You've been in Bali for four days. You came here to stop thinking about depositions and the buzzing of your phone and the version of yourself that answers emails at midnight from a bathtub because it's the only place in the apartment that feels quiet. You came here to remember what your own thoughts sound like without a client's voice layered over them. You did not come here for a mystery.

You step over the flowers and go find coffee anyway.

The café is four minutes down the road, tucked between a surf shop and a shrine wrapped in checkered cloth, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, which you weren't, the first time — you'd just followed the smell of something dark-roasted and slightly burnt in a way that felt more honest than the resort's pristine espresso machine. It's small. Six tables, most of them empty most of the day, a chalkboard menu that changes depending on what looks good that morning. The man who runs it has a low ponytail and forearms that look like they've done actual work, and he has never once rushed you, even when you've sat at his corner table for three hours straight, laptop closed, just sitting.

"Same as yesterday?" he asks, when you come in. His name, you learned on day two, is Suguru.

"Same as yesterday," you confirm, and take your usual seat.

He brings the coffee over himself, which you've noticed he doesn't do for everyone. Sets it down without ceremony. "You look like you slept."

"I did, actually."

"Miracle," he says, and there's something at the corner of his mouth that isn't quite a smile but wants to be one. "What'll it take to keep that up?"

"A returned deposit on my last two years, probably."

"I don't have that on the menu today. Coffee's the best I can do."

"It's a start."

He goes back behind the counter, and you watch him for a second longer than you mean to — the unhurried way he moves, like nothing here is worth rushing, like time in this town runs on a different current than the one you left behind. You think, not for the first time, that you could stand to learn something from a man who owns a café and seems to have made peace with slowness as a way of life.

You don't think about the flowers again until the next morning, when there's another cluster waiting outside your door.

By day six, it's become a small ritual you don't examine too closely. Wake up, find the flowers, leave them where they are because moving them feels like it might break whatever spell put them there, walk to the café, drink coffee across from a man whose voice has become the steadiest sound in your day. You've stopped checking your phone at breakfast. You've stopped mentally drafting emails while you eat. You've started, instead, noticing things — the particular blue the sky turns right before a storm rolls in off the water, the sound of a gecko clicking somewhere in the café's rafters, the way Suguru's hands look when he's grinding beans, sure and unbothered.

You tell him about the flowers on day six, mostly because you've run out of anything else to say and the silence between you has stopped needing to be filled with small talk.

"Every morning," you say, stirring sugar into coffee you don't actually need sugar in. "Right outside my door. No note, no nothing. It's very committed, whoever's doing it."

Something flickers across his face — there and gone, fast enough that you almost miss it. "Committed how?"

"Like, every single morning. Rain or shine. I checked yesterday during that storm and they were still there, a little waterlogged but present."

"Maybe you have a very devoted admirer."

"Maybe I have a very persistent cat that's confused about what to bring me."

He laughs — an actual laugh, low and surprised out of him, like you caught him off guard. "A cat that arranges petals in a spiral. Sure."

You go still. "I never said spiral."

The pause that follows is exactly one second too long.

"Lucky guess," he says, and turns to grind more beans, and you sit there with your coffee going lukewarm in your hands, doing quiet, lawyerly math on the shape of his shoulders and the exact timing of his silences.

You don't confront him. Not yet. Instead you set an alarm for four-thirty the next morning, which feels absurd — you are a grown woman who bills by the hour, sneaking around a rented villa to catch someone in the act of leaving her flowers, as though this were a stakeout and not the most romantic thing that's happened to you in longer than you'd like to admit.

At four-fifty, you hear footsteps on the gravel path outside.

You crack the door an inch. And there he is — Suguru, in the grey pre-dawn light, crouched by your doorstep with a small paper-wrapped bundle of frangipani, arranging them with more care than the task probably requires. He's not dressed for the café yet, still in a plain shirt with his hair loose around his shoulders, and something about seeing him like this, unguarded and quiet and clearly not expecting an audience, knocks something loose in your chest.

"You walk four minutes out of your way every morning," you say, "to leave flowers on a stranger's doorstep."

He doesn't jump, which annoys you a little — of course he doesn't, nothing seems to rattle this man — but he does go very still, and when he looks up at you there's something almost sheepish in it, which you didn't think his face was capable of.

"You're not a stranger," he says. "You've had the same table for a week and a half."

"That's not really an answer."

"No," he agrees. He stands, brushing dirt from his knees, unhurried even now, caught red-handed at five in the morning. "It's not."

You wait. You're good at waiting — it's half your job, letting silence do the work a question can't.

"You looked tired the first morning you came in," he says finally. "Not vacation-tired. Tired like you'd been carrying something a long time and didn't know how to put it down. I thought — " he stops, seems to reconsider, decides to say it plainly instead. "I thought you deserved to open your door to something nice before you had to think about anything else. That's all it was, at first."

"At first."

"At first," he repeats, and doesn't elaborate further, but he's looking at you in a way that makes the rest of the sentence unnecessary.

You should probably say something devastatingly clever here. Instead what comes out is: "You could've just told me it was you."

"Would you have let me keep doing it, if I had?"

You think about that honestly, standing barefoot on gravel with the sky just starting to go pink at the edges. "I don't know. Probably not. I'd have felt like I owed you something."

"You don't owe me anything for flowers picked from a tree in my own backyard." A pause. "Though I wouldn't say no to company. If you're awake anyway."

There's a plumeria tree, you learn, on a strip of land behind his family's house a short walk from here — that's where the flowers come from, cut fresh each morning before the heat can wilt them, chosen for no reason you can discern except that he apparently likes the ones with the reddest centers, thinks they suit you, though he won't say why when you ask. You end up sitting with him on the low stone wall at the edge of the property as the sky changes color, not saying much, which feels like it should be awkward and isn't. There's a kind of quiet that only works between two people who've already spent a week and a half doing nothing but existing near each other, and this is that kind.

"I have four days left," you say eventually, because someone has to say it, and it might as well be you.

"I know."

"That's not very much time."

"No," he agrees again, infuriatingly calm about it, "it isn't." He looks over at you, and there's something steady underneath the calm, something that looks like a decision already made. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop bringing flowers."

"Even after I'm gone?"

"Especially then." He says it simply, like it costs him nothing to admit, though you suspect it costs him more than he's letting on. "Some habits are worth keeping even without an audience."

You don't have a clever response to that either. You just sit with it, watching the light change, aware in a way you haven't let yourself be aware of anything in over a year that some part of you is already dreading the flight home — not because you don't want to go back to your life, but because you're starting to understand that whatever this is, whatever's been growing quietly on your doorstep every morning in the shape of white petals, doesn't come with an easy ending. It's not the kind of thing you can bill hours to figure out. It's not the kind of thing you can solve at all.

"Four days," you say again, softer this time, less like an obstacle and more like a countdown you intend to actually use.

Suguru's hand finds yours on the stone wall between you, not asking permission, just there, warm and certain. "Then we'd better not waste them."

You should be chilling on this beautiful beach or by the pool in your childhood home in a bikini, sunglasses on your face with a big glass full of something strong. Or even attempting to surf a wave like you used to before you quit surfing for good. 

Not here in a lifeguard uniform with enough sunscreen on your body to coat an elephant, bored out of your mind and on the verge of insanity. You've been doing this for only two weeks now and you already want to quit. 

You thought that coming back to your old seaside town after a year in the city attending university would allow you the relaxation and decompression you needed before heading back in the fall to start your new semester...and officially becoming an adult. 

You didn't feel quite like an adult even after you graduated high school and went to college in a city far, far away from your little town by the shore. Precisely a train to the airport, a plane ride, and a taxi away. This school was at the top of your list when it came to biology, with their acclaimed (and expensive) science program and influx of internships. 

Since you were a little girl watching 'The Little Mermaid' and obsessing over the aquatic mammals at the aquarium, you've wanted to be a marine biologist. You've always been attracted to water, fish, and the big, beautiful sea. You carry a sea turtle plushie around (even to took it to college!) and own about five different shark figurines. 

Getting through your major was hard, especially in an unfamiliar place, but you and your parents knew that you had to spread your wings in order to succeed. Once you aced your exams and got a job after interning with an aquarium your freshmen year, it seemed like all the stress and rough days were worth it. 

Going to school away from home was the best decision you ever made, you believe. You've met so many people, explored so many places in the city, and did all the things your small town wouldn't allow, yet you never forgot about where you came from. 

So when the opportunity came to return home for the summer came, you took it...including this part-time job as a lifeguard. While it isn't ideal, the money is going towards student loans, books, and tuition. Plus the uniforms are cute: a red bathing suit reading 'Lifeguard' in white letters on the front, a whistle, and a hat. 

After being back in town for two weeks and being gone for a year, it seems like barely anything has changed. The only thing that has are the people. Shoko, your longtime friend and one of the lifeguards, has grown out her chestnut brown hair and cut down on smoking. Two more trainees, Yuji Itadori and Todo Aoi, have been hired to join the crew. 

There seems to be more kids and tourists surrounding the beach and boardwalk now, taking advantage of the sun and trinket shops. Your parents have gotten older, but still fuss over you and their beach house. The scent in the air is still the same breezy, sea-scented air you've always loved. 

But there is one person you haven't seen yet that you wonder will ever come back...and then you stop yourself. Why are you thinking about him? 

'He left before you finished high school,' you think to yourself, scoldingly. 'He isn't thinking about you, so why are you thinking about him? He's the reason you quit surfing!' 

Not just competitive surfing, but surfing period. Because every time you got on that board and tasted the saltwater, you were reminded of him. He sucked the freedom and joy out of it, not to mention made you feel incompatible with his skills. It became a competition with you two: who can surf the longest? Who can ride the biggest wave? 

Until he kissed you and left without ever saying goodbye or keeping in touch. After that, you quit for good. 

So you go back to your job of overlooking the beach, occasionally blowing on your whistle, and checking out the hot guys that the beach has to offer. Your hometown always had its studs, practically serving one up to you now: he is a tall, long-haired drink of water, his body practically built from granite stone. 

He has his back turned to you as he stands near the water, wiping down his board, so you can't see his face, but you notice the tattoos roping his arms and his back dimples. You peer at him behind your shades, glad to have a discreet hiding place high on top of your tower. 

