes to you is evident in the way he nips at your lips again, his cheeks alight. “i love you more, my girl.”

you cant help but meet in the middle again, more fiercely this time. it’s almost magnetic the way his hips move up to meet yours on his bed, his single-colored duvet scrunched up on the left side.

“you’re so beautiful,” you whimper at megumi, breathless as your lashes bat thickly.

in an attempt to hide the glow of his face, the boy peppers his lips along your jaw. “how can you say that?”

“cuz it’s true, duh,” your head tilts back, a giggle tickling your throat as fushiguro bit once at it. your laughter draws out into a soft, delighted squeal.

“i meant,” he grunts, kissing your neck until there’s a blooming purple in the wake of his lips, “how can you say that when you’re like this?”

“shut up and fuck me,” you say, playful, with your fingers rooting in his hair again.

“magic word?”

“please?” you roll your eyes, and then he laughs softly. your heart leaps and twirls.

“there you go. see? you can find your manners when you have to.” megumi smiles, sucking more marks up on your skin in thoughtless desire.

you stick our your bottom lip, pulling him back by his hair. he looks so handsome right then, with his slanted eyes hazy with lust and lips puffed up.

if there was a single moment you could choose to replay for the rest of your life, it would be this one.

“megs, stop teasing. i need you.” you complain.

growing a rare smile, megumi kisses your pouty lower lip and flicks it gently with his thumb. “you have me.”

“you know what i mean.” you persist, blushing furiously at his words, fumbling with a stray lock of his dark hair.

“i do.” he pecks your lips again as if he can’t stop himself; like he’s addicted, “i just wanna take my time with you, okay?”

his voice has that rasp to it that belongs solely to deep, slow mornings, ones where the sun hangs lowly on the horizon, stars and rays of light meeting euphorically—and of course, you.

even so, the air is stolen from your lungs by its sweet melody. “y-yeah, okay.”

then he kisses you. again, again. your lips, both thick and dewy with love, slew together. mixing, winding. following a figurative trail of roses and red fragrance.

his hand climbs up to your tits from underneath his your shirt, squeezing the left softly as you pull him closer, and drape your arms over his shoulders. you sigh into him, somehow ending up below him once again.

“fuck…” megumi groans, his breath hot as it spills over your cheeks. his teeth clench and grind. he wants to be inside you so fucking bad, it almost hurts.

you kick your already sodden panties off of your ankles, hand pawing his jaw, continuing to deepen the kiss while he works you up.

while you’re distracted, he slips a hand into the plaid sweats you usually steal, pulling out his cock and hissing through his teeth when his thumb swipes over the leaky tip.

you pull back, desperate to see it, to watch him; your lip catches between your teeth at the sight of his hand wrapped around the base, and his caught up expression.

“inside me,” you breathe, “i want your cock inside me.”

dazed, megumi swallows, leaning in. “what a dirty little mouth you got, baby.”

you’re too gone to care, grabbing his hips and grinding him against you. as his dick rubs against your slit, your back arches, and a moan slips out.

“god… you’re making this so hard…” megumi sighs, losing his resolve at the way you’re almost sucking him in.

“please.”

he looks up. your eyes are all wet now. his widen irresistibly. you beg, “please, i can’t wait anymore.”

megumi’s mind scrambles in his skull, while his heart, elsewhere, suddenly declares that you are the most precious thing in the world.

“okay.” his lust finally spills over like gasoline, a fire igniting within him, “okay… okay, baby, i got it.”

he looks down, already so sensitive from having you cum on his tongue. he watches his cock rub against you, brushing your clit, before he shifts and nudges your hole instead.

your hand, like always, finds his. your fingers lace together; he raises the back of yours to his lips and slowly presses into you.

he lets out a strangled noise, “god… always so fucking tight…”

the stretch is uncomfortable, like it always is at first. meanwhile, fushiguro peppers your face with his love until his pelvis finally brushes against your ass.

your lips are round in this cute, overwhelmed ‘o’ shape. the boy could swoon then.

after a few moments, he asks, “you okay there?” as he grins down at you, giving your hand a soft squeeze.

your eyes unscrew as he gives you time to adjust. although breathless, you reply, “i’m good. are you?”

“so good.” he whispers. “so fucking good—can i move yet?”

rather quickly, you nod. “mhm.”

he sighs, slowly starting to rock into you. your nails dig into his shoulder, jolting with every collision, his cock moulding your insides perfectly.

whining, you hug him impossibly closer to you. megumi reaches down to bunch your shirt over your tits, then leans down to take a nipple into his mouth.

he moans around you, the sensation causing a shiver to travel up your spine. “o-oh my god… that feels so good.”

he rolls his tongue over you while thrusting, slowly picking up the pace.

blissfully, your head falls back against the pillow, fingers raking his toned back, gentle noises and whimpers falling from you like the groans and huffs from him.

“h-harder, please—“ he obeys, to your satisfaction, “holy fucking shit.”

you curse, eyes squeezing again.

he glances at your face and the lewd expression almost makes him blow his load right then and there. “baby… fuck… c’mere. gimme those lips.”

blinking tearfully, you cling tighter to him. he swoops down, both your lips tangling again as he fucks into you more erratically.

“ohh, fuck!!” you sob against your boyfriend, his balls slapping lewdly against your ass with every quick buck of his hips.

megumi shushes you, swallowing your cries and moans, trying to keep you sane.

“shh, i know, i know,” he says, squeezing your waist, “g-shit… pussy’s makin’ me burn up, fuck. quiet, baby.”

gently, two of his fingers begin to prod at your lips—you accept them with haste as they dip right into your throat.

megumi’s face twists in pure pleasure, every part of him screaming from sensitivity while beads of sweat form on his hairline. “you look so perfect, taking it like this.”

your reply is muffled around his digits. as megumi continues pounding your cunt, skin slapping together wetly, your mouth drowns in saliva. you’re basically clawing his back now—not that he notices, or cares.

“fuck… oh god, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” he says, grinding his perfect teeth. megumi drags his fingers out of your mouth, a string of spit following across your tits, which he fondles.

“yeah?” you whimper, “m-me too, hnn—!“ you can barely hold it, with his cock repeatedly destroying that spot inside you that makes you scream.

“i- i don’t… i can’t hold it…!”

reassuringly, megumi presses his mouth against the corner of yours. “yeah…? pretty baby’s gonna make a mess, huh?”

you nod, your eyes squeezing shut again.

“hey,” megumi snatches your chin up between his thumb and index. “want you to look at me, look at me when i make you feel good, okay?”

all you can do is whine and blindly grab onto his forearm, your eyes flickering open, bleary and overstimulated.

“c’mon, you can do it,” fushiguro says softly, never slowing down, “cream around me, baby.”

and just like that, your guts twist, and that feeling completely and inevitably snaps, blows up—you actually tremble. a wave of pleasure crashes over your body as it rocks with every thrust, head hitting the headboard.

within seconds, megumi follows, groaning as he paints your insides with his thick seed. he keeps going, working you through it while you moan and writhe and squirm, juices leaking out but he just fucks it right back into you.

“i’m still cumming, fuck,” he hisses, his breath fleeing like he’d been punched. he spills so much inside you that the squelches are purely obscene, seeping onto his sheets no doubt.

“too much!!” you sob, legs flailing in the air—what a pathetic mess you’ve made of yourself.

“it’s okay,” megumi says, consoling you. he almost stops, gliding a hand gently through your hair. “hey, sweet girl, i’m here.”

through tears of overstimulation, you look up at him, lashes clumped together and cheeks burnt red. your chest heaves. he stills inside you.

“fuck…” you say, breathless as you slump against his pillow.

as his dick begins to soften inside you, megumi slumps over you, kissing your collarbone briefly. “you did so good. holy fuck.”

you giggle softly using air you had to forcibly capture. “i didn’t know it was possible to cum for that long.”

megumi growls against your skin. “shut up.”

you smile and shrug, stroking his back. “it was cute.”

you start to feel some jagged lines across his toned back, and your face contorts. “oh shit, your back…”

“what about it?” megumi mumbles obliviously into your shoulder.

“i fucked it up,” he looks up, and you show him your claw-like manicure, “i’m sorry.”

megumi watched you and snorted. “wait till you see your neck.”

“what?” you asked, touching it lightly with a silver of anxiousness. “oh my god, you’re kidding.”

the boy slumps down against you again. “don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“i do!” you express, “but not when it’s the middle of summer and gojo and your sister are coming home soon!”

“ah.” megumi grunts then, frowning at the mention of his guardian, who has far too much to say at all times. “i’ll give you a hoodie.”

“megumi!”

it's when the voices are loudest.

your ears ring with nonsensical chatter condensed into whispered pleading. the spirits reach out to you, hands grasping for purchase in your energy. they clamor and cling, desperate to be heard.

they talk. and talk. and talk and TALK.

... you could take the zolpidem.

the bottle on your nightstand stares at you in the bleeding red light of your clock. the sedative, crimson and etched, nearly begs to be swallowed down just as you've done every night since you were young.

but it's different now.

since the hallucinations, since the forgetting. since... since a month ago, now. since yu. since you started to wonder if all this, if jujutsu sorcery, was worth it.

the pill promises sleep. it promises unmoving silence. it may promise a ball and chain, but with it's driven stake it promises a dampened sense of awareness to the second world around you — of spirit and curse. peace.

they also promise emptiness. drifting confusion. sadness. dreams where you're all smiling again.

you roll over.

and then you watch the stars fade, and the sun rise.

suguru geto.

you find it hard to sit in his presence.

you wonder if he knows the curses he carry chatter away in your ears. you wonder if he hears them too; if their words have ever struck their mark.

he is a talented exorcist.

you are a talented investigator.

you two would work well together.

but, now — in this world — you two are hardly anything more than stars passing in the night sky.

that will change.

"you haven't been sleeping."

his voice is deep — the cadence is calming. if you focus hard, you can tune out the river of whispers that follow him like a shadow.

you turn, casting a look over your shoulder.

your eyes feel heavy. your lashes are weighed down by the hours and hours and hours of the passing days. suguru looks no better. he stalks down the hallway towards you.

you and suguru are hardly friends. more like passing acquaintances. you much preferred solitude, and you found gojo to be unsteady — and where one was, the other was close behind. gojo is capable, yes, but far too explosive for you.

after all, you listen.

what you hadn't realized is — in this moment — that suguru has been doing the same.

in your nook, nestled away in the morning sun, you're gripping your journal. in this part of the dorms, it's quieter. far from everyone, you find the energy has settled into a low hum. you can write here.

but recently, the pen scratches have become more desperate.

WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀

over and over again. over and over. over and over and over—

"the admins are worried," he says with a painful sort of casualness that make you wonder what his goal here is.

you nearly scoff.

you pull your knees closer and close your notebook. shame bites at your ink covered fingertips. you swallow as he sits down on the ledge beside you. his dark eyes level with the ground.

"is that so."

less of a question. more a disregard.

suguru looks up. you look away.

"you sound," he begins slowly, "like you aren't surprised."

you sit in that for a moment. you squirm under his thoughtful gaze. it's nearly painful to be watched so closely by him. suguru geto is handsome; but he is cursed. they bleed into his energy, all of the absorbed curses. they chitter and chat and bite at your senses.

"between you and i," you mutter, "maybe they should be."

he hums. you wonder why you told him that.

he claps his hands before him and leans forward onto his knees.

you wince.

"between you and i," he says slowly, "maybe they should worry about both of us."

geto stands, tucks his hands into his pockets, and watches you for a moment longer. then, without a word, he continues on down the hall towards the dim, lonely exit.

for the first time, you really watch him.

gojo is on a solo assignment.

geto arrives in masamichi's office to find you there already. there is a steaming cup of green tea in your hands. you cradle it close to your chest; this momentary pleasure is enough to make your eyes heavy.

when the sliding door rattles open, you turn your eyes towards him. you cross your legs. your skin itches. the rush of whispers that accompanies him crawls up your face.

suguru notices the wince. he settles down in the seat beside you. his hair is down, spilling over his shoulders. he smells like sandalwood.

you sip your tea.

"i'm sending you both to sawara."

sawara.

chiba prefecture is quiet.

there's the old katori shrine outside of town.

it's dedicated to futsunushi no mikoto; the kami is revered for swordsmanship. a warrior.

the shrine —or whatever has nested in its sacred walls — has been talking for a while now.

you can hear it the moment you step off the train.

geto suguru isn't far behind. your bag, slung over his shoulder, swings as he takes a long stride onto the platform. after all, he insisted.

geto nearly runs into your back; he stops short as people flow out around you. you're rooted there, your boots cemented to the yellowing tile of the station platform.

it's late now. the station's warm, honeyed lights fade into the darkness beyond. suguru can hear frogs chirping in the late summer air. somewhere, a cricket's song crescendos.

geto's eyes momentarily narrow.

"do you feel it?" he asks slowly as the doors close behind him and the train pulls away. your hair whips in the breeze. then, a breathe passes, and everything settles into quiet again.

you stare ahead, through the station.

"i hear it."

with that, you begin moving. suguru inhales, and watches you for a moment longer.

you've always been a hard read.

you're the same year as him, satoru and shoko. but you're cold. tired. you seem to thrive in isolation — no, no. no, you've forced the isolation. suguru sees that.

he's impressed you can sense the curse this far out from the location.

even for him, with his intrinsic ability to commune with them, he feels nothing but the base pulse of cursed energy. no seismic differences.

geto is pulled from his thoughts when you turn and catch his gaze over your shoulder.

his chest tightens for a moment.

the feeling is strange.

like you.

your driver drops you off at a hotel around midnight.

the pink vacant sign hums outside your window.

the sheets are stiff. the closet is musty. your bed is small. at the very least, the water had been hot.

but... suguru.

it's all you can hear.

his curses — not him. the things intwined with his spirit are gossiping in tongues ancient and unknown. they chitter and chirp and giggle and scoff and chatter and talk and talk and talk AND TALK.

you slam your pillow down over your head.

across the hall, suguru is awake.

his head is in his hands.

assignment after assignment. exorcise. absorb. again and again.

how much longer of this can he take?

again and again AND AGAIN—

by his bedside, his phone hums.

he tries to ignore it. but, another ping riles him out of his headspace. heaving a long sigh, the dark haired sorcerer leans to swipe the nokia from its charger.

satoru's name pops up on the screen, and his inbox blinks at him.

