children are reduced to being worth what technique they had the fortune of being born with, of how much cursed energy flowed through their veins. their innocence, empathy, and kindness were often times stripped away throughout the years, experiencing how cruel humanity and curses alike could be. they were left jaded—only the husk of what once was remaining in place.

it’s only then that they’re shaped into the perfect weapon, contributing to a system that treats them like a cog in a machine. irrelevant and replaceable. into savoring every last minute of youth, squeezing years worth of memories and relationships into small pockets of time before they’re gone. before they’re only left with a bitter feeling of regret upon their last breath.

suguru could never see his daughter as a weapon, as something to hone and train to fight against a useless, meritless cause.

loud wails shook the otherwise empty halls of the temple, tiny body covered in vernix caseosa, waxy underneath his fingertips. she trembled against his chest, eyes wide and alert as she looked up at him. suguru felt the weight of the universe in that little stare, felt.. complete in a way he hadn’t before.

“nothing short of perfection. just like her mother,” he murmured, walking over to your bedside. a few nurses stepped in through the doors, gazes stuck to the floor as they went over to clean you up. suguru placed your daughter in your tired arms, recognition immediately settling on her face. she didn’t cry, didn’t fuss. simply looked at you like you were her whole world.

you cleared your throat, voice hoarse as you spoke, “she’s beautiful.” as gently as he could, suguru slowly dragged a rag across your forehead. wiping away the sweat that dribbled down your face. the quiet shuffling of the nurses moving around quickly becomes background noise, your focus on the angel in your arms.

wide, violet eyes, much like the ones you’d fallen in love with oh so long ago, ones that you’d looked into while promising to be there in sickness and in health, stare back. you swear you fall in love all over again while staring at your daughter. she doesn’t latch onto her nipple easily, but when she does, she’s quite greedy.

tiny razor sharp nails dig into your skin as her eyes flutter shut, suckling as if she’d been starved. exhaustion settles deep within your bones, a good exhaustion upon seeing that your daughter was well, that she was healthy—but one that leaves you tired and worn out nonetheless.

suguru doesn’t hesitate in taking the baby in his arms, seeing just how close you were to falling asleep. how utterly exhausted you were, melting into the sheets below. “rest. you deserve it,” he whispered, pressing a small kiss on your forehead.

he’d take care of her—he hadn’t dealt with nearly as much as you had in these last few months. hadn’t been as sleep deprived. you deserved the world and more for bringing his world to light, and if all you needed was time to sleep? well, he’d gladly comply.

suguru geto untied his robes with nimble fingers, neatly folding them and placing them on a plastic chair next to the couch. he stripped away his shirt, revealing years’ worth of scars littered throughout his body. some new, the flesh still raised and puffy, and some old: faded into silver, flattened marks across his skin.

however, the one he was most self conscious about was the x on his chest. a cruel reminder of a time he’d been too vulnerable, too simple minded to understand true danger, too weak. suguru didn’t take his shirt off often, didn’t want to have to face the gruesome mark. but, he let his daughter settle against his chest, warmth wrapping around her small body like a blanket.

“you’re good with her,” you noted through your exhaustion, a fond expression taking place as you watched them. how comfortable your daughter seemed against him, her tiny fingers wrapping around one of his. her breaths slowly began to even out with each rock, a yawn bigger than her leaving her lips. it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, curled up against the scar on his chest.

what was once a cruel reminder was now a place of comfort for his newborn.

and while instinct had kicked in almost immediately, suguru was still afraid. afraid of not being there to protect his daughter when she needed, afraid of messing up and having her resent him. but somehow, just looking down at her, everything slowly started to make sense. “she makes it easy to want to be good.”

the words fell into a quiet room. you and your daughter had fallen asleep, peacefully resting after the eventful afternoon that you’d shared. from your strain to bringing her out into the world to her struggling to get out, needless to say—the two of you were exhausted. suguru didn’t fall asleep just yet, alert in case either of you needed anything.

hands that once massacred a village in cold blood for the sake of protecting two little girls, that unleashed cursed spirit after cursed spirit to wreak havoc amongst the townsfolk were nothing short of gentle in the way that he treated his little family.

jujutsu society spread the news quickly four years ago: painting him as the worst curse user in existence upon the village’s extermination. demanding that he be killed if he were ever to be encountered. he was cold and precise in the way that he handled meetings—in the way that he treated his members. giving them just enough hope and enough of a glimpse of salvation that they were begging at his feet with bills in hand for the following scraps.

he was a different man when he came back home.

overbearing, perhaps. but nothing short of devoted—making sure that you and your daughter were satisfied at the cost of draining his members’ pockets. you mentioned something was bothering you? he’d have it fixed before you would have to deal with that issue again. your daughter wanted a new bike? she got it by the end of the day.

it wasn’t just the material stuff, either. you weren’t useless, much less after child birth of all things—immediately pushing yourself into working after you’d been cleared by the nurses. while suguru knew he couldn’t stop you, that didn’t mean he was there to see you overexert yourself. “take a rest, my love,” he’d say, hands gently rubbing against your shoulder blades. he wouldn’t stop until you finally relented, taking a what he believed was a well deserved break.

and with your daughter, great things were welcomed and encouraged, but they were never expected. there was never the expectation that she’d become a sorcerer when the age hit, that she’d have to fight against spirits she didn’t want to. suguru still took the time to train with her whenever a meeting didn’t run too long, teaching her how to defend herself—how to throw a punch without injuring her fist, how to throw someone to the ground.

“how’d i do?” she’d come up to him with a toothy grin, sweat dripping down her forehead. suguru would pass her a bottle of ice cold water, easing her into taking small sips of it before responding, “you did great. you’re gonna beat your old man in no time.” that got a little giggle in response, his daughter shaking her head.

“my dad’s the strongest there is,” she’d say with a grin, self assured that alone was fact.

the first time that suguru geto’s daughter had absorbed a cursed spirit, she was six. barely aware of her own technique, but slowly starting to become conscious of it. techniques were often as simple as breathing, simply being able to do the act, but she quite hadn’t gotten the hand of how to manage it just yet.

it’d been a simple walk, the little girl curiously strolling through temple grounds, autumn leaves crushing beneath her feet. a wind blew past, rattling trees in its wake. it wasn’t the first time she’d felt a malevolent spirit anchored towards her body, but it was the first time that she’d been alone to deal with it. they usually never dared to approach when suguru was around.

the orb landed like acid against her tastebuds, warm tears streaking her cheeks. it burned upon going down her throat, tasted wretched and disgusting. her body wretched and curled, wanting to reject the foreign object and spit it back out. still, no matter how much her body didn’t want to, her mind wouldn’t let go—forcing her to swallow it down.

he wished he could tell her that it got better as time went on. it didn’t. the taste of shit and vomit never eased, no matter how many curses were absorbed. no matter how many times he tried desperately to scrape his tongue clean, how many times he’s tried to mask the taste with a bag of overly salted chips. the rancid taste remains long after, the sense of dread clinging on just as stubbornly.

so instead, suguru geto knelt down and gently placed a hand on her cheek. “look at me,” his voice was nothing but a lulling whisper, soothing your daughter’s distraught and wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “you are not a weapon and i am not expecting you to act like one. there’s nothing you have to do that you don’t want to do.”

she nodded her head once, leaning into his touch. her tiny hands wrapped around his stomach, head pressed against his chest. “then why do you do it?” she whispered through choked tears. a simple, innocent question. suguru’s hand rubbed against her back, thinking of his answer. it’d never been much of a decision at first. wanting to help humankind in whatever way he could, saving those who couldn’t save themselves.

then, it became an obligation to destroy the very thing he’d once sworn to protect. stocking up his arsenal with special grades, grade ones, grade twos when the time came for his attack against jujutsu high. to ensure that this burden, the disgust that he had to stomach, would be his and his alone.

“it’s something i need to do. to ensure you don’t have to, or that your mother doesn’t need to put herself in danger.” the memory of you—attacked by a special grade cursed spirit still plagued his nightmares. blood dripped from a gash on your stomach, pooling around the ground around you. it was a simple mission—nothing more than a third grade yaga had said.

he never wanted to see you again in that condition—desperately clinging on to stay alive, your breathing ragged, your hands cold to the touch. he knew you were capable—knew that even though the special grade put up a good fight, you managed to put it down. still, he didn’t want to see you planning on the end of your life in your mid twenties again.

“and sometimes you get cool stuff like this.” a large portal stretches out behind his back, white scales gleaming against sunlight as rainbow dragon’s summoned upon command. it stretches out behind him, long (maybe 20 feet) and majestic. she approaches him slowly, holding her hand out the way she would a stray dog.

rainbow dragon tentatively sniffs at her hand, leaning his head up against her touch. the rancid taste of the curse is quickly forgotten, soft giggles leaving her lips as she runs her fingers through the glimmering scales. “you can ride him, if you wish.” suguru hoists her up against the dragon’s back, long wings spanning across before taking flight.

loud laughter echoes throughout the skies as rainbow dragon takes her higher and higher, its body languid as it follows her commands. it glides between trees seamlessly, moving against the wind as if it were a delicate dance. whatever fear she’d had quickly dwindled down—handling the dragon as if she’d had years of experience.

“thank you, mr. dragon.” she places a small kiss on top of its head upon being put on the ground, running back up to her father. “did you see me? i was like wayyyy up there!” she pointed up to the sun before continuing to ramble, “it was so much fun, my heart was like racing!” it reminded him of the times you’d ramble about something you’d enjoyed—how animated you’d get.

suguru took her out to get crepes from takeshita street before the shops closed for the day in an attempt to cheer her up even further, navigating through the alleyways with ease. a golden bell dings overhead, announcing their presence to the employee at the front. “what would you guys like today?”

he lets her order the sweetest item on the menu without complaint. something to ease whatever taste lingered on her tongue. suguru took something simple, taking a seat across from her on a table. it was a quiet for a minute, peaceful. the few stragglers that were around the shop left as closing time quickly approached.

then she broke the silence. “who’s the white haired guy with the blindfold?” she questioned between bites, powdered sugar sticking to the corners of his mouth with each word. “i saw him in some of the pictures you stored away.”

“he is—” suguru awkwardly cleared his throat, “—was my best friend. the one and only friend i’ve really had. he’s the strongest.”

“ooo, can i meet him someday?” she chimes with a smile, taking a large bite out a juicy strawberry. suguru takes a napkin, lightly wiping away at the juice dribbling down her chin before uttering, “we don’t talk much anymore.”

—

war’s declared against jujutsu high in the following days—set for december 24th. the night parade of a hundred demons. there’s no way to keep track of how many cursed spirits roam the streets of shinjuku, each one more threatening than the last. everyone had a job to do, someone to deal with and defeat.

except.. it doesn’t work out. you feel the shift in the air as soon as it happens, as soon as you can’t feel suguru’s energy. the plan had been crazy at best, a suicide mission at worst. but you, in spite of yourself, you believed that your husband’s conviction was enough to pull this off. spirits are exorcised, members that once vowed their lives to the cause quickly run away, and you can’t bring yourself to move.

can’t bring yourself to accept the fact that your husband’s dead—that all the plans you’d made about welcoming another baby into the family were now ruined. that you’d have to continue living without him, that the smell of the incense he liked to burn and the smell of his cologne would fade away from your bedsheets sooner rather than later. even when satoru gojo confirms the news, you still can’t bring yourself to accept it.

the second time that suguru geto’s daughter absorbed a cursed spirit? he wasn’t there to protect her, to tell her that the duty of the world didn’t fall onto her shoulders.

the cold december wind was relentless, brutal as it hit through the sleeves of your sweater. your husband’s lifeless body was slowly put down into the ground, your grip around your daughter’s hand tightening. suguru geto had failed in his mission and it was up to her to take the mantle despite how hard he’d tried otherwise.

your mother claimed you’d come out the womb with a white coat on and a stethoscope in hand while your father would show off your awards, your medals, your trophies to whoever would listen about how brilliant his little girl was. teachers would vie against each other in hopes it’d be their classroom you’d step in, in their classroom that you’d excel and shine in.

you’d only just turned seven when you knew what you wanted to do with the rest of your life.

it was a simple career fair of all things, a way to show what kind of jobs kids could pursue in the future. firefighters, office workers, vets, and more showed up to talk about their experiences and answer all kinds of absurd questions about their profession.

like how dalmatians weren’t a complimentary perk of fire fighting. huh.

that wasn’t even the most interesting part. what really caught your attention had been the doctor that showed up. her display wasn’t nearly as showy as the other people that stood at the front of the classroom prior—there had been no flashy powerpoints with a transition on every slide to keep kids with an attention span on .3 seconds interested, no promise of a lollipop or a gift for listening in.

just a realistic figure of a brain and a dream.

“hello, everyone.” her voice enveloped the room in a warm, gentle embrace with each word she spoke. she wasn’t talking down to you, though. not like every adult tended to do. you already had a strong liking towards her. “i’m here to talk about my job as a doctor. i specialized as a neurologist at tokyo tech hospital and i’ve just started as an attending.”

most of the kids next to you stopped pretending to pay attention long ago—doodling some stick figure on the margin of their notebook or refining their version of an eye, or simply putting their head down in hopes that your teacher wouldn’t ask any questions afterward.

you, though, you leaned forward as far as your plastic seat would allow, back straight as a pin as you watched intently. “this part of the brain’s the cerebellum.” she points to the back of the brain, underneath the big walnut-looking thing you’ve now learned is the cerebrum. “it acts sort of as a little brain and it’s responsible for controlling your movements. most of the cases that i receive are actually either from trauma or a tumor, my most complicated one was actually five years ago…”

since then, you’d been determined in what you’ve wanted to pursue. there wasn’t any sense of self doubt, of waking up one day and realizing you’ve been chasing after a dream you no longer want to do. it started off quite simple—cutting up your stuffed animals and pretending to do surgery on them, stitching them back to health (and stabbing your fingers 3000 times in the process). all from simple surface sutures to re-stuffing nail-biting procedures.

throughout middle school, you started as many preparatory ap courses you could take, piling up more and more work onto your load until you’re eventually buried in books. pre-ap algebra, pre-ap history, pre-ap english, you were doing it all.

that workload only intensified during high school. while many of your classmates were enjoying their last couple teenage years, having the occasional party when someone’s parents were out of town— you were buried in sat prep books and collegeboard textbooks that weighed your backpack down by twenty pounds. reading through paragraph after paragraph of information until you could recite the passage in your sleep.

when you weren’t at school, you were either at the library or going out to volunteer with cleaning up a beach or helping out at a soup kitchen. getting more than the necessary hours to fulfill your requirements, padding your resume into making you the ideal candidate. signing up for whatever club still had openings available, making sure to run every fundraiser like the navy. you built yourself into a candidate colleges just simply couldn’t refuse.

as if that wasn’t enough, you did sports you never would’ve entertained under normal circumstances, joining groups you had a semblance of interest for to have something to list on your college application. stretching yourself out to fit into every slot you’ve signed up—to make it to every team meeting, every volunteering session, every tutoring session. exhaustion weighed heavily in your bones, dark circles practically engraved underneath your eyes.

tokyo tech’s prestigious, hard to get into if you weren’t legacy or had enough money to pad the university’s board. their university was essentially a feeder school into some of the best medical schools in the country, though. but you managed to get in, with a 4.5 gpa, a list of extracurriculars trailing almost a mile long, and a hefty stack of recommendations (after begging for months).

there was nothing in your way to getting into medical school. if you were determined in high school, you were much more determined now. practically living in and out of your school’s café, fueled by caffeine and spite to go through whatever mcat prep book you could find and still get your assignments done at least three weeks prior to the due date. reading through teacher introductions and sucking up as much as you needed to, as much as was required to get you recognized in a sea of over 300+ students.

and yet, all of the work you’ve done seems to be naught when your intro to neuro professor’s keen on destroying that goal. you’re certain of it.

—

“good afternoon class.” the class falls silent upon dr. yaga’s arrival, a couple students managing to trickle in as inconspicuously as possible before he shut and locked the door. there was no room for tardiness, no room for any bullshit in his class. many had dropped out before he’d even finished going through the syllabus first day of class.