You watch as the sexy stranger drags his board out into the water and slides onto it stomach-first, paddling into the sea. He passes by splashing kids and relaxing adults, swimming deeper and deeper into the water. You scowl in confusion at him as he passes the line, even as a big wave comes hurdling towards him. "What the hell is he doing?" you whisper to yourself. 

You lift your whistle to blow, but stop when the man stands up, his arms out and feet planted firmly on the surfboard. He then begins surfing the wave, doing so as if he has done this many times before. The sun glints in his long, black locks and against his toned body as he twists against the wave. Chasing it. Dancing with it. It's quite impressive. 

"Y/N!" someone calls. You snap out of your trance and look down to see Shoko in her uniform and sunglasses. "It's your break time. We can switch now." 

You sigh in relief, happy to have some time alone and get something to eat. But as you are gathering your beach bag, you hear a sudden scream. "Help!" someone wails. "Please someone help him! He's drowning!" 

"Surfer overboard!" another calls. "He's too far out! Can anybody swim?!" 

You snap your head towards the commotion at the same time as Shoko, both of you in savior mode thanks to your training. A small group of people have surrounded the shoreline where they look out at the surfboard currently being swept up by the waves. But no surfer. 

Quickly, you jump from the tower and land perfectly on the sand before dropping your bag and racing over to the crowd. "What happened?" you demand. They all looked relieved to see you. 

"He swam out too far, got hit with a wave, and fell off his board," one kid rushes to explain, clutching an inflatable donut to his chest. "We tried to throw a floatie at him, but he's too far!" 

You look out to where the surfer is currently, the water rippling being an indication of where he sunk. "Stay here," you order before ripping off your hat and gunning for the water. You blow your whistle three times-a sign that someone has drowned-and Shoko and the other lifeguards quickly get people away from the water. 

You have only saved about two people in your life since the beginning of your lifeguard position. This is the third time, but like the other times, your training comes rushing back to you, making you act quick. 

With your red 'Lifeguard' rescue tube strapped to your body, you dive into the water and begin to swim as fast as you can towards the surfer. You pop your head up every so often to breathe and make sure you're heading in the right direction, catching glimpses of the surfer's black hair. 

Your limbs burn the more you push yourself in the undercurrent that pushes back, but you continue to move, knowing that if you don't, this poor person will die. Luckily, you finally make it to him and manage to snatch his arm in the water. "Gotcha!" you grunt, pulling him towards you. 

You feel your heart jump at how deep the water is, the floor nowhere in sight, but you use your rescue tube for the both of you. You fling the surfer's arm over the tube while you do the same, the both of you now floating together with your other arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

The man sputters, his wet, black hair covering his face. You pat his back to get the rest of the water out, trying not to pay attention to his sexy neck and shoulder tattoos. "It's okay, sir," you pant. "Just breathe; I've got you." You push the man's hair back so he can breathe better. "Nothing is going to..." 

Your words die in your throat when you catch a glimpse of his very handsome, very familiar face. A face that you know all too well despite having not seen him three years. "Geto?!" you exclaim. 

Your old nemesis opens his eyes, his violet irises slightly unfocused. "Y/N?" he mumbles. "You..." His eyes flutter closed and his head lulls back before he can finish his sentence. 

Pushing away your shock at seeing him back in town, you quickly toss his other arm over your shoulder and begin to butterfly kick your way back to the shore, grunting from the dead weight of Geto. Fortunately, a white rope appears in front of you as a lifeline. "Ms. Y/N!" Todo calls from the shore. "Grab on! We'll pull you two back to safety!" 

As you wrap a hand around the rope and let yourself be pulled to the shore, you turn to stare at Geto. The sunlight glints against his skin and long lashes fanning his eyes. He looks the same but different; there are a few slight changes in his features. 

When you finally get him to shore and allow the lifeguards to help you lay him down on the sand, you see the changes more prominently. Back then, he had less tattoos and was quite lankier yet still clean. His hair was shoulder-length and he often wore it in buns. 

His hair is now down to his back and he has way more tattoos: a sleeve inks his left arm while his thick neck and right ribcage are inked. He is also buffer and bigger, lean muscles glinting with droplets of water in the golden sun rays. 

You would be thirsting after him if he wasn't practically dead or on your shit list. What the hell is he doing back here?!

"Jesus, Geto," Shoko hisses, looking upon the surfer in worry. You almost forgot her and Geto have always been close. "He's not breathing," someone gasps. "Wasn't he in the national surfer's championships earlier this year?" 

You are reminded of the past like a slap in the face: Geto had moved to Los Angeles to become a professional surfer. At the time, you were about to enter your sophomore year of high school while he just finished his senior year. The last time you saw him, he had thrown party to celebrate being drafted in the championships and his soft lips were on yours. 

"Everybody back up, please!" Yuji yells, bringing you back to reality. "Make room! Let the guy breathe and the lifeguard do her job." 

Now everyone's eyes are on you. 'Stop this,' you think to yourself. 'He almost drowned and you need to save him. He could die.' 

Quickly, you kneel before Geto and stare down at his plump lips. You swallow hard, biting back a grunt of frustration. You lean down and pry his lips open, tilting his head back for easier access. "You'd better not be faking," you hiss before you press your open mouth to his. 

You begin to exhale into his mouth, filling his air with lungs. The crowd waits with bated breath, watching you save the golden boy. Finally, Geto lurches beneath you and you quickly leap away to let him recover. 

He sputters before lurching forward and coughing up the water in his throat, retching on the sand. When he finally stops, he lays back on the sand, taking deep breaths, and his violet eyes lull to the side to stare at you. "Y-Y/N?" he murmurs, recognition flickering in them. "So I wasn't hallucinating earlier. That was really you." 

You would laugh if this situation wasn't so dire. "Yeah," you reply. "It's me." A slight smile appears on Geto's lips. "It's been so long," he softly says. "How are you doin'? You graduated, right?" 

Quickly, you reassess the situation and allow Todo and Yuji to help him up. "Uh, let's talk after you get yourself checked out," you say. "Todo, please escort this man to get some first aid for his knee please." 

The big, buffed boy nods, already leading Geto away by his shoulders as the crowd disperses. "You got it, Ms. Y/N!" But as they head towards the small lifeguard hut, Geto turns to look at you over his shoulder. You ignore the clench in your stomach from his eyes meeting yours. 

"You knew that guy?" Yuji curiously asks, watching too. 

"That was Geto, an old childhood friend of mine," Shoko explains, happy to speak for you. "He moved away from here three years ago to be a professional surfer. He came back just yesterday." 

You gape at Shoko in shock. She knew and didn't tell you?! "Y/N hated him back in high school," she continues, not even looking at you.

"I didn't hate him," you protest, glaring at her. "I just never liked his cockiness. I doubt anything's changed." 

"Excuse me, lifeguard," someone says behind you. "Did you happen to see a tall, dark-haired guy with an ugly face 'round here?" 

You knew that suave, sexy voice anywhere and turn to see none other than Gojo Satoru, Gojo's surfing buddy, with his white-hair, striking blue eyes, and abs worth dying for. You've always liked Gojo, his goofiness and charm. 

"You don't recognize me, 'Tarou?" you question, putting your hands on your hips. His blue eyes widen at the sight of you. "Y/N?" he gapes. "Fuck, girl, look at you! What, you not gonna give me a hug?" 

He swoops you up in a big embrace that makes you giggle, your feet lifting off of the sand. "So how's school? What are you doin' back here in this small town?" he chuckles. "I thought you left for the big city last time I heard." 

"School is school," you reply with a shrug. "Came back here for a break until the fall. Why are you here?" 

"Championships are over for Geto, so he came here to teach some kids how to surf for some kinda program." He gives you a crooked smile as puts his sunglasses on his eyes. "I'm just here for the fun." 

"Well, you'll find your friend at first aid," Shoko replies, jutting a thumb back at the station where Yuji retreated for the bathroom. "He almost died, so Y/N had to fish him out." 

Gojo rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "He's such a show-off. Well, lemme go find him and beat his ass. You two stick around and we can link up later." He gives you both a wink before he runs off in the sand to find his friend. 

That afternoon, you and Shoko get off from work. You change out of your sweat and water-soaked uniform and into some cut-offs and a bikini top before meeting Shoko out on the beach. She is smoking in her own cut-offs when you arrive, watching the families pack up their kids for the afternoon. 

"Why didn't you tell me Geto was back in town?" you immediately ask her. She glances at you behind her designer shades, barely looking taken aback by your question. "Was I supposed to?" she shoots back. 

You scowl at her, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, you never came off like you liked him before," she says, shrugging, "so I figured it wasn't a big deal. He didn't know you were back either." 

Shoko has been friends with you since HS, but was also friends with Geto and Gojo, tutoring them before the duo graduated. The fact that she is so friendly with the guy you despise still rubs you the wrong way...even when you know it's stupid. 

You sigh, rubbing your hands over your shoulders. Goose pimples appear despite it still being warm. "I just don't want things to be awkward," you whisper. 

Shoko cocks her head at you, confused. "Why would they be? You didn't fuck the guy, did you?" Her eyes widen, shock on her face. "Wait, did you?" she pushes, grabbing your arm. "I thought you only kissed!" 

"Ugh, never mind," you huff, waving her away. "And no, I didn't. He and Gojo are sluts; they'll fuck anything with a skirt. At least Gojo is nicer than Geto is." 

"What's this about Gojo bein' nicer than me?" a familiar voice asks. 

Shit. You turn, finding Geto standing behind you with a towel wrapped around his broad shoulders and not looking so unconscious now. "I'm guessin' I wasn't supposed to hear that," he chuckles, smirking at you. "Glad to see you haven't changed much, Y/N." 

You stare at him, speechless. Seeing him again is like a tsunami hitting you, especially when looks so damn GOOD. 

Gojo comes skipping after Geto, tossing an arm around his friend's neck. "Well, we run into each other again." He grins at you. "You pretty ladies want some drinks? We're headin' to the bar and we're buyin'...well, I am. Told Sugu I'd treat since he almost died." 

"I didn't almost die," Geto sighs, rolling his eyes and taking Gojo's arm off of him. Ever the self-assured prick. 

"Yeah, 'cause of her," Gojo argues, pointing at you. "Good thing this lifeguard was on duty and knew CPR." Geto's violet eyes widen, his shock evident. "You did CPR on me?" he asks you. 