[ GOJO: ] a lil birdie told me that ur hanging with the local hot freak this wknd [ GOJO: ] how is she? freaky? ;)

geto scoffs. he's quick to type back. the charm on his phone — a gift from shoko for his birthday last year — sways. the ceramic, worn frog tinkers against the back of his phone.

[ GETO: ] don't b mean. [ GOJO: ] hey i love freaks. ask shoko. she knows. [ GOJO: ] you love freaks 2. u 2 wud b cute 2gthr [ GOJO: ] ... [ GOJO: ] ur ignoring me [ GOJO: ] HELLO!!!!!!11!! [ GETO: ] she is rlly nice. just quiet. talk 2 u tmrw :-) gnight [ GOJO: ] go get ur goodnight kiss buddy ilysm

he flips the phone shut and tosses it down to the sheets.

just in time for a series of quiet knocks to garner his attention.

heaving himself upwards, the sorcerer opens the door with a quirked expression.

on the other side of the door, you're standing there.

your face is contorted into pain.

before he can even open his mouth, you're gritting out a pained snarl.

"can you keep it down?"

geto blinks. "...i'm sorry?"

"you're loud. too loud."

his dark eyes widen.

oh.

and suddenly, as if someone has slipped cotton in your ears, there's near silence. not complete. but muffled. it's enough — and suddenly you realize that suguru understood.

he listened.

somehow, he's banished any curses from his radius. a minor exorcism, maybe? a domain? it's... fuck, it's quiet.

his eyes are soft. "i hadn't realized."

you feel as if someone has suddenly shoved a dozen roses down your throat. they threaten to spill from your mouth.

your voice is quiet.

"...no one ever does."

you're stunned into a breathless awe.

and then he smiles. "i am sorry — i hadn't realized how sensitive your technique was. it was rude of me to not consider how my own may impact you."

you're gobsmacked. you stare up at him in the dim light of the hotel doorway. you swallow. "don't apologize."

"you're not sleeping," he says as he tucks his hands into his pockets, "because of me. so, apology earned."

you shake your head. slow at first. then, you screw your eyes shut tight.

"it's not you."

"no?"

"no."

suguru crosses his arms. "you haven't slept in a while."

subconsciously you mimic him, closing off your body as you roll your head around and shrug. "you said it yourself — admin is worried."

he hums. "and nothing helps?"

normally, you'd pull away — leave the conversation. too much talking. too much noise. but it's quiet, and suguru smells like sandalwood. it must be his shampoo. something. you're rooted here under his dark gaze.

"i have sleeping pills," you mutter as your lashes flutter. his gaze is still and solid.

"do they help?"

"i see things. i... i dream," you don't know why you're telling him this, "and i feel wrong. and i forget."

his chest aches again.

"how...? how did you...?" you gesture tiredly about; you're referencing the silence. the stillness, "it's... peaceful."

geto toes the carpet with his black socks. "you listen to curses. i talk to them. at the root of it, it's that simple."

you exhale.

your shoulders relax.

you close your eyes.

"thank you, suguru."

"any time," he says.

and he means it.

the shrine has been talking for a while now.

that night, the talking becomes yelling and the yelling becomes shrieking.

you head out to the shrine at sunrise.

the dew is still fresh on the grass. the torii, a deep red, bleeds into your vision as you step through the archway and into the sacred space. ahead, the shrine stands tall.

the shrieks are louder now.

clinging to the doorway of the haiden, the prayer hall, is a curse.

beneath it lays the body of a woman. her shōzoku is splayed about her like a puddle of snow. her chest has been ripped open. pitch black hair spills down the steps, and feet away lays her kanmuri.

behind you, geto frowns.

"there's something in the shrine," you say as you hold the curses gaze.

suguru nods. this shrine's cursed energy is all wrong. there's more here than this simple manifestation.

"i'm going in," you say as you step forward, "i trust you won't take too long out here, geto."

his brow quirks. he nearly smiles. "well, well. someone's feeling rested."

you throw him a slow smile over your shoulder.

it's the first time he's ever seen it.

his chest ignites.

you disappear into the shrine, stepping over the woman's body. the curse above the doorway — with it's snapping jaws and bulbous eyes — has disregarded you in favor for geto's surge of energy.

"be careful," geto calls.

you throw him a thumbs up and melt away into the dark.

it was a ceremonial dagger.

masamichi has it locked away upon return to the tokyo campus.

upon touching it back at the shrine, it poured out centuries worth of horror. whispered depictions of death rushed up to the surface; it nearly burned to hold. the voices that accompanied it were tortured and pained. the rattle of a hundred last breaths were a choir in your ears.

suguru geto carried the exorcised parcel all the way back to tokyo in his pack.

masamichi commends you both on a job well done.

as you're leaving his office, geto nudges your arm gently with his.

you look up.

he has his phone extended.

"i meant it, y'know, about the whole 'any time' thing."

your eyes brighten.

you hold his gaze as a smile pulls at your cheeks. you take the cellphone, eyeing the new contact screen momentarily before beginning to thumb in your information.

"heyo! look who's back!"

geto turns, spotting satoru and shoko down the hall.

immediately, satoru spots you. and geto's phone in your hands.

gasp—!

A CONTACT SCREEN? a PHONE NUMBER?

... HIS BEST FRIEND REALLY IS GROWING UP...

you nudge geto. you hand him his cell back.

"here."

suguru blinks. "i'll... i'll text you."

"sure," you nod as a bit of nerves creep in as his two best friends approach closer, "definitely."

"okay," suguru is staring at you.

you're smiling.

"okay," you confirm, nodding.

you turn, offer him a slight wave. suguru swallows as you shuffle a bit, watching him a moment longer. he offers up his own sheepish wave.

he feels like himself.

it's the next day, right before noon, when you receive a text from an unknown number.

[ TXT: ] picking up lunch. want anything?

you're in the library, nested in the stacks as you pour over some readings on sorcerers throughout history and notable curse users. frankly, you'd lost interest an hour ago. but, essays are essays.

somehow, you know it's geto.

[ YOU: ] i'll owe you. [ GETO: ] don't worry abt it :-) where r u? [ YOU: ] floor 3 of the library. working on an essay [ GETO: ] coming :-)

... cute.

he brings you and onigiri and a soda. he eats with you, and you don't even realize the gentle quiet that's enveloped you both until the warmth of exhaustion creeps in and nothing is there to fight it.

suguru can see your eyes get heavier.

"take a nap. i'll keep watch."

so you do after you smile at him the way he loves.

[ GETO: ] u in the library again? [ YOU: ] u stalking me? :p [ GETO: ] bringing u lunch [ GETO: ] be up soon [ YOU: ] ur 2 sweet :,)

it's a new routine that quickly evolves.

in the library, during your study period, suguru brings lunch and you slip asleep in peaceful quiet after eating while he works. both of you, on full stomachs, settle into comfort.

suguru silences it all, and finally you can sleep.

an hour of shut eye.

it's been a week of this.

suguru rouses you gently. "rise and shine."

his hand is big and warm along your back.

you inhale sharply. daylight bombards your vision, and you pull your gaze up to see geto hovering over you. his hair is pulled back, and his lips are pulled into a soft smile.

you feel like your world stops for a second.

fuck.

"sorry," you groggily mumble, "i, uh... i guess i'm tired."

"don't be," he says — he moves to gather his papers, "you know, if you need sleep..."

his words trail off.

you rub your face and sit up straight. your back aches from the library's wooden chairs. you roll your neck and try to wring loose the crick in the muscle there.

then, you catch the meaning of his words.

there's that feeling again.

[ YOU: ] good luck on ur assignment [ GETO: ] gonna b gone about week or 2 [ GETO: ] i'm sorry. try 2 sleep 4 me pls [ YOU: ] don't b sorry [ YOU: ] just b safe :) [ YOU: ] see u when ur back :)

three weeks.

it takes three weeks.

you don't sleep.

W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀

Ḭ̷̚ ̴̲̮̺̺̥͙̠̖͉̓͜Ç̷͙̠͖̣͙̫̘̰̣̝̹̻̹͝Ȧ̴̧͖͉̙̙͖̥̥̩̼͜ͅṄ̷̜N̸̡̟̭̬͈̘̭̠̽̋̐̐͛̊͂̔́́̾̅̐͘͝ͅͅŐ̴͓͖̞͍͔͓̞̦̪́̌T̶̨̞͕̦͌͋͊̂̉̈́̆́̾̕ ̶̨̫̺̯͇̝̰̦͔̓̊̋̓̃̾̃͛̚͝͠͝K̶̘̼̫̯̀̀̾̅̋̈́̂͋̀͗́͐̀̾E̵̤̘͓̱̺̾̀͊͂͊̄E̷̢͖̝͓͍̭͚̹̘̘̣̊͊̃̋͐̋͆͂̎͛̾͘P̵̱̭̿̃̓̈͗͜͠ ̶̡̛̼̬̯̪͔͙͍͈̽͆̈́̈́̓D̴̜͉̮̠̩̫͎͒̄̐̀̎͛͂̔̒̓̈́͘̕͠͠Ơ̴͔̼͇̖͕̽̑͂̾̇͆́͆̋̈́̊̕̚͝I̵̢̙̘̠̊̏̂̔̈̒͒́͗̈́́́͘Ṉ̸̢̨̟̩̯̌̋͋̾͐̿́̋̏̀͋̄̏̈́̕G̷͎̟̬͕̤̓́͂͒ ̶̛̘͈̝̇̔̇́͑̀͂͋T̷̢̡̢̯̲̲̝̝͓̜̔̈́̄̏͊̾̃͝ͅḨ̷̢̛̺͈̣̭̲͕̙̰͓͉͎̾͛̓̓͐̎̚Į̵̻̥̯͕̙̩̙̦̘̰̲̺̦̞̆͊S̴̥͕̠̪̀̅̓̑͐̒͊̄͂͊̎͂͘̕͝ W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? ń̴͇̾ò̷̹̙ ̸̭͉̂̆ǵ̵̣ḙ̸̢͌t̷͚͓͝o̵͓̓͝ͅ ̶̩̅ḯ̴̫̝̅ ̸̹͚̆m̷̭̉̈́i̶̮̞̾s̷͈̜̕s̸̡̉͐ ̴͔̒͝g̷̰̦͌̅e̴̹͋͊t̵͖̩̑̐o̴͈̝̾ ̶̛͍ẉ̷̜̌̄ḧ̴̠̼́e̷̠̹̿͌r̴̻̫͆̚ë̵͈͎́̀ ̶͕͍̌į̴͎̽̽s̵̗̘̈͝ ̸̠̀̉g̸̤͛̋e̶͔͝t̷̰͒̈o̴͉͋̒

T̴̬͋H̶̰͚͖͕́̒͐̊E̷̠̽̔̈́Ỹ̶͔̈́̊ ̷͈̱͓̽K̵̨͉͓͋͒̅̾E̷̙͗͛͂E̷̻̦̮̊̋P̸̨̬͈̈́̈́͛͝ ̶̢͕̼̒̑͗̈́T̸̨͋̇̀A̵̧̙̹͒̓͘ͅL̷͈̮̇̿̐̾͜K̴̨̳̫̾̅͘ͅI̷̛̟̾͘Ņ̶̎̎Ģ̵̞͝ ̵̯͕͓̈̉́A̸̮̗̿̋̆̕Ņ̶̹̗̒́D̸͇͓̑̐̕ ̸̢̭͕͛͝͠T̶̻̄͝Ä̶͇̻̞́͌͌̈́Ļ̵̳̫̄K̵̤̻̓̓̈́͝Í̶̧̻N̷̹̜͛́G̷͇̤̈̍

you've been pacing in your dorm for the last thirty minutes.

it's 2:38 in the morning.

you cannot sleep.

your phone is in your hand. a text is sitting there, unsent. the cursor winks.

suguru and gojo and shoko returned earlier this evening. you hadn't had time to even say hello to geto before the three were pulled into a briefing with masamichi.

you decided to try and go to bed.

that wasn't happening.

across campus, geto suguru is staring at the ceiling.

he snatches his phone the split moment it goes off. he was waiting. he would never admit that to himself.

[ YOU: ] u awake?

it's not even a minute later that your phone glows alive with his reply.

[ GETO: ] coming

he swears he's never leapt into a pair of joggers faster. he yanks a hoodie on, and trips over himself as he muscles on his trainers. he tries to be quiet, knowing full well that if gojo heard him sneaking out from his room across the hall he would never hear the end of it.

gojo has already been up his ass about you.

at least shoko is sweet about it.

he makes it across campus in record time; and he's fixing his bun when you yank your door open.

something is different.

he's different.

"hi."

his breath catches.

"hey."

there's a moment where both of you just watch one another, lips parted and breaths bated.

then, geto crosses the threshold.

he steps forward, and you take one step back. enough that he's close now. suguru is in your orbit. your hand slips from the door, and he takes it upon himself to close it behind him without looking.

the tension in the air is electric.

it's darker now; your desk lamp illuminates the room and casts inky shadows.

his eyes are bouncing across your features — and you do the same. in the privacy of your room, you feel like your heart is going to burst. in his silence, you feel dizzy.

it's different this time.

near frantic.

the room swims as you let him take a step closer.

your mouth is dry. "i'm sorry it's late — i missed you. and, just, after what you said that time in the library..."

he's toe to toe with you now, towering above you as he leans closer.

"you haven't slept."

"can't... not... without you."

his chest presses to yours. you swallow thickly as he crowds your space. his energy mingles momentarily with yours in a flash of uncontrolled touch.

"this is a bad idea," he croaks.

"you and i," you confirm, nodding as your eyes slip to his mouth, "yea."

"yea," but his hands are slipping along your jaw. he's eyeing your lips, "real bad idea."

you swear it's like someone has run a searing hot knife along your heart — it feels... good. dangerous.

BETWEEN YOU AND I, MAYBE THEY SHOULD WORRY ABOUT BOTH OF US.

"tell me you want me to leave," he mutters; his nose brushes yours and you lift your jaw to chase the touch. his eyes are dark, "tell me to fuck off."

you shake your head. suguru's mouth hangs open. he wets his lips.