“have you ever wanted to meet hellen keller? because if so, take this class and meet her for yourself. you will not be heard, seen, nor will your professor communicate with you. he does not answer questions well, and when he does it's with sass and annoyance. tough grader and doesn't help at all with exams or finals, you are on your own,” said one student on rateonmyprofessor.

another one left a stellar one star review, “i never wore my seatbelt while driving to school because i wanted to die before making it to his class.”

his footsteps echoed through the auditorium, each one purposeful and determined. the promethium sparks to life, this week’s powerpoint up on the screen. “we will be working on a group project—” a chorus of groans erupts from the back, though a stern glare from dr. yaga has them quickly shutting up.

you’re not much of a fan either. people usually take too long to organize, to figure out what they want to do, just to end up doing a half assed attempt of what’s supposed to be their part of the project. or they usually make you feel like you’re intruding when you do go to ask to be a part the rare time you feel a surge of confidence.

needless to say, you’re already dreading it.

“i will be selecting your partners for this assignment and it involves studying injuries to the brain and how it affects each function. for example, concussions, contusions, strokes, inflammation, each one of your groups will be responsible for choosing one and what part you want to focus on.

“you have a month to work on this assignment before you have to present. i don’t care how you divide the work amongst yourselves, i need everyone to work equally on the project though.” hands shot up immediately after he was done speaking, an exasperated sigh leaving your professor’s lips.

most of the questions are repeats of what he’s already stated, his annoyance clear with each one he has to answer. “alright, if that’s all, i will now be assigning you to your groups. there will be no changes done to this, so don’t bother asking.” the last line’s towards you, a pointed look shot in your direction. you merely shrug.

he starts off listing off names, the people in question already starting to move to their designed partner. chairs scrape against the floor, conversations are whispered while everyone’s slowly starting to get their space set up. your ears perk up at the mention of your name, leaned over against your desk to hear him clearly. there’s not many options left, but you hope it’s a decent one at the very least.

anyone but naoya zen’in at this rate. you’re not certain you’ll get to get summa cum laude at graduation inside of a prison cell.

“suguru geto.”

the pencil in your grasp snaps between your fingers, pieces of splintered wood splattering across your once pristine workspace.

—

you don’t have a reason to hate suguru geto.

not really.

he hasn’t done anything to personally offend you or your bloodline, hasn’t done anything but meet your competitive streak with a simple, calm smile. with an easiness you could only wish to achieve in this lifetime.

it was infuriating, nonetheless.

the way suguru geto never had to bury his face into a book, never had to study, never had to show up to class with anything other than a mechanical pencil and a pink eraser to achieve the same things you did.

everything came naturally to him.

photography? the rule of thirds was practically encoded into his dna, lighting and background perfect around his subject each and every time. breaking the rule came just as easily, the man capable of creating perfect symmetry without focusing too deeply on the subject.

biology? suguru geto didn’t need to show up to class unless he needed to do a quiz, mastering the function of each organ without needing to open up a textbook. finishing up two hour quizzes in twenty minutes, labeling the humerus, femur, radius, and ulna without a bit of hesitation.

making friends? he didn’t even have to try to engage in conversation, people just naturally gravitated towards him like planets to the sun. wanting to talk with him, wanting to listen to him, they all just wanted a chance to be able to be around his proximity. it was almost a cult-like following.

everything you needed to work on, that you needed to pour energy and effort into, he excelled in.

“okay, now go on and meet up with your group partner. exchange contact info, talk to one another, figure out what you want to do, all that.” professor yaga retreats from the podium over to his desk, taking a seat in front of his computer. the projector shuts off, leaving everyone to whisper amongst themselves.

you don’t stand up, slowly putting your stuff away. opening your backpack up at a snail’s pace, putting your laptop inside. suguru stands up from his spot at the top, quickly descending to the front. “hey.” he approaches your desk, taking a seat next to you.

geto inches closer to you, placing his laptop and notebook in front of him. in a sea of overwhelming axe body spray and dior sauvage, he’s calming. a velvety, warm aroma of sandalwood and bergamot makes itself known as he leans in, the scent lingering long after he’s pulled away. you hate yourself for how much you like it.

you clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. there’s no need for introductions, no need to act friendly, “so i was thinking we could do the effects of stroke on the motor cortex and how it affects muscle movements,” you don’t hesitate in speaking up, watching as suguru already starts to type it up in a word document. at least he’s efficient.

“sounds good, you wanna meet up today?” geto looks up from his laptop, amethyst eyes meeting your own, “i know you’re busy and all. don’t want to intrude on your schedule.”

you were busy. you had to finish up studying for a stats quiz and finish up another project for orgo before this afternoon. but you suppose you could spare a few hours, if only for your grade. “we’ll meet up at the library at four pm. don’t be late.” you don’t give him a chance to respond, leaving right after the clock hit 12:30. he’s left scrambling to pick up his stuff while everyone else follows suit.

—

you’re already at the library by the time suguru geto steps in through the doors. sitting at the second floor on a table near the window, not enough for the sun to scorch your body, but just close enough where the space feels warm, that it feels like a blanket’s engulfed around your body. there’s a textbook in your hands, a notebook decorated in pink and blue highlighter next to you.

you almost look approachable from this distance, completely at ease in your element. lazily flipping through the pages, skimming through each paragraph before you’re annotating a couple notes down. suguru doesn’t go up just yet, taking the time to admire you from afar. how the sun he knows that as soon as he steps up, you’ll have your guard back up again.

the smell of caffeine makes you raise your head, looking over to see suguru placed a cup in front of you. “didn’t know which one you preferred so i settled for vanilla with three sugars,” he explains, taking a seat right in front of you. he's quick to take out his stuff, setting down his cup of tea next to him.

“thank… you.” your lips twist awkwardly as you force the words to come out, feeling a physical pain in your chest, even if they’re nothing more than a whisper. suguru seems to hear them all the same, giving you a curt nod. it’s disgusting, it’s humiliating, and it’s really fucking good??

bringing the cup to your lips, your taste buds are engulfed by the sweet taste of vanilla and creamer. it’s better than the coffee you’re used to from the watered down excuse from the student lounge.

suguru pretends not to notice the little pleased smile on your face, choosing instead to bask in it for as long as you’d allow him to. it’s the only time you’ve looked like you tolerated being here.

“are you capable enough of explaining the motor cortex while i take care of the research or do i have to do everything?” and just like that, your attitude returns. like you’ve suddenly remembered you’re supposed to hate him.

his eyes narrow as he meets your sudden glare, “i’m capable of doing the bare minimum, yes.” pulling out his notebook, you’re instantly drawn to the very detailed illustrations on his journal, his handwriting neat and precise. suguru skims through his notes on the primary motor cortex, long, slim fingers trailing behind the page with each word he reads.

nothing about him is sloppy, you’ve come to notice. his hair’s carefully tucked away from his face, his clothes are without creases, even his converse are miraculously clean. you force yourself to look away before he notices your lingering gaze, staring at your computer.

silence clung onto your quiet space of the library, only the sound of your taps against your keyboard echoing around the space. you’ve been scanning through abstracts for what seems to be an eternity, trying to find articles worth using in your project. the words start to mesh into one big times new roman blob.

the sun’s set by the time you’ve finished your session for the day, students trickling out the doors one by one. a few still linger on the tables, the sharp fluorescent from their computer screen only highlighting each and every one of their exhausted features.

rubbing a hand over your eyes, you’re forcing yourself to stay focused. to keep reading the paragraph in front of you—hemiparesis, studies show recovery after stroke is most effective in the first three to six months, neuroplasticity… “you want something to eat?” the question breaks you out of your stupor, looking up to see geto starting to pack up already.

he expects a protest at first, a why the hell would i endure more than necessary with you? and you’d thought about it—the idea of having to spend more time than necessary almost just as appealing as going through studying free-radical reactions again. but then again, you’d be stupid not to bank in on a chance to get free food, especially when you can hear your stomach growling in the silent halls of the library.

so to his surprise, you merely shrugged, “sure. i get to pick the place, though.”

—

suguru wholeheartedly expects you to drain his pockets, expects you to pick an expensive restaurant where reservations are a three month wait, where the menus don’t have the prices next to them, and chandeliers glisten overhead in dizzying glamour.

but you settle for a small ramen shop not to far off campus, tucked away in a corner. it’d be hard to miss if you weren’t looking for it. a bell chimes overhead upon your arrival, the rich scent of broth and vegetables permeating through the air with each step you took inside.

one of the shop owners stepped out from the back, approaching you with a tight embrace. “we’ve missed you around here. you don’t show your face too much anymore,” she jests with a small, wistful sigh. you’ve been neglecting coming over, often finding yourself too tired to make the walk over, resigned to cooking yourself cheap ramen.

she doesn’t seem to linger on it for too long—turning to look over at geto, a bright smile immediately taking over her features. she doesn’t hesitate in embracing him in the same tight hug, “ooh, you finally got yourself a boyfriend. he’s real handsome.”

the idea nearly makes you recoil in your spot. “he’s not my bo-”

“thank you onēsan,” geto’s quick to interrupt your previous protest, a shit eating grin on his face when you turn to look at him. if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d be six feet under right now. but, alas, you’re not that powerful (yet), so you simply follow behind the two over to a small booth in the back.

the lights are dimmed down, the shadows playing over each crevice of his face. it’s too warm, too intimate. “what would you like to order?” you don’t need to flip through the menu brochure, “i’ll get your tsukumi soba, please.”

geto spends a few seconds scanning through the menu, reading over one side before flipping it around. “your beef yakisoba, please.” she takes away your menus, retreating into the back to get the noodles started up. ambient music plays in the background, your fingers tapping against the table. it’s still for a minute, quiet.

he breaks the silence first, gesturing to the space around you, “so can i ask why you picked this place?”

you purse your lips, pretending to be deep in thought before uttering, “no, you cannot.”

“alright then.” geto’s not sure why he expected another response to you, why he expected that one dinner would be enough to change your mind about him.

you merely raise a brow, unimpressed. “do you give up so easily on your endeavors?”

“no,” he’s quick to defend, “i just don’t want to risk making you uncomfortable.”

you can’t believe you’re letting suguru know you on a more intimate level, already regretting the words before you’re even speaking. “i chose this place because the owner’s been kind to me—” he perks up like a puppy at the information, so much for being nonchalant (he couldn’t be even if he tried), “—i came here when i didn’t have anything other than five bucks to my name. and even though the business isn’t doing so well, she covered the rest for me that day.

“i haven’t been here in a while. but i like to come whenever i have a little extra money and i have the time to.” you don’t add your father had been nearly laid off from his position at the time of the incident, leaving you scrambling to figure out how to pay rent on time, much less worry about an actual meal. the old woman had extended a hand of kindness where you weren’t expecting any.

geto clears his throat, “thank you for letting me know this little slice of you. it’s nice knowing you as something other than the valedictorian with a grudge.” you let out a noncommittal hum in response, watching as the old woman walked over with your food. you were welcomed by the earthy scent of the noodles, the aroma wafting throughout the table.

you could feel your mouth start to water before she even finished putting the plates down. “enjoy,” she tells you both, once again leaving you completely alone. there’s no rush when it comes to eating for either of you, no sense of urgency to get out. you blow on your noodles, twisting them around your chopsticks before taking a bite.

“so, are they up to your palate?” why you were making conversation with geto, you didn’t know. but nevertheless, you couldn’t exactly take the words back once they’d left your lips.

“they are. better than what i’m used to.” you savor each drop that lands on your tongue, each bite of the egg yolk that you take. it’s just the right amount of runny, the taste melding in perfectly with the broth. geto makes a few comments here in between about how good the beef is, how the noodles taste, and for once, you don’t find yourself wanting to smash a keyboard over his head.

you even make a few remarks yourself, about the different kinds of noodles that the shop offered. like you were already planning out to come here with him again. the thought should’ve been unsettling, should’ve been straight of your worst nightmares, but it wasn’t all too bad.

geto doesn’t hesitate in leaving a hefty tip behind when the check comes, earning a bright smile from the old lady. it seems she approves of him.

“do you want me to walk you back home?” he speaks up once you make it out of the shop, lingering on the street. it’s dark outside and you still had a long way to walk back home—but it’s just what you need. being in close proximity with geto has messed with your head enough, made him seem tolerable for one afternoon.

“i’d rather take my chances getting kidnapped,” you retort, already starting to walk away. he doesn’t linger for too long, walking away in the opposite direction. the walk back home is brisk, only a few cars passing by on the street, a nice chill in the air. it doesn’t take long for you to reach your building,

you’re certain you see a figure swinging away from the same direction geto had just headed in. you amount it to exhaustion, to your mind playing tricks on you. stepping inside your apartment, you’re welcomed to complete darkness—both of your parents already off to bed.

following suit, you drop your backpack off on the floor and get changed into your pair of pajamas as quietly as you can. you’ve barely managed to get into bed, to snuggle underneath your warm blanket, when your phone buzzes.

a message from geto.

geto: i hope you didn’t get kidnapped on your way home. 

you: i’m sure that you’d be delighted to hear that, less competition for valedictorian after all. 

geto: fair point. but then i’d have to do this project all by myself :( 

you: i’m sure you’d be able to figure out if you rubbed your last two brain cells together

geto: i’m sure. good night. 

—

you don’t see much of geto throughout the week—not that you’ve had much time to give it any thought (is what you keep trying to convince yourself of). in between trying to study for quizzes, getting assignments done, and searching for internships in the summer, you haven’t had much time to breathe much less pay attention to your group member.

“good afternoon class. today we’ll be going over neural coding and the perception of sound, we’re on page 456.” the sound of fingers tapping against keys rings throughout the classroom—yours included, as you start typing out your notes for dr. yaga’s lecture. he starts talking about neuron frequency and parameters, studying an orientation tuning curve—the sound of his voice fading into the background once you take a look around the classroom.

suguru didn’t show up for today’s lecture, his seat taken up by a guy who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed five minutes ago. you should be glad—you don’t have to talk to him in the odd case yaga ends the class early. instead…you find yourself wondering just what exactly prompted his absence. wondering if he’s okay. your fingers inch towards your phone across the table, about to take hold before you remember—

you hate this guy. he’s probably fine and you don’t need him anyways—you could complete the project on your own accord. right? right. instead of thinking about geto any further than you had to, you picked back up on writing the lecture notes yaga was giving on mt tuning curves, on visual motion in different directions and rose plots.

your day ends in a blur of different powerpoint presentations, note taking, and about twenty different assignments due on friday at 11:59 with no exceptions. there’s still some time before you have to head back home, so you decide to head to the library. it’s quiet upon entering, the few students inside burrowed deep within a book or a last minute paper they don’t even have articles for yet. padding against the carpet, you take your seat at your usual place. second floor, table near the window.

suguru shows up at the library five minutes later, a grey hoodie pulled over his head. he looks rough, a splotchy purple bruise marking his right eye—roughly a day or two old if you had to guess, along with a nasty cut running across his cheek. he looks like he hasn’t slept in days—hair tousled up into a half-assed attempt at a bun and rings circling underneath his eyes. you almost wince at the sight.

“you look like you’ve been hit by a train.” suguru didn’t want to admit that he had, in fact, had to hold a train back on a shattered track. he pulled a seat across the table, a pained expression on his face and a hand clasped around his (very broken) ribs upon taking a seat. his backpack dropped to the floor in one ungraceful sweep, pins clattering against each other upon impact.

still, he tried to pretend like he wasn’t actively in pain. pulling his laptop out from his backpack, tapping quickly to open up the shared presentation you’d set up. you didn’t mention anything, neither did he. it wasn’t your place to. a quiet settled upon the table, each of you getting to work on your designated slides.

it only lasts for about ten minutes when,“what’d he go over during the lecture today?” he questioned, looking up from his laptop to meet your gaze.

