𝖘𝖒𝖔𝖑

good days on the farm didn’t happen very often. more times often than not, you’d have to discard of crops that simply didn’t grow throughout the season or simply weren’t profitable anymore in a changing market. your family didn’t have the money to invest on pasteurizing the milk from the two cows that spent their time grazing on the field, leaving you to have to discard of the surplus. the land that once served as a place of profit and survival now left your family scrambling pennies around to maintain it each month.

arguments travelled through paper thin walls—talks about losing the home, about trying to sell one of the cows to be set up for the next three months. “i’m gettin’ a job over at that town over, marie from the market says she can set me up to be a banker’s assistant,” your mother announced over dinner—stale mashed potatoes and eggs. it chipped away at your father’s pride bit by bit. yet pride was never good at getting food on the table, was it?

your family managed to scrape by. just barely. but still scraping by. your mother stepped out of your home before the sun came up and came back long after sunset, exhaustion making itself known by the way she struggled to keep her eyes open during dinner, to the way the bags under her eyes sunk in further with each day.

throughout the years, you’ve learned to manage your expectations to about… zero? that’s about right. your birthday didn’t hold that much importance anymore: just another day out of many where you had to get up and go to work. maybe you’d sneak off to the tracks to watch a race or two before you were escorted out by security.

work had been uneventful, going to the local market to try to sell a few boxes of strawberries for a dollar and some change before calling it a day. but it gave you just enough time to head over to the tracks before the races started—hoisting yourself up the metal fence to watch the jockeys start to set up. expensive carriages begin arriving within five minutes of your arrival, men in their finest suits stepping out to open the door for their lady.

wealth dripped from every single person that stepped into the tracks, even in the way that they laughed. money that you could only dream of seeing in a year is scribbled away in betting sheets, thousands put at the fate of a horse. though, you doubted it would even be enough to dent their pockets.

a gust of wind hit your face once the horses darted past, darting past the half mile mark in a blur. “and look at that folks! we got ‘em all neck and neck, but oh, little miss is pulling up ahead!” the crowd broke out in cheers, feet slamming against the metal stands.

when the races came to an end, you didn’t go home right away. walking the long way back home, the sun had started to set long ago—painting the sky above in streaks of light pink and orange. flowers swayed lightly in the night wind, crickets chirping in the grass next to the road.

your father’s waiting for you when you get home with a stern look on his face, “got something out back for you to check out, c’mon.” he leads you out into the barn in the back, folding his arms across his chest. you’re not sure what to expect—maybe one of the cows got hurt? the few crops you had left as food were damaged? still, you don’t get much to ponder when you hear him speak again, “open it.”

you pushed aside the wooden barn door, sunlight slowly bathing the dark interior in a golden light before you finally caught on. an appaloosa colt—maybe two, three years old—stood right in front of you, healthy black coat shimmering under the light with a few white spots scattered on his flank like a leopard. you blink once, expecting it to be gone by the time you open your eyes.

it’s still there when you do.

holding your hand out, the colt leaned in to sniff at your hand, a soft gust of wind against your skin as he blew on you before leaning its head against you. his fur felt soft underneath your fingertips, ears drooping back at each gentle stroke of your fingers. “hi sweetheart,” you whispered, fingers moving down to his neck.

your father’s boots shuffled against hay scattered throughout the barn, making his way over. his expression had softened up in a small smile, clasping a heavy hand over your shoulder, “he’s all yours. take care of him, you hear me?” you felt your breath catch in your throat, overwhelmed by the sudden emotion. never would you have thought that you’d one day be on the tracks—always imagined that you’d always watch your dream fade away into a dull ache into something regret of what could’ve been.

you nodded, reaching out to wrap your arms around him. you don’t even want to think about how much money a horse like this was, how much debt he’d willingly put himself through just to give you the chance. he returned the embrace, holding you against himself, “train him to race like you been watching for so long, get some money and get yourself on out of here.”

the past two years prior to the race were spent in excruciating hours of training—surpassing your horse’s limits with each day that went by. at first, it’d been simple enough: getting your appaloosa used to having a mount on his back, to have him stand still next to the mounting block, and then to having him used to having a rider on his back.

only then, was that you could begin the actual training. it started off with a light sprint throughout the farm, jogging a quarter of a mile out and back to ease him into getting his heart rate up. every week, he started getting faster and faster—enduring longer distances. and every time your horse beat a personal record, you were right there with a bag of carrots to congratulate him.

“i’m so proud of you,” you’d whisper each time he beat his personal record, passing over a carrot slice he’d practically inhale. slow huffs of breath would leave his lungs once he’d start to relax, breathing returning back to normal. the afternoon sun would start to set by the time you started to head back to the farm, cicadas buzzing in your ear every step of the way. if training continued this well, you’d be able to start racing soon enough.

though, it started off with races hosted in someone’s backyard, offering $50 dollars as a first place prize before moving up to $2000 races with more and more people filling up the crowds. your name started to get recognized amongst jockeys, people started betting in your favor with each gold medal hung around your neck. slowly, you started to make your way across the country to compete in grade 3 races, then grade 2 when you’d accumulated enough points, and finally grade 1.

every spare cent that made itself available from races was put back into your horse, whether it be better riding equipment, a sturdier saddle, or another vet visit if only to get them to confirm that he was healthy and his bones were in good shape. you knew most jockeys at the kentucky derby had money, came from expensive ranches and luxurious families, but still, you were invited. to one of the most important events in horse racing.

you’d worked your ass off to train your horse, training six days out of the week, but you’re made aware of the gap in funding when you step foot into the stables: spotting mostly horses of a fine pedigree inside. from thoroughbreds, arabians, mustangs, you and slow dancer stuck out like a sore thumb. jockeys walk past in italian leather boots, tailored jackets, and iron-pressed polos.

titanium horseshoes click against pavement as the horses are guided over to the stables looking out into the tracks. “you should give up now,” naoya zen’in sneers when he approaches your side, the image of a pretentious nepo baby who’d never been told no.

“amazing sportsmanship by you again,” unwilling to give into his petty reactions, you decide to give him a big smile. patting your hand against his shoulder, you move with slow dancer to your starting post. you briefly catch him dusting his shoulder with a look of disgust, muttering under his breath.

metal creaks against its hinges: the gate opens. guests stand up from the comfort of their chairs at the first sign of the race starting, craning their necks out to catch a glimpse of the contenders. “wow! look at that mighty fine selection folks! we got alpha male!” cameras pan over to naoya and a bay colored stallion, bronze coat glimmering underneath the sunlight.

“we have valkyrie!” the camera pans over to suguru geto and a brown colored australian stock horse, the definition of a muscular build and strong, broad hindquarters. the cameras continue to move, over to where you’re standing, “here we have slow dancer!” it continues for a few moments, getting the crowd riled up before the action actually began.

the starting bell rings, “and they’re off folks!”

stallions shoot out from their stables like bullets, ground shaking and quaking underneath their loud gallops. the crowd, the announcers, the rest of the jockeys all become background static in the adrenaline of the race, wind blowing in waves against your face. yet all you could focus on was the finish line. slow dancer moves through a narrow gap between valkyrie and alpha male, quickly taking first place. your fingers grip the reins, slowly building up more speed to leave the rest in the dust.

alpha male speeds ahead in a blur, taking the second place spot without hesitation. you see him from the corner of your eye, sneaking closer and closer to your position. “come on,” you muttered, releasing the reins from your hold. shifting your body up the mount and raising your chest, it’s all the signs slow dancer needs to increase speed.