"please stay."

the waves crashes down; the kiss is harsh and rough. but it's perfect. it's silent and comforting and frantic and manic and it tells you enough that you shouldn't be shocked when suguru geto falls from grace in a week's time.

but that's not now.

now is hot and messy, mouths mingling as hands root themselves in clothing. it's desperate; desperate enough that you pull him through the room by his hood. it's everything to suguru. it's what he's wanted.

you're different.

you know what it's like to suffer in sorcery.

you make him feel fine. like he isn't splitting at the seams. like he isn't disgusted by every walking bag of flesh on the street. like he isn't falling apart.

you chase his mouth when he pulls away to take a gulp of air; his back finds your door. geto is fast to knot his hands in your shirt and swing you around.

he cages you against the wood.

"this is a bad idea."

you shouldn't be shocked when suguru geto falls from grace in a week's time.

but you're not far behind.

after all, he is the welcoming, black, empty bliss; the slip of the other-world passing like a fog behind your eyelids. an embrace as heavy as an anchor in a pitch colored sea.

he is endless — he is rest.

at the age of eighteen, satoru comes to terms with the fact that he may or may not have a crush.

if he knew how wildly dehumanizing having a crush was beforehand, satoru thinks he might've avoided you like the plague. someone needs to explain to him why he practically skips to school, waking up at the crack ass of dawn to make sure he looks as sexy and dateable as possible, all to get your attention. someone needs to fill him in on why exactly he's giggling like some kind of schoolgirl at the mere mention of your name and flushing red when you make eye contact.

despite being one of the most popular people in school due to his god's-favourite level looks and extroverted personality, satoru surprisingly has no idea how to deal with these feelings. usually, he'd waltz up someone with ease, striking up a conversation about something random, and boom, instant devotion and companionship. but with a crush? it all goes flying out the window.

it takes him a week and a half just to work up the nerve to talk to you.

you're in his math class, and ever since you transferred in, satoru's been constantly scolded by his teacher yaga for his lack of attention. is that really his fault though?? as his crush seatmate, it's actually your fault for being so... he doesn't even know.

however, what he does know, is that your laugh is his favorite sound on the planet. it's even better than the sound of rain on a window. he somehow manages to elicit the sound with his 'lame ass jokes', as suguru calls them (you think they're pretty good), and the way you joke back sets his heart ablaze. the butterflies in his stomach don't gently brush against each other like in the movies. no, these butterflies are at war with each other, leaving that disgusting yet rewarding feeling of love in their wake.

with each lesson that passes, satoru feels himself getting closer and closer to you, close enough to sling his arm idly around your shoulder. close enough to invade your personal space without complaint.

a month into knowing you, he still isn't actually sure what it is about you that captivates him, but he knows that you're by far the most gorgeous girl he's ever had the pleasure of laying his cerulean eyes on. the way you carry yourself, your figure, your eyes, your laugh, your smile - nothing short of perfect. he catches himself staring, far too often for his liking, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

satoru's about 99.9% sure he'd skip math if you weren't there. who willingly walks into math class without being held at gunpoint anyway? talking to you makes the hour of hell more bearable. he asks you all sorts of things: your favourite colour, what kind of music you like, what your family is like - anything to get to know you better. he's always conversing with you, a stupidly attractive lopsided grin on his face as he listens intently to your answers.

suguru and shoko make fun of him constantly, poking and prodding him. he almost shoves shoko down a nearby flight of stairs when she asks, "isn't that your girlfriend?" rather loudly as you walk by. he thanks whichever god is out there that you didn't hear.

the next time he's in class, yaga threatens to split the two of you should satoru open his mouth to talk to you again. the way he immediately shuts up and folds his arms as he looks away is almost comical, he knows his teacher isn't joking.

still though, he finds a new way of communication. he'll die before he gets through an entire math class without exchanging words with you. as stealthily as he can manage, he rips a piece of paper from his book, scribbling 'hey :)' in the top left corner before placing it on your desk when yaga's eagle-like beady eyes aren't monitoring his most troublesome student.

satoru's heart is running laps as he watches you unfold the paper, wondering if you'll grace him with a response. you reach for your pen, the pen you're supposed to be taking notes with to not fail the class, and he glances your way as you write your reply.

'u miss me already? it's been 5 mins gojo'

lord, help him. his heart's doing a full gymnastic routine within his ribcage, bashing against his bones like it wants to hop out and dive into your hold instead. he's really close to letting it do just that.

'u wanna play t or d?'

he didn't actually want to play truth or dare, he just couldn't think of a way to explain that he did, in fact, miss you. what was he meant to say? "i wanna talk to you because i like you"? he'd rather take a punch in the face.

'no. do ur work'

satoru doesn't miss the way your lips curve upward slightly as he dramatically pouts at your message.

'please? :('

would he resort to begging just for you? absolutely. was he going to admit that? no way. he watches you gnaw on your pen, trying to decide whether or not to humor him. being caught note-passing in mr. yaga's class was like asking for the death penalty, but one little game couldn't hurt.

'one round'

satoru has never felt so victorious in his life. he's from ear to ear as he fiddles with his pen, heart running a million miles per hour. the fun only lasts til you dare him to throw a pen at mr. yaga which he outright refuses, asking if you were hoping for his death. note-passing becomes the norm in his math class though, so he thinks he's won in a way.

• . ☆° ✦. °.

satoru swears it was an innocent crush at first, the kind that little kids experience when they just want someone to like them. a kind of puppy love. nothing serious. nothing meant to be serious. he couldn't handle serious after all.

he's sat with suguru in their usual spot for lunch, waiting for their brunette friend to join them. when she does, satoru's surprised and feels slightly betrayed to see you in tow. shoko's not the type to talk to others; she would much rather keep to herself, but her lack of social abilities doesn't seem to bother you at all. in fact, shoko seems more than happy around you, so much so that it takes her just three days to declare you as her new best friend.

(you brought her lunch because she forgot to bring money. she promised to pay you back but you'd insisted it was no problem. you're now attached at the hip.)

after that, satoru naturally finds himself around you more often which is both a blessing and a curse. suguru and shoko take to you quickly, meaning you're frequently invited to hang out with them and the trio eventually becomes a quadruple. having you around him constantly just amplifies his feelings (great!). there's longer conversations, more skinship, more texting for reasons other than homework, and a lot more reasons to like you.

"you think she's still a virgin?"

satoru violently chokes on his water, eyes widening as he turns to suguru so fast that he's sure he got whiplash. what kind of weird, unprovoked question was that?

suguru notices the way his white-haired friend is staring at him like he's grown a second head so he elaborates, "i mean, look at her, satoru. she's stunning."

as per usual, suguru is 100% correct. with those looks and that personality, satoru would consider it a crime if you'd never had a boyfriend. even if you had, it was technically none of his business. that doesn't stop his mind from wondering though.

after that conversation, satoru's been hyper-aware of you. he notices your thighs, the way your lips twist into a smile or frown, the curves of your hips, the flesh of your chest. everything about you suddenly becomes twice as attractive to him, all because of suguru's stupid comment. it's got him daydreaming - how would those pretty lips feel on his? he's pretty sure those curves would fit in his hold perfectly.

the thoughts only get worse the more he looks at you; the more he thinks about you. what would you look like sitting on his dick? how would he feel if your mouth was on him? if his mouth was on you? one night he wakes up in a cold sweat and an odd wet feeling in his boxers, looking around in horror when he realizes he wasn't fucking you senseless like he swears he just was.

shit, he's in deep.

satoru can't even make eye contact with you after that. he's so embarrassed; he'd literally dreamt about having sex with you. when he came clean to shoko as to why he was avoiding you, the girl just laughed in his face, claiming he was so horrendously down bad that it was funny. suguru fared worse with the news, he looked at satoru with a face that said 'tmi' before walking off.

you get suspicious, of course, you do, because satoru has never gone more than a day without some form of physical touch. he'd been oddly quiet too, around you specifically.

now at a loss, satoru is left to his own devices. he'd never ever been so obsessed to the point of wet dreaming about someone. it takes two whole weeks for him to allow himself to be alone with you. another week, and he's practically forgotten about it. it hadn't happened again so he chalked it up to just being a sexually deprived virgin.

he was wrong.

he was so wrong.

satrou stares at the note you just passed back to him, jaw slackening in shock.

'you ever had sex before?'

had shoko or suguru said something to you? no, that was impossible. as shitty as they can be, they were his best friends. they'd never do something like that.

that one dream he had circulates in his head, showing him images of things he shouldn't be thinking of in a math class. why were you asking him that?? his palms are sweating as he grips the note in his hands, crumpling the paper. he peeks at you, and he swears there's a coy smile on your face before you blink innocently.

damn you.

• . ☆° ✦. °.

don't get him wrong, satoru is not a pathological liar. he isn't, so he can't really explain why he answered that question with yes when he knows damn well the truthful answer is no.

'duh ofc i have'

he feels his insides constrict almost painfully when the edges of your mouth tip up as you read the message. a small, minuscule part of him hopes that you brush it off as a joke, or at least change the subject to something more suited to algebra, while a far larger part of him is screaming at him to continue this lie and see how far it goes.

'oh fr?'

his second chance to tell the truth.

'yeah i'm a pro'

a pro at what?? lying???? he hadn't been within 10 inches of a pussy since the day he came out one. he is not going to tell you that though.

'you wanna show me?'

what.

satrou thinks his heart genuinely stops. there's this buzzing excitement in his core, a new kind of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he re-reads the note for what feels like the 50th time to be sure he isn't hallucinating. if he wasn't in the middle of class, he's certain he'd have screamed at the top of his lungs.

his eyes seem to have suddenly stopped working, he can't look at you any longer. he turns to suguru, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that says, or is meant to say, 'help me'. the dark-haired boy has the gall to look at him oddly, disgusted even, before returning to taking notes. as a last resort, satoru turns to shoko but she literally just ignores him. fuck both of them, honestly.

seeing as he has absolutely no clue what to say to that, all satoru manages to write is:

'huh'

his handwriting is a little shaky; he hopes you don't notice.

'my parents r out this weekend so u can come over'

this had to be another sick dream. there was no way in hell that this was actually happening. he feels giddy - a million feelings surfacing in his heart: excitement, fear, love. the girl he likes is literally offering to let him dick her down, and who is he to refuse?

of course, the main and only problem is he's?? a?? virgin?? a closeted virgin, but still. the weekend was three days away, and in those three days, gojo promises himself to become some sort of sex god.

as always, shoko proves to be useless (she bets her left kidney that he'll stick it in the wrong hole) so suguru is satoru's only hope. suguru's less useless. ish. he refers his friend to three different porn sites that satoru watches religiously every night instead of doing his homework.

suguru is also surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, full of little tips and tricks that satoru notes down, fully invested in what his best friend tells him. he has no clue how you're so casual about the entire thing; you'd been talking to him as if nothing happened.

the weekend rolls around wayyy to quick in his opinion. he needs another 20 years to be mentally prepared.

satoru's heart is in his throat as he knocks at your door. whatever happens, happens, right?

BONUS:

"you confessed to her while ya'll were going at it? jesus christ." suguru shakes his head in disbelief.

"no need to be so crude, suguru!" satoru protests as he threads his fingers through yours, "it was an in the heat of the moment thing!"

"we can see that." shoko quips, not looking up from her phone as you nod in agreement.

"i let him off 'cause he was cute," you say honestly and you feel satoru give your hand a squeeze, "and 'cause i liked him back."

"y/nnnnnnnnnnnnn!" he swoons, immediately dragging you into a hug that you return with a grin.

"lay off on the PDA, some of us are still single!"

you can’t do anything but whimper at that, hands wrapped tightly around him as they claw into his shoulder. he always wears the marks you leave like a good sport too—shows up to the gym in a tank top that shows them off good and well, right for suguru to see them clear as day. you almost block satoru right on the spot when he sends you a selfie in the mirror, showing off the angry marks with a wink following.

it’s a bit of a predicament, fucking your high school friend and not letting anyone know. the idea of shoko and suguru finding out that every other night, satoru is in your bed as his cum leaks out of your abused cunt is enough to make you nauseous—but never nauseous enough not to open the door for him.

the most unfortunate fact you’ve learned in your life is that satoru knows how to fuck—in fact, he knows how to fuck you well enough that you let him come back. it’s a bit shameful, really, the way you let him knock on your door, the way you open it and let him in, the way you actually fuck him and let him sleep in your bed until the morning.

and then (because he’s an asshole) he wakes up, gives you a sly wink, and murmurs i’ll be back soon, yeah? keep that bed warm for me, sweetheart.

“c-close, toru—‘m gonna….gonna—”

“gonna what? cum? already? barely even fucked you yet,” he hums, hooking your leg over his shoulder before all but pressing you in half. you mewl at the way his tip brushes past your folds and splits you in half—deeper this time with the new position. “look at that,” he coos, staring down at the way his cock slips in and out of you, “takin’ me so well, sweet girl. i think you can go a bit longer, don’t you?”

“m-more, more—need—”

“i know, i know,” he grins, “need me to fuck you dumb, don’t you? don’t worry, princess. i’ll give you more.”

his hips snap into you, pelvis rocking against yours as his pre cum and your slick mix, making a mess between your bodies as it coats your skin. you gasp, pulling satoru closer as his head falls to tuck into your shoulder, his labored breaths fanning against the shell of your ear.

“‘s good,” you whine, “f-feels good, toru.”

“yeah? feel that? squeezin’ me so tight, i can barely move,” he groans, letting out a sweet, low sound into your ear that has your spine shivering—you think you could come undone from that, from the sounds he makes as your walls flutter around him.

you think everything about satoru is enough to send you over the edge, from the sound of his voice to that pretty face of his when he spills into you.

you know he’s close—you can feel the slight twitch of his cock as his pace gets sloppier, as his thumb finds your clit and rubs desperate circles into the sensitive nerves, as he practically presses your knees to your shoulders and bullies his throbbing cock deep into your dripping cunt. and you’re close too, head spinning as your eyes flutter shut and your lips part with a broken wail.

“c-close—‘gonna cum, toru,” you gasp, voice coming in labored pants as his breath hitches.

you look perfect like this—like you’re his, like your body was made for him to touch in sinful ways, like it was his cock that was always supposed to fit into you and make you fall apart. his hand grabs yours, and without thinking, both of your fingers interlace.