“i’ll send the doc over once we’re done here, maybe you’ll even do better on the test with my notes in hand.” on another occasion, maybe he would’ve met your retort with another one of his own, would’ve tried to tease you back. but all he could manage was a weak laugh, “yeah, maybe.”

the next two hours are relatively quiet, if only for a few questions about formatting, about including an article shared in between whispers. suguru doesn’t look much better than when he first stepped foot into the door—hand still clutched around his ribs as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “i don’t know what happened to you,” you start off, his attention diverted from packing up for the night, “but come over next time you’re hurt. i don’t have much but i can at least stitch you up. don’t really wanna get stuck doing your portion of the work when you’re half dead.”

suguru pushes his laptop inside his backpack before speaking, “right. you’ll be my nurse for the sake of your grade?”

“absolutely for the sake of my grade.” you hand him over a ripped piece of notebook paper with your address scribbled onto it, watching as he carefully tucks it away in the back of his phone.

“i’ll take you up on that, then.”

“good.” a breath you didn’t realize you were holding leaves your lips upon exiting the library, a relief filling your body. you convince yourself it’s the assurance of your gpa staying intact—it’s not. you couldn’t stand to see geto sit around in pain, hear his meek attempts to keep up with your banter and each strained breath he let out when he stood still for too long.

you worried about him. for the first time, you admitted to yourself feeling something other than petty hate towards him.

you: i hope you feel better. doesn’t feel the same being mean to you.

suguru: i’ll try. get home safe.

—

as begrudging as it becomes to admit, you slowly start to get comfortable to having suguru around. to having your designed meet up at the library every monday and wednesday at four, being greeted with a warm cup of coffee and a kind of patience a saint would be jealous of.

it’s ridiculous. suguru doesn’t stoop as low as to meet your biting remarks with one of his own. he simply treats it with a calm smile, with a, “yeah, i’ll get that done.” when you bite out an order to do something.

“you’re more capable than i gave you credit for,” you remark, opening up the powerpoint to find that he’d settled on picking a nice theme. he’d picked up on where you left off last night with ease—sorting out your scrambled mess of notes into something feasible.

it was weird having someone you didn’t have to constantly be explaining yourself to. weird, but nice.

“well, you set a high bar. i, at least, have to make the effort to be worthy of working with you,” he retorts, reaching over. a quiet laugh escapes you, a sound he wants to bottle up just so he knows he’s not imaging it.

“your efforts are greatly appreciated.” you’re not sure when’s the last time you’ve been such at ease working on a group project. maybe never. you’re usually too stressed out trying to pick up where everyone else is lacking. plugging your earbuds on, you get back to reading through an article on motor functions.

“you should send me that playlist. for motivational purposes, of course,” suguru speaks up when you’re finished for the night. amongst corny science memes (from his part) and photos of cats he’s found on the street, you send him your playlist. showing him a glimpse of your soul—or at least what you like to listen to.

of course, it’s in alphabetical order. he finds himself playing each song, carefully listening to each of the lyrics. wondering what your thoughts were when listening, how you related to each one. your mind was a complex cavern, one that he intended to explore fully.

and across the city, you find yourself thinking about every interaction you’ve been having with him lately. about how he’s changed his brand of pencils to pentel 0.5mm in case you’d ever ask for one, the way his touch makes you feel like your body’s been electrocuted, how he’s memorized your coffee order by now.

you’re thinking too much about it, aren’t you? definitely. no way in hell you’re starting to develop feelings for suguru geto. you hate him. you hate him. you hate him.

and yet, why can’t you convince yourself of the fact?

“you’re acting weird. you okay?” suguru doesn’t hesitate to call you out, noticing you’ve been all too quiet during your session today. no biting remarks, no jokes, just silence. at first, it was comforting. now it just seems unsettling.

you nearly jump out of your seat, having been staring at the same word—and—for the past five minutes. you clear your throat, nodding. “i’m alright.” he’s not convinced but he lets it go. maybe you’re just having a bad day. you’re grateful he doesn’t try to ask any more questions, but… you miss the conversation.

fuck, you’re screwed.

—

suguru: can’t show up to our library session tonight, try not to miss me too much ;)

you’re not sure why you almost feel…disappointed at the news, wondering if he’s off getting beat up like he did two weeks ago. but it’s not like you wanted him to see that you’d put in more effort into dressing up today—that you’d ditched your (very comfortable) hoodie and sweats for a pair of jeans and a nice blouse you’d gotten on a discount rack. that you’d put on a dab of mascara and tinted gloss.

absolutely not. you didn’t care.

with nothing else to do around campus, you decide to head back home. flipping the tv on, you quickly come to find out each news channel’s covering the same segment—a giant lizard terrorizing the city while spider-man swings from building to building before jumping into action.

the hero picks up a decent looking buick, the expensive car practically weightless in his arms, tossing it over. it pierces through the air like a bullet, cameramen at the scene quickly panning their cameras to the zooming vehicle going at what seems to be a hundred miles per hour. it lands.

and spider-man misses. tossing it a mile past the point where the lizard’s crawling up a building, the car crashing into nothing but a mess of glass and debris. police sirens speed closer to the scene of the crime, thick clouds of grey smoke from the impact clouding up the atmosphere.

that’d be your last straw, you think. coming out of a late shift only to find your car completely totaled into smithereens. without so much as having some kind of insurance it’d be covered under.

luckily, it’s not you.

with that thought, you shut your tv off. choosing instead to work on some assignments, to work on converting radon mass into mols, to filling out equations that had more symbols than numbers on it. the hours pour over slowly, sun fading away into the shadows as night takes over.

there’s a knock on your window. you live on the third floor, that’s enough to unsettle you as it is. no one could get up here without using the fire escape, and that seemed like too much of a hassle just to rob you. right? another knock followed after the first, forcing you to get up from your spot.

shoving the curtains to the side, you’re met with the sight of spider-man outside your window. his suit’s ripped and tattered, exposing slivers of a blood streaked gash running down his chest. his chest heaves with each ragged and hoarse breath that leaves his lungs, a sharp pain digging through his ribs.

he leans against your windowsill, clutching a hand tightly against his stomach. his other hand reaches up, swiping at the constricting mask concealing his identity. black hair falls in long waves once its freed from its confines, a face you’re too familiar with meeting your gaze.

suguru. he leans his head back, a smear of blood marking his cheek. he’s never looked as hot as he did now—bleeding out and groaning at your windowsill. “hey, nice to see you again,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, “room looks cozy.”

there’s about a million questions bubbling in your head. how’d he manage to go to school and be the city’s hero? how’d he deal with the burden placed on his shoulders? still, there’s no time for you to be surprised. you have to act quick before he loses any more blood.

easing him into your bed, you get out your suturing kit with 140 pieces inside. pulling on a pair of gloves, you’re quick to get out what you need. a nylon needle, a silk piece of thread, some alcohol pads, and an advil just in case. “why’d you come to me?” you bring yourself to ask, pulling away at the sopping latex fabric.

it falls to your bedroom floor with an unceremonious plop, blood smearing onto your hardwood floors. you’d clean it up later. for now, you focus on evaluating the wound. the slash cut deep enough where stitches were necessary, but it seemed straight forward for the most part.

“you’re the only one in our program i trust not to drive a needle through a vein and stab me half to death,” he responds after a bit, his breathing labored as your hands squish the wound together. trying to make some sense of the ragged edges you’re trying to line up, of where you needed to poke the needle through.

“high praise,” you murmur, blood seeping and dripping from the rag you were delicately rubbing against his skin. cleaning him up as gently as possible, trying to avoid hurting the gash any more than necessary. any more than you needed to before the next step.

silence settles over your room as you draw the needle through his skin, piercing just deep enough to ensure it’d be sealed properly. forcing your trembling hands to steady, you get to work. sliding the needle through his skin, tightening the thread against each edge of the gash with each knot you do. it’s not perfect—you know that much, but it’s enough for right now.

“are you okay?” you’re the first one to break the silence tonight, gently wiping away at the streaks of crimson marring his scarred skin. blood dribbles and pours from the gash, quiet winces leaving his lips when you happen to press too hard.

a disgruntled, frustrated sigh leaves his lips, “no. the lizard escaped from me at last minute and i have no idea how to start looking for him.” taking your gloves off, you’re now faced with an incredibly hard decision. figuring out what suguru was going to wear.

you’re sure he’s bound to get questions if he walks out in a spider-man costume, digging through your cabinets to find something. an old pair of sweats that’s been too big and an oversized shirt. that’s good enough. “thanks.” suguru takes the clothes from you, quickly sliding them on.

“i’m sure you’ll find him. you’re nothing if not persistent,” you reassure, swiping away at a hair that covered his face. lightly, you dragged a clean rag through his cheeks, wiping away ruby colored streaks in three swipes. his gaze goes to your lips, your breath catches in your throat.

you’re too close. you should pull away, should tell him to leave and go back to studying. instead, you lean into the kiss. slowly and tentatively pressing your lips against his own, one of your hands coming to rest on his shoulder.

bruised hands settle on your waist, tugging you closer against his body. his lips brush against yours with all the patience in the world, the taste of him intoxicating up close. nothing else—not the city of new york, not the lizard—mattered. his lips locked against yours like a missing puzzle piece, slotting against yours perfectly.

“is this why you’ve been acting weird towards me?” suguru breathes out when he pulls away, forehead resting against your own. the proximity, of being mere inches apart, has heat rising up your neck, up to your face. everywhere you turned, he was there.

“yes,” your response comes out as a breathless whisper, his fingers drawing small lines against your arms. there’s no rush to the moment, no rush into pulling yourselves apart. a shiver runs down your spine as his touch ghosts even higher, leaving you wanting more.

hinges creak against themselves as soon as your bedroom door’s swung open, your father standing in the doorway. his eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of suguru plopped down on your bed, the two of you too close for comfort. you quickly scooted away, putting on a few inches of distance.

it wasn’t enough to erase his intrigue. with an exasperated huff, he rubbed a hand over his temples, “do you want to tell me why there’s a guy over this late? and with your door closed?” not particularly, but you figured it wasn’t as much as a question as an accusation.

“he…uh…” oh no, you hesitated. your father’s brows merely furrowed while you scrambled to find any reasonable excuse to have suguru geto in your bed at 10 pm. c’mon think think think. he’s getting suspicious.

suguru can practically see the wheels turning in your head, his teeth biting down on his lip to keep himself from snickering. your eyes dart from one corner of your room to the next, to your bed, to your nightstand before you take hold of the shut laptop next to you, blurting out, “he came to work on our project!”

“out!” your father exclaims just as soon as you’ve finished trying to find an excuse, “project my ass, we use the front door in this house for those.” he storms off into the living room, presumably to continue to continue watching his late night soccer game.

suguru let out a quiet laugh, leaning over to press a small kiss on your forehead. it doesn’t feel like enough after your admission, feels too small. but, it’s what you’ll have to make do for now. “for someone so smart, you sure are a bad liar, pretty girl.”

you’re left alone again.

you can’t focus on your project. the blank screen on your monitor burnt into your retinas, blinking cursor on the screen taunting you with each second that passes.

you can’t sleep either. you’ve tried. tossed and turned from one side to the next, throwing your leg over one of your prized plushies to no avail. you try counting sheep, you try listening to calming asmr in attempts it’d still your racing mind. nothing works. frustration boils deep in your gut, your thighs rubbing against one another.

you don’t think about suguru as just the guy you once hated and are now starting to develop a crush on, but you see him as spider-man too. see the responsibility that he takes on to protect the city, to ensure that people feel just a little bit safer walking down the streets while keeping up with school. while still managing to get you your coffee every day without so much as a protest.

the more that you get to know about him, the more that you realize that you’ve already fallen for him. tonight—that kiss—had just cemented the fact, your mind lingering on how soft he’d been. how gentle and reverent he’d treated you, being patient without treating you like you couldn’t handle it.

with a resigned sigh, you slowly began to trail your fingers down your navel. dragging your fingertips against the sensitive flesh, picturing geto’s long, digits as your eyes flutter shut. imagining his soft, plush lips making their way down your body the same you are, with an amount of reverence and tenderness.

you don’t dip your fingers inside your cunt just yet, rubbing yourself through the thin material of your panties, sliding your fingertips against your clothed slit, slowly starting to drip through the thin material. your fingers move up, rubbing at your neglected clit in small little circles.

deep in the back of his mind, suguru knows he’s not supposed to intrude on such a private moment. and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.

he can hear footsteps up to five miles away, can hear every whispered conversation, and yet all he can focus on is the way your breath picks up, the sound of your cunt squelching around the fingers. on your rapid heartbeat thumping against your chest, on the whisper of his name that you thought left your lips into the dead of night.

wait, what?

“oh, fuck, suguru.” a breathless whisper leaves your lips, his ears perking up underneath the mask. he can practically taste you on his tongue with how intense the scent penetrates through your bedroom walls. his cock throbs in the latex, precum smearing onto the costume. that’s enough to get him sliding the costume down to his mid thighs, leaving him nearly exposed.

anybody could look up and see the city’s hero jerking himself off on the side of a building. that should’ve been enough to stop him, to make him wait until he was in his room. but no, instead, he wraps his hand around his shaft, thumb smearing precum alllll the way down to the base.

you are all that consumes his thoughts, his very being.

pushing your panties to the side, you dip two fingers inside your cunt with a wet little shlickk. all the while picturing suguru’s thick fingers instead of your own, picturing how’d he finger you. he’d start slow—just to tease you. so you decide to slowly start pumping your fingers in and out, slick dripping down to your knuckles.

suguru starts off at the same pace you’re going, timing his own orgasm to your own. soul ties and the such. his fingers wrap tightly around his cock, fist slowly dragging uppp and downn the shaft. he rubs at his swollen cockhead, smearing precum over his fist and his dick.

“o-oh fuck,” a hushed moan leaves your lips, your fingers curling about a inch in. you’re hitting your g-spot with each thrust of your fingertips, back bowed into an arch. would he let you cum? maybe if he was feeling kind enough. you rub at your clit, pushing yourself to reach your peak only to let it slip through your fingers right at the precipice. 

when you do let yourself cum to the thought of it being on suguru’s fingers, of imagining him bringing them up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them and tasting you fully, you soak your fingers and sheets underneath with a shuddered little moan.

suguru isn’t faring well outside of your window either.

sweat dribbles down from his forehead, heavy load of cum covering his hand and stomach. he leans his head back, listening to your racing heartbeat slowly return back to normal. he wipes his hand off on the side of his costume, zipping it back up before reluctantly heading back home.

so much for hating him.

—

you avoid suguru geto completely after that.

it wasn’t that hard in the grand scheme of things. sure, you were both confined to the same building for most of the day, but you avoided taking any main hallways you were certain to find him in. avoided lingering in the lounge for too long, hiding away in the back stairwell and doing some assignments. it’s quite nice the few times you get lucky and there’s no one making out underneath.

and sure, you had a few classes together, but you avoid being in your usual spots. go up to sit in the back instead of the front, in one of the far right wings of the auditorium where even the professor’s surprised when they take attendance. you don’t linger too much after class either, immediately leaving upon dismissal with your head down.

but even then, you supposed you should’ve accounted for how to avoid him at your own home.

“do i have to keep showing up to your house all bruised and battered for you to spare your friendly neighborhood spider-man five minutes?” suguru pops his head in through your window, sliding his mask off once he was inside.

you raise a brow, leaning in closer to take a look at the ‘wound’ he’s whining and pouting about. it’s a simple cut across his cheek, already starting to heal from his enhanced abilities. “you came over for this?”

“yes. i’m dying, doc,” he deadpans much to your dismay. you gesture for him to take a seat on your bed, watching as he makes himself at home amongst your plushies. taking a hold of your kit, you stand in between his legs to clean up the cut.

that’s not good enough for suguru.