You flush despite the fact that you were forced to since he nearly drowned. "It's part of my job," you deadpan. "You weren't breathing, so I had to." 

"It's not like he hasn't tasted you before," Shoko sniggers, side-stepping your pinching fingers. "Sounds tempting, but we need to shower first. I smell like seawater. I like my drinks strong too." 

Gojo sniggers, waltzing over to your friend. "Yeah, we know. Too bad your legs ain't as strong as your tonsils." He then snatches her shades off and books it across the sand while she chases him. "Hey, you prick!" she shouts. "Bring those back! They're Gucci!"

That leaves just you and Geto to walk alone side by side to follow the running pair. It is so awkward and tense that you'd have to cut through with a chainsaw. Words left unsaid for three years hang between you, suspended by a thin thread. 

"Hey," he finally greets. 

"Hey," you say back, lacking all kinds of enthusiasm. You stare at your white toes to avoid looking at him and his perfect body. He clears his throat, aware of the awkwardness. "Thanks...y'know...for helping me out earlier." You shrug it off. "Just doing my job." 

"If this is awkward, I can leave you be," he says, stealing a glance at you. You pretend not to notice it. "Don't worry about it. It's awkward being back here anyway." 

A slight chuckle leaves his lips. You ignore the butterflies it gives you. "I'm sure it is. You're a big city girl after all. Ivy League, right?" You bite back a chuckle. "Not Ivy League; just a marine biologist in the making." 

"I take it school is goin' well for you then?" he continues. You don't understand why he's making so much conversation. "What are you doin' back here anyways? Last time I checked, this town was too small for your dreams." 

You feel guilty for saying that now since you're happy to be home, but being a marine biologist (and before, a competitive surfer) wasn't going to happen in this little town. "Needed a change and I felt homesick, so I came back. I start my sophomore year in the fall with a new job at the aquarium." 

Geto hums in acknowledgement. "I saw that on your IG. Congrats." You pause, letting him walk a little ways ahead before he realizes that you've stopped. "You...keep up with my IG?" you ask, squinting suspiciously. "Why?" 

The surfer shrugs his broad shoulders, oblivious to the context. "Shoko is a mutual friend and I just happened to see you pop up. I never followed you or nothin', but I keep up with what you do." He looks deadass and genuine which makes it worse. Why is he checking up on you? You were never close friends and you never dated. 

You push away the confusing thoughts and keep walking with him in tow. "So what are you doin' back here?" you ask. "I would've thought Cali was the place to be." 

He catches the sarcasm in your tone and sniggers, moving to pull his hair into a long ponytail. The act is annoyingly hot. "It is," he chortles. "The beaches are way bigger there. The championships are over till next year, so I came back for the summer to teach kids how to surf. It's part of this program I put together to give back to the community." 

"That's good for publicity, I'd guess," you dryly joke. The words are out before you can stop them. But luckily, Geto snorts, getting your humor. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe. Women love men with kids." 

You roll your eyes at his cocky remark, but then again, you asked for it. Silence descends upon you again but less tense than last time. It is as if you have opened up a bottle that needed to be a long time ago. 

"Listen," Geto suddenly says. He sounds almost...nervous? "If you're not too tired, I'm havin' a party at my Air BNB tonight. Somethin' to celebrate my win." He pauses to give you a crooked smile. "I won, by the way. The championships. Thanks for your congratulations." 

And then the moment is over. You huff to yourself, already sick of him. "I don't watch sports," you mutter. "But congrats." He puts a hand on his heart, pretending to be touched.

"You and Shoko should come through if you want," he continues. "We'll have beer, games, music-" 

"Geto, what are you doing?" you question, finally looking at him. Really looking at him and not daring to look away. "Why are you doing this? We haven't spoken in years." 

'Not since the kiss.' 

He stops walking and so do you, both of you staring at each other in the setting sun. You can see it in his eyes like golden sparkles glistening within pools of violet. "What's wrong with reconnecting?" he asks with a smile. "Besides, this will give us a chance to catch up. Have some fun before the fall, y'know?" 

You don't know what is definition of 'fun' is, but you don't want to find out. He shrugs once more, backing off to give you space. "Just think about it. You've got sand on your butt, by the way." 

He leaves you to stand alone and look at the sand coating your asscheeks popping out from under your cut-offs. You angrily wipe the grains away. "Asshole," you huff to yourself. He hasn't changed at all either. 

You sit and stare at Geto's rented beach house aka his Air BNB, and it feels like you're about to enter the gates of Hell.

"Shoko, I-I don't know about this," you nervously say as you stare out at the gorgeous beach house from Shoko's car. "There's a lot of people we don't know in there." 

You wondered why Geto decided to stay here when he could've stayed at his childhood home, but if he was planning to party, you guess this was smarter. The house is beautiful, sitting right on top of a sandy hill with a driveway, a pool, and a breathtaking view of the beach. Perfect for a morning surf and a nighttime skinny dip. 

Shoko turns to you in her driver's seat, applying eyeliner to her eyes. "Who cares? We're here for the drinks and to have some fun. Plus, you look GOOD." 

You're wearing your favorite frilly white sundress for the occasion paired with gold sandals and your waterproof mist on your face to freeze your makeup. Your hair is braided back to accentuate your face, much to your mom's liking. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she told you when Shoko pulled up to the door. "And tell Geto I said hi." 

You only grunted as you grabbed your bag and left to meet your friend. The ride over here was like going up a rollercoaster, fear and apprehension twirling in your gut as you threw back a shot of vodka and puffed on the vape you forced Shoko to give you even though you don't smoke. 

"This about Geto?" Shoko asks now, giving you a knowing look. "Don't lie to me. I can tell when you do." 

You look away to stare at the party, biting your lip at the sight of partiers in the pool. "Did he say something to you?" she demands and slams on the wheel. "I knew he'd fuck up again! When I catch him-" 

"No, no, it's me," you reassure her. "It's just weird, y'know? We haven't seen each other since he left for LA and now we're still at odds.” You want to ask Shoko what she meant by Geto "fucking up again". What did he do to fuck up the first time? 

"Then this is the perfect chance to patch things up. You only live once, right?" Shoko gives you a reassuring wink before she coaxes you out of the car and into the balmy, sea salt-scented night. There is a clear, inky sky full of stars; a perfect night for an adventure. 

The pool is full of inflatable animals, beach balls, and drunk people while the rest of the house is full loud music, red solo cups, flashing disco balls hanging from the ceiling, and even more drunk people. Including Gojo. 

"Weeell, look at what we have here!" he announces. He saunters over in his backwards cap, his face flushed pink and eyes aglow as they rake over your body. Daaamn, Y/N! You look like you tryna do somethin' tonight...or someone?" He quirks a curious brow at you. 

"Don't get your hopes up, Satoru," you laugh. "I'm not doin' anything with anyone. Just here to have fun." He nods in approval, taking your hand. “Then let's get you girls some shots and get you on the floor." 

He leads you and Shoko over to a back table covered in bottles of booze, cups, and a bowl of spiked fruit punch. You take a cup of the punch and sip on it, the vodka warming your tummy with every sip you take. Soon, you are flush from the alcohol and feeling looser, laughing with people and swaying your hips in your dress to the music. 

You're not thinking about Geto or saving his life or why he invited you here...until you are forced to. When your cup is empty and you turn to get more punch, you practically fall right into the surfer's muscular back. "Sorry!" you exclaim, horrified and feeling like a stupid drunk. 

When Geto turns around and you realize that it's him, dread creeps in and the false confidence that the alcohol provided fades. He looks absolutely delicious in his shorts and Hawaiian-print shirt peeled open to reveal his abs, tattoos, and the silver chain dangling like a treat from his neck. 

His violet eyes widen an inch, shocked at seeing you here. "You came," he states, giving you a smile. He actually looks happy to see you. "I didn't think you'd show up. You look good." His eyes rake over your dress, lingering a bit too long on your legs. 

“A party's a party," you deadpan, fixing your face as if you ate something sour. "It was Shoko's idea to come." He doesn't look the least bit disappointed that it wasn't your decision. "Well, m'glad you did," he replies, sounding genuine. "Hopefully, you'll stick around this time." 

A sudden flashback appears in your mind: Geto, age eighteen, looking down at you with those damn violet eyes as he stands on his childhood home's back porch. "I’ll be right back. Stick around for me." He turns to go inside, leaving you to touch your lips where his once were, claiming he wanted to teach you in case you did it in college and didn't know how. 

You remember that after waiting fifteen minutes for him, you had gotten up and left the party, but texted him that you did. He never answered. The next day, you got the news that he left for California in the dead of night. He hadn't even said goodbye prior to you kissing. 

"What does that mean?" you ask him now, squinting at his muscular back as he turns to pour himself more beer. Does he mean when you left his party? Does he mean when you ghosted him the same way he did you? 

'What does he mean?!' your drunken mind screams, frustrated.

Before you can turn him around and force him to answer, Gojo comes to break it up. "Heeey, there's the winner!" he shouts, tossing himself at Geto. "We got beer pong started! You two stop bein' so antisocial and join in!" 

But before he can wrap an arm around you and force you over to the beer pong table, you give him a wavering smile and side-step him. "I-I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you stammer before running off to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible. 

You squeeze through the throng of partiers, getting your toes stepped on and accidentally bumping people before making it to the staircase. Quickly, you wedge yourself upstairs and walk past closed doors until you find out that is cracked. 

In your drunken and panicked state, you push it open to see nothing but darkness. "Dammit," you huff, pressing your hand against the wall to find a light switch. Luckily, you find it...the bad news is that you're in a bedroom. 

Geto's bedroom. You can tell from the surfboard sitting in the corner of the room and the framed photos of his life in Cali on his dresser and armoire. It is a beautiful room with a king-sized bed coated in a combat bedspread, a flat-screen, and a balcony overlooking the beach. 

"Shit!" you hiss, stumbling backwards. "This isn't the bathroom!" You have to leave now before you're caught! But as you turn to rush out, you clumsily knock a photo off of Geto's dresser. "Shit!" you hiss again, panic seeping in your veins. You're so sure that you'll be caught. 

Quickly, you kneel down to pick up the framed photo of a young Geto and his parents at a surfing competition, but something stops you short. There, on the floor, is a blue greeting card covered in fish that change colors in the light. With shaky hands, you open the card and find your handwriting: "Good luck in Cali - Y/N" 

'He kept it,' you think to yourself, in shock. Your mom told you to buy it for Geto despite you not wanting to. You had handed it to him in a hurry, flushing with embarrassment, but he just smiled at the card before taking you outside to sit with him on the back porch. 