“baby,” he hums, his nose pressing into your cheek as he kisses the skin softly, “‘m gonna make you mine, yeah? wanna be my girlfriend? my sweet girl? you want it, right?”

you should be shocked—you should stop and ask him what he means, what he’s playing at, what he thinks he’s doing toying with your mind.

instead, you gasp, pulling him closer as your walls spasm around him, back arching and eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly snaps and you cum. hard. harder than he’s ever made you before. does the idea of being his really do that to you? does the idea of being his sweet, precious girl outside of your bed at night really send you hurdling over the edge like that?

evidently, it does—and your high sends him right into his own. like he needs you to fall apart so he can too, like the way he knows you feel good makes him feel good too. maybe he does want you, maybe it’s not a sick joke. the way his voice cracks with a strained call of your name certainly says as much—the way his hand tightens its grip on yours, the way his hips rut desperately as he presses impossibly closer, the way he presses hot, scattered kisses along your cheek and jaw as he groans through his release.

it’s messy. it’s filthy. it’s downright dirty the way satoru fucks his cum into you, letting it drip down your thighs and mark your skin—but it feels like being his.

you think you might want that.

he’s gentle when he finishes—carefully unhooks your legs from his shoulders before running a hand along your thigh and squeezing as he observes the cum dripping between your legs. you huff when he collapses over you, glaring at him as his weight presses onto your form.

“you’re heavy,” you grunt, smacking at his shoulder.

he hums, nose pressing to your jaw as he kisses it. “not moving till you answer me.”

“satoru, don’t joke about—”

“how rude,” he gasps, “you think i would joke while i’m balls deep in—”

“oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands, “please stop talking.”

he grins, chuckling as he shuffles up to bury his face into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. “you don’t wanna be my girlfriend? that’s gonna hurt my feelings, y’know.”

satoru has always been like that, wearing an easy grin and plastering that playfulness on like a second skin. you can hear it though—the slight unease in his voice. you can’t fathom letting everyone know that sometimes, you let satoru fuck you…but maybe knowing that sometimes, you hold hands, and maybe kiss, and perhaps snuggle on the couch, and potentially even share a bed to sleep, not just fuck, but sleep—maybe they can know that. 

that doesn’t sound so bad. 

“that depends,” you hum, pretending to think, “how good at being a boyfriend are you?”

“excellent,” he plays along, “best of the best.”

“that’s just big talk. you could be lying for all i know,” you point out—but your fingers slip into his hair, twirling the sweaty strands along your fingers. 

“well, you’ll just have to let me prove i’m a good boyfriend—so that means i have to be your boyfriend. sorry, it’s the only way.”

if satoru hears the giggle you try to hide as you sigh exaggeratedly, he doesn’t mention it, lips pulling into a giddy smile as he pulls his head out of your neck and presses his forehead to yours. your hands cup his cheeks, squeezing gently.

“i guess if this is the only way,” you shake your head theatrically, “you can be my boyfriend. for now.”

“i’m grateful,” he snorts—and then there’s a peck to your lips. one, two, three gentle kisses before he presses a lingering one. it’s sweet, and slow, and just a bit needy as he presses deeper into you. “now i can tell suguru the scratches on my back are yours. he’s been asking a lot.”

leave it to satoru to speak and ruin the moment just by opening his mouth.

“satoru,” you hiss, throwing him a sharp look, “i think you’d be a better boyfriend when your mouth is shut.”

“then i can’t kiss you,” he gasps, “that’s the best part of being my girlfriend.”

and just to prove it, he kisses you again—and maybe, although you hate to admit it, he’s right. it is the best part. 

masterlist

“I know,” Gojo replies. His gaze follows you as you murmur something to your boyfriend who vaguely acknowledges you with a nod before you stand from your seat, rolling your eyes. “God, that boyfriend of hers is a dick.”

“As if you’d be any better,” Geto snorts. 

“I would.”

“Well, you know what they say. It takes one to know one.”

“Yeah but I’m charming too so it cancels out.” His friend laughs into his drink.

“How’d you figure that one out?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, entranced by the way you strut towards the other side of the bar in your stilettos, smiling politely to the bartender as you place your order. Your eyes flicker up and meet his, and to the untrained eye, you appear expressionless - but Gojo knows better. He knows what it means when you hold his gaze like that, almost challengingly, the want that simmers beneath the surface. And then you look down again and the brief tension dissipates like cigarette smoke. “She’s looking this way.”

“Because you won’t stop staring. This is getting a little weird, even for me.”

“She wants me.”

“Then go talk to her.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Satoru-”

“She’s coming over.” His eyes are still glued to your figure as you walk towards the pair, a wider grin splitting his handsome face, completely at odds with the unimpressed look on yours. You’re even more beautiful up close and Gojo feels a thrill race down his spine as he pushes his sunglasses up into his icy white hair. “Well, hello there.”

“Can you quit staring at me?”

Fiery. Very nice.

“I’m not staring,” he says without missing a beat. “I’m people-watching.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was watching your man friend at first but he was a little boring so I found a more… interesting subject.” Shamelessly, he looks you up and down. “You are rather fascinating, I must say. I’ve never seen a girl quite so radiant before.” He shoots you a winning smile, all sparkling teeth and charm that somehow sparks flames in your cheeks. 

“He’s my boyfriend, actually.”

“Looks a little big to be considered a ‘boy’, wouldn’t you say Suguru?”

“Leave me out of this,” Geto says smoothly as he hops out of his seat and heads towards the bathrooms. You scoff and fold your arms over your chest which only makes him lick at the corner of his lips.

“Then you should know to watch your step. He’s not known for talking things out with creeps like you.”

“Interesting,” Gojo drawls, his piercing gaze so unwavering that you start to fidget under the weight of it, shifting from foot to foot- though that might be the shoes but he prefers to think it’s the former. “But if me looking at you bothers him so much, then why is he still all the way over there? I don’t even think he’s noticed . Matter of fact, shouldn’t he be buying your drinks for you? Like a gentleman?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know either of us. And FYI, I can buy my own drinks if I want.”

“Sweetheart, I can see enough to make an educated guess,” he chuckles. “That man is oblivious. Hell, I could kiss you right now and he wouldn’t even notice.”

“That’s not true,” you say uneasily. “He’s just… busy.”

“Too busy to pay attention to a gorgeous girl like you? I don’t buy it.”

“He’s had a lot on his mind lately,” you mumble halfheartedly. 

“A lot on his mind or on his dick?” he sniggers under his breath, not expecting you to hear his words. Gojo feels a little bad for pointing out the obvious, your crestfallen expression sparking a protectiveness in his heart.

“Can I tell you a little secret?” Your eyes flick up to look at him and there’s a fire burning in their depths that excites him.

“No,” you seethe and he pouts, beckoning for you to come closer. When you stubbornly stand your ground, he sighs and stands from his seat, straightening himself out to his full, impressive height. He bends at the waist a little, enough so that his lips hover by your bejewelled ear. 

“I think that if I wanted, I could take you from him,” he whispers. Your breath hitches as he draws away and you swallow roughly.

“No you couldn’t,” you tell him, taking a step back. He grins at the uncertainty shadowing your tone. “Just leave me alone.”

“Just you wait, baby. I’ll have you eating out of the palm of my hand.”

As you hurry away, flustered and speechless, Gojo sighs wistfully, already anticipating the next time he gets to see you. Because even after that night, like clockwork, you turn up at the same bar, usually hanging off the thick arm of your boyfriend. And each week, Gojo drags his best friend along with him for his weekly dose of sightseeing. He doesn’t even like to drink and yet every single week he ends up perched on a stool with a different brightly coloured cocktail in hand. 

–

“Oh my god, he’s here again,” Mai murmurs from beside you as she sips from her drink. 

“He’s pretty hot for a stalker,” Miwa giggles, flipping her hair back as you roll your eyes and pointedly look away from the white haired man across the room. 

“Have you spoken to him again since then?”

“A couple of times,” you huff. “He acts like he knows everything about me, it’s so weird.”

“Did you tell Toji? Maybe he can scare him off or something.”

Your face turns even more sour at the mention of your boyfriend. Since the first night Gojo spoke to you (he told you his name a couple of weeks ago when you reluctantly went to order another drink at your boyfriend’s bored request), you found that he was in fact acting strange, more so than usual. Your boyfriend has always been a little rough around the edges but never to the point where he would outright ignore your presence, no matter how much you dressed up or feebly attempted to reel him back in. It sets you on edge.

“I don’t think it’d bother him,” you mumble, jabbing your straw between the cubes of ice that sit at the bottom of your empty glass.

“He’s still being weird?”

“Yup. He won’t even have sex with me.”

“Damn. Maybe it’s time to shop around for a new toy.” 

You look at Miwa incredulously. “He’s my boyfriend, not an accessory!”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with her, but she might be right,” Mai hums thoughtfully. “You did say he might be cheating on you.”

“Keyword: might! I have no evidence! I’m probably overthinking it anyway,” you grumble. “We’ve been together for years. I can’t throw that all away based on a gut feeling.”

“Guts are usually right,” Miwa points out and Mai hums in agreement.

“So what, am I just supposed to sleep with the first guy that looks, sorry stares, in my direction?” 

“Let me ask you something,” Mai sighs, rubbing her temples in irritation. “If this Gojo guy is bothering you so much then why did we come here tonight? You always say this is Toji’s favourite bar, not yours, but he’s not even here so what’s the deal?”

Miwa gasps dramatically as her eyes widen and answers before you can even gather your thoughts. “Oh my god! You wanted to see him? Right? Right?”

“Wha-? No! Why would I-”

“It’s the only explanation.”

“I knew it!” she crows. “It all makes sense!”

“No it doesn’t!” you yelp, overcome with the urge to duck under the table and plug your ears. “I don’t want anything to do with him!”

“Liar,” Miwa sings.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan, burying your burning face in your hands. Shame courses through your veins like wildfire because they’re right, despite all your protesting. From the very beginning, you’ve found yourself drawn to him, much to your horror. You’ve been trying to convince yourself that you’re not attracted to him, that you don’t spend your whole night relishing the heat of his gaze or the butterflies that run rampant in your stomach every time your eyes meet. You have a boyfriend, you shouldn't feel this way!

And yet, he’s got you hooked like a helpless little fish with just a glance from the clear waters of his eyes. All it takes is one look for your organs to become acrobats and for the temperature of your skin to rival that of the sun. One look turns your legs to jelly and convinces you that the next step you take will make you stumble and snap the heel of your favourite shoes. God, the way he looks at you - with such unbridled, shameless desire burning like blue fire in his eyes - it ignites a twin flame in your belly that forces you to squeeze your thighs together. When was the last time Toji looked at you like that?

“She so wants to fuck him,”  Mai smirks as she sips at the last dregs of her drink. Lifting your head, you gape at her in disbelief as Miwa dissolves into a fit of giggles, clutching her stomach as Mai continues to add fuel to the fire burning in your cheeks. 

“I hate you guys,” you mumble, slumping back in your seat once their laughter dies down.

“Okay, we’ll give you a little break,” Miwa grins. “It’s your turn to get the next round anyway.”

Dread makes your stomach churn as you look uneasily towards the bar and the mop of white that sticks out like a beacon over the sea of patrons. Chewing your lip, you look down at the sly looks on your friends faces before you school your features into a look of nonchalance and stalk towards the bar even though your stomach is busy tying itself into knots. 

You order your drinks standing opposite to where he sits, apparently having been abandoned by his dark haired friend. Every time you look up, his eyes are on you, a cheeky smile playing at his lips as he watches you. You shift from foot to foot, pointedly looking away when he shoots a wink in your direction and then you blink and suddenly, he’s standing right before you.

“Hey,” he greets cheerfully. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Very funny.”

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.” 

You grunt in acknowledgement, forcing down the giddiness that bubbles in your chest. “Whatever.”

“I don’t see your big bad boyfriend here today.” he says conversationally. “You two finally break up or something?”

You look up and offer him a very forced, plastic smile. “Nope. Still very much happily dating.”

“Doesn’t sound very happy to me,” he hums. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Ooh, that sounds like a yes.”

“Even if there is, which there isn’t, it always works out,” you huff unconvincingly. “Because I love him.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Cos it’s not working.” 

“It should.”

“It won’t.”

“Why?” you ask exasperatedly, your voice a little louder than you intend for it to be. “Why the fuck won’t you leave me alone?”

For a moment, he looks taken aback by your outburst but then a smug smile crawls over his face that makes you want to push him into oncoming traffic. “Because you don’t want me to.”

You laugh humourlessly. “Wow, you’re actually crazy.”

“For you,” he flirts, ignoring your disgusted scoff. “I see the way you look at me.”

“Like I want to run you over?”

“Cute,” he grins, cocking his head to the side and tapping his chin thoughtfully. “It’s more like… hmm, how do I put this. Like you’re… what do they call it again? Ah! Like you’re yearning for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on, don’t be embarrassed, baby!” 

“I’m embarrassed for you actually, you’re deluded.”

“No, I don’t think I am,” he says with a hum, tipping your chin up with a forefinger. “Do you want to know what I do think?” 

“Not in the slightest,” you lie, heart pounding loudly in your chest at just the merest brush of his skin on yours. It feels electric.

“I think you enjoy this little game of ours,” he murmurs. “It excites you. I excite you, in a way he never could and you’re addicted to it. That’s why you keep coming back for more.”

“That’s not true,” you say weakly, unable to tear yourself away from his piercing gaze. “You keep bugging me like some freaky stalker.”

“So leave, princess. Walk away from me, I’m not stopping you,” he coos, almost encouragingly as he crowds your space until you stand toe to toe. “You’re above all this aren’t you? You have such a sweet, loving boyfriend after all, why would you want little old me? Choice is yours, beautiful. I can even get you a taxi.” You say nothing for a moment, torn between wanting to escape whatever it is you’re feeling right now and finding out more about it. His gaze is unwavering, almost unnerving as it glues you to the spot. “Or,” he says suggestively. “You can stay here with me and have some fun.”

Time stretches around you like a rubber band, each second feeling like an eon as your mind races. In the end, rationality wins out. “I’m leaving,” you huff in a shaky tone as you reluctantly tear yourself away from him and turn on your heel.

A disappointed pout pushes at his lips. “That’s no fun. Oh, before you go,” he says, catching your hand and placing a torn, crumpled napkin in your palm. “Take this.”

“Gross, you’re giving me a used napkin?” 

Gojo rolls his eyes. “No. It's my number. In case you need it.”