“what the—” his hands take hold of your waist, easing you down onto his lap. your thighs rest upon either side of his own, your ass pressed directly on top of his lap. moving forward slightly, you grind yourself against him, a quiet moan leaving your lips upon feeling the tip against your clit.

how very unprofessional of you.

you force yourself to stay focused, taking his face in your hand. purple eyes glimmer underneath the pale moonlight, meeting your gaze as your fingers brush against the ‘bruise.’ slowly, you dab on a little bit of antibiotic onto the cut before plastering on a hello kitty bandaid on his cheek. “perfect.”

neither one of you moves. suguru’s hands stay splayed against your waist, holding you tightly against his body. trying to keep you there as long as possible. you let him, your fingers ghosting across his face before you reluctantly pull your hand away.

this time, his hand cradles your cheek, “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about your lips since the last time i’ve seen you. thinking about kissing you again.” he didn’t kiss you like he had last time, gentle and patient, no, he kissed you like he was desperate (which he, admittedly, was).

your hips swivel as you grind yourself down on his hardening cock, feeling each ridge against your dripping cunt. heavy breaths leave your lips the faster you start moving against him, the more you feel his tip prodding into your clothed pussy. “this feel good?” he questions, his hands moving up your nightshirt. cupping your breasts in between his hands, rubbing his thumb around your nipples.

“y-yeah, feels good,” you nod, head thrown back and back arched. your nails dig into his shoulders, using that as leverage as you move yourself against him. his lips move down to your neck, leaving kiss after kiss as he trails his way down. he slides your shirt off, tossing it to one corner of your room.

“can i taste you, please?” you nod, expecting him to get down on his knees and get in between your legs. to start slowly kissing his way up your legs before making his way to your cunt. but no, you watch as he crawls up to your ceiling, sticking it it before hanging upside down.

a thin, white string’s clutched between his fingers, keeping him in position. suguru hangs off your roof with relative ease, onyx strands cascading onto your silk sheets. he leans forward, his free hand swiping at the slick dribbling from your puffy folds.

syrupy strings cling onto his gloved fingertips, tongue enveloping around the latex to taste every last drop. “need to taste all of you, spread out for me,” suguru uses his free hand to spread your legs apart, your ass up in the air as you settle into an arch, “there we go. just like that, princess.”

he delves in like a man starving, his tongue swiping across your slit, lapping up every drop of your essence. your fingers tightly wrap around your sheets, hips moving back to meet his eager mouth. he’s unabashed with each swipe, with each lick to your sopping pussy.

suguru takes one of your folds in his mouth, spit slobbering over the sensitive skin to mix with the syrupy slick dripping onto his tongue, starting to make out with your lower pair of lips. “fuck, you’re so good to me, wanna stay here,” he’s already pussydrunk, each babble leaving his lips like water.

while nothing about him is sloppy, the way that he’s making out with your pussy certainly is. he takes note of what makes your heart run faster, what makes you react to adjust what he does. no reaction you make goes unnoticed.

you gushed around his mouth and chin like a running faucet, your essence smeared all over his face. suguru slid his tongue in and outt of your cunt, his nose nudging against your sensitive clit with each push. “so, so good sugu,” you whined against him, eyes rolling back. each swipe of his tongue, the desperate way he ate you out, had you inching closer and closer to your orgasm.

“mm, i know, i know,” he coos, jaw falling slack as he buries his face in between your legs. he alternates between making out with your folds, tracing his tongue across each one, and thrusting his tongue in and out of your hole. suguru licks up a broad stripe up your cunt to your clit, the tip of his tongue drawing a small circle onto the nub.

blood rushes down to his head, almost making him feel high off the taste of your cunt. his lips latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the nub. “fuck, fuck, sugu, just like that!” your praise only serves to spur him on, your orgasm the only thing on his mind.

two of his fingers dip inside your cunt, filling you even better than you’d imagined just a few days ago. suguru curls his fingers perfectly, drawing out desperate moans from your lips with each prod against your g-spot. he continues sucking around your clit, pleasure building up deep in your gut.

his fingers spread you open, pearlescent slick dribbling down his gloved fingers. your hips move on their own accord, pushing them even deeper as you chase your orgasm. “gonna cum, gonna cum,” you babble, smearing yourself across his face and fingers. your own couldn’t compare to this, not by a long mile.

“that’s it, come for me, take what you want from me,” suguru’s words unraveled you like a birthday present, your orgasm hitting your body in waves. shudders rack through your body, your legs shaking as your release spurted out of you, coating his mouth, chin, and nose. he’s quick to lap up at the drops lingering on his lips, wrapping his mouth around his fingers. sucking them off completely, a moan leaving his lips at the taste.

suguru made quick work of sliding down the rest of his costume, letting it fall on your floor. his cock slapped against his stomach once released, tan at the base with a couple veins running up the thick shaft, tip a reddish pink and dripping drops of precum. a slight eight inches if you had to go off on estimate.

he moves to his spot behind you, wrapping a hand around his shaft. slowly starting to swipe it up and down your folds, tip nudging against your sensitive clit. “i thought it was fuck me, c’mon sweetheart, tell sugu how much you hate him

“fuck y—” his cock sinks in completely, lips parting into a moan while your walls clench around him, tightly wrapped around his shaft like a vice. suguru doesn’t move just yet, even as you push your hips back for some kind of friction, “come on, finish your sentence. don’t be rude.”

you’re too desperate to form a cohesive thought—blurting out the first thing on your mind, “oh fuck me, please!”

“with pleasure, sweetheart.” he pulls back in one swift motion, hips snapping against your own when he thrusts back in, curve of his cock dizzying as it hit every single spot that had your toes curl. "ah ah ah, fuck, don't stop!" suguru doesn’t start off fast, but he starts off deep—letting you feel every inch he was stuffing inside. your cunt dripped around his shaft, squelching as your slick mixed in with the drops of precum dribbling down.

“like this?” he has the audacity to ask, his hands gripping onto your waist as he fucks into you. your ass jiggles back against him with each shove of his cock, balls smacking against the back of your thighs. he starts to move faster, pounding into your cunt like he wanted to imprint the shape of him into your walls.

“j-just like that!” you respond, head buried into the sheets in front of you. the grip you had on your sheets tightens tenfold, body jerking back and forth. that just won’t do. he raises your head up from its hiding spot, turning your head to kiss you. it’s sloppy, it’s desperate, and it’s more teeth and tongue than anything.

it’s perfect.

“keep your head up, wanna hear every little moan,” he babbles behind you, reveling in every little ah! ah! ah! that left your lips, moans mixing in with the sound of skin slapping against skin. your eyes roll back, drool leaking from your lips with every inch he drags across your cunt.

suguru plants one of his feet up on the bed, the position allowing for him to thrust even deeper. his tip kissed your cervix with each punishing thrust of his hips, each vein and ridge rubbing against your walls deliciously. one of his hands moves down in between your legs, rubbing desperate little circles around your clit.

you clamp down around his shaft, your release quickly building up. suguru feels his own approaching, balls tightening up, but he’s determined. determined to make you gush around his cock before he spills his load. your legs tremble and quake, orgasm hitting you much more intense than last time.

your release dribbles and spurts around his shaft, a creamy ring at the base as he pulls back. his hips stutter while he tries to maintain his pace, abs clenching the longer he tries to prolong his orgasm. “come for me, suguru, fill me up.” that’s enough to drag a strangled moan from his lips, a thick load of cum painting your walls white.

suguru remains still for a second before gently pulling his softening cock out, watching as you all but collapse face down onto your bed. “where do you keep your rags?” he moves across your bedroom, heading over to the bathroom.

“second cabinet on the right.” he grabs a few, making sure to get one wet enough to clean up between your legs. he takes the opportunity that your parents aren’t home to leave your bedroom, going over to grab a water bottle.

“here, take a sip.” he holds it up against your mouth, your hands reaching out to take hold of it. a moment of stillness, calm settles over your bedroom as he lightly rubs the rag against your skin, wiping away the milky trails of cum dribbling down your cunt and thighs. you close off the bottle, setting it aside on your nightstand.

“my photography class is making me submit my portfolio for my final, wanted to know if you’d be my model for tomorrow,” he speaks up, settling next to you. he wipes the sweat away from your forehead with a clean rag, just as gently as he’d done before. your body feels sluggish and limp, melting into his embrace as he wraps a hand around your stomach.

“that sounds nice. i’ll show up around three,” you whisper before succumbing to sleep, one of your own arms wrapped around his chest. even if suguru wanted to move (which he didn’t), he couldn’t move with how tightly you were holding onto him. it was the nicest sleep you’ve had thus far, the most relaxed you’ve allowed yourself to be.

the walk over to his apartment was quiet, the city still with each step you took. the trees rustled with each light breeze that passed, birds chirped a melody in the distance. for once, there weren’t any police sirens or honking cars out on the street.

maybe that should’ve been your first sign something was wrong.

—

the quiet before the storm never seems to last for very long, does it?

you never made it to his apartment. never sent a text message saying you couldn’t make it, no kind of explanation. suguru had been waiting for hours now, unwilling to accept the fact he’d simply been ghosted out of the blue. sure, you’d done that before, but his gut told him otherwise.

turning his tv on, he was greeted by the sight of the lizard. he’d regenerated faster than expected, all the effort that suguru put into fighting him the first time diminished into nothing but cheap headlines. but that’s not all that he sees. when the camera pans in, focusing on the lizard’s scaly hand, his heart drops to his ass.

“come out, come out if you want to see your girlfriend again, spider.” each taunt only makes his blood boil, watching helplessly as the lizard dangled your limp body from side to side. dropping you, gasps erupting from the public watching, before his tail wrapped around your body. “you know where to find me.”

pulling the mask on to defend the city had always felt like an obligation, some kind of punishment for sneaking out during a field trip and getting himself bit by a radioactive spider. but this time, it felt more like necessity. adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing him through each building he swung and pulled himself off of.

of course, the lizard couldn’t have made things easy enough for him. sneaking through the clock tower, he came across a machine set to go off in thirty minutes, containing a vial full of lizard dna. if the average person would so much as inhale even a speck of air when it went off, they’d immediately face the effects.

effects that their body wasn’t suited to take, effects that their body would reject until their untimely demise. the countdown ticked, 30… 29… 28… and right at the same time spider-man made his appearance, the lizard decided to give him a choice. the city of new york or you.

spider-man was a hero revered for his ability to think fast on his feet, for his ability to swing into action with the best possible solution.

but suguru was fucking scared.

he could hear his heart thumping in his ears, his breaths coming out in short little wisps. even one little second was too much to waste, a second that could’ve to save you. to save the city of new york. the machine doesn’t take long to deactivate, only needing the vial to be removed. green smoke evaporated into nothingness, the machine’s countdown coming to a halt.

he couldn’t afford to hesitate now. suguru tossed himself off the clocktower’s peak, diving straight towards where you were helplessly flailing around. your hands clawed at pure air, reaching out for a final salvation to no avail. his wrist flicked forward, a silken web extending out to your chest.

four strings extended from the original web, a hand reaching out towards your body. you flailed helplessly in mid air, hearing people gasp and scream right behind you. you couldn’t focus on them, couldn’t focus on anything but suguru. the air feels cold, too loud in your ears, your vision blurry. the ground seems so close, and yet so far away. like you’re falling in slow motion.

suguru was so close, he was nearly there. his fingertips grazed against your skin, reaching out to take hold of your hand. just as soon as he thought he’d assured a tight grip over your body, you slipped away from his fingers. the web connected to your body, a second too late.

the memories behind your eyelids weren’t ones about your academic achievements, about a party you skipped to get your pre-sat score higher. no, you got painful reminders of everything you didn’t get to do. that you didn’t get to go out on a date with suguru, that you didn’t get the chance to get to know him better, that you’d die and no one would know you as anything other than the girl with a tight stick up her ass. you’d never be able to do those things, either.

never get to feel the warmth of the sun against your face again, never get to feel the softness and tenderness from suguru’s touch. that one, you think, hurts the most.

CRACK.

he felt it before he heard it. felt the moment your heart went silent, the moment that spider-man failed you. still, he persisted. there must be something he could still do, anything at all.

he can’t afford to lose you, he just can’t.

his hands hooked underneath your legs when he got close enough, cradling you close to his chest. “hey,” his voice cracks, tears welling underneath his mask. “open your eyes, please. talk to me. say you hate me, say you love me, say anything.

just… come back to me. please.” guilt seeps in through the open wound with a vengeance, a reminder you wouldn’t have been in this predicament if he wasn’t so careless. if spider-man hadn’t allowed himself to feel a smidge of happiness, you’d still be alive.

you had many dreams in the world. and that’s all they would be, just dreams.

the world moves on without you, just the same as it had while you were in it. there’s quiet whispers in the halls, your seat in each class available almost out of respect? out of fear of a ghost? whatever the case may be—parties are still thrown, tests are still being held, and yet… suguru remains stagnant. haunted by the memory of you, your touch burning into his hand. he could’ve reached you, should’ve tried to catch you instead of throwing a web aimlessly.

you don’t leave his mind. every waking moment, he’s reminded of you in everything he does. how you’d be pissed off he’s letting his gpa fall to the gutter because he can’t bring himself to open up stupid canvas. how he’d never get to have anything with you that wasn’t banter or a night of sex. maybe it would’ve been better if he never approached you at all. if he didn’t ruin your life as spider-man.

internships he’d signed up for the sole purpose of getting on your last nerve are given to him on a silver platter, achievements that you’ve worked hard to earn given to him as if nothing happened in the first place. as if he could ever come close to being as deserving as you were. he hits decline on each and every single offer, not even bothering to give a polite email in response. the project’s only finished because it felt wrong to leave it as it was, and even then, suguru knows it’s not the best it could’ve been.

crime still runs rampant through the streets of new york—stolen bicycles, snatched purses, robberies gone awry, and yet, suguru doesn’t put on the suit. knows that he wouldn’t be able to hold his punches otherwise. and as much as he tries to keep moving forward, forcing himself to show up to classes he’d paid half a fortune for, you weren’t the only one who died that day.

—

WHERE IS SPIDER-MAN?!

article published by the daily bugle, 2026

spider-man. the man we seek out to solve most of our problems throughout the city whether it be the simplest of bank robberies or a giant lizard wrecking havoc amongst the city.

he has shown up time and time again in our time of need, in times where everything was once thought of as a lost cause. but one has to wonder, how good is this dependence?

the webbed vigilante has left us to our own devices, having gone missing for months now. we are completely helpless, doubting our finest officers that put their lives on the line to keep us safe. this sick hero’s been working on his own merit, on his own accord without any policing, to ‘protect’ the city.

while every single part of this pregnancy had been unplanned, the baby shower was something you’d devoted nearly the last month into meticulously planning and putting together with what limited budget you had. from an organized registry (you didn’t want to end up with 1000 same colored onesies and 0 diapers by the time the night was over), to party favors, and what food you’d be serving your guests.

gojo had been courteous enough to let you use his backyard for the event, though ‘backyard’ was the understatement of the century. his parents’ money had funded a condo for him ten minutes outside of campus, the space bigger than your dorm floor and then some.

the backyard itself could rival a football field, stretching from one corner of the street onto the next. in the middle of the neatly manicured lawn sat a large, pristine pool that sparkled each time the sun so much as hit it. probably unused if you had to guess. the lawn wasn’t decorated as much as it was maintained—one lounge chair set outside almost out of what seemed obligation and a filthy basketball hoop that looked like it’d seen better days.

but who were you to complain when it was more than enough space to host your get-together?

most of your morning’s spent putting up a flimsy banner in the doorway, spreading little bits of confetti throughout the place, and putting up the rest of decorations despite shoko’s insistence on you needing to rest. gojo’s condo went from a grey and light blue minimalistic space to being quickly adorned with pink, yellow, and blue balloons with teddy bears on nearly every surface.

you’d gone with a simple pink maternity dress, the material comfortable and flowy enough to where it didn’t feel like your own clothes were trying to suffocate you. shoko joined in with the pink attire—claiming she didn’t want any more male energy in the dorm (she’d love the baby regardless, though). and gojo had decided to go with a blue button down, saying he could just feel the little guy’s energy.

you’re still not fully convinced it wasn’t just because it matched with his eyes.

the idea of hosting a baby shower without knowing that many people had seemed absurd when it was first suggested, but shoko invited a couple of her friends over, most of them arriving with a polite smile and a few gifts in hand. there’s a few people you recognize—geto from intro to philosophy 101; utahime, who you’ve seen shoko kissing in the hall when she thinks no one’s looking; nanami from a culinary elective you took freshman year on a whim.

slowly but surely, more people start to trickle in. the house starts filling up, a light song starts to play in the background, and chatter’s heard through every corner of the yard. you’d spent the last month stressing about how it’d look, trying to make it perfect within your budget, that you just can’t help but feel completely and utterly excited upon seeing the final result.

upon seeing everyone have a good time and enjoy what you’ve put together with your friends.

sukuna appeared through the door two minutes after the time on the invitation, as if arriving any later would sever the thin string of your remaining patience (it would). he looks far better than he did when he came to your dorm two weeks ago: in a pink button down that stretches taut against his broad shoulders and sleeves that roll up to his elbows just to showcase how muscular his arms were.

if you weren’t so pissed off at him, you would’ve climbed him like a tree right then and there.

he places an elephant themed gift bag on the gifts table, making his way through gojo’s backyard. sukuna had resorted to asking toji for help on what to get, bitching to him for thirty minutes straight on how a blanket seemed like too little after everything. the man ended up picking out a play pen that ran him a good $200.

yorozu steps in behind him in a purple mini dress that rode up her legs with each step she took into the party, dressed more to go to a frat than a baby shower—stilettos adorning her feet as she moved around. who invited her, you weren’t quite sure. still, as long as you didn’t you have to interact with her, you’d be fine.

sukuna didn’t pay her much attention. he makes a show of sitting alone in a corner, arms folded across his chest while he sulks broods in silence. it’s the first time he’s been at a party sober with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. if it weren’t for you, he might’ve considered leaving already.

the few people around him has gathered up into small groups until the other guests arrive, laughing and talking amongst themselves. he’s like a big, grey storm cloud on a sunny afternoon. the thought nearly has you giggle.