Before he asked you about college. Before he mentioned dating. Before he lightly teased you about kissing before he realized that you've never kissed anyone. Before he showed you how, his lips soft and his tongue piercing gliding against your tongue. 

Before he went back inside and left you sitting there, starstruck and then forced to confront your actions. Before he left for LA and never returned until now, bringing the past back with him. 

"Hey." You squeak, dropping the card and finding Geto standing there in the doorway. Quickly, you pick up the items you dropped and stand. "I was just looking for the bathroom," you lamely explain. "I got lost." 

He huffs out a laugh, his squinted eyes full of humor. "Don't sweat it. There's one in here you can use; just don't puke in my toilet." Quickly, you hand him the items and rush to the bathroom door near his bed, feeling calm only when you are finally alone. 

You manage to pee and check yourself in the mirror, finding only slightly smudged mascara and a glow to your face from the spiked punch and your setting mist's hold breaking up, before exiting after washing your hands. 

Geto turns from his dresser, his eyes concerned. "You good?" he asks. You primly nod, awkwardly fidgeting with the ruffles on your dress. "You kept the card I gave you," you murmur. 

He looks confused, obviously tipsy too, before he looks at the fish-coated card. "'Course I did," he chuckles. "It's a cute card. You always loved your fish." He stares down at it rather adoringly, making you feel weird butterflies. "Y'know, it's funny, but I always knew you'd leave here too. You were always so smart...destined for bigger and better shit." 

You hug yourself, squeezing away the flutters. "Yeah, well, I only started college. I could flunk at any time." 

Geto shakes his head, looking serious now. It renders you breathless. "You won't. You never will, Y/N. That was never you." He pauses, shaking his head as he looks back at the card. "You were always so dedicated. So determined. So fuckin' hard-headed." 

So much for the nice shit. "Thanks for the compliment," you murmur. "I've been told that by guys before." He chuckles to himself, the sound airy and sexy. "So you dated around at school?" he wonders aloud. 

You scowl at him, weirded out and confused by his sudden interest in your dating life. "Of course, I did. I'm a nineteen-year old girl, Geto." You cock your head to the side, sizing him up. "Why're you askin' me that anyway?" Geto keeps giving you that strange look, one you can't decipher. 

CRASH! 

You both flinch at the sound of something breaking outside the door. "Shhhh!" someone shushes while giggling. Geto unclenches his fists at his sides, sighing defeatedly, before giving you a small smile. "Wanna go somewhere more private?" he asks. 

You make out the hope in his tone, his eyes alight with something. Not lust, but it's still there, looming before you. You keep silent, unsure. Sensing your hesitation, he bluntly says, "I'm not tryin' to do anything, Y/N. I wouldn't do that. I just meant let's talk. We can go on the beach and take a walk if you down." 

Still, you're silent, weighing your options. Standing near the cracked balcony doors, you feel the summer breeze cool from the sea, relaxing and serene. Geto's expression grows softer, his eyes and lips drawing you in. "It's your choice, sweetie." 

Between the sea breeze and the music pounding against your skull, you are more inclined to agree...and not at all because of the random ass pet name he throws at you. "Fine then," you reply. "Let's talk." 

You never knew how quiet the beach could be until you and Geto start walking side by side in complete silence on its shores. 

It's a beautiful night; a night fit for a painting with its starry sky and soft waves crashing against the shore and mossy rocks. A fat, white moon hangs in the sky, suspended like a spotlight. The beach stretches on and on, your footprints from your bare feet in the sand leading all the way back to the AirBNB. 

You and Geto have been walking for at least five minutes, but with the silence and the tension in the air, it feels like five days. As the ocean breeze blows, you shiver slightly, holding your sandals against your chest. 

Geto notices. Of course, he would. "Cold?" he asks. You shake your head, pressing your lips tight together. They are slick with a fresh coating of Fenty Beauty lip bomb gloss. "I'm fine," you mutter. 

Suddenly, he unrolls the blanket he's been holding under his arm, having carried it in case you wanted to sit. You shake your head, emitting a laugh from him. "Don't fight it, Y/N," he chuckles. "You've always been so stubborn." 

You flush as he places his blanket over your shoulders; it smells of sea salt and citrus. You continue to walk with him, the tension brewing now. "You always treated me like a kid," you say way harsher than you intended. "Even when we were younger." 

Geto hums to himself, acknowledging your statement. "Is that why you always hated me?" he suddenly asks. You glance at him, your stomach jumping at his words. "What?" you dumbly question. 

His smile is wry; weak. "It's not a secret, Y/N. You never liked me, even as kids. I never knew why 'cause I always liked you." 

You scoff, calling bullshit. "Is that why you always picked on me? Why you always acted like you were better than me? 'Cause you liked me so much?" You tick to fingers up and down, air-quoting "liked". 

Geto is silent for a while, leading you to look at him only to find him gone. You turn to find him some ways behind you, having paused in the sand to stare at you in the moonlight that illuminates his handsome face. "Is that what you think?" he questions, squinting those damn eyes at you. 

Why does he sound so surprised? You find yourself becoming irritated by his mock obliviousness (you're also kinda drunk). "You were always so cocky," you shoot. "Always knew more than me. Always did better than me at everything. I could never compete." 

You know you're saying too much. You know that you're uncapping a bottle that should stay closed...but you can't anymore. The vodka and the sea and Geto's cologne are all pushing you to be vulnerable tonight. 

The surfer's eyes soften more, gazing down at you as if you are a wounded kitten. "Is that why you quit surfing?" he softly wonders. Your anger subsides, replaced with fear. He knows. And he's heard which is worse. From Shoko? Maybe by your parents? 

You stare down at your feet, biting your lip. "It wasn't just that," you admit. "That night after your party...when we..." You grow hot in the face. "Say it," Geto softly urges. "What did we do, Y/N?" He has gotten closer and you are hyperaware of it. "We...kissed," you whimper bashfully. "And you left and never called me again." 

"Well, you never called me either," he rebuttals, a smile in his voice. "I figured you moved onto bigger and better men. Plus, we never dated to begin with. Like I said, you hated me." 

"I didn't hate you," you rebuttal, not liking how he's painting you or how he's making you feel: guilty. Ashamed. "You were just always rubbin' shit in my face." 

Now it's Geto's turn to feel guilty and ashamed. "I never meant to make you feel like that, Y/N. I'm sorry...but you never should've quit surfing. Not because of me and my mistakes." 

Damn. That hurt. It hurt more than you'd like to admit. "So giving me my first kiss was a mistake?" you blurt. 

The surfer sighs, exhausted. "You misunderstood me. That was never a mistake, but I couldn't let you get involve in me. In this." He ticks a finger between himself and you. "Everything. You were on your road and I didn't wanna ruin that for you." 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip again, tears threatening to push past your eyes. Why is he saying all of this now? "But I always thought about you," he professes. "I never stopped thinking about that night, sweetie. How you looked...how you tasted..." 

His words set you on fire, making you feel like you just stepped foot in lava. "W-We shouldn't talk like this," you stammer. "You shouldn't be saying this. Not to me." 

You turn to walk off, mostly to cool down and clear your swimming head, but Geto gently takes your hand. It's so much bigger than yours. "How come?" he murmurs, his face intimately soft. You stare at your hands locked together, wondering what his fingers would feel like on your body. "Like you said; I'm on my road and so are you. We'll both be leaving in the fall anyways." 

Geto raises a brow. "So?" he asks. You have a logical rebuttal in your head; it's there! 

"S-So...so..." And yet, you are bumbling and fumbling over your words now, your mind going blank. And then you feel the drunken tears pushing up, your embarrassment and these stupid feelings making you feel so small.

"It's okay, Y/N," Geto comforts. "Come here." He pulls you into him and you let him, his big arms embracing you. You let yourself melt into his touch, against his rock-solid body. You inhale his scent, falling into a field of citrus fruit and saltwater. 

In his arms, you feel safe. Safe enough to admit the thought that's been pushing at your skull for three years now. "You showed me how to kiss before," you whisper against his chest. "You wanted to teach me how to be good for guys in college." 

"Mmm-hmm," he hums. "I did. I'm sorry that I-" 

"Show me again," you interrupt. "Teach me." Geto's body tenses and he pulls away to glare at you, confused and alarmed. But you keep your gaze soft, hoping he'll see that you're serious. 

Quickly, the confusion melts and his eyes grow hooded, making heat pool between your thighs. "Have you kissed anyone since you left?" he asks, his voice husky and deep. You bite your lip, nipples hardening beneath your dress...though they've been hard since he hugged you. "Yes," you reply. 

"Did they kiss like me?" he questions. You stay silent, unable to speak and expose yourself even more than you already have. Geto's hand presses against your cheek, gentle and intoxicating. "Tell me, sweetie." 

"No," you manage to squeak out. He inhales slowly as if he can barely contain your response and then, slowly, carefully, he leans down to swoop you up in a soft, passionate, earth-shatteringly magical kiss that nearly makes your foot pop like a girl in a romcom would. 

It is just as amazing as the first one you shared was, only this time, you're older and so is he. So he can deepen the kiss if he wants to. You can allow him to slide his tongue against yours, the cool metal of his piercing caressing your tongue. You can moan into his mouth as your hands wrap around him, pulling him closer. He's still the best kisser you've ever had. 

Suddenly, Geto pulls away with a soft groan and tilts your chin up slightly to kiss your neck. Each kiss leaves a trail of fire across your skin as you grasp his broad shoulders. "Suguru," you softly moan. "People might see us." 

Your body screams with need as he pulls you close to him, pressing you flush against him. "I don't care," he rasps out. "Let them. I want this." You can feel it: it's pressing into your thighs now, hard and throbbing thanks to his trunks. 

"I want this too," you mewl. "I want you." He pulls away to look at you, allowing you to stand on your toes and kiss him again, hungry and needy. 

"Fuck," he whispers against your lips, astonished. He pulls away from your kiss, taking his bottom lip with you as he gently suckles on it. It excites you, making your pussy throb beneath your dress. "There's a couple things I'll have to teach you then," he softly chuckles. 