“I won’t need it,” you say stubbornly.

“Just in case,” he insists, curling your fingers around it. He dips his head and daringly brushes his lips over your closed fist before he peeks up at you through wispy white lashes. “See you around, beautiful.”

Snatching your hand away with a flustered squeak, you force yourself to turn around and make a beeline for the first set of doors you see, barrelling right into the ladies bathroom. Your heart hammers in your chest as you observe your reflection in the mirror above the sinks. Oddly, your appearance isn’t nearly as ruffled as you feel - your outfit is pristine, not a hair out of place and your makeup looks dewy and smooth. The only indication that you’re crumbling to pieces is the quickened rise and fall of your chest, as well as the expression you wear. Like a deer caught in headlights, your lips are parted in surprise and there’s a look in your eyes that fills you with acrid guilt.

Yearning.

–

In the weeks that follow, Gojo is surprised to find that you don’t return to the bar. He doesn’t see your pretty face at your usual table, nor does he see any of your friends or even your boyfriend. It’s unusual, but he supposes it’s his own fault for pushing your buttons and apparently, pushing them too far. He returns daily, hoping to bump into you again, wondering if you’ve been going on different days than usual but even after asking the bartender, there’s been no sign of you.

Now, despite his bold and shameless methods, he is no stalker - just a man that can’t help  soaking up your beauty, like a sun-starved plant. He has no number, no address, not even a name since you wouldn’t give it. All he has is the desperate hope that you’ll miraculously dial his number in an hour of need - if you didn’t throw it away, that is.

“It’s your own fault,” Shoko says one night when she randomly appears on the doorstep of his and Geto’s apartment for an impromptu get together. She taps her cigarette against the rim of an ashtray and takes another bored drag, cradling her cheek in her hand as Gojo runs agitated fingers through his hair. She’s on her third cigarette of the night - a common occurrence whenever he gets like this.

“She’s right,” Geto sighs, tipping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“It’s a wonder she hasn’t gotten a restraining order against you.”

“It was painful to witness.”

“It always is.”

“We should put him in a zoo so that other people can watch.” Shoko snorts and bumps Geto’s fist as he snickers at his own joke.

“What if there’s something wrong?”

“Dude, she has a boyfriend,” she groans, putting out her cigarette. “And a life, unlike you. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Exactly,” Geto chimes in. “And why are you so bothered? You don’t know the first thing about her.”

Gojo sighs and plops down between them, slumping low in his seat. “I know that I like her.”

“She could be insane for all you know,” says Shoko.

“Nah, I think Satoru wins that contest.”

“You guys are so mean!” he complains, folding his arms across his chest with a huff. “Ugh, you just don’t get it-”

“-she’s different,” they both chorus, rolling their eyes.

“She is!” he insists. “She’s not like everyone else.”

“That’s what you said about the last one.”

“And the one before.”

“And the one before that-”

And the one before-”

“Okay, I get it!” he groans. “But she is. For real this time.”

“How do you know?” Geto asks, raising a thin eyebrow in question.

“I just know, okay? It feels… right.”

His friends share glances with each other and grimace. “Satoru.” The man in question looks at his best friend who mirrors the way he sits. “Maybe you should let this go,” he says gently.

“But-”

“He’s right,” Shoko says, her own tone softening too. “This isn’t good for you. You don’t even know her name, forget anything else.”

“We don’t want to see you get your heart broken again when it inevitably goes wrong.”

“You don’t know that,” Gojo says quietly and his friends both fight the urge to throttle him. As obnoxious and cheeky as he is, Gojo has always had a big, soft heart. He hides it from the world with cocky quips and his easy going nature, but they both know better. They know that once he sets his sights on someone, he’s unshakeable in pursuing them and as a result he can be quite full-on. When the recipient of his affections reacts badly, Geto and Shoko are left to pick up his broken little pieces and glue him back together with sugar and ice cream every single time - and that’s no easy task. 

Just as Geto opens his mouth to gently berate him, Gojo’s phone starts to ring. He sits up, quick as a whip, digging around the sofa cushions for the device, his heart pounding with hope as he fishes it out and glances quickly at the screen. An unknown number.

“Be right back!” he says, sliding his thumb across the screen as he rushes to his room and slams the door behind him. He’s breathless as he presses his phone to his ear.

“Hello?” There’s a shaky sigh on the other end, followed by a sniffle.

“Um. It’s m-me. You g-gave me your number.” 

It’s you. It’s really you! 

“Aw, miss me that much, huh?” You sniffle again and this time, he hears a quiet sob. 

“Oh, forget it, I don’t know w-why I bothered calling you!”

“Hey, hey, wait! Don’t hang up! I’m sorry, I was just teasing, princess. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You were right!” you laugh bitterly. “H-he was cheating on me for months and- god, I should’ve known! I should’ve listened to what e-everyone said and- ugh, I’m so stupid!”

Gojo feels his heart splinter a little at the pain in your voice. Now is not the time to win you over - you need to be comforted. Even if it’s not his strong suit. “Stop that. You’re not stupid, baby, he is,” he coos gently. “He doesn’t know that he’s lost the most perfect girl he could ever have.”

“C-can you pick me up? My friends are all out of town and I’ve got nowhere else to go and-”

“Text me your address. I’ll be right there,” he says without hesitation.

“Okay.”

One text message and a quick, slightly reckless drive later, Gojo rolls up outside your apartment to find you sitting forlornly on the curb, a few bags beside you. He honks his horn and you lift your head to see a white Mercedes parked a couple of metres away from you. Out pops your knight in round sunglasses and you quickly wipe your face and stand, feeling more than a little awkward. 

“Hey,” he greets you easily, lifting your bags into his arms without effort.

“H-hi. You don’t have to do that I can-”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got it. You just get in the car.”

Hesitant, you nod and slip into the passenger side of his car, immediately welcomed by heated leather seats and the distinctive scent of vanilla. As you fasten your seatbelt, his door opens and he takes his place behind the wheel, his seat pushed all the way back to accommodate his long legs. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, turning to you with a warm smile. You nod, stomach feeling strange being so close to him in such an enclosed space. Thankfully, he stays quiet for the rest of the drive, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other drumming gently against the centre console. After around twenty minutes and a ride up an elevator to the top floor, you arrive at his apartment, which is a lot nicer than the one you shared with your boyfriend - your ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself.

“Wow,” you murmur under your breath as you take in your surroundings. He seems completely unfazed by your reaction as he saunters inside, leaving you no choice but to tentatively follow. As you round the corner into the living space, you hear bickering that quickly stops the moment you come into view. Gojo is pouting, which is an oddly cute expression for him to be wearing and the source of his ire seems to be the two other people occupying his sofas. One of them you recognise - his long-haired friend that always accompanies him at the bar. The other is a pretty, bored looking brunette with a cigarette dangling from her lips - that explains the smoky smell.

“Sorry about these two,” he says over his shoulder. “They’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Speak for yourself, dickhead,” the woman says around her cigarette and you snort, hiding your laughter behind your hand. She smiles and raises her hand in a short wave. “I’m Shoko, by the way.”

“Hi,” you reply shyly, giving her your own name too. You feel a little less out of place with another woman around.

“And I’m Geto,” the other man chimes in smoothly, holding out his hand for you to shake. His fingers are long and cool as they wrap around your hand, and you have to fight the shiver that runs down your spine when you meet his dark, bottomless eyes.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Don’t look so terrified,” he chuckles, patting the seat beside him. “Here, why don’t you sit with us while Satoru sorts out dinner.”

“Why do I have to-”

“The way a gracious host should.” Geto’s smile is tight as he glares at his friend pointedly who pouts again and trudges out of the room, mumbling something about it being ‘not fair’ and that ‘they’re in the way’. Geto and Shoko chat with you while he’s gone, and you’re relieved that they don’t ask any invasive questions. As odd as this whole situation is, you like them both and decide that they’re the sort of people you could be good friends with - Gojo is lucky to have them.

“Guys! Food!” 

Speak of the devil. You follow Geto and Shoko into the spacious dining room to find Gojo unpacking bags of takeout and setting down plates in four spaces. He smiles when he sees you and it’s a little disorienting to see him devoid of any flirtatiousness for once. It’s nice. “Hope you’re hungry, baby.”

Never mind.

“Ew, Satoru, stop being creepy.” Shoko fake-gags and pats your shoulder apologetically. “I’m so sorry that you’ve been having to put up with that.”

“I heard that!”

“I know,” she smirks and you giggle.

“I’ve had worse,” you say, glancing in his direction as you sit beside Shoko. “He’s harmless.”

Sharing dinner with three strangers is the last thing you expected to be doing today. You also didn’t expect to walk in on Toji cheating on you in the very same bed you both slept in, nor did you expect to find a saviour in your stalker admirer, but here you are, sitting across from him in his home and trying to ignore the weight of his gaze every time he looks at you.

The three of them help you forget all about why you’re here for a while. They’re funny in a way that makes you laugh from the bottom of your belly. Conversation ebbs and flows with the ease of a friendship that has withstood the test of time, and they include you in a way that doesn’t feel forced. It’s clear that they’re each other's family. It’s sweet.

When you’re done, you help them clear away despite their protests. Shoko bids you all goodnight not long after that and leaves for her night shift at the hospital, much to your dismay. She gives you her number as she slides her handbag onto her shoulder. “Just in case,” she tells you with a wink and you watch her go forlornly. 

Now it’s just you, Geto… and Gojo.

“Well, I’m gonna go shower and head to bed,” Geto announces mere moments after you flop down onto one of the sofas in their living room.

“Isn’t it a little early?” you blurt out and Gojo laughs.

“Nah, it’s actually kinda late for him. His hair routine takes forever.”

“I have to look after it,” Geto says defensively, glaring at his best friend. “You don’t get hair like this with 2-in-1 shampoo.”

“Who the hell uses 2-in-1?” you wonder aloud.

“It works for me,” Gojo shrugs.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re the first to go bald, Satoru.”

“I will not!”

“Whatever. Night, guys.” And with that, he flips him off as he disappears into his room. Leaving just you… and Gojo. How do you end up in these situations?

Awkwardly, you twiddle your thumbs, keeping your eyes trained resolutely on your lap. The quiet is nauseating, and you can feel exactly where Gojo sits a few feet away from you, no doubt staring you down the way he does at the bar. Why did you think this would be a good idea again?

“Y’know, I’m craving something sweet right now.”

What? Is he being serious right now? There’s no way you’d ever let him-

“You wanna go get some dessert?”

Oh.

“Dessert?” you echo, looking up at him. 

“Yeah. There’s a place not too far from here that does the best crepes,” he says and then he gives you a crooked smile that does something embarrassing to your insides. “I’m buying.”

You find yourself agreeing and before long, the two of you are walking leisurely down the street, a cool breeze winding through your hair as you walk. Like before, he’s quiet, content to walk beside you with a soft smile on his face. It makes you uneasy, for some reason. Where’s the awful flirting? The incessant chatter? It’s like he can read your thoughts, for the moment those questions swirl through your mind, he interrupts them.

“We’re here.” 

You jump, surprised to hear his voice shatter the quiet. God, he’s making you lose your mind - and not in a good way. He pushes the door open and the little bell above the frame rings softly as he grins at you. “Ladies first.”

Rolling your eyes, you step inside, the scent of chocolate and warm sugar wrapping around you. It looks like most dessert shops do - pastels on every surface you can think of, a pink neon sign behind the glass counter that's filled with all manner of ice creams and cakes and sweet treats that make your teeth hurt just by looking at them. 

It takes a while for you to decide, your head spinning from all the possibilities on the menu he hands you, but eventually, you give up and ask him to pick something for you. The smirk on his face when you make your request makes you a little apprehensive but you brush it off as you slink away to find a booth.

“I hope you didn’t get something disgusting,” you sigh as he slides into the seat opposite to you.

“That word has no place here, baby. Trust me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You seem to judge a lot of things before you know what they’re like,” he hums, resting his chin in his palm. “Including me.”

“I do not,” you say defensively. “I’m just… wary.”

“Wary?”

“Wary.”

“Because of… your ex?” he guesses.

“Amongst other things, yes.”

“Sounds rough,” he hums thoughtfully. “That’s why you were always so snappy.”

“No, that was because you stared me down every night.”

“I didn’t stare you down, I was appreciating the view!”

“You could’ve at least tried to be subtle!” Gojo purses his lips to hide his smile, but his twinkling eyes give away his amusement.

“I’m sorry,” he says and there’s laughter in his voice. “I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

“Are you always weird about liking people?” The question sounds like an insult but you’re genuinely curious about the answer. He chuckles and a soft blush rises in his cheeks, the barest hint of pink colouring his skin.

“I’ve been known to get a little… lovesick in the past.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not healthy.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not obsessive.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“I’m a naturally flirtatious guy! Although Suguru says I’m tactless.” He grimaces as if the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“He’s right,” you snort.

“He is not!” he huffs just as your desserts arrive and he visibly brightens. Quick as a whip, he swipes up his phone and pulls up his camera to snap a few pictures of his prettily presented crepe, decorated with drizzles of melted chocolate, ripe strawberries and generous dollops of fluffy whipped cream. 

“The fact that you don’t see it, says a lot.”

“It does not!” he says, setting his phone aside before digging in. He hums happily, blue eyes fluttering shut in bliss as the flavours invade his tongue, bobbing side to side in a little dance. “Mm, that hits the spot.”

And it’s fucking ridiculous that this thought even crosses your mind but you can’t help it - he just looks so cute like this. Not irritating, not obnoxious, just a guy with a genuine grin on his face as he eats, like this is what makes him happy - and happiness looks rather beautiful on Gojo. (And you’d never admit it aloud, but he has excellent taste in desserts too.)

As you steadily make your way through your crepes, you find yourself softening towards the man opposite you. This thing between you, whatever it is, started with vehement rejection which has started to bloom into tentative friendship. Can you call it friendship? You’re still unsure as to whether he has any ulterior motives. But honestly, even if he does, you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore - he really is harmless.

“Are you gonna finish that?” he asks, his own plate polished clean as he peers at yours, eyeing how you halfheartedly prod at what’s left - there’s only so much sugar you can take. Gojo, on the other hand, seems like he’s still not satisfied. With a snort and a smirk, you push it towards him.

“No, you can have the rest if you want.”