“i’ll be right back.” shoko follows your gaze over to sukuna, a not so slick smile on her face when she pats your back.

“good luck with that one.”

she goes off to talk with utahime while you pad across the backyard, taking a seat two chairs down. neither of you say anything, unsure of how to tread through this territory. you decide to take initiative, clearing your throat, “thank you for coming. i appreciate you showing up.”

sukuna lets out a quiet grunt, arms tightly wound across his chest. “you asked me to come,” he easily responds, looking over your way and giving you a once over, “y’look nice.”

“thank you, so do you.” the warm smile that you send his way makes his heart flutter, almost making him think he hasn’t completely screwed this up. sukuna’s hands fall by his sides, his gaze going down to the bump. to his kid.

“how are you doing?” his question makes you falter, just for the slightest second. everyone you come across mostly wants to know how the baby’s doing, how the pregnancy’s coming along, not how you’re doing. how you’re handling it.

a sigh leaves your lips, one of your hands coming up to rest on the top of your stomach. “it’s been…hard. constantly aching and feeling like you can’t breathe properly,” you hum, pausing for a second, considering your words before finally asking, “the doctor said it’s supposed to be kicking more. you can’t really feel it most of the time, but do you want to try?”

sukuna shrugs, swallowing dryly. his hand hovers near your belly, not close enough to touch it yet. he saw the way you scowled when someone randomly came up to you, without so much as a greeting, to rub your stomach. to coo at the baby. “you sure you good with it?”

“mhm, you can put your hand on it,” you assure, watching as he slowly lets his hand settle on the bump. his fingers splay out across, trying to convince himself he feels a kick when it’s nothing at all. he doesn’t feel anything but your stomach grumbling.

“yeah, you can really feel it,” he murmured, about to retract his hand when you place yours on top of his. it’s nice, it’s the only hint of intimacy he’s shared with you. he wants more of this, he comes to realize. he wants to raise the baby with you. a quiet laugh leaves your lips, “hold on, it’ll come soon.”

nothing happens for a few seconds. nothing but just your hand on top of his, holding his down like an anchor. then it happens, a light nudge against his palm. a small smile breaks on his face at the feeling, at his baby’s movements. “she’s a strong one.”

“you think she’s a girl, too? gojo thinks it’s a boy but i’m not convinced,” you murmur, the mood immediately dampened by the mention of his name.

still, sukuna tries to keep it chill. to pretend like the other man’s name doesn’t grate on his name. so he simply just utters, “yeah, well, gojo’s an idiot.”

you lightly smack his arm but you’re giggling now, resting your palm across his shoulder. you didn’t even seem to realize you were doing it. he wasn’t keen on letting you know either. “hey, be nice, he’s the one helping me throw this thing together.”

you get pulled away by a couple of your friends wanting to play some kind of game—wrapping your belly up in some kind of tape?—but you give him a small wave beforehand. “i’ll come see you later, okay? stay for the cake, at least.”

you don’t manage to make it very far.

yorozu struts across the grass in record speed, a forced smile on her lips upon approaching you. “oh my god, hi! what a nice little party you have going on here, fitting for someone of your.. class,” she remarks, taking a look around. you feel your eye twitch just the slightest bit.

but, you would not let her see that she affected you. that you could practically see the look of disappointment on your ob-gyn’s face after being unable to keep your blood pressure down. “is there something i can help you with?” you manage to get out through gritted teeth, forcing a somewhat polite smile into your face as well.

“oh no!” she lets out a little giggle, taking a champagne glass from a table nearby. “i just came by to say hi, it’s really hard to miss you! you’ve really let yourself go, i wish i could have your confidence to walk around looking like that.” she vaguely gestures over to your swollen stomach.

“well, it’s bound to happen when you’re growing a living being inside of you,” you retort dryly.

she doesn’t listen to you. “you know, i once thought that this would be me and sukuna. we had our whole life figured out—our marriage, three kids, a golden retriever, it’s truly such a shame,” she lets out a forlorn sigh, “i met his mom and everything, she absolutely loves me. are the two of you serious at all?”

whatever last bit of patience that you’d managed to have throughout this conversation’s quickly gone. “you can have him if you want him! he’s all yours.” a couple heads turn to look at your outburst, but you don’t dignify them with a response.

she doesn’t need to be told twice.

yorozu sips down whatever last bit of champagne she had left before approaching sukuna, taking a seat right next to him. manicured fingers slid up his thigh, an enticing grin on her face. “kuna, i haven’t seen you in forever. i miss you,” she whines, bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

sukuna pushes her hand away, letting out a scoff. “for good reason. what do you want?”

if yorozu was in any way affected by the rejection, she didn’t let him see him see it. instead, she grabbed her gift bag from the table, handing it over. “i brought you a little something! it’s not fair that only your.. baby mama—” she barely manages to say it without her smile faltering—“is the only one to get something.”

begrudgingly, sukuna takes the gift bag in hand, slowly starting to take out the tissue paper. he hooks a finger around the waist band of a thong, raising it up in the air. “you’re serious?” he deadpans, shoving it back into the bag with more force than necessary.

“i haven’t washed it.” as if that’s supposed to make the offer more enticing. he’s about to lose his shit watching you giggle around gojo and here she comes talking about an unwashed thong. “just because you got her pregnant doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have me around. i won’t say anything,” she adds in a purr, leaning forward to expose her cleavage.

sukuna forces himself to take a deep breath, rubbing a hand across his face. “i didn’t want you around before she got pregnant and i don’t want you around now.”

yorozu’s face shifted into an angry glare, a sharp nail digging into his chest. “i was half a virgin when i met you and i gave you everything,” she hissed out before regaining her composure. it’s scary how quick she is to smile once more. “just let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

an hour passes of you being roped into game after game, from getting your belly measured to see how big the baby was, guessing baby food from about five different spoons (and wondering just how babies manage to stomach that goop), and even bobbing your head into a bowl of water to fish for a pacifier. it’s only after that last game that it’s finally time to cut the cake, that it’s time for the big reveal.

both sukuna and gojo come to stand by your side when it’s time for the reveal, each one sporting a scowl on their face. to them, it was obvious who should be the one next to you cutting the cake. themselves, duh.

“fuck are you doing here?” sukuna barks out when gojo tries to take hold of a wine cup, forcefully snatching it away from his slender fingers.

“and when have you been here for that to matter? when have you taken her to an appointment, when have you called her to check up how she’s doing?” gojo prompts, snatching his glass right back.

you feel a headache coming on at just hearing the two of them exchange argument after argument right in your ear, taking the knife from its spot on the table.

“i’m doing it alone,” you speak up, both of their heads craning and twisting as they turn to look at you. a protest lies on each tongue but you raise a hand up, the decision’s final.

the two of them reluctantly skulk away to a corner in the room, watching as the bets for the final guesses start coming through. it’s divided by now, 50/50 between the guests. “you have some nerve, showing up here,” gojo whispers just loud enough for sukuna to pick up, a shit eating grin on his face.

sukuna had been determined to keep his calm throughout this party, had been determined to show you that he was deserving to be a part of your life. or least, that he was on the right path to becoming deserving. but he feels the already short fuse he has slowly running out, his teeth grinding against each other and his jaw clenched tightly with each one of gojo’s comments.

“how’s it gonna feel like when the nerd you hate so much is the one raising your kid?” gojo’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, a smirk painted on his lips. he only gives you a small, innocent wave when you turn to face him. “kid’s not even gonna know you’re their d-”

POW. sukuna slammed his fist into the side of gojo’s face, knocking the other man off his feet. the taste of iron tinged on gojo’s tongue, blood dripping from his nose. even as everyone was staring, even as his knuckles bruised, sukuna didn’t hesitate in landing another punch. a crack followed, gojo’s nose twisted and bloody.

satoru’s gravity shifted, one second on the ground and the other being held up like he weighed nothing. he tried to wrangle out of sukuna’s hold, holding his arms up when he realized it was futile, when he was slammed into a fucking table like it was a round of macho libre. napkins scattered, food splattered, drinks spilled, and the table cracked underneath the pressure.

sukuna’s chest heaves, looming over gojo’s body as he grips the poor boy by the collar of his shirt. “you wanna fucking say that again?!” his voice booms, bloody fist raised up to the nerd’s face like he’s debating caving his face in. the knife in your hand clatters onto the table next to you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.

you rush over to gojo’s side, the poor boy’s glasses crooked and twisted across the bridge of his nose. his eyes were hazy and unfocused, struggling to follow the two fingers you were holding up. “hey, come on, focus,” you whisper, trying to at least get him to sit up. yorozu lets out a loud shriek from the back of the crowd, immediately rushing over to sukuna’s side. “baby, look at me. this isn’t you, just look at me.”

he shoves her hand away, paying her no mind. instead, he chooses to address you: “you’re really gonna check up on that fucking nerd before you do me?” sukuna lets out a scoff, holding his bruised fist against his hand. his eyes are narrowed into thin little slits, practically seething at the sight of you next to him.

“hey, come on, let’s get inside,” shoko kneels over, patting gojo’s cheek. she hands him a glass of cool water, somehow managing to keep a 6’3 man upright enough to head back into the condo.

“aren’t you gonna ask how i’m doing?” sukuna just had to poke the bear one more time.

“are you fucking serious?!” you snapped up, your body and voice shaking with pent up rage that you were barely holding together. sukuna’s eyes visibly widened, placing his hands up in a placating gesture. like you were the one in the wrong for getting pissed off.

“woah, calm down. stressing out and shit isn’t good for the baby.” he only had to make it worse. of course he did. you could practically strangle him at this point, standing up and jabbing a finger into his chest.

“you don’t get to fucking tell me to calm down when this is all your goddamn fault!

“this whole pregnancy has been what you want! ‘oh, i don’t wanna be a dad, get rid of it,’ ‘oh, i changed my mind, i wanna be a part of your life,’ ‘oh, i’m jealous of gojo so i’m gonna ruin my baby mama’s baby shower.’” phones started coming out, cameras not so discreetly pointed in the direction of your rant.

sukuna’s seen you in a variety of ways: from caring and soft spoken when you sat with him in the library going over problems, to loud and whiny when he had you moaning and writhing underneath him, annoyed when he tests the last remaining bits of your patience. but what he’s never seen is you look so goddamn angry before.

all he could do is stand there still, quiet, like he’s being scolded. sukuna waits for you to calm down, for your rage to subside. it didn’t. the longer you stewed in your own anger, the worse that it became.

you grabbed the closest thing near you—a platter of pink and blue frosted cupcakes and smashed it right into his face. globs of cupcake batter and frosting drip down, dropping unceremoniously by his feet. your voice breaks as you speak, the sound cutting him just as deep as your words did, “get the fuck out. i never want to see you again.”

with frosting coating his hair and face and a broken ego, sukuna leaves. he scowls at everyone who gawks his way during his walk of shame, though its not as effective when he looks like the pillsbury man. yorozu’s heels clack against concrete, the girl running as she follows him out into the street. you could distinctly hear the sound of his horn resounding in the background, over and over again like he was beating his frustration onto the wheel.

tears run down your cheeks, streaks running down the makeup you’d spent a while sitting in front of a mirror for. your body racked with each sob that left your lips, one of your hands coming up to cover your mouth. everyone’s staring, everything’s too much. shoko’s rubbing her hand against your shoulder, trying to make you feel better to no avail.

everything hurts—the straps of your heels dig into the back of your swollen ankles with each step you take, there’s a dull, persistent ache in your lower back, worsened now that you’ve been standing for so long, and you can’t even drink a glass of water without immediately rushing to the bathroom.

and to top it all off, your bump’s been rubbed by every person who thinks they have a right to. as if it’s nothing more than just a magic eight ball for them to come up to. all the things you could’ve cried over and you were crying over this. over sukuna.

you can’t believe you could’ve been this stupid, this stupid to think that sukuna would finally start to get his act together. to think that you could have a day to yourself where it didn’t end up revolving around him for once.

this is still a baby shower, you have to remind yourself. your grip on the handle of the knife shakes, your shoulders shaking with silent tears racking through your body. hastily, you wipe away every drop clinging onto your waterline with the back of your hand. completely and effectively smudging the rest of your mascara.

slowly, your knife cuts through the buttercream frosting to reveal the dyed inside. what’s supposed to be one of the things you were most looking for throughout this pregnancy has now turned into you trying not to cry. torturously slow, you drag the knife out inch by inch. the tip’s coated in a bright pink color.

“it’s a girl.” you deadpan, the exploding sound of the confetti doing nothing to lift up the atmosphere. every guest stands in silence for a few minutes, gazes going from each other before scattered claps echo through the backyard. “yay, team girl!” someone even awkwardly tries to chime in before they were hushed.

it doesn’t take long for the guests to leave after that, some of them claiming they had plans they’d completely forgotten about until conveniently this moment. some were more slick about it, claiming that it was just time to go home. but the one thing that they all shared in common, were the looks of sheer and utter pity on their face.

you make your way back inside, giving shoko a small smile. “hey, thanks for coming. i can handle it from here, it’s my fault anyways.” she’s reluctant to leave, staying at least for a couple more minutes only to make sure gojo didn’t have some kind of concussion afterwards. or that his nose wasn’t completely broken.

after her little impromptu testing she’s managed to pick up from her shifts at the clinic, she decides he’s doing good for the meantime. “okay, i’ll see you at home. take care and try to put some ice on his wound, would you?” you nod at her instructions, giving her a small side-hug before she makes her way out.

“d-did i win?” gojo mumbled as he finally came to, a wince leaving his lips when your fingertips brushed against the forming bruise on his cheek. a small laugh left your lips at the question, shaking your head in quiet amusement.