You wonder what he means by that until he takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Come here, with me." 

You let him lead you away down the beach, yards away from the house, behind a small, secluded surfboard hut. Colorful surfboards hide you from view and Geto lowers his beach bag down to pull you close. It is now just you two standing alone, unbothered and together. 

"So what now?" you wonder aloud, giddy with excitement and thrill. A wicked smirk appears on the surfer's lips. "I'll show you. First, you need to get out of this sexy lil' dress." His big hands slide your spaghetti straps down, revealing your tan lines. 

You find yourself giggling yet feeling nervous as you help him slide your dress off, revealing the string bikini underneath. Geto salaciously bites lip as he helps you pull each string off, letting each article of clothing fall to the sand. That leaves you naked, exposed to him and his cock pulsing beneath his shorts. "You're perfect," he sighs. "Better than I ever dreamed." 

That makes you smile and your pussy gush between your thighs. He joins you, only having to kick off his slides and peel off his shorts. Your mouth grows dry at the sight of him: his tanned, lickable abs lead down to a happy trail and pale, muscular thighs untouched by the sun where his beautiful, throbbing cock swings. 

He, too, is as perfect as you dreamed he'd be. He is what you'd imagine while with other boys in college, while you'd rub your pussy in your dorm room, biting your pillow to not wake your roommate. Your childhood nemesis of all people! 

"C'mere," he huskily orders. You do so, wanting so badly to be near him. You begin to kiss and touch each other the way you've dreamed, indulging in all you have to offer. His body is a wonderland, thrilling you in ways a wave can't. 

Geto pulls away from kissing your lips again to focus on your breasts, massaging them with his big hands. He pays close attention to your fluttering eyelids and soft moans, moving on to gently sucking on the hard peaks of your nipples. 

You gasp and cup his head against your tits, tingling with pleasure. Your nipples are usually very sensitive, meaning that every tweak of Geto's fingers and swipe of his slick tongue sends your pussy into a frenzy. "W-Wait," you stammer, rubbing your thighs together. "I'm really–" 

"Wet?" he finishes, chuckling. He pauses, staring up at you with glinting eyes. "That's the idea, sugar. That's how I want you." He presses a chaste, wet kiss against your lips as his hand ducks between your thighs to asses the lips down below. 

"Shit!" he hisses, his cock visibly twitching as his fingers become soaked with you. "Did you get this wet when we kissed that night?" 

You jerkingly nod, embarrassed. Despite the way the night ended, you did feel a wet spot as he slowly made out with you that night. 

He looks satisfied with that, his violet eyes glistening like two sugilite gems. "Good girl," he coos. "Such a pretty girl." He gently runs his fingers along your slit, making you whine, before taking them away. 

"Such a pretty pussy," he murmurs, bringing his fingers coated in your juices to his lips. You watch, transfixed and so, so horny for him. Hornier than you've ever been for any guy. "I really wanna taste you," he hoarsely says. "I want you to hook your leg over my shoulder and make up for lost time." 

A heat builds in the pit of your stomach that drops down to your ass. He notices your sudden change in attitude and silently asks with his eyes. "I've...never had that before," you softly admit. 

In all your time in college, you've never had anyone go down on you before. You've given blowjobs and split your legs open for dick plenty of times. But cunnilingus? Never happened. 

Geto looks perplexed, tilting his head to the side. "No one's ever eaten you out before?" he asks, shocked. You think he'll laugh at you, but he just looks plain whipped. "That's...such an honor, sweetie. I'll make it real good for you. You just relax for me, okay?" 

He then kneels before you and swings a leg over his shoulder, forcing you to grab onto him for balance. He smirks, pressing a kiss to your ankle where your gold anklet glistens. "And don't worry; I'm a good diver. I can hold my breath." 

"Okay," you reply, giggling slightly. Your heart races wildly in your chest, anticipating what comes next. From your first kiss to your first lick. 

And God, can this man lick! When Geto says he's a good diver, he isn't kidding. He goes head first, starting off with gentle, slow kiss and tongue flicks against your wet slit, prying your pussy lips apart to gently suck at your clit. 

You moan at the contact, the feeling so foreign yet pleasurable. When he begins to run his lips over your clit, you giggle out, "Sugu, that tickles." He smiles against your pussy before slurping at your juices, running his tongue around your entrance. 

"Oh, fuck," you moan, tilting your head back. "Sugu, that's so good." You press your head back against one of the surfboards as you grip your surfer's shoulders, your white nails contrasting against his tan skin and tattoos. 

He hums appreciatively against your clit, pulling away to smile at you. "Told you I'm a good diver," he jokes. "Shit, you tasted so good." He sounds like he means it, even gazing lovingly at your glistening cunny slick with your arousal and his spit. 

He goes right back in, gently sliding his tongue inside of you as his nose glides against your clit. Your mouth falls agape, your eyes wide as saucers. "Oh, my God," you whine. "Sugu, yes!" You throw your head back from the sheer pleasure, shamelessly grinding your pussy into his tongue. 

You've never felt so high before, especially off of someone else. You feel like you're riding a big wave, feeling the high and rush of being on top of the world before a wipeout. Geto's hands grip your ass, keeping you pressed firmly against his mouth, locking you down so there is nowhere to go but up. 

And up, and up, and up as you get closer to your orgasm. "Sugu," you whimper, winding your fingers through his raven locks. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna...you're gonna make me cum!" 

The surfer hums an eager "mm-hmm" into your pussy, sending vibrations throughout your body. He licks faster, curling his tongue up to toy with that spot that nearly makes you unravel at the seams like an old sweater. 

And soon, you do. With a loud moan of his name and a couple of "fuck"s slipping from your lips, you cream all over Geto's long, wet tongue, still grinding your pelvis into him, riding his mouth. Your orgasm is intense, making you shiver and shake. Your surfer grips you tight, keeping you grounded as you roll and whine your waist for him, riding out your O. 

Finally, your moans grow weak and your hips slow their movement, the pleasure almost painful now. You feels 100x better than you did moments before; freer and sexier. All because of Geto's magical tongue. 

He pulls away to kiss and slurp at your inner thighs, giving you a playful bite. Slowly, he unwinds your leg from his neck and stands, his lips slightly glistening and his eyes lust-blown...and his cock extra hard. "You're so hard," you softly gasp, staring down at the appendage. 

You can't stop yourself; you gently grasp his dick and begin to stroke him, up and down, up and down. His soft groans encourage you, welcoming your touch with a pulse and a twitch. "Yeah? That's all for you. You should've seen me after we kissed that night." 

You feel your pussy throb at the newfound knowledge that he was just as horny for you as you were for him that night. For years you wondered what his cock looked like...felt like...tasted like...and now, here you are with it hard and heavy in your palm. 

"C-Can...can I taste you too?" you softly ask, peering up at him through your thick lashes. "Maybe we can 69?" 

Geto looks taken aback by your bold suggestion laced in such sweet shyness, but then a crooked smile appears. "So you want my tongue again?" he teases, his cock throbbing against your fingers. "Is that it, mama? You like my mouth that much?" 

He cups your chin in his hand, forcing you to keep looking at him. The possessiveness in his grip makes your overly-sensitive cunt twitch. You find yourself nodding, responsive to anything he says. 

He groans, pushing his hips forward so his cock can slide deeper in your hand, fucking it. "Sure thing, sugar; whatever you want. Let me just lay this blanket down." 

After reluctantly tearing himself away from your hand and laying the soft blanket on the sand, he lays down on his back, his thighs open and his hard cock on full display for you. You find your place on top of him, hovering just above his face while your legs straddle each side of his shoulders. 

"Fuck," he softly groans, staring up at your pussy hovered above him. His big hands grip your ass, gently prying them apart to see your other pretty hole. You whimper, biting your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. "You're absolutely perfect, y'know that?" he murmurs, giving your inner thighs an open-mouthed kiss on each. 

You could say the same thing about his big, beautiful, rock-hard, throbbing cock displayed in front of you. The urge to lick and suck on it is almost as powerful as your uncertainty about sitting on his face. "S-So...how do we..." You trail off, bashful. 

Geto chuckles, his breath fanning against your wet pussy, making you twitch with need. "Just sit on my face, sweetie. Don't worry; I can take it." 

He gives your ass a firm squeeze, making you moan. "Then you swerve your hips around, like you're ridin' a wave," he continues, his voice huskier the more he stares at your sobbing wet pussy above him, waiting for a taste. "Just pretend I'm your personal surfboard," he raspily jokes. "I think I'm a little better than one though." 

And just as he instructs you to do, you slowly close the gap between your dripping pussy and his face, gasping when his lips and tongue make contact with you. "Oh, fuck!" you shout to the stars, moaning in pleasure. Everything feels so much deeper and intense in this position. 

You hope he feels the same when you begin to stroke and suck on his cock slowly yet greedily. You've been wondering what he would feel like in your mouth, stretching out your throat. You wondered what his moans would sound like as you pleased and stroked him with your wet mouth, caressing him with your tongue. 

Well, now you do, and you have front row seats. His toes curl and his hips slowly grind up to meet your mouth every time you pull your head up and down, humming from the taste of pre-cum on your tastebuds and his tongue fucking your pussy. 

You are sure that you're dripping all over Geto's pretty face, but he sloppily eats your hole like he needs more, massaging your ass while he does so. You continue to grind against his face, alternating between rubbing your clit against his top lip and nose. 

"Mmm, baby," you moan, wetly popping off of his cock to verbally tell him of your pleasure. "Sugu, you're mouth is s-so good!" 

Geto grunts into your pussy as he juts his cock up to rub it against your tits, desperate for relief too. You go back to giving it to him, slipping him down your throat, hollowing your cheeks and opening the tight hole of your throat for better access. You want to give him all of you. 

At some point, for what feels like hours of constant sucking, licking, and slurping each other up, you find yourself cumming again. You muffle your moans and slutty sounds of your O with Geto's cock, keeping your lips wrapped around it as he swallows your cum, moaning about how sweet you are. 

You tremble and shudder from the orgasm, digging your nails into Geto's tree-trunk thighs to ground you. You have never had two intense orgasms back to back before, and it leaves your body drained. 

Slowly, you slip off of Geto's face to allow him air to breathe and straddle his chest instead. You look back at him lying behind you, lips glistening with your cum, his hair a mess, and a dazed look in his eyes. He's never looked sexier. "Tired, sweetie?" 

