no such thing as a surprise visit
18+ | mdni
some people knock. some people donât. and some people walk into satoru gojoâs apartment at the worst possible moment.
satoruâs place is immaculate. floor-to-ceiling windows. low lighting. expensive quiet. that stupidly comfortable couch he insists is âergonomically superiorâ absolutely did not deserve whatâs currently happening on it.
youâre on top of him.
very much on top of him.
very much unclothed.
this isnât new. whatâs new is that it doesnât feel reckless anymore. it doesnât feel hidden. it feels chosen. warm. yours.
his hands rest at your waist like he has nowhere else to be. patient. possessive. warm.
you lean down to kiss him, his voice comes low against your mouth. âgod,â he murmurs, almost disbelieving, âlook at you.â
you donât answer. your hand drifts lower, you begin to stroke him, applying just the precise pressure to pull a sharp inhale from him. the sound he makes is unguardedâ rough, honestâ and it shoots heat straight through you.
you rise carefully, dragging the moment out, hips rolling in a controlled glide before settling back down. the shift draws a soft breathy moan from you, delicate but unmistakable.
you brace your palms against his chest, feeling the steady thud beneath your hands as you find your rhythm. up. down. up. down.
your breathing turns uneven, quiet sounds slipping free without permission. you donât try to hide them. you donât try to soften them.
his hand slides up, fingers spreading over to massage your breast, thumb tracing slow, firm circles that make your rhythm falter for half a second. the other hand drops lower, gripping your hip with more need than he intended to show. your hands slide higher to his shoulders, fingers curling into him as your head tilts back, body arching in a way that makes his jaw tighten hard.
his grip tightens at your hips, less control and more surrender. his head tips back, throat exposed, breath unsteady as he looks at you like heâs already done for. and he doesnât even try to hide it.
it isnât frantic. itâs building. heat coiling tighter with every deliberate rise and fall.
he watches you like he didnât expect to lose control first.
âyouâre unreal,â he exhales, words uneven. you move again. his head drops back and the sentence dissolves into a rough groan.
you donât slow.
his restraint fractures in quiet increments.
your hands are around his neck now, fingers buried in his hair, your head tipped back as the rhythm turns less careful and more relentless. the small sounds leaving you are no longer shyâ breathy, broken, completely unaware of how they undo him.
and it feels so good it almost makes you dizzy.
his grip tightens at your waist. the other hand drags up your spine, fingers pressing into skin like he needs something solid to hold onto.
you lean forward, lips grazing his jaw, then his ear, and the soft sound you make thereâ right against his skinâ is the final crack in his composure.
âi canâtââ he starts, then laughs under it, wrecked. his head drops briefly to your shoulder, breath uneven. âyouâre going toââ he starts, but the sentence dissolves into a low, unguarded sound that vibrates against your collarbone.
your pace doesnât falter.
the couch shifts beneath you. the room feels tight. charged. seconds away from something catastrophic.
and thenâ
the door unlocks.
neither of you react in time.
the door opens.
âsatoru, you left yourââ
suguru steps in.
stops.
time collapses.
satoru freezes with youâ hands still at your waist, head still tilted toward your throat, expression caught halfway between wrecked and reverent.
your silk and lace lingerie hangs over the high kitchen stool in full, unforgiving viewâ hem slipping over the edge, one strap dangling like evidence. his white shirt lies crumpled near the rug and his blindfold rests beside it. your scrubs are folded neatly on the counter. your trainers sit by the door next to your high heels, paired like you meant to stay.
suguruâs eyes move onceâ lingerie, floor, couch. you. on top of his best friend.
ââŚoh shit,â he breathes. then immediately, âoh shit iâm sorry.â
suguru turns around instantly.
you make a small, strangled sound and immediately scrambleâ hands bracing against satoruâs chest as you lift yourself off him in one graceless motion, nearly tangling in your own limbs in the process.
the sudden loss of contact leaves him blinking up at you, breath still uneven, expression caught somewhere between wrecked and wildly inconvenienced.
âoh my god,â you whisper.
satoru, to his credit, moves fast. one arm wraps around you, pulling you back down against him while his other hand grabs the throw blanket and drapes it over you both with smooth efficiency.
absolute gentleman.
terrible timing.
does suguru leave?
no.
he just stands there facing the wall. processing.
you attempt to slide off satoru and disappear into the couch cushions.
âprivacy,â satoru says calmly, âis a dying concept.â
âi have a key!â suguru shoots back, still facing away.
âand no boundaries.â
you bury your face in satoruâs shoulder, mortified beyond human endurance. âwhy are you still here?â you ask, voice muffled, half horrified, half laughing because the situation has tipped fully into absurd.
âi walked in to discuss mission reports,â suguru replies tightly.
satoru, still holding you, still warm, still far too composed for someone who was seconds away from unraveling, tilts his head slightly. âwrong battlefield,â he says.
âsatoru.â
âwhat?â he replies mildly. âwe were busy.â
suguru groans into his palm.
âyou could leave,â satoru suggests helpfully.