“sure you did,” you murmur in response, placing a bag of peas you found buried in the fridge on the injury. a quiet moment of silence passes between you, one of his hands reaching out to intertwine with yours. his thumb lightly rubbed circles on the back of your hand, the action soothing and gentle.

gojo clears his throat, struggling to meet your gaze as he spoke up, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to cause a scene on your big day, i know you’re going through a lot of stress right now and i probably shouldn’t have tried to mess with suk—” his rambling was cut short with a feeling of plush lips against his own.

now sure, gojo could claim he was a gentleman and pretend like he hadn’t been thinking about this moment. but he he had, every time that you came around his close proximity, he’d imagine the taste of your lips. imagine how they’d feel against him, then chastise himself afterward.

he was determined to be a support system. he was determined to keep this strictly platonic. he should push you off. and satoru, bless satoru, he tries. instead, his fingers move to the nape of your neck, a quiet moan he’s all to eager to swallow leaving your lips. he’s awkward at first, unsure of what to do, before he’s kissing you with much more purpose.

his hypothesis was sooo wrong. he’d predicted kissing you would be good. just good. kissing you feels extraordinary, feels like he’s about to levitate from his body and go straight into the gates of heaven. nothing about his deepest fantasies could’ve prepared him for just electrifying kissing you was.

sukuna was aggressive in every form of the word, kissing you as if he needed you like the very oxygen that fills his lungs. but satoru was much more gentle, treading through the waters with much more caution, still just as eager though. his other hand comes to your hip, lightly squeezing at the flesh before tugging you all that much closer to him.

his lips move languidly against your own, capturing yours like a missing puzzle piece. his teeth lightly pull at your bottom lip, dragging a shuddered breath from you as his tongue slots in your mouth. he seeks to move in tandem, to figure things out with you as you go, rather than dominate.

you pull away to catch your breath, his lips chasing after yours before pulling away. your fingers coming up to rest on your lips. slowly, your eyes flutter open to see satoru was already staring at you, like he already wanted to kiss you all over.

and so you do. you let him kiss you again. and again. and again until your hands fisted the material of his button down.

oh fuck, you kissed gojo satoru. and you liked it.

the super-healthy no grain no calories no sugar cereal sitting on the shelves of your local supermarket? zen’in industries.

a new toy in a shiny box turning from a truck to a computer to a toy dinosaur? zen’in industries.

military grade weapons approved under the guise of state defense and national security? zen’in industries.

the corporation had expanded throughout the last couple of years, a mega corporation with connections on nearly every continent. a building situated where they could get one propped up.

what had once started as a humble three-man facility now became a power-hungry rampage, always looking for more more more.

the zen’ins control their own privatized police force, bending the rule of law and the rule of justice underneath their thumb. where they didn’t control, their pockets funded to achieve said control. their research delving into illegal cloning devices and drugs not yet approved by the fda.

much quite like the one gojo satoru was testing right now.

a device designed to intertwine the dna of a spider—isolating its regeneration capability—and the dna of a human’s. if it works, it’ll diminish the amount of diseases that still affect a majority of people, diminishing the ability of cancer cells to spread.

or at least that’s what the company claims. that’s what satoru wants to achieve with his research, with every excruciating hour he spends either locked up in a lab or feeding a spidering. though, the research is meant to be exclusive. limited access to only the rich of the rich. a way to make them invincible in a world of uncertainty.

it’s too much, too much far too soon. testing on people. the tests that they’ve done on a couple lab rats have proven to be promising, their dna taking to the mutation quite well. if only with a couple failures amongst the batch. still, those failures hadn’t been modified enough to where the margin of error was low enough to test on humans.

and yet, naoya brings toji zen’in into his lab to play the sacrificial guinea pig.

the failure of the zenin family, a man with no future the corporation claimed. they'd wiped their hands off him, leaving almost zero trace that connected him back to them. and if this experiment failed, there'd be no trace that a man named toji zenin ever existed in the first place.

the implications hung in the air like dead weight.

"nice weather we're having, huh?" satoru attempts to break the silence once naoya steps out of the room, a nervous laugh escaping from his lips. he's met with a very unimpressed look from toji, the man's thoughts surely clouded with all the different ways to wring his neck like a chicken.

long fingers reach for the papers scattered across his desk, rummaging through the different sheets just to have something to do in the heavy silence. he flips through a couple sheets before reaching the end of the stack, coming across what he was looking for.

satoru clears his throat yet again, his gaze on the paper in front of him. “so, this is a consent paper.” he slips the document across the table with a dr. doom pen, watching as toji picks it up to read over it. “basically you’re signing up for this experiment and saying we’re not responsible for anything that happens to you.”

“there won’t be any need for that.” naoya’s voice breaks through the intercom, a stinging reminder that he was always watching. always listening.

the consent form is untouched between them, an experiment done under wraps. one whose results would be documented for the purpose of advancing the tech, later incinerated to wipe all residue of guilt. satoru takes the paper, placing it back in the stack of documents. shoving it to the back.

“the process is quite simple, really.” gojo pushes the thin frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer, clearing his throat. “the test subject, uh, you, in this case, steps into a chamber to have their dna altered by a retrovirus. the type of rna within the virus allows for the reversal of genetic information. the retrovirus in this case is a spider’s dna, which would swap your information to become a permanent part of your cells’ genome.

pretty much, if it works, you’re gonna have dormant spider abilities. it’s, uh, pretty cool,” even satoru can’t help the hint of excitement that sneaks onto his voice, his hands moving faster than he can articulate his thoughts into words.

unfortunately as cool as he thought it was, he was only met with a blank stare from toji. the man only folded his arms across his broad chest, tapping on his forearms. “fuck happens if it doesn’t work?”

gojo swallows dryly, his eyes darting to the various papers scattered throughout his desk. “it’s going to work.”

the fact is, gojo, didn’t know the full extent of the consequences of a failed experiment. in the rats he’d worked on a few days prior, they survived like normal for a few days, even going as far as playing on their wheel, before their own body started to reject their very being.

the rats had turned into an aggressive super being, nibbling on the cold metal of their cages and scratching anything that happened to be next to them. before they started to scratch themselves, ripping away their flesh without so much as a squeak. but gojo had his fingers crossed, that had to count for something.

toji stepped into the capsule awaiting, already resigned to his fate. gojo mumbled to himself while he got the machine started up, tapping a bunch of buttons that made no sense to anyone but him. "reduce the margin of error…mutation gene…." he picked up a clipboard, checking off every box.

electricity sparked as soon as the machine whirred to life, static crackling heavy in the air. the multiple plugs responsible for powering such machinery threaten to give out under the sudden surge, the vial of spider dna injected into toji's arm.

a loud scream rips from toji’s chest, the yell echoing through the walls. a scream that gojo's going to be hearing every night before he goes to bed. it's full of raw agony, of helplessness, of rage. and just as quickly as it happens, it's over. rhythmic taps echo across the floor, the tinge of iron landing on satoru's tongue.

he's anxious. he's never been anxious. hasn't been this anxious since he was a fresh faced fifteen year old freshman in a laboratory full of twenty year old college students.

a part of him wants to see what happened, another part wants to leave the room and avoid the surge of disappointment that's starting to take place.

steam wafts from the chamber, the area completely covered in a grey cloud. satoru’s vision is obstructed, a quiet prayer to darwin himself that the experiment was a success with every second that passed in bitter anticipation.

it didn’t work.

despite how many times he’s calibrated and recalibrated the system, toji’s dna wasn’t a match. his body had completely rejected the mutation, the spider dna turning into a different entity of its own rather than morphing into his system. "yet another failure." he could hear naoya's voice in his head as clear as day.

a spider-like creature with toji’s face remains after the gas settles, pinchers scratching against the glass almost painfully. attacking the glass in a way satoru had seen before, all eight eyes staring at him like they wanted him dead. then, the creature begins to dig at his arms, at his legs, at every piece of flesh that remains of toji fushiguro. there's no pain in the action, just sheer desperation with every scratch.

and then comes the final part of the failed transformation. a high pitched screech leaves the creature, the glass that once held up the capsule shut shattered into tiny pieces. it moves an inch, eyes narrowing directly onto gojo like a bullseye. but before it can move, before it can even react, it writhes against itself, worming on the floor. a twitch of its pinchers. then nothing.

no signs of a heartbeat, of any breaths. gojo's sitting at his desk, unable to move from his spot. each breath that enters his lungs leaves his chest in a heave, his shoulders shaking after the scene in front of him. a failed experiment, he could deal with. he's dealt with disappointment before. but he's never dealt with killing someone before.

a singular polaroid drops from the scraps holding up the remains of toji’s pants, a simple family portrait. it has a little boy at the center of the photograph, hair spiked up like a porcupine. he couldn’t have been older than six months, a pacifier in his mouth while he looked up at the woman.

toji’s wife, he presumed. the little boy was an exact carbon copy of the woman, if only a little grumpier. the only thing he’d taken from his father, as far as he could tell.

and now he had to call him to let them know toji wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

the monster in the chamber slithered within its confines, goo spilling out like gelatin from the sides. a stench more putrid than garbage day and still sewage water combined filters throughout the room, the remains of toji helplessly scratching against its flesh.

the call picks up on the second ring, the sound of cartoons in the background before someone speaks up, “toji?” his wife, satoru presumes, “are you almost home? your dinner’s getting cold, i made your favorite.”

his breath catches in his throat, unable to say or even think of how to go about this process. toji fushiguro had a life waiting for him at home and he ripped that from right under his feet, all to fulfill naoya’s persistence. a guy he couldn’t even stand, a guy he didn’t respect half the time.

“…toji?” the voice on the other end called out, voice dripping with thinly veiled concern, “is everything okay?”

guilt curls deep within gojo’s gut, curling itself around him tighter and tighter until he manages to choke out, “toji won’t be making it home for dinner.”

a pregnant silence ensues. for a second, it isn’t real. toji’s getting on the train and he’s getting home, complaining about how expensive his scratch ticket was despite buying two. he’s stepping into a warm home engulfed by spices and love seeping through the walls instead of a cold and merciless capsule.

a nervous laugh leaves the woman on the other end, “okay, pretty funny. i don’t know who this is, but could you give the phone back to my husband?”

gojo lets out a sharp breath, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “i work at zen’in industries—” the name makes the woman let out a gasp, something dropping in the background, “your husband was subjected to an experiment and it didn’t succeed. he didn’t make it.” he’s speaking in a clinical tone, trying to remove himself from the situation.

gojo doesn’t receive a response. the only thing he hears seconds later is the sound of the dial, the woman having hung up on him mid sentence. he drops the phone with a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. the logical thing would be to go to the board, to complain about the ethics of this enterprise.

but the board's paid off, very well, to rule in favor of the zen'ins. his fingers twitch against the ballpoint pen in his harsh grasp, the words slipping out of him like water.

to whom this letter may concern,

i am choosing to quit this fucking company

he balls up the paper, tossing it into the trashcan across the room. it swirls around the rim before going in without effort. the pen taps against his desk before he's forcing himself to write a letter that doesn't make it sound like he wants to strangle naoya.

to whom this letter may concern,

the opportunities that i've recieved at this job have been incredible, i greatly appreciate the time that i've been granted to spend at this company. however, i have recently come across a experiment that conflicts with my ethics, which is why i cannot continue working at this company.

gojo goes on a spiel glazing the company, his jaw clenched with each time he has to write appreciate on the damn piece of paper. with a signature of his name, he reads over it again. good enough.

the elevator ride up to the fiftieth floor was painfully slow, windows giving way to the city lighting up after the sun's gone down. it's a mixture of led lights, street signs flickering from a distance, cars zooming past in a blur. the elevator music playing feels more eerie than anything, his grip on the piece of paper tightening.

it dings once before the metal doors open to reveal the ultimate floor of the building.

where paintings worth more than the down payment of a house hung on the walls, glass windows from floor to ceiling with an spectacular view of the skyline just below. where a singular office took up the entire floor, only having a secretary's desk in the lobby. and where you had to make an appointment months in advance to even step foot up here.

heavy footsteps echoed across pristine marble floors, leading him into the massive office at the end of the corridor. the lighting dimmed down menacingly, only one single lamp lighting up the door to the office.

satoru stops just outside of the door, a steadying breath leaving his lips before he brings his fist up. this is stupid, he should turn around. he knocks on the door anyways, three sharp raps against the wood. every second he spends waiting feels like an eternity, a feeling of impending doom settling deep in his veins. he should’ve left when he had the chance, he knows that now.

“come in.” naobito’s voice cuts in through the silence, loud and authoritative. satoru feels like he’s under a microscope with each step he takes into the room, knuckles ghost white with how tightly he’s gripping the crumbling paper in his fingers.

naobito’s too relaxed, sitting back on a white leather ergonomic chair at a dark oak desk, polished to perfection with gold engraving. a stack of papers sits on his desk underneath a 24k gold paperweight, all from grant proposals to advancements in military tech with a neat little signature on the bottom.

he picks up the piece of paper, one of his bony fingers twirling around the paper straight mustache. naobito's not even willing to entertain it, skimming through a few sentences before setting it back down to be ignored with the rest of the documents on his table.

"take a seat." it's not so much as a suggestion, as a request, but rather a thinly veiled demand. satoru takes a seat across his desk, folding his hands across his lap. he watches his senior slip out a bottle of bourbon from one of his counters, a bottle probably worth more than what they're paying him.

naobito stares at the bottle like it's his prized son, "pappy van winkle, you've never tried, right?"

satoru merely shakes his head. while most of his coworkers opted for a shot or two when they went out for faculty drinks night, he went with a club soda. even in postgrad, he’d gotten through with sheer determination and caramel frappes with extra whipped cream.

the older man just lets out a wheezing laugh, coughing seconds after. "thought so."

the first taste of alcohol that lands on his tongue is bitter, the amber liquid making his features scrunch up on its way down. naobito lets out a low chuckle upon his reaction, his hand lazily swirling around his glass. “been sitting on the shelf for a couple years now, must be real aged by now.”

"yea…" the sentence remains unfinished. his grip around the glass trembles and loosens, pieces of glass shattered and the liquid drip dropping onto the once pristine floors. his vision blurs at the edges, everything transformed into a blob of what it was. he wills himself to move, to try to stand up, but he only manages to move a quarter of an inch before everything goes black.

if satoru, geneticist extraordinaire with an iq upwards of 200, would’ve paying a little bit more attention, would’ve interpreted naobito the way he did gene expressions, he would’ve noticed the old hag hadn’t so much as taken a sip from his glass.

satoru gojo wakes up sprawled across his office couch, a headache pounding at the back of his skull. his vision blurs at the edges, his fingers shaking and sweat dripping down his forehead. it’s 8 degrees celsius in the room. he’s not sure if he’s standing, the sensation gone in his legs completely.

no amount of alcohol fucked him up this badly. the glass is positioned right in front of him, settled on a cork coaster at the coffee table. the last thing he remembers is going up to naobito's office, resignation letter in tow before his memory starts to grow fuzzy. which meant the glass on his coffee table must've been planted, must've been put there to mess with his head even further.

gojo needed to test just what the fuck naobito had put in his drink.

normally, the testing of substances takes nearly a day. with interns, students, and other geneticists using up the material, each one claiming that theirs was more important. but the halls are completely devoid of any soul, even the ones that liked to linger late at night have left to go home. satoru should’ve done the same. but he trudged forward, haphazardly swinging his id card against the access reader.

then comes the biometric scanner. a red laser scans across his bloodshot eyes, the screen turning a dark shade of green before the doors swish open. he moves with purpose, quick strides leading him to the first available lab.

rapture.

one of the drugs that naobito had pushed and pushed to get approval from the dea, even going so far as offering to bribe the agency, only to ultimately get rejected. plenty of illegal drugs had been passed through with enough money, overlooked by those at the agency, but rapture proved to be too much of a danger to do so.

the drug itself was said to have been more addictive than cocaine and heroin combined, keeping its user hooked onto the drug by taking them to the brink of death if they didn't take their dosage. their body became a mechanism that only reacted to the drug, brain and muscles only stimulated with each injection.

how much had naobito put in the drink? though, he supposed that much didn't matter. just one drop was rumored to fuck up your body.

satoru realizes what this is—keeping him in the job by getting him addicted to a drug that only zen'in produces. he's already starting to feel the low of the drug, his fingers twitching against the results sheet. his skin is on fire, burning him from the inside out.

there's only thing one left to do.

he finds himself back at the lab, reading through the percentages he'd used with toji fushiguro. satoru messed around with the machine, altering the percentages to match with his dna. he swaps the bases necessary, matching a to pair up with the spider's t, the spider's c matching up with g.

he was going to alter his dna with the same chamber that killed toji fushiguro.

a quiet exhale left his lips before he forced himself to start up the machine. it whirs to life within seconds, electricity crackling as it courses through his veins. a tingly feeling settles deep within his body, replacing the overwhelming feeling of desperation from rapture earlier.

the surge of electricity stops after a few seconds. aquamarine eyes blink once, then twice, before they finally register the scene in front of him. he’s seeing the inside of the chamber, goo dripping from each crook and crevice. the room seems to have grown in size, everything suddenly magnified.

he’s not dead, he doesn’t think he is anyways.

he can still feel the chill of the lab's air hitting his spine, can still feel the utter exhaustion that's settled deep within his bones. but something must've happened. he doesn't feel the same as he once does. he reaches to rub a hand over his face, only to get a handful of hair.

for fuck's sake. satoru takes another look at his hands, seeing furry little paws in place of them. no wonder the room feels magnified—he's the one who shrunk down. little footsteps patter towards the huge glass windows, staring at his reflection. okay, definitely not dead.

but instead of being turned into one of the badass spider-man variants he’s read time and time again, the ones glorified in the newspaper as a hero, he’s turned into a fucking cat.

heavy footsteps echo across steel floors, the doors swishing open to reveal naoya coming back into the room. of course the two of them would plot against him. there's nothing in the chamber by the time naoya reaches it, satoru having dispersed as quickly as his little paws could carry him.

and he runs away to the only place he knows he'll be safe for the time being, narrowly avoiding being seen by any of the overhead cameras surrounding the building.