"Not at all," you quip back. "You didn't cum yet." You wrap a hand around his spit-slicked cock and begin to stroke him, earning a moan of enjoyment. "Did you want something more?" you suggest, hoping you don't have to elaborate on that. 

You don't. From the look in Geto's eyes, he knows exactly what you mean. "Yeah, but...I don't think I have a condom," he sheepishly admits, a pink blush coating his cheeks. It's so unlike him yet so endearing. "I'm sorry. I can go back and-" 

"No," you cut in, shaking your head. "I mean, there are other ways, right?" The surfer silently stares at you, making you think that maybe you said the wrong thing...until his lips curl into a salacious smile. 

"You want this dick that badly, huh?" he teases you. Whimpering, you turn your head to face away from him, but he stops you with a sharp smack on your ass. "No, no, don't run. Say it to me. It's just me here, mama." 

It must be the need you feel or the sharp sting of his ass smack that has you so horny and eager, but you turn around and peer down at him through your lashes, heat pooling in your core and making you soak his abs. "I want you, Suguru," you whimper. "Badly." 

A seductive light sparkles in Geto's violet eyes and he nods, his chest rising and falling with anticipation for your cunt. "Do what you want with me then." 

He doesn't have to tell you twice. You brace yourself on his thighs and lift yourself up to hover over his cock, but before you can come down, he stops you, his eyes flaring with a passionate fire. "But when this is over with, I need to you to know that this is not just a one-night thing for me. I want this to be real." 

You stare at him over your shoulder in shock, nearly craning your neck. Desperately, you search for a little glimmer of a lie in his eye. A twitch in his lips. A sign that he is just toying with you and doesn't mean these serious, intimate things...but you find nothing but a hot determination. 

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Sugu—" 

"Just listen, please," he hoarsely begs, pleading with his eyes. "I've been thinkin' about you for over a year, Y/N, wonderin' how you are, where you are, who you're with." He sits up to plant a soft kiss on your back, your shoulder blades, your waist. 

"I'm sorry I didn't take that chance to go down your road with you. I'm sorry I never told you this before, but now...now we're here and I'm not wasting another second not bein' real with you." 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you in his lap, locking you there. "I want you," he rasps. "I don't care if you leave and go back to the city to live your life. I'm always gonna want YOU, Y/N. And if you don't feel the same, say it now so I'm not makin' myself look like a fool." 

Those words, saccharine sweet and filled with so much yearning, make you wetter than you've ever been in your life. He has freed you from the past and your resentment for him. You now know that you can be real too. 

You feel tears push past your eyes, most definitely fucking up the rest of your mascara, as you take his hands and interlace your fingers with his. "I want you too, Suguru," you softly sob. "I need you." You grind your pussy against his cock, emitting a groan from the both of you. 

Geto leans back on the blanket, eyes hooded and so dark that you can see the stars in them. "Then take me." 

With the flames of a thousand horny fires lighting your loins up, you push yourself up, your hands still locked with Geto's, and then come down to grind your naked pussy against his shaft. Your surfer gives a low hiss while you lewdly moan, sparks of pleasure shooting throughout your bodies. 

Your pussy lips are sticky and wet, sliding so easily against Geto's thick, gorgeous cock, your twitching clit singing with pleasure. You're so wet that he could easily slip inside and fill you up to the brim with all of him, stretching your walls out and tattooing himself against you so you can never forget the feeling. 

"Shiiiiit, sweetie," Geto hisses, making you giggle from the sheer force it takes for him to hiss out that one swear. Is your pussy really that good? You turn to stare at him over your shoulder, becoming transfixed at the way his face screws in pleasure, cheeks flushed and lips plump from kissing. 

You release his hands, letting him grasp your hips as they grind and roll against him, his cock sliding between your dripping pussy lips, coating his shaft and balls in your juices. "How's it feel bein' my surfboard?" you joke. 

Your surfer cracks a smile, a laugh leaving his pretty lips. "Fuckin' perfect," he replies. "A wave don't compare to this." 

You concur, your eyes rolling back from the magical feeling of your clit sliding against his dick. Moans of "ah" and "mmm" leave your lips as you grind quicker, speeding up your movements and applying more pressure to your clit, stimulating yourself on your surfer with every intention of cumming. 

You can tell Geto isn't far behind from the sound of his moans growing louder and his grip tightening around your hips. "S-Sugu," you warn. "If we're not quick, someone could come soon." 

"Yeah," he hoarsely agrees, "and it's gonna be me if you keep that up. Fuck, the way you move makes me wanna visit your city as soon as the fuckin' fall hits." 

You know he's referring to the way you're gyrating your hips forward, causing your pussy to slide against the base of his cock, so you continue. 

"I want you to cum," you whine, turning back to look at him. "Please, Sugu, baby. Cum with me." 

The man is practically in agony, his neck tense and his jaw tight as he gets closer and closer to cumming. "Fuck, Y/N!" he gasps, lifting his hips to meet your grinding. "Keep lookin' at me like that. Need to see you cum for me." 

You frantically nod and close your eyes to focus. Focus on your hips moving together. Focus on your clit tingling as you reach your peak. Focus on that tightening knot in your core getting tighter and tighter until...it snaps. 

"Fuck, Sugu!" you whine, definitely loud enough for the rest of the beach to hear. You don't care; not when your third orgasm of the night is so good and euphoric. You spill your cream all over Geto's cock, leaving you both sticky and wet with your cum. 

Geto continues to grind himself against your cunt, repeating lewd moans of "fuck, fuck, fuck" until he forces you to bend forward, presenting your ass to him. He wraps a hand around himself and furiously fucks his fist until he finally spurts his cum all over your ass. 

You shiver in delight as he moans from his release, the sound echoing throughout the salt-scented air, mingling with the soft crashing of the waves. A giddy and delirious giggle escapes you as you feel his warm spurts of spunk hit your ass, marking you with his scent. You always hated it when guys did this to you back in college. 

But with Geto Suguru? You welcome it. 

After some recovering and some small kisses on your backside, Geto helps you lie down with him on the blanket under the starry canvas of the night sky. Together, you curl against each other, his chest your pillow and your arms becoming anchors as they wrap around his waist. 

You close your eyes, letting your head swim and your heart race decrease. You feel better than you've had in weeks. "That was so nice," you sigh against his chest. 

"You definitely were," he chortles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more." You hum in disagreement, pressing a kiss to one of his pecs, stroking the dark outline of his tattoos. "It was more than enough," you promise. 

And then reality hits you like a big wave right in the face, causing you to giggle to yourself. Geto looks down at you expectantly, raising a brow. "What?" he probes. 

You shake your head though you grin to yourself, still stroking his ink. "This is...just crazy, y'know?" you snort. "Me sleeping with my childhood nemesis who confessed his romantic feelings for me? Shoko won't believe it." 

Geto laughs with you, using one of his big hands to stroke your hair. "Nah, she will; Gojo too. They always knew I had a thing for you." 

Of course, they did. 

"I meant what I said earlier," he suddenly says. You look up at him, confused. His eyes are soft and intimate. "That I'd visit you in your city. That wasn't just sex talk. With my type of money, I'll fly wherever you go." 

You laugh and pinch his nipple at his cocky little quip, earning a pinch on the ass in retaliation. "I'd love that, Sugu," you purr, snuggling into his side. Your stomach flip-flops with hope, wondering if this truly is a done deal. "So this can really work? Us? When we leave here in the fall?" 

Geto hugs you closer to him, his arms secure and strong as they lock around you. "I'll make it work, but only if you want that too." 

You want that more than anything. "Well, you know I love challenges," you giggle into his chest. "I'll gladly try dating a celebrity athlete." You sigh, draping your legs across his, intertwining them in a heap. "At least we have now." 

"And the whole summer," he murmurs into your hair. 

For a while, you stay like that, you the little spoon and he the big spoon, snuggling on the blanket in your afterglow against the soft lull of the waves. But after a while, reality sets in again and the night remains young. 

"So...what now?" Geto wonders aloud. You sit up on the blanket, his hands still stroking your thighs. "Well, we do have this open beach...and these surfboards right here." 

Your eyes click to the colorful surfboards presented before you before you give Geto a knowing glance. He cocks his head at you, smirking at signature smirk that makes your panties drop. "Are you challengin' me, L/N?" he teases. "You must wanna get that ass whooped." 

You scoff, shooting off of the blanket to find your bikini. "Don't play me. I may be rusty, but once I get back on that board, I'm doin' the whoopin' here." 

You stick your tongue out at him as you bend down to pull your bikini bottoms over your soaked pussy. You are just tying the strings around your waist when you feel a hand sharply smack your ass from behind. 

SPANK! 

You squeak, looking up to find Geto already gunning for the water with his asscheeks out, his trunks in one hand, and a surfboard under his arm. "Sugu!" you squeal. "You cheated!" 

He turns to look at you, his grin as bright as the summer sun. He is the epitome of joy as he steps backwards into the frothy water. "Don't hate the player; hate the game, mama," he laughs. "Now get your ass in this water with me!" 

You finish getting dressed and take a surfboard before running after him, laughing giddily, joy spilling out of you. As soon as you hit the water and surf the first wave in what feels like decades, you feel complete. Especially with your new boyfriend. 

THE END.

You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.

Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.

“You, uh— are you okay?”

You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”

You are. Shit.

“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”

He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.

The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.

“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”

You stare at him, lips parted.

“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”

So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.

You’re panting.

So is he.

And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.

“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”

“I’m wet.”

That shuts him up.

He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”

You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”

He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.

“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“…But I’m a virgin.”

You blink. “You’re a virgin?”

He freezes. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”

“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”

“Oh my god.”

You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.

“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”

He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”

“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he says.

There’s a beat of silent realization.

Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.

“Can I…”

You nod. “Yeah. Please.”

The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.

“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.

“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.

He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”

You both snort, but neither of you moves away.

“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.

Your eyes widen, breath catching.

“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”

“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”

You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.

Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.

Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.

You're both gonna combust.

You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.

His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.

You feel like you’re on fire.

“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”

“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”

You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”

“You were licking butter off your fingers.”

“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”

You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.

“Can I see it?” you whisper.

His breath catches. His whole body freezes.

“You— my… dick?”

You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”

He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”

“…Yeah.”

His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.

You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”

His brain shuts down.