“Wow, are you being nice to me?” He wiggles his eyebrows as he accepts your offering.

“Maybe,” you hum.

“And all it took was that dickhead cheating on you,” he hums, using your utensils to scoop up another bite without realising how your expression falters a little.

“Yeah. Guess I must be desperate.”

Gojo pauses, those wide, blue eyes blinking at you as you chew the inside of your cheek, staring resolutely at the table. His voice is low and soft. “Hey. Look at me.” Reluctantly, you raise your head, tears shining in your eyes. Gojo rests his hand between you, palm up like an offering. You look from his eyes to his hand and back again, sniffling pathetically. “Don’t cry, princess.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Your words wobble and shake the way that your lip does as you fight back the wave of sobs you’ve been keeping down all evening. 

“C’mere.” Another offering, as gentle as his gaze. This time, you don’t hesitate. The need for comfort overshadows every other impulse in you and you find yourself taking his hand, letting him squeeze it reassuringly as he caresses your knuckles. 

But it’s not enough.

Sliding out of your seat, you stumble over to his side and he raises your joined hands a little to steady you, letting you collapse beside him of your own accord. All of it happens so naturally. You reach out for him and he mirrors you, curling his arms around your shoulders just as yours wrap around his middle. Your head finds its home against his chest and his heart beats rhythmically against your cheek, a soothing melody that helps steady your erratic hiccupping. Gojo shushes you gently, whispering to you so sweetly as he strokes your hair.

“How can you be upset over him when you’ve got a handsome guy like me taking care of you, hm?” he teases lightly. “Why don’t I put it into perspective for you. You left behind a big, ugly, cheating brute and now you’ve got a suave, handsome and charming prince to comfort you. Sounds like a win to me.”

“You’re no prince,” you mumble but you smile a little, hiding it in the fabric of his shirt.

“Well, technically I’m not, but I could be. I have the looks and the money and power.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have the personality,” you sniffle.

“That’s not true! I do too have the personality!” A snort of laughter slips out of you and he gently pushes you back, a smug grin on his face as he clumsily wipes at your cheeks. “Besides. I came rushing to your aid, didn’t I? Very chivalrous and princely of me, wouldn’t you say?”

You shake your head, a sad smile ghosting your lips. “If you’re a prince, then where is your princess?”

He hums thoughtfully, tucking your hair back with tender fingers. “I’m still looking for her,” he murmurs. “Though she may be closer than I think.”

“But how will you know that she’s meant for you? What if she’s not your happily ever after and you’re just chasing a dream?”

“That’s just a chance I’ll have to take,” he says honestly.

Sighing heavily, you suck in a shaky breath. “Isn’t that scary? What if she breaks your heart?”

“Then she breaks it,” he shrugs and then he smiles knowingly. “But I’ll still get to love her. What she does with that love is up to her.”

His words strike a chord in you. Is this what the world looks like through his eyes? Eyes that are more vivid than any sky, shimmering far more splendidly than any ocean ever could, two beautiful windows that lead the way to a heart brimming with love that has nowhere to go. Over and over, Gojo continues to surprise you. Perhaps you’d gotten off on the wrong foot. Resolutely, you stand on the right one, shimmying out of the booth and wiping at your cheeks.

“Let’s go home.”

By the time you arrive back at his apartment, it’s deathly silent, only for it to be broken by the sound of your laughter. The moment you step foot inside, you’re both trying to stifle your giggles, courtesy of the bag of sweets Gojo bought from a convenience store on your way back.

“Shhh! He’ll kill me if we ruin his sleep!” he whisper-shouts and you snort, shoving him in the shoulder as you slip your shoes off.

“I’d pay to see that.” You grin mischievously, cupping a hand around your mouth and opening it wide as though preparing to shout. “Hey, Ge-”

Quick as a flash, his hand covers your mouth, long fingers curling over your cheek as he muffles whatever you’re trying to say. Your brows knit together in a glare and he reluctantly releases you, holding a finger over his lips.

“Come on,” he says, voice low. “I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”

You follow him through the apartment, stopping at an open door that leads into what looks suspiciously like the master bedroom. It’s all clean lines and sharp edges with a huge window on the far side overlooking the city, a very modern and distinctly masculine space. It takes a moment of surveying it through narrowed eyes, taking note of framed photographs and little knick knacks before you voice your suspicions.

“This isn’t the guest room, is it?”

“Nope, it’s mine,” he grins and your face screws up in a scowl. “Cool, right?”

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you.”

“It’s really comfy,” he sings, as though that’ll persuade you.

“Dream on.”

“It was worth a shot,” he sighs, shutting the door and leading you to the one next to it instead. This room is furnished in neutral tones, tidy and devoid of all the personal touches that stood out in Gojo’s room, far nicer than any room you had in the apartment you shared with your ex. You notice the bags you brought with you tucked into the corner by the wardrobe. “The guest room, just for you.” 

He lingers for a while as you dig through your bags and pull out pyjamas and toiletries, leaning against the door frame with one leg tucked behind the other, just so that he can fit under it, tufts of cotton brushing the top. He looks far too good standing there and it takes a lot of shooing and glaring to get him to leave so that you can use the en suite bathroom to shower before you sleep. Once you’re showered and dry, you heave a sigh as you plunge the room into darkness and finally slide under unfamiliar bedsheets, yawning widely. 

Today has drained you. Exhaustion weighs you down like lead but sleep won’t find you. The bed is all wrong. Loathe as you are to admit it, it’s far too empty. You’re so used to curling up against a warm body, resting your head on a firm chest whilst thick fingers thread through your hair. Tears fill your eyes, the loneliness suddenly pushing down on your chest and knocking the breath out of you. 

Because you can’t stay here forever. A day or two to gather your wits, maybe, but more than that would be an imposition. As kind as your host has been tonight, you just can’t rely on a stranger like that. But he’s not a stranger, is he? Something in you whispers. You suppose not. You are sort of… friends. You know things about him like how he has ‘sweet teeth not tooth’ because his sugar addiction is that bad, or how he’s actually smarter than he seems with a masters degree in physics, or how he considers his friends to be his family and so on. Those are things you know about your friends, right? And he took you in. Gave you food and a place to stay. He didn’t even complain. Maybe he’s-

Knock knock. 

“Psst! Hey!” The door creeps open and you squint in the darkness, the glow of the moon illuminating the room ever so slightly, enough for you to make out his outline topped with starlight through the crack.

“What?” you whisper, loud enough for him to hear.

“Can I come in?”

“No! Go to sleep!”

“I can’t!” he whines, stepping inside anyway and shutting the door behind him. He makes a show of tip-toeing to your bed and sitting on the empty half, the bed sinking under his weight. With a groan, you flick on the lamp beside you, squinting against the sudden brightness. He’s dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants, hanging low on his narrow hips, lean torso bare for your eyes to marvel at, not that you do. Heat floods your cheeks as you look resolutely at his lap, which is no really no better so you squeeze your eyes shut instead. 

“Why are you fucking naked?!” you whisper-yell.

“I’m not! These are my pyjamas!”

“Then where is your shirt?”

“Why would I wear a shirt to bed?” 

You groan and look at him, his face this time. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Because I wanted to check in on you and see if you’re comfortable but I didn’t know if you’d be okay with that so I spent the last hour debating with myself and-”

“-and you came here anyway.”

“Yep.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that I can’t sleep either.”

“Why not?” he asks, propping the spare pillow against the headboard and lounging back against it.

“Because,” you sigh. “I’m not used to sleeping alone.”

“I did offer,” he reminds you and you click your teeth in irritation. “Aw, do you need a cuddle?” he coos teasingly, pinching the fat of your cheek. Lightly, you smack at his hand and look away, your cheeks burning. His voice melts into something softer when you don’t immediately snap back. “You do, don’t you?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you mumble.”

“I can fix that for you.” There’s no trace of teasing in his voice for once and you turn to him shyly.

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“So don’t. I’ll ask you and save you all that dreaded embarrassment.”

“Isn’t it weird?” He shakes his head, clears his throat and leans forward.

“Don’t laugh at me, okay?” he starts, so dramatically serious that you have to press your lips together to stifle your giggles. “But I can’t sleep, princess. I’m just so cold and lonely-”

“-don’t mock me!”

“-pretty please, won’t you cuddle this poor, lonely man?”

Rolling your eyes as he holds out his arms to you, you accept his offer. “I guess I could make an exception. Just this once though, okay?”

“Just once,” he agrees, getting under the sheets with you and collecting you close to his chest. You fit there so neatly, like the last piece of a puzzle, just as you had before. He smells fresh and masculine, his skin warm against your cheek where you rest it, so much so that you have to restrain yourself from nuzzling into him like a pleased cat. Long fingers brush your hair back and you sigh, peeking up at him as he speaks, low and soft. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Instinctively, Gojo dips his head down and brushes his lips over your forehead, your breath catching in surprise as he does so. It’s just a simple peck, more fleeting than the blink of an eye, but more longing blooms in your heart, like red camellias. Your grip on him tightens and before your brain can stop your tongue, the petals tumble out of your lips.

“Do that again.”

Not one to argue with such a request, he kisses you again, his lips lingering this time, your eyes fluttering shut at the softness of his mouth on your skin. A shaky breath escapes you as you shuffle up the bed until you’re lying face to face, so close you can feel every single puff of his minty breath. You place a hand on his cheek, running your fingers over smooth, porcelain skin, skimming over his jaw and cheekbones.

“Whatcha doin’?” he whispers playfully, twisting his head to nip at your fingers.

“I don’t know,” you respond honestly, your thumb now tracing over the swell of his lower lip. “I just think this is nice.”

He hums, drawing you closer against him so that your chests press together. “What else are you thinking?”

Lip caught between gnawing teeth, you take a moment to spit out your answer, more red petals fluttering free. “Your lips are soft.”

“It’s the lip balm.”

“What flavour?”

“Wanna find out?”

A huff laughter escapes your nose and kisses his cheek. He’s so close now that you think you can feel his long, snowy lashes fluttering against your under eye. “Subtle.”

“I know.”

“... Just this once, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

If you try to explain the tangled mess that is your heart at this moment, every language in the world will fail you. But one thing is clear amidst the muddy confusion of broken, jagged pieces and those that are softly knitting together - you want Gojo. Right now, you want him. His hands, his lips, his warmth, you ache for it. Whether that feeling persists later on remains to be seen, but right now his lips are on yours and you’ve never tasted anything quite so sweet.

Every kiss is slow, deliberate and heart-breakingly tender. The way he holds you, like you’re the other half of his soul, like he’s known you since the first atom’s inception, it makes your chest feel tight. His lips are pillowy, silky, giving rather than taking. You never expected a man like Gojo to kiss you this way, so reverent and loving. It’s so different to- no. You won’t compare the two. 

Just as he starts to pull away, when the need for air becomes too much to bear, you sink your fingers into his fluffy hair and pull him back for more. There’s an addictive quality to his mouth and you want to taste more of him, so you prod and poke with your tongue until you feel him smirk and part his lips for you to explore. A whimper vibrates in the back of your throat as his tongue meets yours, twirling and curling and filling you with unprecedented need. Your lips are slick with spit and you feel drunk on the taste of him, too caught up in the way he sucks on your tongue to think about any repercussions.

“Baby,” he rasps in between kisses, his hands digging into your waist to stop them from wandering. “Wait-”

“No,” you whine, shutting him up with another searing kiss, making him groan deliriously.

“Wait.” This time, he firmly holds you back, ocean blue roving over kiss-swollen lips and starry eyes. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I won’t,” you insist, trying to pull him back in.

“Hey.” He cups your cheeks to still you. “I’m fine with you using me as a rebound. But I need you to be sure.”

“‘M not using you,” you mumble, though you’re not sure how much truth there is to that statement. You look at him with wide, glassy eyes. “I jus- I wanna forget all of it. Make me forget, please.”

He coos sweetly, brushing your hair back before he rolls you over, pressing you down into the mattress with the weight of his body. “Alright, princess. I’ll make you forget.” Swooping down, he kisses you again, more sensually than before and you immediately coil yourself around him, drinking down every drop of desire he pours into your mouth. “I’ll fill that pretty head with thoughts of me instead, yeah?”

“Please.”

Warm lips press delicately to the corner of your mouth before beginning their descent down, dragging wet over your jaw and throat where your pulse flutters, sucking sweetly at your flesh, just enough to bruise and break you beneath. Exposed skin is coloured in a love unknown, a love still too young to be called that, but a love all the same. And when fabric gets in the way, he pauses to take it off before continuing his journey in acquainting himself with your body.

Gojo catalogues all of it away in his mind, whether for memories sake or for future reference is yet to be seen, but he tucks it away for safekeeping. If he grazes his teeth here, you shiver, if he bites gently at your flesh there, you gasp and when he takes a nipple into his mouth, you whimper so prettily he swears he could cum on the spot. He finds great delight in sucking on the two stiff peaks, swirling his tongue over them and nibbling lighty, getting them wet with his saliva so that when he pulls back, they glisten and gleam.

“You look glorious like this,” he murmurs, leaning back to admire his handiwork thus far. He slides his palms over your spit-soaked tits, smoothing them over your tummy to grip at your hips. Pulling you towards him a little, he grinds your clothed core against the heavy bulge in his sweats, a shiver racing down his spine at the muted heat that seeps through. Dipping down again, he pitter-patters soft little kisses all over the delicate flesh of your belly whilst his hands slip under the waistband of your pyjama bottoms to work them off your legs along with your underwear. Your legs are pulled apart with ease and he whistles lowly, appreciative of the sticky mess that has accumulated between your legs.

“Look at you,” he marvels, reaching out to drag his forefinger and middle finger through your slit, hissing at the more intense heat of your pussy. He keeps swirling them around, avoiding your clit and spreading your arousal until his fingers are slick. He shoots a sly grin at you.  “Fuck, you’re dripping from just a few kisses?”

Hands fly to your face to shield it from his view, heat burning under your skin like a thousand suns. You find it hard to look into his eyes - he’s gazing at you like you’re something he should prostrate to and you feel unworthy of such devotion. 

“T-take yours off too,” you mumble, hooking a finger into his sweatpants and tugging at the elastic, keeping your gaze firmly on his chest whilst desperately trying to ignore his smirk.

“You wanna see me that bad?” he teases, wrapping his clean hand around your wrist and raising your greedy finger to his lips for a little kiss.