âyesâ, you add quickly, exasperated. âplease leave.â
âiâm trying!â suguru snaps, still staring determinedly at the far wall like it personally offended him.
and thatâs when satoru looks down at youâ flushed, flustered, buried under a blanketâ and something shifts again.
the smugness returns.
suguru risks half a turn and immediately regrets it. his gaze flicks, disastrously, toward the kitchen stool.
ââŚwhy is that on display?â
âbecause,â satoru replies lazily, âit was removed.â
you smack his chest under the blanket. âcan you not.â
suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. âi need you both to understand that i can never unsee this.â
âyou walked in,â satoru reminds him calmly. âtechnically this is your fault.â then he adds with a smug, âthis wasnât even the impressive part.â
âsatoru gojo you are not helping at all!â you finally peek out from under the blanket, face burning. âsuguru, i am so sorry.â
suguru finally risks a glance at you and immediately softens. âyou donât need to apologise,â he says quickly. âi justâ next time maybeââ
âknock?â satoru supplies.
âyes, thatâ
thereâs a beat.
suguru exhales sharply. âiâm going to wait outside. five minutes. fully clothed conversation only.â
he pauses at the door. glances once at satoru. not teasing ââŚyouâre smiling stupidly.â
satoru doesnât deny it. âi finally got the girl.â
you groan. âdo not phrase it like that. also guys, iâm right here.â
but suguruâs expression shifts. heâd seen satoru through flings, distractions, careless amusements. he knows the difference.
this isnât that.
ââŚyeah,â suguru mutters quietly and smiles. âguess you did.â
and then he leaves.
the door shuts.
silence.
youâre still wrapped in the blanket, still flushed from head to toe, still trying to process the last sixty seconds of your life.
âyou dismounted very quickly,â he observes mildly.
you smack his chest again. âoh donât you start.
âiâm impressed.â
âi am never seeing suguru again.â
âyou absolutely are.â
youâre still laughing when you try to glare at him.
he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple.
âwe survived,â he murmurs.
you lift your head slowly. âi did not survive. i will be relocating.â
he presses a small kiss to your temple again, murmuring softly, âitâs fine.â
âitâs not fine at all.â
âitâs suguru.â
âthatâs worse!â
he laughs quietly. his eyes flick down brieflyâ appreciative, slow, entirely unashamedâ then back to yours. âlet him see all that beauty i get to see.â
you just stare at him.
âand have,â he adds.
you groan into his shoulder.
he kisses your forehead, gentle and sure. then, he asks softly, âyou okay?
and there it is. the crack in him. not lust, just care.
you nod. âmortified, but okay.â
he exhales, relief slipping through before he can mask it.
satoru brushes your hair back, thumb warm at your cheek. âyou look cute when youâre scandalised.â
âi hate you.â
âi doubt that.â then suddenly remembering, âwe do still have five minutes,â he says thoughtfully.
you narrow your eyes. âyou cannot be serious.â
âbut y/n, babeâ he replies innocently. âwe were interrupted, thatâs hardly fair.â he tilts his head slightly, voice lowering just a fraction. âwe could⌠finish.â
you try not to smile and fail.
he notices of course.
his hands settle at your waist again, not pushing, just resting there.
âyouâre still on top of me,â he points out calmly.
your face burns.
you try to move. he tightens his hold just enough. âno, no, iâm not complaining.â then, âwe can be quick,â he says with a grin.
you practically give up.
he leans closer, voice brushing your ear. âor we can take our time later.â
that steadier thing is back in his eyes.
âyouâre staying tonight anyway,â he says quietly, not a question.
you rest your forehead against his. ââŚyouâre impossible.â
âand you love it.â
somewhere between the humiliation and the leftover heat and the ridiculousness of it all, you realise that neither of you are actually upset.
embarrassed? yes.
regretful? not even slightly.
outside the door, suguru clears his throat loudly. satoru sighs dramatically. âfive minutes,â suguru calls. âi meant five actual minutes.â
satoru rolls his eyes then looks back at you with a wicked little smile. âso,â he says, smug as ever, âspeed round?â
you kiss his mouth then press something softer to the corner of it, trailing down his jaw with a small, helpless smile because heâs ridiculous. because youâre still flushed from embarrassment, still a little undone, and still very much wrapped around satoru gojo beneath a throw blanket.
you settle against him, cheek to his shoulder, nose brushing slowly along his neck because youâre greedy for itâ the clean, cool trace of him beneath warmth, the scent thatâs become unmistakably satoru. you breathe him in like youâre committing it to memory. he exhales, chin resting at your temple, arms tightening just enough to keep you there.
somewhere beyond the door, suguru is still waiting. you both forget completely. the world is still spinning. missions exist. responsibilities exist.
but he closes his eyes.
and he smiles like the world can wait.
âĄ. Ýâ âš . ÝË . ÝâĄ. Ýâ âš . ÝË . ÝâĄ. Ýâ âš . ÝË . ÝâĄ. Ýâ âš . ÝË . ÝâĄ
song inspo: donât delete the kisses by wolf alice belongs here. itâs the exact flavour of this cute mess. â˘âŠâ˘