“Pretty?” he croaks.

You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”

He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”

“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”

He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.

“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”

“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”

You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”

Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.

You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.

He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.

“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”

“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.

You pause. “Wait, already?”

“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”

You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.

He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”

That makes you freeze.

“…Angel?”

He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”

You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”

“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”

You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.

“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”

“‘When’?” he pants.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”

He shatters.

Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.

You stare at the mess.

“…Whoa.”

He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”

“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”

“I exploded in ten seconds.”

You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”

He melts a little into your chest.

“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.

His head jerks up like a prairie dog.

Satoru’s still shaking.

You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.

His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.

And then—

Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:

“…You wanna see me next?”

Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.

“…Are you serious?”

You nod.

He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”

Your whole face burns.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”

He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.

You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.

“I just thought… since I saw yours…”

His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.

“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”

You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”

He gasps.

Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.

“Say that again,” he whispers.

You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.

“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”

He looks like he might cry.

“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”

You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”

His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”

You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.

His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.

“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.

You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.

And he pulls them down.

Slow, slow, slow

The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.

Your cunt glosses in the light.

Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.

He moans. Moans.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”

You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”

He gulps, audibly.

His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.

“Can I… touch you?”

You feel your knees threaten to buckle.

“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.

His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”

You grab his wrist and guide it...

His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.

“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”

“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”

You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”

“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”

You groan. “That’s not even close.”

He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.

“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”

You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.

“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.

“Y-yeah.”

He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?

You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.

His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”

You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”

His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.

“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”

Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.

But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.

And then—

“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”

That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.

You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.

You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”

You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

He kisses your thigh.

Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.

Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.

And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.

“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.

“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”

He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.

But you’re still trembling.

Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.

Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.

Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”

You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”

“You squirted.”

“I did not.”

“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”

You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.

And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.

Unsatisfied.

You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:

“…Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to put your fingers in me.”

You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.

“Wha— what.”

You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”

His ears go red.

“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”

He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.

His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”

“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”

He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.

His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools as it tries to worm its way in.

You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.

His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.

Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.

“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”

You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”

He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.

He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.

“Angel, you’re gripping me.”

You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”

He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.

“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.

His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”

“D-do it again,” you pant.

He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”

You grab his wrist. “Try two.”

He stares. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Satoru.”

You’re breathless, begging.

He shivers like it physically affects him.

He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.

You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.

It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.

“There— oh my god there, right there—”

His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.

You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.

And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

He doesn’t even pull out.

He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

And you start crying.

Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.

He kisses your forehead.

You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”

He nods. “Me too.”

“…But I might have to train for it.”

He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”

You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to the top of your head.

Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.

He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.

Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.

Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.

Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.

He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.

“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”

He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.

His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.

In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.

Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.

you 🩷 so… are we... dating? omg omg am i your girlfriend now?!

His reply comes instantly.

toru 🩵 i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick aaaand called it "pretty" ilysm angel omg

You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.

But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.

You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.

unfortunately a pretty boring group of wannabe nuns is all you've got. you're not quite sure how you ended up being hand-picked to become an angel, your life was anything but 'pure' so there had to have been a mix up in the middle of the stairs.

so you find small fragments of enjoyment elsewhere..and it just so happens that each one causes trouble. pairing the clown and the girl in hysterics outside the circus together was hilarious, had to spend a week renewing your training with the new recruits though.

however your latest and most severe punishment yet comes from trying to accessorise. you put rosary beads around your ankle and they deemed it disrespectful—apparently that was the last straw, all your offences have added up and now you're 'on break' which is a nicer way of saying suspended.

thought they'd let you treat this like a holiday? of course not. you've been temporarily placed in client relations—the complaints, feedback, and requests are what you're stuck handling now.

common occurrences like 3 arrows connecting or someone not getting along so well with their partner are all that pass your desk for a while—until a letter from an annoyed "ryomen sukuna" arrives.

FROM : RYOMEN SUKUNA

TO : CUPID'S ANGELS

I AM NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR SERVICE!!! STOP SHOOTING ARROWS AT MY BACK THE NEXT ONE I PULL OUT I WILL PLANT IN YOUR SKULL

is what you were able to decode after several minutes of squinting at the page, his handwriting near illegible.

still an interesting case nonetheless, about time something out of the ordinary was delivered. you can tell the man's determined—not only judging by the tone of the letter but also the fact he's able to remove the arrows himself.

you've never seen anything like this, and as much as you'd love to stash it away and keep it all to yourself, unusual matters like this are handled by the higher-ups. it's not like you'd be able to think up a solution anyways.

off it goes with a simple flick of your wrist, floating up towards your superiors. you've been sat on the same cloud for hours and your workload's not getting any smaller. every time you finish up with one, two more come through. sort of starting to regret your rebellious behaviour now..

you're stamping what feels like your thousandth letter of the day when you feel a light tap on your head. naturally you turn to look behind you, and in doing so you're only reminded of your solitude. nothing and no one is around except for a few doves in the distance.

what you do spot however is a letter you're about to lose, falling through the cloud you're on. the adrenaline in your body kicks in and you manage to grip the corner of it between your fingers, avoiding a tiring chase for the thing.

FROM : RYOMEN SUKUNA

TO : CUPID'S ANGELS

I AM NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR SERVICE!!! STOP SHOOTING ARROWS AT MY BACK THE NEXT ONE I PULL OUT I WILL PLANT IN YOUR SKULL

whats this doing back here? looks like there's a note attached too..

"letting you give this one a try, 6 of our angels already came back weeping.. find a way to solve this and you can go back to matchmaking <3"

as if your current punishment wasn't harsh enough they've now dumped their dirty work on you. it's not like you aren't intrigued, but 6 angels? you've got more of a backbone than the rest, sure—but what kind of monster do you have to be to make half a dozen of them sob?

you sigh, knowing you haven't got a choice in this matter and there's nothing to do but find out.

—

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK KNOCK!

you didn't get off to a good start at all. for one, the flight down was tiring—it always is, but that's besides the point. it also took you an extra half hour to find his place since his apartment building could double as a maze.

already frustrated, you raise a hand to knock for a second time, but you're stopped by the door opening a crack. it starts to shake and you hear a gruff voice behind it, "damn things jammed again.." the man grunts, giving it a few kicks.

the door finally swings open and you see whatever light he had left in his eyes fade the second he realisies what's in front of him. "not another one." he groans.

he leans against the doorway, the tattoos plastered across his chest stretching, "go on, spit out whatever practiced speech about the 'importance of love' you have prepared."

"was i supposed to prepare a speech for you? don't remember seeing that requested in the letter.." you throw his words right back in his face.

"no i just—just come in." he sighs, turning his back to you and holding the door.

you take slow steps down the hallway, scanning the place—definitely looks like he lives alone. empty cans piling next to the sink, pair of boxers on the floor, a poster of a girl in a bikini on his bedroom wall.

light bulbs go off in your head upon seeing it, "why don't i find her for you? seem to be into her if she's got a spot on your wall." you say, pointing at the poster.

"she's on my wall cause i wanna stroke my dick from time to time, not marry the chick." his voice echoes from the living room.

"o-kay." your eyes are as wide as saucers making your way back to him, starting to understand why the others didn't take a liking to him.

he's spread out on the couch, legs apart and arms behind his head. you'd think he'd at least have the courtesy to put a shirt on in the presence of an angel? nope.

you take your seat on a nearby stool since the wings on your back do more harm than good, preventing you from resting your back against anything. clearing your throat you prepare to try and reason with the arrogant man, "so listen, i can't move on until i've helped you."

"then help me. take me off whatever list you've got up there." he says it like it's no big deal.

"it doesn't work—"

"—doesn't work that way." he interrupts by finishing your sentence, raising his voice up a few octaves to mock the other angels. "yeah i've been told. find a way to make it work or get lost."

"i can't 'get lost.'" you hold up air quotes, getting increasingly frustrated at how cocky he's acting.

"what do you mean you can't? your 'friends' were out of here within an hour, what makes you so special?" he questions you, his eyebrows furrowed.

letting out a heavy sigh you unwillingly start to explain, knowing it's best to get it over with. "it's a long story, they're basically making me do this as some sort of punishment—even though they won't call it one." your distaste towards your current lifestyle unintentionally starts to slip from your lips.

"wo-ow!" he cackles, "they sent the naughty angel to deal with the big bad wolf, never knew those existed."

you roll your eyes in response, irritated with the walking inconvenience in front of you who's treating you like a piece of gum on the sole of his shoe.

he lifts himself off the couch and stands, still chuckling to himself about his own joke. "got here a little late, no? how about you come back tomorrow when you've found a solution."

"told you already i can't go back." you spit at him.

"not my problem." he says, making his way down to his bedroom and kicking the door behind him.

but he's yours. unfortunately.

with nowhere else to go you try and get yourself comfortable on the squeaky couch, thankfully he's quite the large man so you aren't struggling for space.

there's no blanket in sight so you're forced to freeze, broken window behind you isn't helping your situation much either. you cope by laying there and badmouthing him in your head, occasionally muttering the word 'asshole' every time a strong breeze blows through the glass.

-

when sukuna—who is half awake, opens his bedroom door to find an angel sprawled out on the couch his soul nearly leaves his body.

in his state of pure terror he instinctively jumps backward, knocking over a lamp in the process which causes you to zap awake, if that wasn't enough he also starts screaming at the top of his lungs. "YOU CANT DO THAT!.. thought i was fucking dead!"

a part of you wishes he was. it'd be the quickest way to solve this issue, the only thing preventing you from doing so is the fact that you'd just end up digging yourself a deeper hole—one full of fire. "good morning to you too." you say, your voice groggy.

"when did i tell you that you could move in?!" he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"well did you expect me to make a blanket out of newspapers and sleep outside your door?" you retort.

you don't manage to get another word in with him bursting into a fit again. "GO HOME!—or—wherever you belong!.."

"i'll keep your suggestion in mind." you say with the most sarcastic-looking smile on your face, "speaking of moving in, i think it's time you fixed that window—for my sake."

"what, also want me to provide a complimentary breakfast buffet and room service?" he replies, his tone nothing but snarky.

"a spare pillow and my own towel would be great too, thanks." you add.