“we’re half of the way through the race and slow dancer’s taken first place! will they be able to keep it or will alpha male snag a last minute victory?! it’s neck and neck, folks!” just once, you let yourself look over to the crowd of people, seeing them all standing there and rooting for you. signs fly up in the air with drawings of slow dancer painted on, jockey number on the little ones’ cheeks. in those three seconds, everything felt perfect.

and just like that, it was quickly ruined. naoya zen’in closed the gap left behind, leaving the rest in the dust to catch up to you. “not losing to a goddamn woman,” you hear him mutter under his breath, his horse slamming against slow dancer’s side. it’s not enough to knock you over—but your fingers tighten around the reins to keep your stance, forcing your horse to slow down.

a normal racer would’ve taken the advantage and made their way onto the finish line. but that wasn’t enough for naoya. the second time he slams into you, it knocks you completely off balance. pain surges from your legs up your torso upon the fall, helmet slamming against the clay underneath you. labored breaths are forcefully expelled from your lungs, nails digging into the clay tracks to try to hoist yourself up.

the ground shook underneath, racers at the last leg of the race finally zooming past your limp body as they tried to catch up to the rest. “naoya zen’in and alpha male win first place! suguru geto and valkyrie quickly approach the line to claim their spot as second!” feet slam against metal, crowds quickly standing up to break out into applause.

you can’t bring yourself to stand up. slow dancer’s snout nudges your feet, an anxious neigh leaving him in pure distress. he doesn’t leave your side, even as the medics finally started to arrive onto the scene once the final jockey made it through the finish line. “come on, stay with me, stay with me!” their voices sound muffled, as if you’ve been submerged underwater.

an alarm rings throughout the loudspeakers, temporarily stopping the celebration. “‘scuse me folks, we got an announcement! after reviewing the footage, we’ve found naoya zen’in has violated the rules of the kentucky derby and thus, suguru geto and valkyrie are our winners!” that does nothing to soothe the pain of the loss.

“tell me how many fingers you see, stay with me!” your eyes are forced open by the medic’s harsh flashlight shining at your pupils, gaze hazy as you tried to focus on the hand in front of you.

“three.”

he holds up five fingers next time. upon your confirmation, he determines: “no signs of a concussion. might have a few broken bones, we need to take her in for examination.”

medics hoist your body up onto a stretcher, rolling you out of the tracks to an ambulance parked outside. slow dancer moves to follow but a vet steps out onto the track, tugging too harshly against his reins. “be gentle, please,” your voice shakes as you beg, watching as he’s forcefully pulled away from your side. slow dancer had suffered the brunt of the impact and pushed it aside to remain at your aid.

the stands started clearing out as soon as the race came to an end, some eager to get their money’s worth and some dragging their feet all the way home. a couple people glance over your way, but only a muscular man with a scar on his lip actually approaches.

he waves his ticket in your direction when he’s by your stretcher, a glare on his face. “you wanna know how much we spent bettin’ on ya, lil’ girl? how much we gave that daddy of yours to getcha that mighty horse you’re prancing around on?”

it’s not just you facing the repercussions of the loss—but your family. this was the only chance you had to get out of this town, to make a name for yourself, and you’d completely blown it. if only you’d stayed on your horse, if only you’d sped up to where naoya couldn’t reach you, if only…

fuck.

a trembling breath leaves your lips, eyes stinging as you tried to swallow back tears threatening to spill in front of a loan shark of all people. you don’t know how you’re going to get back to your life, if you even can get back to some normalcy of it. warm tears spill down your cheeks once the disappointment takes hold, a painful lump in your throat keeping you from speaking.

the man nearly lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes at the display. “i don’t know how, but y’re gonna pay us back for all our trouble,” he threatens, menacingly looming over you. roughly, he takes a hold of your chin, forcing your tear-blurred vision onto his face, “got that?”

the sound of hooves clacking against the ground made the air still for just a second, suguru approaching your stretcher. you would’ve imagined he’d still be celebrating his win instead of getting a front row seat to your tears. “is there a problem here folks?” he’s only looking at you when he asks.

you shake your head, “no problem at all.” the man steps away, giving you one last look before making his way over to his carriage. “are you here to rub in your win?”

suguru merely shakes his head, reaching out to wipe away the drying tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb ever so gently. he looked at you with nothing but pity in his gaze, violet eyes softening just a bit, and that look killed you more than any injury. being seen as helpless again, as a disappointment. “if you need help with something, just ask.”

you’d rather get trampled by horses than ever take him up on that offer. still, you find it in yourself to give him a stiff nod. the medics come back to place you into the ambulance, shutting metal doors with more force than necessary. through the thin window, you manage to see suguru hasn’t left his spot until you’re well out of sight. it’s infuriating.

newspapers spread the word like wildfire—headlines ranging from: “star jockey out for injury: will they ever ride again?” to “naoya zen’in knocks over jockey: fined $7000 by the national jockey association.”

then they focused on suguru geto, winner of the kentucky derby. not a day passed by where he wasn’t surrounded by journalists sticking a microphone in his face, cameras flashing from nearly every direction. “geto, geto! just a moment of your time please!” reporters would beg at his feet in the attempt of scoring an interview.

soon enough, you and your injury were nothing but old news. nothing but a has-been in a world where new jockeys emerged everyday in hopes of achieving some semblance of fame. everything you’d worked for disappeared in the blink of an eye. now your only focus was on starting to walk around the farm again, to ease your body into moving after your injury.

blue first place ribbons hang up on your walls, shiny gold trophies gleam underneath the orange sunlight peering in through your bedroom windows. a secretariat poster hangs up on the wall next to your ribbons, a reminder you kept up to motivate you through each race.

the sight does nothing but mock you now—a cruel reminder that you might not be able to be a jockey again.

—

curtains clasped shut at the first glimpse of your limping figure through the window, doors slamming shut and locks quickly jiggled shut. your mother wanted nothing to do with you—started going by her maiden name again. your father wouldn’t even look at you. and to top it all off, you were still buried in a mountain of debt.

work had proven to become a challenge. if you struggled to get customers to your little corner of the market once, the struggle was multiplied tenfold after the race. tumbleweeds blew past your stand ever so often, nobody daring to even approach out of fear of being isolated in the same way. your strawberries went bad before you could even sell one container most days.

toji fushiguro picked up the coins you’d dropped on the table, counting them off one by one—ten measly cents—before looking up. a cruel smirk spread across his face, scarred lips raising up in amusement. “you serious, girl?”

“it’s all i got right now, mr. fushiguro,” your fingers fidget in front of you as you speak, avoiding looking at him in the eye for too long. “just give me some time to get the rest of it together, please.”

he all but roughly pushes the coins back in your direction, propping his feet up on the table. “ain’t even worth the time i’m speaking to you.” a low blow, but it wasn’t even enough to get the bus home. it’s the next part that makes you pause, however, “plus, your debt’s been paid.”

you blink slowly, staring at toji in disbelief. maybe you did get a concussion. maybe you’re hearing things. but you’re met with nothing but a shrug from the man. shock momentarily subsided, you manage to spit out, “what? by who?”

toji glanced over at a pink haired man you don’t recall having seen at the race. the two of them share a silent conversation with just a look before the men turned to look at you once more. “tch. you of all people should know don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, now get. don’t waste my time again,” he shrugged, shooing you with a flick of his hand.

even if the debt was paid off, you couldn’t stay in this town. while it wasn’t the place that you wanted to spend the rest of your life in, it was one you’d once considered a home. people you grew up with treated you the same they would dirt underneath their snakeskin boots, ones you’d shared a laugh and a cold glass of brew only had cold, bitter silence to offer, elderly who once treated you like family wanted nothing to do with you.

there was nothing left for you here.

but there was one race you could start over with.

the steel ball run.

a six thousand kilometer race running from san diego, california to manhattan, new york city with nine checkpoints along the way all for the chance of winning fifty million at the end. it’s the first race of its kind—whispers stretching out through city lines about what possible dangers lie in the paths, if the money was even guaranteed, about how many people would die trying.

though, you didn’t have anything to lose anymore. stripped away from your title, from your glory, you were just another washed up racer drowning in debt no one would remember in five years. “y’re no daughter of mine.” that was the last time your father looked you in the eyes, with nothing but fury and disdain.

plenty of other washed up racers from other towns lined up at the sign up booth, each one looking for the same chance of redemption that you were. or maybe, just the cash. you dug out your small pouch from your pockets, gold coins jiggling against one another before making your way into the line.