“I just think you’re wearing too many clothes. It’s not fair,” you half-lie. The size of his bulge has your curiosity piqued.

“I agree. But first, let me-” All of a sudden, he plunges one slender finger into you, down to the last knuckle before he slowly draws it out. He pushes is it back in with an excited hum, slowly fucking you with it, his lower lip caught between pearly teeth. “-ah fuck, I knew it. You just suck me right in, princess.”

A second finger joins the first, thrusting deep and steady as he watches you raptly, enamoured by how your breathing quickens and your features twist. He shoves his pants down his narrow hips with the other hand, chuckling under his breath at the whimper that slips out of you when his cock springs free, already stiff with need. It’s pretty, you can’t deny, with its flushed tip and prominent veins and the perfect upward curve. He pauses to toss his pants aside and shuffles closer to you again, settling right between your legs so he can continue to finger you. Not only is it pretty, it’s long. “You’re staring.”

“Now you know h-how it feels- ah!” You moan as his fingertips easily brush over the knot of nerves inside you and he laughs.

“I like it. Stay quiet for me, yeah? We don’t wanna wake Suguru,” he hums, pulling his fingers free and lifting them up so that you can see the slick that webs between them when he scissors them apart. Without hesitation, he pops them into his mouth and sucks, eyes rolling to the back of his head, a noisy, satisfied moan rumbling in his chest. “God, you taste so good.” 

He can’t help himself. Gojo shifts to lie on his front, tossing your legs over his shoulders before burying his face in your cunt as though he’s been doing it for years. And the way his tongue moves makes you question if he has been. He eats you like he’s been starving for weeks on end or like you’re the first sip of cool, clear water after being lost in the desert. Long, broad strokes of his tongue to taste you fully, and then he swirls the tip over your pert clit and chuckles gleefully when you whine and grip at white locks of hair. 

“More!” you whine, already half dizzy from the agonising ache that painstakingly builds in your abdomen from his greedy mouth. It’s like he’s doing this just to keep the taste of you heavy on his tongue rather than to make you feel good. But it does feel good and you can’t keep yourself from desperately crying out. “Please, Gojo!”

That makes him stop altogether. “What? Gojo?” he repeats, brow furrowing, a little frown downturning the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head, chin glistening with your slick as he looks up at you and clicks his teeth in disapproval. “No, no, no, baby. It’s Satoru.”

“But-”

“No. Sa-to-ru. Say it.” Each syllable is enunciated with a rough suck to your nub and you look away as you mumble his name, unfamiliar on your tongue but not unwelcome.

“S-satoru- please-”

“That’s better, good girl- fuck.” He pins your thighs back and spits loudly on your pussy, watching how it drips sluggishly down your flesh for a moment. “Good, good girl with a good, good pussy.”

He dives back in, licking up the mess he’s caused, his fingers pressing into your thighs to pull you closer, as if that's even possible with how deep he buries his tongue inside you, curling it in such a way that your back arches and your lungs stutter on every exhale. And just as it becomes too much to bear, just as you think you might tip over the edge, he pulls back, breathing heavily. 

“Fuck, that’s addictive,” he says, almost surprised as you whimper from the loss of his mouth. There’s a cute little pout on your lips and your eyes are glassy, chest heaving, your hands reaching out for him as though you can’t stand being apart. Gojo is effortlessly scrambling your every last coherent thought exactly the way you wanted him to.

Bringing himself up to kneel, he keeps you firmly folded in half, laying his cock in the cleft of your pussy, admiring it amongst the sticky mess. Slowly, he rocks his hips, watching entranced as the viscous mix of fluids clings to him. “Stop teasing,” you say with a gasp, bucking your hips up when the tip stumbles over your entrance.

“Shh, just listen,” he whispers, still keeping that achingly slow pace with each pass over your pearl. There’s an embarrassing shlick shlick noise that he seems to delight in and he presses into you a little harder, adding more pressure against your core. “It’s so fucking wet and messy.”

“Mm- F-fuck me already, will you?”

“I will baby, I will,” he says soothingly, turning his head to kiss your calf, breath hot on your skin. “You need me so bad, don’t you? You need my cock deep inside you, huh princess?”

“Need it,” you mewl, nodding hurriedly. “Need it right now.”

Gojo hums, tapping his heavy tip against the little bundle of nerves and making you squeak at the sharp jolt of electricity that sings through your veins. “Yeah, you need me to fuck you good, right?”

“I… I need you, Satoru. Need your cock.”

“Yeah?” he grunts, teasing at your hole. “Ohh, you’re twitching so much! Desperate to suck me right into that tight little pussy, hm?” The fat tip pops into you slowly and your breath catches at the sudden stretch before he pops it back out again, shallowly fucking you with the engorged head. His cheeks are rosy and bright, eyes wild as he watches the way your cunt swallows him and drenches him in arousal, the way he secretly wished it would the moment he laid eyes on you. “J-just a warnin’ tho, baby.”

“Hm?”

“Once I start,” he groans, slowly pushing all the way in and knocking whatever breath is left out of your lungs. “I might not be able to stop- fuck you’re tight.”

Your legs drape around his waist and your arms follow suit around his shoulders, clinging onto him for dear life when he starts to fuck you because he’s just so fucking deep. It’s almost like you can feel him in your stomach when he bumps up against your cervix with every thrust in. Closer, closer, you pull him down into you until your taut nipples graze his chest and your lips can reach his. 

“‘S so deep,” you pant between kisses. “T-too deep.”

“You can take it, baby,” he whispers, rolling his hips and forcing his cock further somehow, eliciting a choked gasp from you. His hand finds the lower part of your abdomen and he applies just a little bit of pressure. You squeal, loudly and he immediately swallows your cries with his lips, muffling your growing volume. “Shh, gotta stay quiet, remember?”

Whimpering, you nod, biting your lip to keep the noises buried in your chest but it’s so damn difficult when he’s fucking you the way he his. Long, measured strokes of his cock that don’t give you any chance to breathe, holding you so close you can’t tell where he begins and you end. Your brain feels completely fuzzy, filled with nothing but cottony clouds of candy and the man deep in your guts. All you can think is Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, nothing but tiny skies and spun white sugar intoxicating every one of your senses.

“You’re mine now,” he moans, pressing his forehead to yours as his hips buck into you more desperately, unable to hold back the intensity of his own desire any longer. “Mine. Not his, mine. The way you should be- shit!”

“‘M yours,” you slur, too fucked out to realise what you’re saying. “Yours, Satoru, yours.”

“My baby.” His voice is thin with the beginnings of a whine as he chases his peak. “Gonna make you forget his stupid fuckin’ name.”

Gojo kisses you again, clumsily this time, all tongue and shameless little moans - he seems to have forgotten all about keeping quiet himself. Long fingers quickly find your swollen clit and your back arches as he strokes over it, again and again, his hips hammering sloppily into you until your legs lock around his waist and you cum hard with a noisy wail, a feeling of satisfaction washing over you as you shatter to pieces in the safety of his arms. Quickly, he pulls out of you right before he cums, roughly pumping himself through his orgasm as he spills every last drop of cum over your navel, hot and thick, lip caught between his teeth, his eyebrows knit together as he lets out a string of whiny curses under his breath.

“Kiss,” you mumble, pawing at his heaving chest as his cock twitches and the ecstasy begins to subside. Chuckling, he brushes his hair out of his eyes and captures your lips in a soft kiss, one that makes you feel whole and held. When he reluctantly pulls away, he smiles, nuzzling against your nose and cheek and leaving feathery kisses there too. A happy noise vibrates in your chest, like a purr, as you chase his every touch. Utter bliss blankets you, making you feel warm and gooey and you distantly think that you never want to leave this bed. 

“Be right back,” he whispers, dropping a final kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from you and padding into the bathroom. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, the sound of running water acting as white noise as you let the weariness in your body finally catch up to you. Your quiet moment is interrupted by something warm and wet dragging lightly over your stomach, your eyes peeling open to find your lover(?) diligently wiping his spend from your skin. He looks up at you and winks. “Hope you’re not falling asleep on me just yet.”

“Hmm? Why?”

“Because,” he says, tossing the damp towel aside and crawling back into bed beside you, pulling the duvet over the both of you. He curls his body around yours, tucking your head under his chin and holding you tight against his chest. “I still wanna cuddle.”

“You can.”

“But it’s not as enjoyable if you’re not actively reciprocating,” he pouts.

“I will, just in my sleep,” you yawn, snuggling up to him.

“It’s not the same!” he insists and then his voice drops to a soft whisper, lips brushing over your hair and you might be going insane but it feels like you’ve been here before with him. “I’ve dreamt of this for so long.”

“That’s creepy,” you murmur tiredly.

“It’s romantic,” he argues. “I’ve always wanted to cuddle someone.”

“Don’t you cuddle with your friends?”

“Suguru punched me once when I asked and Shoko burnt me with her cigarette butt.”

You giggle quietly. “What about your other conquests?”

“What conquests?” he sighs dejectedly. “People just wanna fuck and leave. I know I’m a pretty face but it doesn’t feel good after a while.”

“Humble.”

He sighs again and holds you tighter, like he’s worried you’ll disappear too. “It’s different with you. You didn’t look at me and want to seduce me like a lot of people do.”

“So, you like me because I rejected you?”

“Kinda? I mean, it was hot when you cussed me out.”

“You’re weird.”

“But it’s more than that,” he continues, playing with a lock of your hair. You feel yourself drifting, weak to the pull of slumber. You feel so safe here, safe to just exist with him and ignore the world. “It’s like you see right through me.”

Gojo looks down when you don’t respond to find you fast asleep. You look at peace, and he’s glad you could find that in his arms . Secretly, he hopes you’ll always find refuge here, buried against his chest with your arms warm around him. He’ll freely offer it to you, always. As the lamp flickers off, his phone lights up with a message where he left it at your bedside. Gojo grimaces as he reads the notification.

It’s a text. From Suguru.

you seem younger than him, a first year and freshly arrived, your ingenuity still intact - untarnished. and perhaps its the white that engulfs you but suguru thinks you look much too clean, too pure for the swarm of violence that awaits you. something that has started to slowly but surely eat away at him too. he can’t quite pinpoint when it happened — somewhere down the line though, he had long since lost his innocence. he takes another hit, the bitter taste that lies on his tongue from today's purging spree starting to subdue — he wishes you got to keep yours.

it's only then that you notice him, standing inconspicuously by the boy’s dorm entrance but you can’t quite make out his face in the dark, the canopy under which he stands blocking the light. your hands reach with urgency for the hem of your skirt to tug down on the fabric that had ridden a little too high on your thighs and suddenly you’re wary of the fact that the material was clinging to your sweaty skin leaving very little to the imagination - however suguru had already looked away at the first hint of your discomfort, blowing a cloud of smoke skyward and maintaining his gaze towards the moon, wishing not to compromise your modesty.

you tuck your knees under your chin, shrinking in on yourself, an attempt to look smaller, invisible if possible. you felt so exposed, ready to be preyed on, but it was so late and you were so tired, you hadn't expected anyone else to be awake. at that moment, the moon shines on his face, illuminating his features and it’s like your body reacts on its own. your shoulders, no longer tense, fall relaxed by your sides and your hands turn soft, loosening the grip you had on the hem of your skirt. it’s him.

it’s just him. 

you had seen him many times before. you’re suddenly envious of the moon for luring him in with her beauty and holding him captive. you didn't mind him looking at you, you want to be object of his admiration, even if just for once. you want him to look back at you. you only. and then it comes unexpectedly, that feeling of revulsion. you become painfully aware that your skin is too sticky with sweat, the sole of your feet is covered in grim and you feel dirty, so dirty when faced with your desperation, your need. how could you crave such a thing - attention, from a stranger, nonetheless. how could you be so vulgar, yearning for someone’s affection and admitting to being starved. it feels like your belly growling in a room full of people - letting your hunger be known. you’re famished and everybody knows and it’s humiliating.

but it was him - you had seen him on the school’s halls before, so unapologetically gentle in the way he speaks to others, so serene in the way in which he carries himself and so so handsome. you think he’s even more handsome now standing there, sleepless and with his hair down, looking so much less intimidating than usual and within your reach. you see bits of yourself in him - on the bags carved under his eyes from countless nights without sleep, on his tousled hair from tossing and turning endlessly on his bed. when he looks this fragile it makes it so obvious, that despite being one of the strongest, he too can break. he’s not so different from you. 

and his hair… it reaches his shoulders. it’s longer than what you expected. you wonder if he’s one to hold on to his past. 

you let your eyes linger. he’s still too focused on the night sky to notice you staring anyway. he knows you are. nevertheless, he acts as if he doesn’t, as if the longer you stare at him doesn’t make it harder for him not to stare back at you, to surrender himself to you. even the moon, standing above with its infinite splendor seems to submit to you, shining its light on you as if in jubilation of your own beauty.

and although you try to be discreet, only peeking at him from behind your knees, suguru’s skin feels feverish. its too hot. and it feels even hotter under your gaze. he slips his hand under the white shirt he’s wearing to let the night breeze caress the skin of his stomach that is covered in beads of sweat that run from his chest downwards. he takes one last drag of his cigarrette and when he glances down to stub it under his slippers his eyes catch yours for the first time tonight. except, this time, you do not shy away from him, neither does he.

it is hesitant what you share, like hands brushing together, fingers that yearn to touch yet are too reluctant to entwine. suguru relishes in the innocence of it, welcomes it back into his life even if just for a brief moment. in fact, you make him realize that maybe he never really lost his innocence in the first place. its just been tucked away somewhere in a corner deep inside him. only coming out when it's safe. and its safe here with you. he feels like a boy again. one who doesn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

its hesitant yet thrilling like falling in love for the first time. 

suguru chuckles, thinking to himself that this feels nice, oddly intimate.

you were the first one to break, the sound of his laugh pulling you out of your state of reverie and making it hard to handle the tension that grows heavier the longer you stare at each other. you glance up and he follows suit, smiling, thinking that he wouldn’t have withstood the tension for much longer either. 

suguru waits and when you look back at him, he leaves with a wave. frozen in place, you let him leave without so much as mouthing him a goodbye.

it’s the morning after when he sees you for the second time, sitting outside on a bench, hiding from the scorching sun under a pine tree and chewing on a popsicle stick. you’re wearing white again, he has got his black uniform on and no longer under the moonlight’s spell he’s all too aware that you’re worlds apart. still, he is greedy enough to think that even if decay spreads like poison inside him, you taste like salvation. still, he thinks that he wants you.

then you wave at him and its so full of hope. you’re looking at him so expectantly. like you don’t mind that he is rotten and he’s been pondering taking the seat next to you for the past five minutes. you’re turning him to a madman. had he known you for longer, he could’ve been on that bench eating popsicles with you.

for now, however, he’ll sit down with you and ask you for your name. ask you if you managed to get enough rest. 