"get fucked."

most of your conversations follow that exact pattern over the course over the next few days, little bouts every now and then before he kicks you off of his couch to watch TV or leaves the apartment to do god knows what.

no chance in making any conversation, after all you tire him out with your endless begging and propositions "ever tried tinder?" , "don't you ever go out to the club? there's lot's of pretty girls there." and all you get back is some variation of 'no.'

it's not like you're itching to go back to your old lifestyle, spending a few days in his apartment (which he cleaned up after some more nagging) has made you miss simple living even more now that you've got a taste of it again.

which is weird, you never thought you'd miss doing dishes or eating borderline cardboard for breakfast. looks to you like they've accidentally sent you on a free vacation—even though your 'hotel' is more of a shabby motel it's a vacation nonetheless.

unfortunately nothing in your life stays this quiet for long.

"sukuna! look! the girl walking her dog, isn't she cute?" you call him over, nearly hanging out of the window he finally got fixed.

"mnot mmy type." he mumbles with a mouth still stuffed with food that he doesn't care to finish before speaking.

"you haven't even seen her."

he shrugs and starts walking over to you, "'mm, i just had a feeling i wasn't gonna like her."

"what about the one in the suit—over there!" you point to the opposite end of the street, "corporate woman, should know how to put you in your place."

sukuna's looking out the window this time, but it's still a hard 'no.' that word seems to be all that comes out of his mouth nowadays. turning his focus to you, an idea pops into his head—a bad one. "what if i pick you?"

you waste no time in shutting him down. "can't do that." you explain, already dreading the pointless interrogation that's coming.

"why not? y'know.. you're kind of useless. first you can't figure out a way to let me live my life in peace, then you used all your efforts to find me a match and when i pick one you can't do shit for me." he rambles on.

"i'll get fired is why. already died once so i don't think this gives me some sort of magical chance at a second life, i'll probably just die right here and fall out of your window." although you aren't 100% sure on what will happen, you give him your best guess and don't sugarcoat anything.

"said it just to piss you off.. didn't want your whole sob story. i'll give it to you though, touched my heart a bit that one." he pokes the side of your arm, his lips curling up into a grin.

"shut up." you groan, stepping back from the window and moving to sit on the edge of the couch.

"so what can you do? from what you've told me it sounds like close to nothing. do they even let you have sex up there?" he asks, a look of genuine interest on his face.

despite his question not having a certain 'intent' to it, you still feel your heart speed up and the blood in your body rush to your face. "not like we have the time or the place to." you say with a shaky voice, eyes turned away from him.

"this topic too 'impure' for you?" he jokes, not catching wind of your inner turmoil—doesn't take him long to do so though. it's obvious with the way your thighs are pressed together, how your ability to go back and forth with him has just vanished all of a sudden, and the biggest tell tale sign of all—your wings.

they've closed in on you like a blanket and the ivory feathers aren't so uniform anymore, as if you've lost control over them.

"oh."

your eyes are shut tight, and when you open them again you find him looming over you. "don't have much of a poker face, do you?" the heels of his hands rest atop the frame of the couch at either side of your thighs.

a wing moves to cover your face from him, unable to think with the noise of your heart pounding in your chest you do the only thing you can and shield yourself.

"didn't know you could ever get so quiet, if only i'd known sooner what shuts you up.." he pauses and lifts a hand to lower the wing guarding you, the feeling of his fingers brushing it has you swallowing down a whimper.

nothing slips past him, he still notices the way they quiver at his touch. "needy girl. if you want it so bad come take it." he leaves your side to plop down on the couch, fingers playing with his waistband as he looks up at you, his head resting on the frame beside your hands.

it's just not fair how a simple string of words has your pussy throbbing, turning around to look at him doesn't help much either when he's got a perfectly sculpted body and a v-line you'd do anything to lick. "don't write any letters to me after this." you say in a playful tone, masking the nervousness you feel.

once you're in front of him he wastes no time and tugs down the long skirt you're wearing, letting it pool at your ankles.

and before you know it that's not the only piece of clothing missing. you're more focused on the feeling of his lips on yours and his cock getting hard under you rather than where your bra and panties could be.

the hands resting on your hips pull your body away from his, a string of spit still connects the two of you before he speaks "up." he says with a nod of his head.

you comply, using your wings to float over him. he quickly tugs his sweatpants and boxers down in one go, freeing his aching cock that you gape at. the sheer size of it combined with the red angry tip nearly has sweat already running down the back of your neck.

"gonna get all shy on me again?" he smirks, gliding his fist along it as you stare.

you roll your eyes at his words, "keep talking and this'll be on that bucket list of yours forever."

"who says i haven't fucked an angel before?" he says, trying (and succeeding) to get a rise out of you. being petty is a habit of yours that has remained unchanged in both life and death, so naturally you attempt to glide away from him in an attempt to get him to stop with his provoking comments.

he reaches over and grabs a hold of your hips before you can get too far, "i'm kidding, i'm kidding. cmere." he chuckles, pulling you down so you straddle his thighs, the head of his cock resting against your stomach.

the sight has a lump forming in your throat, if you somehow didn't think his dick was big before, you know it now. seeing how deep it'll go inside you has your pussy clenching around nothing.

sucking a sharp breath in you sink down onto his cock, nails digging into his shoulders feeling him stretch your cunt out inch by inch.

"easy now, wouldn't wanna send you back in two." he snickers and starts slooowly gliding his left hand up your ribs, sending a shiver throughout your body, leaving goosebumps in it's wake.

with his dick over halfway inside you and lathered with your juices you're finding it much easier to move, starting with slow rolls of your hips. sukuna's eyes are glued to your chest, really paying attention to how gravity affects the rest of your body. "i ever tell you that they're pretty?"

"gonna put a picture of me on your bedroom wall next?" you hum, the sultry tone in your voice impossible to miss.

the faster you bounce on his cock the more that idea doesn't seem so wild to him, "y'know i just might." he unconsciously pulls his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes wander down to where your bodies meet, watching your cunt practically swallow his dick whole.

and feeling it too, the feeling of your tight walls wrapping around his shaft is somewhat addictive. he can't get enough—just needs more.

as you're savouring the pleasure you find in moments where your clit brushes up against the trail of pink hairs on his abdomen, sukuna's greed starts to show. his hips buck up to meet yours a tad too soon, "f-fuck!" you cry out.

"m'sorry, m'sorry, keep at it." he says, giving a light tap to your ass that for some reason makes your pace quicken, as if he's flipped a switch in your brain.

you don't think on it too long, or rather you can't. not with your thighs starting to burn, the burst of ambition from just moments earlier quickly starting to dissipate as you feel the ache in your muscles.

but you still keep at it for as long as you can, moaning loud enough for the neighbours or even the whole floor to hear for something to distract you. you swear you can feel his dick grow harder inside you with every "sukuna.." you breathe out.

with your pace eventually starting to stutter he leaves little margin for error, "cmon angel, you can do better than that." and delivers a sharp slap to your ass that landed harder than expected.

it only slows you down more, legs instinctively trying to close in on eachother at the feel of the harsh sting.

"look like you need some help." he doesn't give you the chance to answer, his words turning out to be more of a warning than an observation as he repeats his earlier actions and starts fucking up into you.

using his own raw strength to hold you up, he holds a tight grip on your waist—so tight that there are bound to be imprints of his fingers left on your skin.

can't say that it doesn't turn you on even more, your pussy is practically gushing all over his dick at the thought of it. "mm, sukuna s-slow dowwnn." your voice shakes due to the force he's using to bounce you up and down.

your pleas only egg him on further, his pulsing tip twitches upon hearing your breathy voice and he starts slamming his hips into your sopping cunt at an unthinkable pace, "s-shit.." he groans, unknowingly sliding his hand up to your wing.

it sends a ripple through your body, already left a mumbling mess on top of him you can't do anything but whine, you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and tighten, until it just snaps.

the feeling of your walls clamping down on him has him throwing his head back against the frame of the couch, his adams apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to hold himself back and fuck you through your own high.

despite his efforts he can only manage a few more thrusts before he's shooting his cum deep inside your pussy, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath.

the two of you lay there for a long while, but it's not long enough.

-

the next morning you're awoken to the sound of light knocking at the front door, quite surprising that knocking of all things woke you when there's a man snoring like a truck under you right now.

you walk over to it in shorts and a t-shirt you don't remember putting on yourself last night, and upon opening it you're faced with the only thing that could ruin your mood.

an angel.

"hi! they sent me down here to tell you that you can return, it's nearly been a week and they didn't want to keep you any longer. also said that you'll be in client relations for another week but after that you'll be good to go!" she speaks with a high pitched voice, one that's insanely annoying for this hour of the morning.

"mhm. yeah ill be up soon i just uh.. need to fix myself up." you stretch your limbs, feeling your muscles ache.

she pouts, "he giving you trouble? the other angels told me he wasn't the nicest to be around."

"something like that, yeah." you grumble before slamming the door in her face.

you change back into the clothes you were wearing when you first arrived, splash some water on your face and mess with your hair a little, not bothered with putting that much effort into your appearance right now.

as the lock on his front door turns you debate on saying something to sukuna before you leave. yes those few days were great, the best you've had in years—but you aren't one for sappy goodbyes. it's a shock that it even crossed your mind.

yet on the journey back up and on a cloud stamping letters it's even stranger that he's all that's on your mind.

days go by and nothing changes, still sorting through letters with him poking at your brain, inserting himself into your thoughts like some kind of parasite.

stupid of you to think that he was irritating before because he's even more irritating now, just reminding you of what you once had while you're stuck in your own version of purgatory.

of course the bastard has to go and make it worse.

INQUIRY (MARKED URGENT)

FROM: RYOMEN SUKUNA

TO: CUPID'S ANGELS

just curious would it kill your kind if you were shot with an arrow just curious though

p.s — might solve the issue i wrote to you about earlier so don't keep me waiting

a/n : this took me so long for no reason blubblub but its finally done!! i rlly enjoyed writing this one despite my lack of motivation to finish it LOL

a sukuna oneshot was due for his best concubine @yoonsucks .

perm tags: @jaaazy @yoonsucks @cherrychoso @itimisu @b-bitter @theyluvchanel @fairylilysstuff @yemmuis @measfaf @iheartspencereid @violasepals @jiyuspassion @nightmarenyxx @6x-x9 @kaiismadgay @kmhsjy @magicalpeenpoo

sukuna tags: @jayleenvvglooms @theogmamaguro @sluttyangel04 @valberryboos