“name?” a tired looking attendant questions, barely looking up from their clipboard. you give him your name, placing the pouch in front of you. two hundred coins exact—the charge of entry. the last bit of money you had saved up. they dump the coins onto the wooden table, muttering under their breath as they count each and every last one of them.

the cash register opened—filled to the brim with gold coins shining through. they dumped yours along with the rest, writing your name onto the clipboard in sloppy scribbles. “what’s your horse’s breed and name?”

“slow dancer. he’s an appaloosa.” you’re handed a jockey number—939— before being promptly shooed away to attend to the person standing behind you. padding over to slow dancer, you hoist the number onto his mount. he’d recovered quite nicely after dislocating his shoulder after the incident, though you’d never tried to race him again. couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to do it again.

your eyes dart around the space to wage the competition, spotting quarter horses, appaloosas, older thoroughbreds that’d been retired (nothing too prestigious), but you were certain what these people lacked in money, they made up with desperation and years of experience.

though, the last person you expect to see at this race is right in front of you—suguru geto with valkyrie standing next to him at the check in counter. his forearms strained against the thin black button on as he fixed his horse’s number on, long onyx strands falling from their half-bun onto his face.

you decide to approach him, tapping on his shoulder. he looks just as surprised to see you here, before his expression’s schooled back to normal. you raise a brow before questioning, “what are you doin’ here? wasn’t happy with nearly a million from the derby?”

suguru doesn’t answer straight away. he simply lets out a quiet hum, finally meeting your disbelieving gaze. “spent it all,” he responds, fishing a marlboro pack from his pockets. he takes a stick from the half-finished pack, bringing it up to his lips before patting his pockets for a lighter. you pass him the one in your pocket.

“you spent seven hundred thousand dollars in five months?” you deadpan, brows furrowing in disbelief. you hadn’t seen anything on the news, nothing about any extravagant purchases or new horses bought. “on what?”

a plume of smoke leaves his lips, fingers grazing against yours when he returns the lighter. “don’t be digging’ around where you haven’t lost something,”

you want to continue to prod, but you don’t get the chance to.

a microphone squeals loudly throughout the crowd, an echo of ‘boos’ following like clockwork. “sorry about all that, folks. my name’s mashamichi yaga and i want to give you all a warm welcome to the race.

“now. listen closely! true failure is forgetting the pioneer spirit! and staying away from challenging hardships! there is no such thing as failure in this race! there are only adventurers! this steel ball run race will be an event the likes of which the world has never experienced before!"

he moves onto explain the technicalities of the race—of each checkpoint, of the money won, of people being able to keep up with you on a shiny, new locomotive meant to provide comfort to the richest of the rich during this race. “we got two minutes ‘till the race starts, first place winner will be given a one hour time bonus at the next checkpoint and a hundred points!”

“i need your help.” the words feel like poison on your tongue, your nose scrunching up at the admission. you still had your pride; the last thing you wanted to do was ask suguru geto for help. but once again, what did pride get you? reluctantly, you added, “i can’t win this race without you.”

after a few furtive puffs, the marlboro was snuffed out under the tip of his boot. the grimace on your face was still there despite your attempts to try to swallow your distaste. “you.” he points at you for emphasis, an incredulous scoff leaving his lips before pointing at himself, “want me to help you.”

“yes.” you sincerely hope you sound more convincing this time around. like you’re not dreading the idea before it he’s even agreed to it.

suguru decides to entertain you, “why?”whether it be out of curiosity or a means to mock you, you weren’t exactly in the position to question it.

“you said you’d help me if i needed it. i’m asking for your help now,” you respond, moving to mount slow dancer once yaga came out to announce one minute until start. it feels like riding a bike again—putting your leg foot into the stirrup before swinging your right foot over to the side.

“y’know that wasn’t what i was talkin’ about?” you knew. he probably meant getting in and around town, bringing a warm slice of pie to your bedside table if need be. not helping you win a transcontinental race. a silence settles between the two of you as you start making your way over to the starting line, thousands and thousands of jockeys stretching out for miles across the land.

a few people stick their head out the train’s windows, hoping to catch a glimpse before the locomotive takes down the tracks. suguru turns to look at you before it begins, before you’re too far apart to speak, “if you can keep up with me, i’ll help you.” you’re caught completely off guard.

a single bullet launches into the air, hooves trampling against sand in a rush to be any place but dead last in between 3000+ jockeys. the shock takes too long to subside—leaving you to start late. the scorching desert heat is relentless against your flushed skin, sweat dribbling down your temples and back. the thin material of your button-down sticks to you like a second skin, small critters scurrying into the ground to find cover.

while many of the other jockeys had taken off in a sprint for the first leg of the race, you’d decided on taking it slow. the next source of water was uncertain, and you knew slow dancer wouldn’t be able to handle this rough terrain at high speeds. “in first place, we have suguru geto speeding past, but wait, star jockey naoya zen’in’s right behind!” the name makes your eye twitch.

if he had no qualms about playing dirty in the derby, he’d certainly have no problem doing it now in the middle of the desert.

time didn’t exist in a vast land with cacti as landmarks, no sense of how far you’ve travelled if it weren’t for yaga’s announcements or how much more you have left to go. you see all kind of racers throughout the journey—a jockey managing to make his way through a patch of thorns without a scratch and his eyes shut, a racer running through the competition by foot—unbothered by the scorching sand underneath.

up ahead, suguru knocks naoya from his horse with enough force to leave him winded and out of commission for a few minutes. he moves away from the track to cut ahead a few miles, the sight of the forest treacherous and dangerous up ahead. a few jockeys decide to rush after him, and you follow suit to cut off a few miles of distance.

twigs surround you throughout the narrow passageway available, sharp ends digging into your arms with a vengeance. slow dancer’s forced to scale back on speed, moving carefully through tree openings. a couple jockeys get stuck in between branches, clothes stuck and horses wounded. they’re slowed down, giving you the perfect opportunity to move closer and closer to the opening.

“and they’re out of the woods, folks! they left the other jockeys in the dust, managing to keep their advantage!” yaga’s voice booms out at the first sight of geto appearing through the end of the forest. your grip on the reins around slow dancer’s mouth releases, letting him burst forward throughout this last leg of the race.

crowds around you break out into bursts of applause, the kids jumping in their place as suguru makes his way through the finish line at first place with the follow-ups only a nose away. a loud screeech from the locomotive coming to a halt is heard a mile away, cameras taken out in a frenzy to capture the fleeting moment. “and we have our winner! soundman’s in second, naoya following in third!”

you cross through the finish line at fourth place, scoring yourself 35 points at the first checkpoint. not bad enough, but a score you’d definitely need to improve in the second checkpoint.

the alarms ring out once, yaga’s voice coming in through the loudspeakers, “suguru geto has been disqualified from first place after reviewing the footage, soundman is the winner of our race today!”

—

night falls by the time the race celebrations are over; those lucky enough to have brought some spare change are able to stay at an inn in the frontier town nearby, and those who weren’t, resort to sleeping on the ground in hopes a snake doesn’t dare to approach. a breeze settles over the desert now that the sun’s set completely, a chill running down your sticky body.

you settle for setting your head down on an old log, tying slow dancer to a tree right next to your spot. a few of the other racers murmur amongst themselves, probably trying to team up against the rest of you all, and an owl hoots nearby, but its calm tonight. your eyes flutter shut, slowly starting to give into the tiredness that courses through your body.

you’re not sure how long you take a nap for, but when your eyes flutter open, you’re met with suguru geto looming over you. a hand flies up to your chest, blinking away any remaining sleep. “good grief, you scared me, what’s wrong with you?!”

he takes a step back, letting you stand up and dust your jeans off. “you can stay with me,” he offers, tucking his hands into his pants. suguru almost looks…shy upon the inquiry. that, or the lack of sleep was really doing a number on you.

a teasing smirk makes its way onto your face, one of your fingers reaching up to prod at his cheek, “aw, look at ‘cha. you came back to invite me to your quarters.” he takes a hold of your finger, but he doesn’t let go immediately. it feels too intimate for someone you’re supposed to hate for stealing your dream.