———

apartment 513.

a small one bedroom in an apartment complex that wasn’t exactly the nicest place around town. the kind where you needed to flush the toilet twice just to make sure it worked properly. where the dishwasher gave out years ago, never replaced by maintenance. where the a/c needed a pound or two to start funneling cold air again.

the kind where the only amenities offered were a desolate playground with brittle sand and a singular crooked swing and a washateria that ate up your spare coins, giving your clothes a half wash at best.

but as cheap and small as the space was, it was yours.

your neighbors were pretty sweet upon moving in, coming by your door first day to greet you with a plate of cookies and a warm welcome into the neighborhood. assuring you that they’d be there if you needed anything—from a spare cup of sugar to someone to talk to.

the only neighbor who hadn’t come by to greet you was the one next door, the guy from apartment 512.

you’d even assumed no one had lived there in the first place, the complex was full of empty apartments and you hadn’t heard a noise next door, haven’t even seen the lights come on underneath the crack of the door.

then you slowly started to hear the traces of the mystery tenant, hearing a keychain jingle at ungodly hours. mysterious gasses seeping in through the thin drywall every so often, a weird odor lingering hours after.

though you don’t see him two weeks after you moved in.

a bowl of kibble threatens to slip from your hand, the other holding on tightly to a bowl of water swishing and swirling around with each tentative step you take outside. two stray cats sit at your doorstep, their head perking up when you set the two bowls down. they don’t dare move, not just yet.

they only dare to move when you take a couple steps back, approaching the bowls slowly. a sniff at the bowl on one side, another sniff on the other side.

it’s starting to get chilly now, they shouldn’t have to be cold and hungry.

you don’t register the sound of footprints until they’re halfway down the hallway, where quite possibly, the most handsome guy you’ve seen, passes through. ivory hair falls messily onto his forehead, strands disheveled like he’d been running his fingers through it. a pair of clear glasses frames his face almost perfectly, framing cerulean eyes that make you feel like you’re staring into the clearest of oceans in paradise.

he’s dressed in a light brown crew neck and a pair of khakis, a white lab coat strewn on his arm and a messenger bag resting on his shoulder. the apartment complex seems too little for a man like him, much too modest, but he walks like he’s the center of his own universe. untouched and unscathed.

“they finally rented out the place.” it’s stated as an observation rather than a greeting. you don’t even realize you were staring until he steps right in front of you, a little too close, social boundaries be damned.

you force yourself to snap out of your trance, giving him an awkward smile. all your social skills went out the window. “uh, yeah. moved in two weeks ago, the rent’s super cheap.” like he wouldn’t know how cheap it was.

luckily for you, the mystery tenant didn’t seem too offset by your reaction. the books in his hands are maneuvered onto one hand, on the verge of slipping, but he extends the newly available one, “i guess that makes us neighbors. gojo satoru, nice to meet you.”

you give him your name, your hand reaching out to shake his own. his fingers are long, hands cold from his time at the lab, and yet.. you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. the handshake lasts for a couple seconds too long, satoru clears his throat, “um, could you let go now?”

heat rising to your cheeks when you realized you’d been holding his hand in a death grip, a sheepish laugh leaving your lips. way to go about a first meeting.

your meeting seemed to be the catalyst for a string of other encounters with gojo, seeing him nearly every day around the building. when you were lugging out a heavy bag of garbage, he was leaving to head out to work. when you were rummaging through your mail, he was strolling in to pick up a package.

and each time you will yourself to have a (semi) normal conversation, to avoid feeling on edge every time his fingertips so much as graze against your own. and each time you fail. you end up stuttering over your own words, reduced to a mumbling mess before saving yourself the embarrassment and shutting up.

today had just happened to be while you were taking out the trash and he was on his way to work, ditching the crew neck and going for a button down. you tried to avoid looking at his forearms, the way his veins flexed as he locked the door behind him.

"hey," a warm smile settles across his features as he greets you, stepping a little closer. you’ve noticed that satoru struggles with spatial awareness, not that you really mind, you get a whiff of nice, expensive smelling cologne every time he’s near.

that, and well, you can see the little freckles scattered throughout his face closer.

“hey,” you echo with a smile of your own, your grip on your trash bag tightening just a bit.

“how’s your day going?” he doesn’t ask like he’s just trying to be polite, he asks like he’s genuinely curious. the fact makes your hands grow even clammier if possible, your heart doing a stupid flip in your chest.

“oh um, it’s going good, yeah,” you retorted, shifting a bit in your spot. his gaze is intense, like he could see right through you without even trying. “and yours? busy busy day at the company?”

he’s about to respond when suddenly a loud riiiippppp came from your trash bag, contents spilling out from the bottom onto the floor and right onto gojo satoru’s expensive suede loafers.

your eyes widen. so much for his busy busy day at the company. you’re quick to pick up the veggie peels off his shoes, hastily moving to collect the embarrassing amount of instant ramen wrappers scattered on the floor.

“i’m really sorry about that!” you blabber over and over again, handing over a napkin for him to finish wiping off. out of all the awkward moments with gojo, you’re certain this one takes the cake.

“just leave it.” satoru doesn’t leave any room for argument, shaking the muck off his shoes before letting out a begrudging sigh. he goes back into his apartment, taking a few minutes to change into another pair while you’re prolonging picking up the garbage scattered on the floor.

hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe apologize for the umpteenth time. but he doesn’t turn to look at you when he leaves, doesn’t even bother acknowledging your presence.

chances were that you were making a bigger deal than this was, that while you were left thinking over and over about the short conversations you'd shared, he'd already dismissed them like they never meant anything in the first place.

he rewired your entire nervous system and all the man had done was breathe. and you’d just gone and screwed it up with your garbage.

what you don't know is that satoru gojo gets to work late that day, leaving his apartment just a little later in hopes of running into you again.

———

the streets of tokyo are cold and lonely, cars relentless as they flash bright headlights at his shaking body, spraying dirty mud water onto his white coat. his paws ache as he pads on concrete, making his way back in a once familiar city suddenly in hues of blue, yellow, and green.

his stomach churns painfully at the whiff of yakitori at a stall nearby, careful eyes darting around for a morsel of a chicken scrap before he’s shooed away by a swat of an angry stall owner.

eventually, he does manage to find his way back to the apartment complex.

you're outside by the time he arrives at the apartment complex, setting down the bowl for the two regulars who are eagerly awaiting for their meal by your doorstep. he pads closer, stopping right before getting too close.

and then that's when you notice him.

a cat with fur as white as snow outside of your front door, akin to a head of hair you'd looked forward to seeing. despite his dirtied fur, you can tell that he's not a street cat like the two that roamed around the apartment complex. the poor thing probably ended up getting lost.

satoru takes a sniff from the bowl, the overwhelming stench of salmon nearly enough to make him hack up a hair ball ahead of time. but his stomach rumbles again—a stark reminder that all he’s had today is a cup of sugary coffee and a bite of stale overpriced mochi from one of the vending machines.

he steps in when the other two cats are done eating, taking a tentative nibble from the kibble presented to him. it's dry, crunching against his canines, and he's not sure if it's the hunger or the change in taste buds, but the food's the best thing he's tasted as of yet. he scarfs down the remainder of the kibble on the plate,

the two cats that came in for their daily dinner had already left, going off to find somewhere to sleep for the night. but the white cat remained outside of your door, you can't feel any chip underneath his fur, no kind of collar on his neck. “where’d you come from, sweetheart?”

“meow.” you’re not sure what other response you expected.

the white cat’s back arches, rubbing its side against your pajama pants. his ears move back like an airplane, practically purring like the motor of one. your fingers reach out to pet the top of his head only for your attempt to get rejected with a bat of his soft paws.

he wants to keep getting closer, you notice, watching as he's comfortably rubbing against you but he's too afraid to let himself be pet. you linger by the door for a little while before making your way back inside, leaving the door wide open.

the perfect opportunity, really. satoru scurries into your apartment before you manage to shut the door, giving you a quiet 'meow.'

“you can’t stay here tonight, i don’t have the things to take care of you.” even your protest was weak, you can’t bring yourself to kick him out when he’s shivering. cold and dirty.

the cat’s head tilts to the side, almost like he understood everything you were saying before pawing at your leg. you could feel yourself giving in to the furry creature with each passing second. “…okay. i won’t kick you out.”

his gaze is critical as he looks into your apartment, your living room composed of a grey futon and a tv propped up on a couple of dusty old books. there’s a half dead succulent on your windowsill (how you managed to do that, satoru doesn’t know) and a bookshelf full of novels.

“okay, shiro. i’m gonna put down a blanket just for tonight and then.. we’ll see what to do tomorrow.” you put down a cinnamoroll blanket down on the floor, the cat splaying across it. you’re nearly tempted to wrap him up in a burrito—deciding against it.

the lights are shut off and you retreat into your bedroom, leaving the cat alone with the sound of rushing traffic as a lullaby. it takes a while for him to fall asleep, wrinkling up the blanket from how much he’s turned at this rate.

and when he does fall asleep, it’s anything but relaxing. anything but blissful.

gojo, or shiro as you've dubbed him despite your insistence not to get attached, wakes up in the middle of the night with the sound of screams echoing through his head. toji. he can't remove the image from his head, can't force himself to go back to sleep. he sees the man every time he closes his eyes.

it isn't long before you're woken up from your sleep, a incessant scratching against your door. you think about ignoring it, about going back to sleep, but each meow just sounds more pitiful than the last. "okay, i'm up," you mumble, reluctantly shoving your blanket off.

opening the door, you're met with the sight of the fluffy little menace staring back at your half asleep state. he doesn't try to scram away or scratch at your arms when you pick him up, curling up against your chest.

“you’re okay,” your reassuring whispers do well to ease his mind, his paws kneading into your chest. setting him down on the bed, he chooses to lay down as closely as he can to you. even opting to lay on your pillow, his furry face against yours.

satoru shiro hasn’t slept that well in ages.

———

you don't see satoru again after yesterday. no more coincidental encounters, no more questions that had you giggling into your pillow at midnight. just pure silence.

you thought about knocking on his door, maybe once or twice. just out of pure concern—you haven't heard the jingle of his keys or his lights come on. but what would he think? that his awkward neighbor can't get the hint he's not interested? you couldn't deal with that embarrassment.

shiro had started taking up most of your time despite his short time in the apartment, demanding to be close to you at nearly every time possible. mounting up on the kitchen counter while you were brewing your morning coffee half asleep. pawing the bathroom door and peering into your soul while you were trying to do your business.

every corner you turned, shiro was there. even after he’d attempted to scratch your arms off after you gave him a bath, he still clung on next to you.

you spent nearly half of the morning before you had to get to work calling local animal shelters, seeing if there were any reports of a white fur menace missing. there weren't. keeping him would mean a massive responsibility, one you'd never had to deal with before. and yet you can't stomach the thought of dropping him off at the pound.

which is exactly how you found yourself at petsmart with a cart full of necessities, from an electronic litter box to heart shaped salmon treats.

"what kinda toy do you want?" you hold up two toy mice, each one infused with catnip. he paws at the one at the right and you toss it into the cart. each choice had been selected by the cat, letting him paw at what collar he wanted to get and what bed he wanted to lay in.

just to spite you, you’re certain, he chooses the most fucking expensive bed on the shelf. tempurpedic my ass. “come on, you don’t want this one?” you point to a small bed, one imprinted with little cats on the side.

shiro doesn’t move. he licks his paws on the tempurpedic bed, unrelenting towards giving up the bed. how a street cat could be such a goddamn diva. a quiet sigh leaves your lips before you end up picking it off the shelf, setting it down in the cart.

almost 80,000¥ and you were on your way back home, shiro in your passenger seat with one of your toys. your music gets interrupted by an incoming call, your ringtone blasting through the car. “hey.”

“hey!” your friend shoko calls out, already tipsy at three in the afternoon, “we’re going out for drinks on friday. you should come!”

satoru stops messing around with the mouse on his lap, finding himself clinging onto every bit of your conversation.

“oh, i’m not s-”

“come on! you’ve been obsessing over your neighbor long en-” oh?

“i’m not obsessing over my neighbor.” you protest, your grip on the steering wheel just a little bit tighter.

“you totalllyyy are. come on, it’ll be nice to get out of the house. maybe get laid.”

a defeated groan leaves your lips. this call wasn’t to ask if you wanted to go, it was to let you know you were going. “if i go, will you drop it?”

“absolutely.”

throughout the next couple days, shiro starts settling down in your apartment with much more ease than you’d originally expected. the electronic litter box? he only bat at it once before he got the hang of it. he didn’t try knocking any of the little plates you had, didn’t demand much other than being walked at exactly 6:36 p.m.

that, and well, he’d chosen to sleep in the room next to you. the tempurpedic bed was situated right on the foot of your bed, leaving shiro with little space between the two of you. he’d taken to watching some of the shows you’d put on tv like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you—despite that he couldn’t see them all that well.

the last week had been nothing but bliss for satoru, getting to relax from his responsibilities at zen’in and learn more about the shy neighbor. and then came friday.

“i’m gonna leave on finding nemo for you, okay? pretend they’re a seafood boil or something.” the bright colors were some he could finally see, the shape of the fish visible. you looks over to see you’d left out your outfit for the night, one that would for sure warrant attention and a couple stares.

he had to act fast.

despite your earlier insistence, you find yourself excited to go out with your friends for the night. maybe not to get laid. but to get your mind off satoru once and for all, to quit obsessing over every conversation you’d shared. you even find yourself lighting up a few candles and tossing a bath bomb in the water.

the tight dress you’d managed to get on discount from your last trip to the mall is now in scraps, adorning your bedsheets like red confetti. it was supposed to be a sinful sight, hugging your curves like a second skin, not a risk of a public indecency charge.

your eye twitches at the scene in front of you, turning to look over at the culprit. if he were a dog, you’re sure his tail would be wagging at this very instant.

but no, the white ball of fur stares up at you with an expression you could only describe as defiant, his paw reaching out to claw at the scraps once more. you scoop up the remains of your dress the best you can, dialing shoko’s number.

“i won’t be able to show up.” shoko senses the seriousness in your voice, much more serious than your usual excuses, and decides to let it slide. inviting you to the next one and assuring there weren’t any worries.

on a friday night at 11 pm, you find yourself watching finding nemo with an overly possessive cat and flavored water instead of tequila.

shiro, the stubborn ball of fluff that he is, refuses to lay down on the finest bed petsmart could offer. choosing instead to plop right in the middle of your bed, licking his paws like he paid all the bills in this apartment. you tried nearly everything, from setting him down on the bed to trying to coax him in with a squeezable. and yet, nothing worked.

eventually, you settled for having shiro sleep on your bed for the night.

"can you scoot over?" you found yourself reluctantly asking, waiting for shiro to move over. the cat in question merely blinked up at you, letting out a lazy meow.

even if you don’t cuddle with him that night, at least you didn’t go out. that’s enough to have him sleeping peacefully throughout the night.