“suguru!” he looks away in the direction of the voice that calls out for him, towards satoru who was running to catch up to him. when he looks back at you, you wave him goodbye, only shyly this time with a hint of disappointment in the way you let your eyes fall to your feet and pretend to play with your fingers. satoru is talking his ear off but suguru's eyes are on you.

sometimes fate disguises itself as coincidence. maybe the chance to get you alone has passed him by.

it’s early september and the weather has cooled down a little. suguru is laughing with his friends and you think you’re fine with it. the seat next to you is vacant but he waves at you with a smile and you figure that despite the distance that seems to stretch itself between the two of you with each passing day, you’re fine with watching him from afar. you’re once again sitting on that same bench and even in shade you still feel his warmth and that's enough.

until the incident happens. the news spread fast. riko then haibara. 

spring comes yet again and as the seasons change, so does suguru. he doesn't laugh as much anymore but then, whenever he crosses paths with you, he smiles and there's a tenderness to it that seems to be reserved just for you. you think it’s so unfair. how you didn’t get to meet suguru before sorrow had set itself so deep in the marrow of his bones that it was almost irreversible. but you’re glad to know that despite everything, he remains gentle. its valiant, in a way, that he chooses to stay kind besides having all the reasons not to. and somehow, it gives you hope. 

april arrives. his hair has now grown past his shoulders and suguru is contemplating the transience of things in the emptiness of the room he finds himself sitting alone in. suguru thinks its unfair that despite all the death the world keeps spinning. regardless of all the bloodshed, the sun still shines and he hates it. he feels sick. if the world won’t remember then he will. he will mourn and he will let grief be the thing that keeps them alive. 

he notices you standing at the door and though he wouldn't blame you if you left given the gloominess that hangs in the air that surrounds him, he finds himself wishing that you’d stay, that you'd sit with him and wouldn't hesitate like he had done so many times before. he was sure of you, has been for a while now but then there were times when he thinks he is so full of filth he wonders if the space that's left for you inside him is enough. if it is okay to be a little greedy. if it’s fair to want to fit you in such a tiny spot. but then you grab yourself a drink from the vending machine and take the seat next to him as if you’re saying. dont worry, ill make room for myself in you.

it's silent for a while. silence has sort of become the predominant language between you.  

“getou, right?” he flinches at the sound of your voice. he realizes this is the first time he has ever heard it. and its so quiet, slightly unsure like suddenly you’re afraid of taking up too much space. and it makes him consider the possibility of tearing himself open just to fit more of you inside - you could never take up enough space. 

“suguru.” he corrects you, albeit gently. he wants to hear you say it. his name. “yes.”

you whisper your name in return, still cautious as not to cut through the quietude that had settled between the two of you. as if this moment right here, with him, was so fragile and precious to you that you’re cradling it to your chest, handling it so carefully as not to break it. “i know” 

he had asked satoru and regretted it just as fast oh, the first year? heard shes the only one in her class. why’d you care? in that moment satoru must´ve found the answer to his question in his friend's face because his tone changes. dont get too attached, suguru. you know few make it past their first year. 

in that moment he had realized something. he had witnessed it himself, how life can be but a dimly lit star in the night sky, its light becoming gradually unperceivable. fragile, fleeting. his time with you isn’t certain. death is a mistress that's always looming around the corner, ever present, always threatening to come out.

he knows he’s still young but he hadn’t met you soon enough. its seems like time is always running out for him. he might be young but he could’ve been younger. could’ve spent more time with you. you could’ve been ten, twelve, fourteen together. he could’ve loved you for longer.

“i hope you don’t think that i'm being nosy.” you mutter to your feet “not too nosy at least. but.” there’s a pause in which you wonder if you imagined everything in your head. that thing that binds you together. but you’ll risk sounding stupid and you will risk rejection because that little sliver of hope inside you tells you that not all has been lost. and although you try to convince yourself you’re doing this with selfless intent you just wish to relish in his warmth again.

“i couldn’t help but notice that lately, you seem to be…” choose your words carefully. 

unlike yourself  “unwell.” coward. 

despite your vague choice of words he is looking at you with wide eyes and you find yourself avoiding his gaze so you won’t back away from it. from saying what you have been wanting to say to him. 

“it’s springtime” you find yourself speaking again. maybe you’re talking too much. “the sakura trees look very pretty around this time of the year. but- you should know that already. i don’t think they’ll last much longer, maybe a week or so”

you look so meek fumbling with the loose threads on your shirt that it hurts him. here you stood, presenting your vulnerability to him and placing it in the palm of his hand yet he's just staring at you wondering what to do with it. he had been so quiet and you were starting to doubt yourself. it hits him that he has made you feel this way twice already, although unintentionally. you looked just as defenseless as the night he met you.

he nudges his knee with yours, its playful and emphasized with a smile that shows the crinkles on the corners of his eyes. he had taken what you had given him, he is clutching your gift close to his heart and begging for more. and it fills you with courage.

“i guess what im trying to say is. geto- oh!” you slap your hand over your mouth in a way that is seemingly too dramatic. in a way that is you, he guesses. amidst your outwardly timidness, you allow him a glimpse of you and he just wants more and more. he wants to tell you that you do not need to make yourself smaller to make room for him or his sorrow.

“suguru” you correct yourself. “would you like to go and see the sakura trees with me? maybe it will help you feel better. even if just for a moment” you’re smiling at him and this is the first time you’re looking him directly in the eye since you sat down next to him, there is hope gleaming in your irises and suguru never would’ve thought he could’ve been the one to incite such a beautiful sight.

“im good company and i usually don’t talk this much either so you should be alright.” you giggle showing him a little more of you. but its still not enough. it will never be enough for him.

he looks away from you with a breathy chuckle, closing his eyes as if trying to prevent the sheer adoration that he holds inside him from spilling though it inevitably overflows and manifests itself into a smile so earnest, it’d be the most genuine anyone has seen in a while.

“there has been a lot of silence going on between the two of us, don't you think?” he stares ahead at the empty wall. you had lost enough to it already. you nod from the corner of his eye. “id like to get to know you, if you let me.”

he looks back at you.  “i don't mind you talking. i'd like it if you did.”

your eyes are wide with wonder. those are the first few words he has ever spoken to you and he has rendered you speechless. they carry so much honesty, the expression on his face so sincere they’re quick to shut down any doubts or insecurities you might have had. 

you had dared to let him peak at the heart that you keep tucked under your sleeve and he wanted to cherish it. he thought he owed it to you to be equally as open, as honest.

“should we go now? he gets up with a hand on his pocket, the other extending itself towards you. "we have a lot to catch up on.”

in the perfect scenario you would’ve wanted to put a little effort into looking pretty. you would’ve put on a dress and maybe a little makeup to impress him. but would that really be the perfect scenario when, right now, he is looking at you with so much adoration that you feel like the prettiest girl he has ever laid eyes on? 

you take his hand - you think you might melt into it.

you grab popsicles on the way. strawberry for him. some over complicated combination of flavors that he had already managed to forget, for you. you had made some light hearted joke about his simplistic choice of flavour, however, as you sit under this cherry blossom he can see the grimace that grows on your face aggravate with each bite you take. he had seen it coming.

“do you want to try?” a knowing smile on his face, somewhat teasing when he offers his popsicle to you.

a few strands of hair get in the way when you lean down to lick at the top and his free hand moves to swipe them away from your face. he holds your hair in place to prevent it from escaping again and guides the popsicle to your mouth instead. feeding it to you.

“should’ve gone with strawberry.” you sound so heartbroken that he wants to giggle.

“here, have it” and he’s not teasing you. its genuine, like he’s whispering i love you, whatever’s mine is yours to take. 

he shuts down your protests by grabbing the popsicle from in between your pinched fingertips and replacing it with the strawberry one, immediately taking a bite from the popsicle that was once yours to claim it his. it’s bitter, he thinks, it stings on his tongue. but he won’t tell you that. 

you’re picking up the petals that have fallen on the ground next to you and placing them on your lap when out of the corner of his eye, suguru notices a drop of juice that got caught on the corner of your lips and has started to run down your chin. he moves the back of his finger to collect it and then wraps his lips around his digit.

you’re left to stare because you’re dizzy. he makes you so dizzy. you don’t know what to do with yourself. to do with him. you glance towards anything other than him. anything that will ground you.

“you know,” you trail off after a while. your tone soft and eyes still trained somewhere else. he worries that he has come off too strong. “the first thing i noticed about you was your hair”

“yeah?” 

“hm, hm…” you look back at him and nod earnestly. he is glad to learn there is discomfort between you when sit on your knees and reach forward with both hands to place the petals that you had picked up atop his head. arranging them in a circle, like a halo, you think. not a crown. “… it’s pretty. it suits you” 

pretty. it takes him a while to gather his words. you’re so close and smell so heavenly. “i thought you were pretty the first time i saw you” 

it takes you even longer to collect yourself. because once again, you're at a loss for words. you busy yourself with the task at hand. the halo. fit for someone with a heart as good as his. 

“i mean it.” you recoil for a moment to meet his eyes and get your message across. “dont ever cut it!” you sound so demanding. like it’d hurt your feelings if he were to contradict your wishes.

“i won’t it. helps me remember”

your smile morphs into a frown on your face and you bring your hands to your lap. he misses you on him already. 

“you’re holding on to grief, suguru.”

if he doesn't, who will? who will remember them? gojo has already seemed to move on from it, nanami is gone. his grief is the only thing keeping them alive. even if just in memory.

“i guess i am” 

he doesn’t miss the way you avoid looking at him. you’re looking at your hands folded on your lap and he wishes he knew what it is that you’re feeling. pity or concern? 

“maybe you could take a little of the weight off”

“thought you didn’t want me to cut it”

“and i didn’t. but surely carrying the weight of all those curses on you and then another must be exhausting, suguru.” your tone raises just slightly, barely enough to be noticeable.

however, suguru notices and he wants you to be mad at him. he wants you to scream if you will because he knows, that right now, he couldn’t love you the way he thinks you deserve to be loved. you deserve a love that is abudant, steady and kind and suguru, with all his troubles and a heart that has grown so terribly worn out, thinks he has barely any love left to give.

but there is something that stirs in his stomach at the thought of somebody else loving you. he wants to be the one to teach you what love feels like. what it should feel like. he wants to prove himself worthy of loving you. he'd love you better than anyone else ever could. he'd treat you so right. you wouldnt have to wake up a single day in your life and doubt whether he still loves you. because he does and he doesnt think he'll ever stop.

“i'll let you trim the ends”

you take him to your room. you’re pacing around tidying the place, moving objects from one place to another and apologizing for the mess but to him, the clutter isn’t just clutter it’s pieces of you scattered everywhere and when he finds himself amongst it, amongst your belongings in their disorderly disposition he, too, feels like he belongs here, belongs to you. he wants to tell you he doesn’t mind he wants to thank you instead for allowing him to see the most intimate parts of you. 

but before he can manifest himself, you hush him into your bathroom while you finish putting things away. you join him shortly after and he watches you, from the toilet seat, searching the cabinets for your scissors while mumbling about how he doesn’t have to be nervous, you have cut your hair by yourself many times before. that he could trust you. but he does, and it goes beyond just giving him a haircut. you’re still rummaging through the drawers and suguru smiles to himself. he pretends he didn’t just meet you today (technically) and that this is what it feels like to share a home with you. 

“found it!” he spreads his legs that are a bit too big to fit in your tiny bathroom so you can stand in between them. he takes up so much of the space and it's cramped enough that you have to scoot your way through. you laugh at it together. 

“ready?” you’re more serious now. you understand he is trusting you with a lot here — his heart.

suguru’s nod doesn’t carry much certainty but he is not nervous, maybe just nostalgic. but he doesn’t regret it, not when you’re so careful even when tearing him open to look at what’s inside, disposing of what is rotten and lodging yourself in the cavity of his chest where his heart dwells. your hands are so soft, so careful as they weave through his hair. you’re handling him with so much care, so much esteem. 

he should’ve felt guilty. he thought it’d feel wrong. but it didn’t. letting go of his past meant welcoming you into his future.

“done.” you finish and he expects you to move so he can look himself in the mirror but there is a certain hesitance in you, in the way in which you purse your lips into a tight line, contemplating something. maybe you messed up the haircut. then you bend down and kiss the corner of his lips, pulling away in a blink of an eye. “there.” thank you for letting me in, suguru.

you look at him apprehensively. you’re nervous wondering if you had stepped too far. but you didn’t step even close to where he wanted you. “come.” 

he weaves all of his ten fingers with yours, he pulls you down and he kisses you. it's warm and its gentle. it’s so very him. but it is also hungry. like hes trying to fit all the kisses of a lifetime into this one kiss right here. he’s greedy, he’d been a fair man once but then you came along and made him so greedy. like the hole in his stomach has no end and he’s insatiable. he’d take more and then some until he is so full of you he could burst — you can take as many space as you want, can make a home in him if you wish to. 

he takes and keeps on taking, until he has to pull away or he might devour you.

“was that okay?” he is cradling your face in the palms of his hands, was it too much?

“it was good” you’re breathless. “very good.”

“it was good for me too” he chuckles and brings your forehead to rest against his. to be close. you shut your eyes to try to come down from the high, focusing on breathing him in while he breathes you out. “so pretty.” he whispers agaisnt your lashes, his lips kissing your eyelids.

“god, what do i do with you” his hands move to hug your waist and he buries his face in your stomach. he needs to be closer, though being close isn’t enough when he just wants to merge into you. to make a dwelling place in your bones. you tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp and it feels like home already. 

“i want to be with you, suguru” you tug gently on the hair on his nape to make him look up at you. you then lower your tone, whispering your next words into the air as if you were too scared to say them. you belonged to him but was it too much to ask him to belong to you? “i want you.”