“yeah, yeah. c’mon, let’s go before you catch a cold out here.” suguru leads you and slow dancer to an inn almost half a mile out, a couple horses tied onto trees nearby. you give slow dancer a small kiss on his left cheek before following inside. a soft breeze welcomes you upon stepping into the room, a rusty window a/c whirring at full speed.

what suguru had failed to realize before inviting you over was that: he only had one bed. no couch, no nothing.

he rubs a hand against the back of his neck, letting out a small whistle. “i can sleep on the floor if you need me to.” even though, he sounds like he wants to do anything but.

you merely shrug, slipping your boots off by the right side of the bed. maybe you hated him, but you weren’t exactly cruel. “we’re both adults here, we can sleep on a bed together. plus, you paid for the room, can’t have you doin’ that now.” suguru settles on the left, discarding his boots and his jeans.

you have to force yourself to look away from his thighs, focusing instead of unbuttoning your shirt. “we can set up a pillow fort if that makes you feel better, though,” you offer, setting up a couple in the middle of the bed. it’s not much, but it’s enough to warrant you space for the night.

“sleep well.”

“goodnight.” you settle underneath a satin sheet, struggling to find a comfortable position. you flip to your right, you flip to your left, you even try sleeping on your stomach. suguru doesn’t say anything—even when he’s hyperaware of each and every single one of your movements. though eventually, you give up on the task and end up falling asleep with your back turned towards him.

moonlight flickers through the hotel’s curtains, painting the room in silver streaks. the pillow mountain’s been completely toppled, your ass pressed up against suguru’s cock in this position. he’s sure you’re trying to torture him with the way you’re slowly rubbing yourself against him.

his cock strains against his boxers with each roll of your hips back against him, drops of precum smearing a dark grey patch onto the front of the material. a quiet moan that seems too loud for the hotel room leaves his lips, eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to push this away. think about the inevitable horse shit he’d have to chuck away tomorrow…about naoya’s stupid face…

“oh fuck.” you drip through the thin material of your panties, the print of your lips clearly defined against the cotton. each roll of your hips is purposeful, using him to get off. his feet hit the floor mere seconds later. he’s had sex with women before and yet he feels like a virgin all over with how quickly you unravel him.

you trust him. as much as someone like you can trust anyone, and he’s here getting hard because you’re rubbing yourself up against him. regret mixes into a toxic cocktail with self-loathing once he lowers his boxers in the small bathroom, one of his hands wrapping around the base.

and to top it all off, he’s thinking about you with each stroke. your lips stretching around the tip to take him in, tongue flicking around the sensitive tip. his thumb rubs against his frenulum; it doesn’t feel the same. maybe you’d tease him, make him beg for it before you took him in your mouth. “fuck,” he lets out a shuddered whimper, fist tightening up against his shaft how he’d imagine your mouth to be.

his eyes flutter shut, fingers slowly moving up and down his aching shaft. sweat dribbles on his forehead, teeth digging into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. silky black hair spills away from the bun he’d put it in, curtaining the sides of his face. would you run your fingers through it? maybe tug on it? fuck, the thought almost makes him moan.

“let go for me, sugu, c’mon,” he can practically hear your voice dropping to a sultry tone, working him to the edge with each sinful flick of your tongue against him. with a muffled groan, hot spurts of cum splatter against his palm and abdomen. it does nothing when he already feels like a piece of shit for doing this in the first place—only something more to clean up and never discuss.

a knock follows suit, evidence completely flushed away in a rush. “suguru, you okay in there? i gotta use the bathroom?”

“uh y-yeah, all good.” fuck, he’s so screwed.

—

suguru geto doesn’t look at you. any traces of him from the hotel room were completely gone by the time you’d woken up, spotting him training valkyrie out by the tracks before the race started. at first, you chalked it up to exhaustion. the bed hadn’t been the best—though, you couldn’t complain. it certainly was better than the ground.

though, the second time that he steps away from you, it starts to sting for reasons that you don’t want to admit to yourself. if not friends, you would’ve thought he was at least comfortable with you. still, you can’t think about it too hard because the next stage of the race is kicking up. slow dancer pants underneath the unrelenting arizona heat, each step forward a struggle for the overworked horse.

you rush towards the ravine marked on the map provided, the sight filling you with relief. pushing yourself off from slow dancer, he immediately rushes over to take large gulps from the river. suguru and valkyrie already made it, his horse finishing up with his share. “are you going to tell me what i did?” your voice breaks the silence.

both of them turn to look at you. valkyrie seems to take your offense in stride, gently nudging at suguru with his snout. “you didn’t do anythin’ wrong.” he still doesn’t look at you when he says it.

you take a step forward, nudging a finger into his chest. “i asked you for your help and now you’re not even talking to me. so tell me what i did that was so wrong?” you prod, the short distance between you forcing him to finally look up at you. he looks…guilty.

more and more racers start to approach the ravine, a couple taking the chance to unwind given the opportunity. naoya slips between you and suguru without so much as an excuse me, interrupting whatever semblance of a conversation you’d forced him to have.

his horse kicks dirt against your jeans upon being forcefully slowed down, denim material stained a nasty shade of brown. naoya steps down from alpha male like self-proclaimed royalty, guiding him over to the ravine. “the two of you should give up now,” he sneers, “we all know i’m the one beating the two of you.”

“tell him to go eat shit,” suguru nudges your side, completely disregarding your previous conversation. nothing close to an apology and he wants to go back to pretending like everything’s fine and dandy between you?

a scoff leaves your lips, shaking your head in disbelief. “tell him yourself.”

“eat shit, asshole! fall off your horse!” suguru’s words must’ve been laced with something magic. naoya falls from his horse a half mile later, head slamming against a boulder nearby. crimson streaks stain the once perfect face he’d prided himself on, nose twisted and a blooming shade of purple.

more and more racers are left in the dust, either giving up or simply defeated by forces of nature. whatever the case may be, you and slow dancer manage to make it through the finish line in first place with a booming applause following your victory.

still, even with a hundred eighty five points now in your pocket, you can’t feel but feel hollow.

—

“congrats on the win,” suguru approaches shortly after crossing the line in fourth, clasping a hand over your shoulder.

you shove off it off, bewildered just by how much audacity a man could have. still, you manage to mutter out a simple, “thanks.”

he looks as if you’ve wounded him, hand hovering in mid air where you’ve pushed him away. your boots scuffle forward, hoping to find a good place to rest for the night. suguru trails right behind you, biceps straining against his button down when he folds his arms across his chest. “can you tell me what your problem is?”

rubbing at your temples, you slowly but surely start to feel a headache coming on. “i don’t have a problem. you ignore me for days and suddenly it’s not right when you wanna act friendly again and it’s my turn to ignore you.”

suguru runs a hand over his face, letting out a sharp breath before meeting your defiant gaze. “i don’t even know i put up with you half the time.”

“then why do you?” you spit out, standing up from your spot to face him straight on.

“‘cause you came up to me and asked for help!” his voice booms throughout the quiet terrain, a few of the racers halting mid conversation to glance over at the two of you. “and i did! even though you’re still bitter over some race that i won five months ago. get over it!”

the words make your chest sink, eyes stinging from tears you wouldn’t let suguru geto see of all people. you’d let down your parents, your town, yourself, you just weren’t expecting to let him down too. you swallow down the lump in your throat before meeting him with a deadly glare, “then maybe it’s time you stopped helping me. i’m not your charity case anymore.”

regret immediately settles into those purple irises, his hand reaching out to take hold of your wrist. “i’m sorry, you hear?” he whispers in your ear, away from any of the prying ears pretending not to listen. “i-it’s hot, i’m not thinking straight, and you keep messing with my head. c’mon, let’s just get on over to the inn.

“please.”

—

silence envelops the small hotel room in a thick blanket upon your arrival, tensions from the argument still lingering behind. suguru drops his sack on the bedside table next to the left side of the bed, taking a seat on the mattress.

“why were you ignoring me?” as much as he’d try, you wouldn’t leave the topic alone.

a deep exhale leaves him, his head hung low. the admission on the tip of his tongue could send you running for the hills, never to see him again. even when you’d ‘hated’ him, at least, at the very least, you still regarded him. begrudgingly, he spoke up, “i told you that you keep messing with my head. i keep thinking about things i shouldn’t want with you.”

you set your own pouch down on the bedside table, crossing over to his side in a few quick strides. stepping in front of him, you slide his black hat off his head, sliding it onto your own. it’s a little big, nothing too exaggerated though.

“well.” your voice drops to a whisper, your pointer tilting his chin up to face you. “what if i told you i needed your help with something else?”

—

the first time your lips press against suguru geto’s, you almost hate yourself for how good it feels. your hand comes up to his cheek, skin soft underneath your fingertips. the taste of bourbon and smoke clings onto him, and yet it’s a taste that you can’t nearly get enough of. “thought about this every night,” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours when you pull away.

you don’t respond. with words anyway. instead you kiss him again, deeper this time. your lips press against him, devouring every single broken whimper that leaves his lips. it’s much more needy than tentative this time—taking his bottom lip lightly in between your teeth before pressing them back up against him. suguru’s hands move down your body, settling on your hips.

his lips trail down from your own to your neck, hands on your waist. slowly, he turns around to set you on the mattress beneath you. “tell me you don’t want this,” he lets out a broken whisper, hovering over you, “and i’ll stop. we never have to talk about this again.”

you reach up, tugging him by the collar of his shirt. “i want this, please,” you affirm, the words practically music to suguru’s ears. his mouth moves down to your neck, taking sensitive skin in between his lips to gently suck and kiss upon. one of his hands moves down from your hips, unbuckling your belt and undoing your pants.

his hand moved down to the thin material of your panties, translucent strings of slick sticking against the lace. “all wet and all i’ve done is kiss you, huh?” he whispers against your neck, tracing the outline of your folds with the tip of his finger. you clench around nothing, hips bucking up into his hand for something more.

“please, i’m askin’ you nicely here.”

he merely shakes his head, “i know, i know. big ol’ suguru’s just being mean, huh?” he cooed as you nodded along. his fingers move up to your waistband, slowly starting to peel away the layer keeping him away. his fingers graze against your inner thigh, a shudder running down your spine at how electrifying that little touch could be.

pushing the damp material off your ankles, his fingers inch their way up your legs at a torturous pace. “you’re so pretty like this,” he whispers, moving closer and closer to where you’re already dripping for him, “all needy and wet because of me.” he pushes a single finger in, curling it justt right to make you unravel underneath him. slick dribbled down to his knuckle upon pulling out, juices glistening underneath the hotel lights.

his lips continued to tease the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing near your collarbone, biting near your earlobe all while his finger thrusted inside of your dripping pussy. “f-fuck, more, more,” you whine, bucking your hips to meet his rhythm.

“only one i’m listenin’ to’s down there,” he retorted, pressing a finger against your mouth. your brows furrow in confusion, wondering just who exactly he meant. your cunt squelched around his finger, mingling in with the sound of your shaky breaths. “there we go, she’s tellin’ me she wants more.”

he moves down your body to nestle in between your thighs, legs thrown over his shoulders. he’d meant to take his time, meant to take you out to at least a local market for a skewer, anything to prove that he was a gentleman, but how could he do that when you were all ready for him? his tongue darted in between your folds, swiping in between to capture your slick in his mouth.

“tastes so good, should just quit the race and live here,” he babbled, the tip of his tongue circling around your twitching, sensitive clit. your fingers move down to tangle in his hair, holding him in place as he moves against your cunt like he’s never had something this delectable before. there wasn’t any rush with the way that he moved against you—with the way that he lapped up every last drop of your essence—just pure need and hunger.

“you’d be—oh fuck—you’d be happy with that?” your voice breaks out into a breathy whisper, legs quivering and shaking against his shoulders. his fingers dig into the plush of your thighs, tugging you all that much closer like he wanted to consume you whole. through a half lidded gaze, he manages to look up before responding, “ecstatic.”

two of his fingers curl and pump inside of you, mouth latched on to your clit. he switches from flicking his tongue, to gently sucking the nub in between his lips—playing you like an instrument he knows by heart to unravel you in the best way possible. your toes curl against his back, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter underneath his tongue.

your hips move on their own accord, bucking up to meet each swirl of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. he lets out a muffled, desperate moan against you, “use me, pretty, i’m all yours. just here to make you cum.” his eyes flutter shut in pure bliss, coaxing your orgasm with each swirl of his tongue around your swollen clit.

“right there, right there, sugu, gonna—oh fuck!” with a loud cry, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. your nails dig into his scalp, a pain that he more than relishes in while your release spills over his chin and fingers. he doesn’t stop just there—no, of course not, he continues to move against you while you ride out the aftershocks. pressing a kiss against your clit, he finally relents when it starts to border on overstimulation, bringing his own to lap away at every last drop of your divine slick.

your chest heaves underneath the pale moonlight spilling through the windows, your legs shaking as you get up. “you feeling okay?” suguru decides to ask, though he looks more ruined than you do. his pupils are completely blown wide, slick still glimmering from where it remained on his chin. you move in front of him, fingers hooking around his belt loops.

a brief moment of pause passes between you before your lips slowly press against his. you taste yourself on his tongue, and yet, all that makes you do is move more greedily. your fingers move onto unbuttoning his levi’s, tracing the outline of his shaft against his boxers. “i want to do it all with you,” you murmur against his lips, a broken whimper leaving him in response.

suguru geto would give you the world and more if he was able to do so. he didn’t waste time in kicking off his jeans, moving onto unbutton his shirt in a haste. a couple of them scattered onto the ground beneath you, not that either of you paid much mind.

muscles flex underneath sun-kissed skin, a couple moles and small scars marking up the expanse of his back. he shuffled onto the mattress behind you, cock straining and twitching against his thigh while he watched you move around.

“you had me beggin’, geto. i don’t think it’s exactly fair if you don’t do the same,” you click your tongue, grabbing your ropes from your bedside table. bringing his hands up to the bed post, you tie them to each side with a loose knot.

“no, no, it’s not fair,” he mumbles, looking up to meet your gaze. it’s amazing how quickly this man can turn to look like the needy, whiny mess he was making mocking you of being. “told you i’m just here to pleasure you, all yours to use, ma’am.”

fixing the cowboy hat on your head, you move over to where he’s already leaking and throbbing for you. slowly, you peel away his boxers, kicking them off to the side. precum lands against his toned abdomen, mushroom tip flushed a deep shade of pink. your lips move down, pressing a chaste kiss onto the crown before your fingers wrap around the shaft.

you give him one pump before adjusting yourself in between his legs, sliding his thick cock in between your dripping folds. tip nudging against your swollen clit, your head falls back in a silent moan. suguru’s nails dig into the satin sheets below, desperate with each drop of your slick that hits his shaft.

deciding against teasing him further, you slowly guide the tip to your entrance before starting to sink down. the stretch of your walls around his cock feels unreal, feels like something out of this earth. your nails dig crescents into his thighs, pushing yourself deeper onto him. “just like that, you can take it,” he murmurs, simply entranced by how well you’re managing to take him.

your cunt flutters and squeezes around his like a tight fist, gripping onto both sides like you never want to let go either. a broken moans leaves your lips when you finally manage to bottom out, his eyes darting down to where you’re connected fully. slick dribbles down his cock, completely coating him in the clear sap.

the pace that you set is nothing if not slow, hips gyrating as you bounce yourself against his cock. your head flies back, hat tilting in the change of position, while suguru’s fingers itch to grab you, to do something than flail around his restraints. “fuck, so so good,” you moan out, clit rubbing against his pelvis. you switch to rolling your hips against his, using him for your pleasure solely.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss onto the side of his jaw before trailing down. taking one of his tits in your mouth, you slowly swirl your tongue around the hardening nubs. a broken gasp leaves his lips at the sudden feeling, his cock swelling deep inside of you. “you like my tongue on you?” you tease, your fingers reaching out to twist his other nipple.

“yes, yes, fuck,” a quiet whimper leaves him, rutting against each lazy roll of your ass against him. his feet plant against the mattress, dragging each inch at a faster pace. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each thrust, hips snapping against yours. you moan around his nipples, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, “fuck, sugu, fuck fuck!”

your hand moves down from his nipple down to your clit, rubbing small circles over the nub as you start to feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm. each drag of his tip against your g-spot has you seeing stars behind your eyelids, broken little ah! ah! ah’s leaving your lips with each thrust. with a broken moan, you came apart at the seams and spurted over his cock.

your release pooled around the base of his shaft in a creamy ring, each squelch filthy in the sex ridden room. his hips stuttered as you tightened around him that much more, practically milking him for all he’s worth. “fuck, where do you want it, gonna cum,” he whines desperately, your fingers wrapping around the base. you pull him out of you just in time, thick streams of cum splattering against your stomach.

you don’t move just yet.

breaths mingled together as you laid next to him once carefully untying the knots around his wrists, an ache in your thighs starting to set in. suguru reached out to take a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, cleaning off the drying cum off you. “it’s better than i imagined,” he lets out a broken laugh, meeting your gaze in the dark room.

“of course, you imagined this, you freak,” you murmur in response, fingernails reaching out to trace the moles mapping his chest. suguru takes a hold of your finger, pressing a small kiss onto the pad. “i imagined this and more. maybe marriage, a big ranch you could run around with slow dancer, maybe a couple dogs.”

you let out a quiet hum, “maybe.” suguru lets out a hum as well, wrapping an arm around your stomach. your eyes flutter shut, but you don’t dare fall asleep tonight. it’s too important to do so. meanwhile, suguru falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow under the guise that everything’s a fantasy waiting to come true between the two of you.

—

looping the ropes over the bed’s posts, you’re able to restrain his arms and legs. you’d learned from just tying his arms—he could escape quite easily. his chest still rises and falls in deep sleep, a blissful smile still plastered onto his face. taking everything from the room, you descend the stairs and out into the desert before the sun has a chance to rise.

“hi,” you whisper, approaching valkyrie just outside. he’s easy to get to come with you—just a few pats on the side of his neck and a few apple slices, and the two of you were suddenly best friends.

and when suguru geto wakes up? he’s faced with the realization that he’s stuck in the desert, with nothing to his name or his aide, all for a woman he once gave everything to help out.

if you made it up to this point, thank you for reading and i truly hope that you enjoyed as this was one of my favorites to write :3

Shoko rests on your bed, cross legged, squinting as she pours the remnants of something into her flask. Yuki rolls her eyes. “You’re so old fashioned.”

“Practical.” Shoko shrugs.

“Hey, guys-“ you say suddenly, sitting up, “I can take birth control if I drink, right?”

Yuki nods sagely, cracking open the ringpull on the can in her manicured hand. “As long as you don’t puke it up.”

“Okay, great.” You say, happily turning back to your mirror and brushing the wand across your eyelashes a final time.

According to Yuki, there’s no common set aesthetic between the attendees at their gigs. “Everybody just dresses sexy. That’s about it.” She’d shrugged on Friday morning over another overpriced coffee, “so wear something sexy.”

Do you look sexy? Probably- your skirt isn’t too short, but your shirt hugs your tits so well it’s almost embarrassing to go out in daylight wearing it. As such, you end up dragging on a jacket to avoid flashing the unsuspecting public- but, as it turns out, there was probably no need at all.

“Oh my god, I’m sweating already.” Shoko says. Her shirt is just as low cut as yours, which makes you feel a little better- plus, there’s probably more skin on show than there is fabric in the bar.

If you can even call it that.

It's more of a club with a bar attached than what you were expecting. Condensation drips down the walls, gathering moisture and slicking the surface. Lights bounce off people’s hair, faces, pupils dilating then shrinking back down as the strobe comes into contact with their eyes; you feel like you’ve stepped into a kaleidoscope and somebody is vigorously shaking it as you slosh around in the beads.

A particularly vicious strip of green laser stabs at your vision and you wince, eyes still adjusting to the atmosphere. But when they do, you realise you shouldn’t have been concerned about the neckline of your shirt at all.

Yuki was right- everybody in this room seems overwhelmingly sexy. Gazes track along bodies that curve for attention, strangers disappearing into tucked-away bathrooms together with their cheap drinks lying sticky and spilt on the floor.

“Yuki, what the fuck? It’s huge in here!” You yell over the music thumping through the speakers. Actually, the room isn’t too huge- but there’s so many people. Crammed wall to wall, body to body, people stagger past you to puke outside and there’s a couple in the corner making out.

It’s not just that corner, or the occasional bathroom stall, you realise- everywhere you look, there’s skin pressed to clammy skin and glitter smeared across fingertips; couples are pressed up against the exposed bricks, clothes snagging on railings. You whirl around to Yuki accusatorially as Shoko inconspicuously sips from the flask tucked into her purse. Not that there's any need- about half of the people in here are drunk already.

“Is this a sex club?” Shoko groans. Yuki laughs and takes the flask from her hand, smiling at you both. “No, obviously not- people just get kinda rowdy sometimes.“ Your own swig of alcohol warms your stomach and throat, a comforting buzz humming below your skin, and suddenly the venue doesn’t seem too bad at all.

Somehow, you end up pressed against the flimsy barricade separating the crowd of thrashing bodies from the stage. Above you, there’s two men singing into the same microphone with a woman perched behind a keyboard and you furrow your brow. “Yu, is this them?”

Shoko laughs. “Wow, anticlimax much?”

Yuki giggles a little drunkenly, unscrewing a can of something bright and sweet from her bag. “Daiquiri.” She explains when you squint at the label, pulling you a spare, “and no, this isn’t them- trust me, you’ll know when they’re on- oh my god, oh my god, it’s them!”

The venue practically erupts. People scream behind you, Yuki excitedly grabbing Shoko before turning to you and shouting something incoherent, her voice drowned out easily by the sheer volume of everybody else.

The crowd surges forwards, breath knocked a little out of your lungs as your canned cocktail sloshes in the can crumpling under your fingers. There’s a sudden burst of light from above as the spotlights fan out across the crowd, and you screw your eyes shut instinctually at the sudden explosion of white- but your ears are still open, and you can hear the amount of swooning female voices drowning out everything else.

The band can’t be everybody’s type, can they?

Your question is answered immediately when you manage to get a good look at them.

And holy shit.

“I know, right?!” Yuki yells into your ear, blonde hair tickling your neck as she leans in towards the stage to laugh at the dumbstruck look on your face. “They’re hot!”

More than hot. You aren’t quite sure where to look first, totally overwhelmed and spoilt with choice; you start at the front, to the white-haired, sunglasses wearing, grinning frontman who’s lapping up the attention.

“Is everybody having a good time?”

He only has to greet the crowd once before they’re all yelling and vying for his attention again, to which he just laughs and scrapes his hair back. “Thought so. Lemme introduce you to the band!”

You stare, slack jawed and flustered, while Gojo- as he introduces himself while grinning, much to the delight of apparently everybody- does exactly as he said between adjusting his mic stand.

Choso Kamo on the guitar, dark bangs falling softly into eyes smeared with dark makeup as his fingers slip along the fretboard; girls drunkenly squeal his name over and over, but unlike Gojo he looks almost embarrassed- a cute flush working onto his face. Gojo also mentions he’s the stand-in keyboardist, to which he blushes even harder and focuses on the chords.

Ryomen Sukuna sits behind the set of drums at the back, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers. When Gojo calls his name into the mic, he grins widely and flexes his tattooed biceps to encourage the desperate crowd’s attention; cymbals crash and vibrate when he lowers his hands, mouth barking out a laugh when Gojo pulls a face at him.

But then, finally:

“And now, my best friend and our resident bassist- come into the light, let the ladies see you!” Gojo teases; the people behind you only make more noise as he turns to face forward, beckoning his laughing friend closer, and you see why immediately.

Suguru Geto, as Gojo announces over the screams, is the kind of hot that steals your breath away and makes you want to suffocate if it means you’ll get to keep staring at him. You’re so close you can see the thin strips of eyeliner framing his eyes.

“I told you they were everybody’s type.” Yuki says into your ear, grinning knowingly as you gape up at the men- or, more specifically, man- in front of you.

“Yeah.” You nod dazedly, only half registering the words coming out of her mouth as your eyes zero in on the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Something metallic and shiny glints under the lights as he does so: a tiny piercing, a little silver star on the pink muscle.

You’re struck by how effortless he makes it look. Bass thrums through the amps, the floor, travelling up through your starstruck body in cloying waves that make your brain vibrate within your fragile skull.

Your mouth dries, then immediately waters again when Geto throws his head backwards briefly mid-song while his polished nails work the strings. Hair spills across his shoulders, strands falling messily from where they’ve been loosely tied back.

Try as you might, you physically can’t pull yourself away from staring at him. Not even through Choso’s abashed guitar solo, not even when Sukuna flings his drumsticks about and flashes a sliver of (tattooed, obviously) tanned abdomen to the crowd.

It’s their final song now, and you’re feeling pre-withdrawals from Geto’s presence. Suddenly, rather embarrassingly, you understand exactly why so many people in here come back again and again. You would too, just for a glimpse of him.

You need a drink.

The abandoned and lukewarm can in your hand will have to suffice, sweetened alcohol swilling about in your mouth and dripping down the side of not just the can itself, but your forearm. Without breaking the stare you’ve been holding on Geto’s gorgeous face since the very first song, you stick your wettened tongue out and drag it across your skin.

Cocktail collects on your tastebuds as you go, still gazing in entrancement up at the bassist. You’re so deep in analysing his face, the studded eyebrow piercing, the thin wisps of hair plastered to his forehead from sweat, the gauges decorating his earlobes, that you don’t realise that he’s staring back, too.

You freeze, tongue now flattened against your wrist and its rapid pulse as his eyes lock onto yours- and god help you, he smirks. A lazy, devastatingly slow facial expression as he gazes with heavy eyes directly into the face in front of him.

It’s about as cliche as it gets, you know- but for a few seconds, as Geto’s lips curl upwards and his fingers keep plucking, as the alcohol pools on your tongue and sticky skin, everything seems to blur. Muting and slowing, the sounds and smells around you stop their assault on your senses and the room narrows down to just you and the bassist who’s very blatantly ogling you.

And then, like a building wave crashing back to shore, everything quickens back up as Gojo finishes the final lyric and tosses his pick into the pit of swarming fans. A little plastic triangle, thrown to people who practically dive over each other to grab the keepsake.

“Thank you for coming!” Gojo yells into the mic, “and-“

Whatever else he says is drowned out, a rush of blood in your ears when you realise Geto’s turning to leave the stage, bass propped up against the amplifier and his eyes tugging away from yours. Your chest almost pangs.

The pavement outside, almost an hour later, is damp and gritty. You’re muttering curses to yourself as you try to ignore the man vomiting around the corner; as if that wasn’t bad enough, you’re looking for Yuki- who was looking for Shoko. So now, you’re ultimately alone while the vague smell of cigarette curls around you and embeds itself in your clothes.

“I can’t believe this.” You mumble to yourself. The alcohol has mostly lost its hold on you now, fading down to a background buzz that would be pleasant if you weren’t in such a dismal mood.

“Hey.”

You look up begrudgingly, monotone expression slapped across your face, before you see who’s speaking and almost scream. “Uh, hi!”

Beside you, cigarette in hand, stands Suguru Geto of all people. The ash burns and drops to the floor where it sizzles out, probably landing on your shoe with how close he’s standing, but you don’t care.

He smiles down at you and stubs out his cigarette. God, he’s even prettier up close. “Suguru.”

You already know. He knows you know. He knows everybody else here knows- it’s just a formality to get your name. And he does, obviously.

His lips curve again, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes when they drift down just a little to the dip in your top. “Did you enjoy the show?”

He’s murmuring at a normal volume, but it may as well be that he’s just shouted it into your eardrum with the way you jolt. “Yeah, I did.” Frowning, “but I think everybody else did too.”

Geto tilts his head, a gleaming wave of hair washing across his shoulder. “Honestly, gorgeous? I don’t think I even noticed anybody else. Not with you staring up at me all prettily, you made it hard to focus on the set.”

Avoiding his eye contact for fear you’d probably squeal, “you made it hard to focus on the rest of the band, too.”

He straightens up finally, tucking a lock of hair behind his gauges; you’re disappointed to say the least- were you too boring? Too forward? Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt nervously, and Geto notices. Or, more precisely, he notices the way your thighs look in the skirt.

Not that you notice.

What you do notice, however, is the way he clears his throat and you snap your head up to look at him.

“My car’s parked around the back. Everybody else left.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s a thinly veiled invitation, you know that; Shoko and Yuki can handle themselves, can’t they? And you’re not sure if it’s the heat Geto’s presence brings to your face or the way the alcohol is still coursing happily through your veins, but somehow you find yourself placing your fingers with his ringed ones and following him towards the car.

Initially, you weren’t quite sure what to expect from his car, but it’s actually quite nice- air freshener hung tidily, boxes of instruments and equipment stacked in the boot. All of your curiosity, however, is brushed away like dust to the wind when Geto opens the door- and encourages you to cosy up in the backseat.

Your head thunks lightly against the glass, nervy hands automatically wrestling the steadily rising hem of your skirt back down; Geto stops you, fingers gently curling around yours and pushing the material back up your thighs until he has a clear shot down to your underwear.

He breathes out, self-satisfied and hungry, his thumb reaching forwards to tenderly glissade down the soaked fabric. Your hips twitch instinctually towards the touch; embarrassment isn’t even in your periphery anymore, too worked up to care as he keeps lightly teasing your pussy.

“Lie back for me, pretty.”

You do- god help you- and warmth pools between your legs at the sight. Geto’s crammed below, chest almost flattened to the seats, silver jewellery cool against the heated skin of your thighs when he props your legs over his shoulders and leans in.

He lets his breath fan across you at first, before swiftly pulling your panties to the side and grinning at what he finds. You can’t see between your legs, too busy craning to get a glimpse of Geto’s face, but whatever you’re viewing doesn’t matter- because as soon as he closes his plush lips around your clit your brain blanks.

Geto presses another tender kiss to your sensitive skin again before drawing back and lining an obscenely slow, teasing lick through your wetness. It’s more for him than you, undoubtedly; he can’t find it in himself to feel selfish or guilty, not when you taste so good.

You jolt, hands flying to the crown of his glossy head and gasp. “What- why are you c-cold?”

Geto smiles against your cunt, chastely kissing your inner thigh before slowly unfurling his tongue and- oh, how did you forget? His pretty little piercing, nestled right in the middle, glimmering with traces of your slick.

Words fail you, a breathless curse slipping from your mouth when your head falls back again.

“Fuck,” he moans into you, tongue flicking across your clit, “sooo good for me.”

Two fingers work themselves around you, cold rings pressing against your clit and you muffle a whimper into your palm. Geto looks displeased, to say the least. “Don’t do that. Let me hear you, pretty.”

To punctuate his point, Geto’s pulling away to hear the way you gasp indignantly as your orgasm gets ripped from you. “You can’t do that-“ you say, voice cracking, “you’re cruel.”

He just smiles, piercings glinting, as he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks. Your breath hitches and your chest rises below your top at the sight, so lewd and unrefined compared to everything he showed onstage earlier.

He laughs at your expression and sits back in the seat, undoing his belt without breaking eye contact. “Take your panties off for me, pretty.” You startle, halfway crawling across the seats towards him, before quizzically removing the soaked piece of fabric from where it’s all tangled at your thighs.

“Now, hand them to me.”

You do. You’re expecting him to maybe gag you with them- or himself, he doesn’t seem above that- but what he does instead makes your nails dig into the seat. Geto takes the ruined, messy fabric of your underwear and wraps it around his base.

“Fuck.” His hips stutter as he does, panties clinging to his sensitive skin as he loops them. He smiles. “There.”

You stare. Unabashedly- because what else are you supposed to do when the bassist you’re fucking in the back of his car uses your panties as a cockring?

And your gaze isn’t averted from his cock itself either; adorned with a few zigzagging veins- and a tiny sliver orb nestled at the tip. It’s identical to the one on his tongue, you notice with amusement. You wonder briefly if he has any earrings the same, but the gauges glint back at you and answer your question.

“Okay, up you go.” Geto settles back in the seat and grins as you swing your legs determinedly over his lap, your soft thighs bracketing his toned hips- but all your bravado disappears the moment your greedy hands wrap around his dick and realise just how thick he is.

The fabric at his base swallows up only what seems to be a tiny portion of his cock, slippery fabric splayed across tan skin that fades into the prettiest pink at the tip. Pre leaks down, soaking into your panties further and you tremble in trepidation.

“C’mon, gorgeous.” Geto coos, rings cold against your hips. “I’ll help you out…”

He does, guiding your slick cunt to the tip and letting gravity do the work. As you swallow him up you shudder, that teeny little piercing nudging at all your soft spots and coaxing even more wetness from you. “Ohh, fuck.” You breathe, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

He laughs and caresses your spine as you finally bottom out, lace scratching your skin just a little. “I told you I’d help you out, hm?”

You moan in response, hands curling into fists at his skin for leverage as you begin to lift and drop your hips. Geto’s head tips to the side, eyes half shut as he stares unashamedly at where you’re conjoined together.

He watches and feels the way your cunt squeezes around him as he slides out, only for you to squeak into his ear when Geto slips back in to the base and notches deep.

Your thighs are burning already, legs trembling as you fight for purchase on the smoothness of the car’s backseat. “Slowing down already?” You huff, hair sticking to your temples.

“S’not my fault you’re so…” you trail off, cheeks bright as Geto jostles inside you again. “No, go on.” He says, smirking against your throat as his tongue piercing licks a filthy stripe up the salty skin. “What am I?”

“You’re-“ you heave, “you’re… big.”

Oh, he smiles at that, piercings shimmering as he grins wickedly up at you. You don’t even realise he’s looped his hands around your waist, that he’s spread his thick thighs just a little further, until Geto’s using the excess leverage to yank you down onto his cock like a doll and you sob.

“Fuck, fuck, Geto-“ you gasp, nails cutting marks into his shoulders as you try and cling on.

“I think we’re much past the formalities by now, pretty.” He pants, tugging you closer to dig his teeth into your flesh and balm the ache with his tongue’s cooling metal ball. “Suguru works just fine.”

You try to say Suguru, you really do, but he chooses somewhere between the second and third syllable to slam his tip into your cunt and you blank. What you end up with instead, is a wanton cry of:

“Sugu-!”

He groans. “F-fuck, yeah, gorgeous.”

The underwear tangled around his base is sodden beyond repair by now, a mix of pre and slick infiltrating the fibres of the fabric and soaking it completely through until it’s barely recognisable as your panties anymore. “Sugu, Sugu, Sugu-“ it’s like your own personal mantra.

Your hand, shaky as it is, latches onto your clit and rubs frantic little circles over the nerves. It’s messy and uncoordinated but it feels so good you gasp, the noise dripping like sugar into Geto’s awaiting ears as his pace pushes you to continue.

Geto groans out small susurrations against your collarbone and chest, sucking purple marks into the soft skin. Your head tips back and your pussy pulses dramatically around him- and Geto grins.

“You close, pretty?”

“Yes, fuck, so close-“ you hear yourself whining, mascara smudged beneath your eyes. Geto’s makeup isn’t faring better- eyeliner streaks darkly across his temples as you grab his face to bring him forwards.

The kiss is nothing short of nasty- more spit and breath than lips, your tongue searching for the piercings studded across his lips and the extra sensation they add to the kiss. Geto moans lowly, a cracked little noise that echoes from his throat and into your mouth. When your fingers stutter, it’s Geto’s hand that comes down to cover you and rub harder.

You clamp down tightly around him when you cum, the orgasm overtaking all five senses until everything you feel is coated in a numbing mixture of bliss and overpowering pleasure. Geto fucks you through it, welcoming the extra tightness as his teeth dig into his lip.

When Geto finally cums, it’s messy, hot and thick- white streaks viscously down your inner thighs as you overspill, coating the ruined panties wrapped around his dick even more. His hair spills over his shoulders like water, curtaining you both as he smushes his mouth to yours again.

“Hck-“ you squeal against his tongue when he brings you in, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands drag you closer by your hair and back. Spit drips down your lips and Geto eagerly licks it all back up.

Utterly fucked-out and ruined, you slump against his chest while Geto reaches into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around a plastic lighter and a packet of cigarettes. He nudges the window down just enough to let the sex-sticky humidity fade out into the night, and clicks his lighter.

The slow puff of his cigarette seems to revitalise him, eyes turning up as he smiles. You don’t even smoke, but when he wordlessly holds it out to you between two fingers you find yourself leaning forwards and chasing whatever he offers.

“My friends are probably waiting.” Your voice is embarrassingly hoarse, makeup probably obscenely ruined. And you don’t have any panties to wear, either.

“I, uh… I can’t walk back.”

Geto laughs. “Wow. It was that good?” You flush.

“Not like that-“ although, your legs are shaking. “You stole my underwear. I’m not walking back without any panties-“

Geto brushes a piece of hair from your face as you ramble. “You can stay over at mine, if you want. I’ll drive you back tomorrow.”

You should say no- but you’re tired, your legs are shaking, and he’s still buried inside you, so you find yourself agreeing.

Yuki <3

You good?

Me and Sho couldn’t find you, she said you walked off with somebody

Hope you had fun!!

If the string of drunken winking emojis is enough to go by, they aren’t exactly worried out of their minds about you and you huff. By now, you’re slumped in the passenger seat as Geto kicks the car into drive, and you snap a quick photo of his head and torso as he reverses, attaching it to the message you send Yuki.

You

Lots of fun

Be back tomorrow!

Your phone buzzes repeatedly, vibrating against your hand as the city lights blur past you, reflecting from shopfronts and puddles of water.

“Hey,” Geto says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other brushing across your thigh, “we’re playing again in two weeks. If you wanna come.”

“Wow, I have to wait a whole two weeks to see you again?” You joke, voice still strained and tired from all your previous moaning.

Geto grins, piercings shining. “Now, I didn’t say that, did I?”

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: his hair is gorgeous- and thank you all again!

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