———

you're not sure if your wet dreams have come to life or if you're hallucinating, but satoru gojo's sprawled out on your bed. shirtless with a cinnamoroll blanket covering his lower body. he’s blissfully asleep, the morning sun peering in through your curtains almost making him seem ethereal.

his limbs are sprawled out, his back turned to face you. a couple muscles ripple underneath his movements, few beauty marks painting his skin like a constellation. his hair’s tousled, you have to be dreaming, you have to be d-“OW!” okay, that pinch felt a little too real to be a dream.

still, you’re not certain what else could possibly explain what satoru’s doing butt ass naked (allegedly) in your bedroom. he slowly begins to stir, a lazy yawn leaving from his lips.

"morning," he speaks up, his voice a low rasp in the early hours of the morning. probably from going the past few days without saying anything other than 'meow.' still, he acts as if nothing's amiss. like waking up in your bedroom is something ordinary.

you blink slowly, still waiting for the off chance that cameras are coming out from the corner to zoom in on your face. 'prank!' there are no cameras. just the light hum of your air conditioning in the background, the soft sunlight bathing the room golden, and the dip of your mattress where satoru's laying at.

with shiro nowhere to be seen, the pitter patter of his paws against the hardwood floors nowhere to be heard. "w-what are you doing here?" you manage to speak up after a few seconds, pulling your blanket closer to you.

it sounds so ridiculous you can't help but believe him. you still expect to see shiro pop his fluffy head in through your bedroom door, but the cat never comes. “i dunno why i transformed back, must’ve been naoya’s dumbass…” he murmured to himself, making mental notes about the experiment.

"but i thought you didn't like me,” you suddenly speak up in the middle of his spiel, a small pout on your lips. “i thought you didn’t like our conversations, that you were just doing out of pity.”

"i don’t do anything out of pity. i looked forward to every single one of our conversations," satoru moves closer, taking your hands and intertwining them with his. the small contact shouldn't have your heart beating against your chest. “even with your garbage on my shoes, i liked you.

“let me show you just how much i like you.”

the first kiss you exchange with your neighbor happens gently, a soft brush of his rosy lips against yours. his forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching for any hint of uncertainty within your face. he doesn't find any. the only thing he finds is the same kind of unabashed want that courses through his mind.

only then is that he finally leans in. your eyes flutter shut, your nose bumping against his when you lean in. "whoops," he lets out a little groan, his lips jutted out into a small pout. a quiet laugh leaves your chest, your fingers moving to the back of his head, nails raking against his undercut that has his dick stirring underneath your covers. 

"take as lon-” you're instantly shut up by the feel of his lips against yours, a confession stronger than words could convey. 

every slow peck of his lips moving lower and lower feels like its own act of devotion, of reverence. his hands move down your sides like he's holding an antique, goosebumps on your arms when his fingertips slide underneath the material of your pajama shirt.

his fingers glide up, tracing your navel like a fine line before moving up. he cupped your breasts in his hand, his thumb rubbing against your peaked nubs. his mouth was everywhere it could reach, kissing your collarbone before moving down. “prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he all but lets out a moan, his lips latching onto whatever skin he could, “best thing i’ve ever tasted, too.”

your thighs press together, cunt fluttering against nothing but the material of your panties. satoru slips off your shirt, a small whistle leaving him at the sight of you. “just like i said. prettiest thing ever.”

his lips latch onto your tits, your back arching like a bow underneath the swipe of his tongue against your areola. his thumb rolls and squeezes against the other, giving both the same kind of attention. saliva drools from the corner of his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut in complete bliss.

“show me how you touched yourself to the thought of me, princess,” he breathes against your neck, pulling away to pepper kisses against the sensitive skin. you shiver against each one, attuned to every single movement of his mouth.

“is this for science?” you find yourself asking, head cocked to the side.

“yeah, strictly for science.”

your fingers pulled down your pajama pants along with your slick ridden panties, pushing them off your legs. tentatively, you spread to show yourself off to satoru. the sight makes him lick his lips, your puffy folds slick and dripping just at the thought of him.

his cock twitched at the sight, precum dripping and smearing onto the covers. the thought of having you to himself was overwhelming, to have you enveloped around him, but he needed to wait. patience was a virtue, after all.

you move your hand down your body, moving torturous inch by inch before you finally reach your dripping cunt. you don’t touch yourself immediately, your fingers run down your inner thighs, squeezing and rubbing against the sensitive skin. “thought about your big fingers doing this instead,” you admit through a breathy moan, “your hair buried between my thighs, tickling against me while you ate me out.”

satoru lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes focused on how your fingers now move to your folds. you swipe your slick up and downnn the expanse of your cunt, rubbing some of it onto your clit. “what else about my fingers?”

you rub your fingertips against your folds, smearing more of yourself onto them. “thought about you doing t—ah!” two of your fingers dip inside, wetness coating them down to your knuckles, “—this.”

your fingers move in and out of your sopping cunt at a slow pace, opening yourself up in front of him. head falling back against the pillow, you curl your fingers justtt right, hitting that spot almost two inches in. “pictured y-you just like this,” you moan out, hips bucking against your fingers, pushing them even deeper. you imagined that wouldn’t be a problem for him.

satoru brings your damp fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the slick sticking to your fingers. he wrapped his lips around the two digits, letting out a muffled moan as he bottomed down to your knuckle. a little too good. he swiped to taste every drop that remained on your digits, savoring it with much more ease than the salmon treats he’d been eating these past few days. “so perfect. look and taste good, let me taste you, please?”

“y-yeah, go ahead.” satoru doesn’t move immediately, staring at your pussy like a fine piece at a museum before kneeling in between your legs. just like in every fantasy you’d had so far. you’re tempted to shut your legs, growing bashful underneath his critical stare.

but he simply pries your legs apart with his hands, leaving you like a meal on display. “let me say thank you for my food first,” he clears his throat dramatically, “bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become gasoline in the car that took your mom to the hospital to give birth to you.”

he moves to take off his glasses before he delves in, only to be stopped by your hand wrapping around his wrist. "keep them on," the request left you before you could think twice, adding a quiet, "please."

satoru gives a short nod before he moves like a man starved, his tongue swiping across your slick folds. your hand flies down to his hair, tugging at the snowy white strands. each breath he inhales through his nose fogs up his glasses, his eyes fluttered shut as his nose nudges your clit.

“f-fuck, just like that, satoru!” your hips buck into his eager mouth, his tongue flicking in and out of your gushing cunt. he slurps every drop you’ve spilled, spitting it back out before lapping and sucking it back again.

his hips buck into the mattress, getting off on every shaky breath, every moan, every tug of his hair. two of his fingers take place of his tongue, much thicker and longer than yours. you drip around his fingers, filthy squelch after another echoing with each thrust of his fingers.

gojo’s tongue circles around your clit, alternating between sucking on the throbbing nub like his favorite lollipop or rolling the pink muscle in a variety of shapes. his fingers curled, tips hitting your g-spot with each push of his fingers. “so, so good, just wanna stay here forever,” he babbled, drunk off the taste of you (a much better substance in his opinion), “gonna make you my wife, at this rate. don’t even have to move that far.”

your toes curled, the grip you had on his hair now iron tight. “j-just next door,” you babble, equally drunk off pleasure. you feel that familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen, your cunt clenching around his fingers like a second heartbeat. the pressure built built built up with each swipe of his tongue, with each push of his fingers, before it reached its peak.

“c-cumming, gonna cum,” you let out a warning, your cunt doing most of the speaking regardless. your orgasm washes over you merely seconds later, coating his lips and his fingers in your release. he laps it away like a man starved, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation before pulling away.

you taste yourself when he leans into kiss you, a kiss full of saliva and tongue and teeth and everything the first one wasn’t. while that one had been gentle, a means to explore your feelings towards one another, this one was sloppy. a kiss of pure want and need, kissing you like you’d fade away if he didn’t. like he needed the contact as much as the oxygen entering his lungs.

"please sweetheart, need to feel you, i'll make you feel you so good, i promise." having you cum over his fingers isn't enough for him. he wants to bury himself inside, feel you clench around his cock, coat it with your slick.

you reach out, sliding his glasses off the bridge of his nose. you wiped them off with the utmost care in the world before setting them down on the table next to you. “need you just as badly, ‘toru.” if he were a snake, he would’ve already been hypnotized by how sweet your request sounded, a much better charm than a flute.

he didn’t hesitate in pushing the covers off his lower body, exposing himself fully to you. he was more muscular than you’d expected, his biceps rippling as he shoves the blankets away. his body’s littered in a few freckles here and there, the prettiest of constellations. a white trail of hair leads you down to what is possibly the best dick you’ve seen.

you didn’t expect for one to look this pretty—much too accustomed to the ones taken in low exposure rooms, toes curled at the end of the photograph. but no, satoru’s pretty in every sense of the word. his dick’s long—8 or 9 inches if you had to guess—curving to the right. the tip’s a flushed pink, dripping splat after splat of precum onto your sheets.

he doesn’t give you much time to admire, though. he’s already wrapping a hand around the base, swiping the tip against your folds. nudging it against your clit. up and down, letting your slick coat the head before he slowly pushed it inside. pushing against that initial ring of resistance.

“biggg stretch, there we go,” a hiss escaped from his lips, feeling your walls squeeze against him tightly. he had to close his eyes, refusing to look down at you. he knew that if he did, that would be all it would take for him to bust.

satoru placed your legs on his shoulders, slowly starting to move his hips forward. pushing inch by inch inside with each thrust, up until he could see his tip bulging in your lower tummy. he starts off slow, his hands gripping your waist while his cock retracts.

your walls stretch to accommodate to the size, taking the mold of his cock so fucking well. he grinds against you deep, letting you feel every inch of him before he pulls away. it’s what you need at first—to be able to take him in, but you find yourself growing needier with each one.

“toru?” your voice broke him out of the trance, hazy blues meeting your own glazed over gaze.

“yes, baby?”

“you can go faster. wanna feel you, please.” every last bit of his self control snapped then.

satoru broke out into a cheshire like grin, making you instantly regret your ask, “y-yeah, anything for you, sweetheart.”

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

the sound of your skin slapping against his own, the sound of your moans and his shaky breaths filled the room, mixing in with the heavy stench of sex and your headboard smacking against the thin walls. satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into you while he used your cunt how he pleased.

“that fast enough for you, baby?” satoru taunted, a smirk on his face. the sight in front of him was nothing short of perfect—from the way your jaw fell taut, drool leaking out from the corner of your lips with each punishing thrust. all the way down to the way your tits bounced, each bounce nearly putting him in a hypnosis.

“yes yes, fuck!” your hands dug into the bedsheets underneath as a lifeline, something to cling onto. you could even feel the slight curve to the left, each vein grazing your walls.

“y-yeah? you’re feeling good? just need you to feel good, fuck, fuck, you just keep milking my dick, it’s all yours.” you could only nod in response, his cock drilling out every thought. your walls squeezed around him, toes curling against his back. you didn’t have to give him any warning this time—he simply knew.

“so good, so good,” you babbled like a broken record, his dick hitting your g-spot like a target. bulls-eye every time. your legs wrap around his waist, holding him tightly against you. his hips snap into yours with fervor, your nails digging into his back in the most delicious way possible.

“suck for me.” satoru prodded his thumb against your bottom lip. you instinctively parted your lips, swirling your tongue around it and sucking on it. all while keeping your eyes on him. he could’ve sworn you were trying to kill him now. his thumb glistened with your saliva when you pulled away.

“ah fuck! keep going, keep going!” satoru rubbed quick circles against your clit, his own thrusts starting to grow sloppier and sloppier. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each push of his hips, one of his feet propped up against the mattress for an angle that had your eyes rolling back.

“n-need to feel you cummin’ around me sweetheart, need you to do it first,” satoru whines against your neck, your walls tightening around his shaft. his thumb rubs against your swollen clit, each snap of his hips sloppier and quicker than the last. “cum for me, please. need to feel you, need to make you feel good.”

your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, walls snug against every inch. his hips stagger and stutter, unable to keep up. his balls grow heavy, his chest heaves, each thrust pushing him closer to cumming. but he can’t think about that—you come first.

the pressure this time grows with a vengeance, much more brazen than your last orgasm. your back arches off the bed, chest pressed against his. your lips part into an ‘o,’ “gonna come, satoru, gonna cum gonna cum!” your orgasm spurts out of you, soaking him and his shaft completely.

satoru kisses you again, his tongue moving in synchrony with yours. “not gonna last, pussy’s too good, f-fuck!” snowy strands dust across your face, a moan slipping into your mouth as he cums. white spurts paint your insides, his release filling you to the brim and then some.

he slips out of your pussy with a 'pop', shoving back the cum smearing down your thighs in milky trails with two thick fingers. he moves around your bedroom with expertise (you suppose that's warranted), running a rag under your bathroom sink. he wrings out the excess water before he moves back in between your legs, his touch featherlight as he wipes away at your thighs.

the bed dips when he lays down, one of his hands splayed out across your middle. strangely enough, this feels much more intimate than the moment you’d just shared. he holds you close, kissing the top of your head. “i meant what i said, i really do like you, neighbor.”

“you’ve been balls deep inside of me. are you still calling me neighbor?”

that makes him pause. “fair point.”

“but, i really do like you too,” you let out a yawn, snuggling closer to him. he’s warm, akin to a human furnace, “i think i’m gonna miss shiro though.”

"if you miss shiro so much, i'll put on a pair of cat ears and meow for you, sweetheart," satoru muses, drawing a couple circles against your thigh with his finger, “quit my job and become your personal cat.”

you smacked the side of his arm, your laugh bubbling like champagne. it feels warmer than the sunlight he's bathed under, it's the sweetest sound he's heard. "i'll hold you to that."

the air feels thick and stiffening upon stepping out, a thin trail of sweat already beading down agent fushiguro's back. sand sticks to every part of his body, from the soles of his black loafers to his lungs with each breath he intakes. it’s unbearable and the job hasn’t even started yet.

the city hasn't yet woken up.

it's bathed in a scorching glow of sunlight, dulling each building surrounding the infamous strip into professional business meetings and budget discussions. a couple row boats pass through the canal, the water a relaxing stream underneath the harsh, unwelcoming sunlight.

an occasional tourist swerves by, chasing down a speeding taxi with a couple bills tightly clutched in hand. a couple others are snapping photo after photo of the eiffel tower, of a hotel that was deemed luxurious enough. each one trying to capture their little bit of the city.

though vegas didn't come alive until the late hours of the night, the strip bathed in fluorescent lights, signs flashing from left to right with women standing on their respective corner of the street. slot machines ringing through each casino, more often than not indicating disappointment. just enough of a prize to keep its users swinging one more time, though.

but of course, the luxury of tourism wasn't what toji fushiguro and his team were here to investigate. a manila folder was briskly dropped onto his lap, a couple papers sticking out the side. "local police report that a major banking company’s security has been breached,” nanami’s voice fills the vehicle, stern and calm, the brief almost clinical, “they report over two million stolen.”

red, blue, and white lights flash from a mile away, about a dozen patrol units parked outside of the crime scene. reporters crowd from behind the yellow tape, sticking a microphone in whoever's face they could manage. the flock immediately runs over to the black van pulling up beside police cars, making exiting the vehicle nearly impossible.

questions flood one after the next, each voice trying to be louder than the last and overlapping in a nonsensical chatter. toji shoves his way through the crowd, making his way inside of the building. pristine white floors paved the way inside, the walls painted an underwhelming shade of grey.

a corporate building raking in more than they filed for taxes hijacked out of a million despite having one of the best security systems in the country. supposedly impenetrable. it ended up being dismantled in five minutes. probably would've been quicker if you weren't eating a delicious slice of pizza.

nonetheless, it wasn't the first of these companies to report this kind of fraud. about five of them had gone to the police with their complaints, yet not a trace was left behind after you were done. the ip address linking to the hijack led to the bumfuck of nowhere in the pacific ocean.

even the best hacker in the world, boy genius, and the sweetest lad in the land (that title's self proclaimed), satoru gojo was left in shock. and slightly jealous, claiming that the bau needed to invest in that kind of tech.

it was certainly more expensive the further up you went, cubicles replaced by corner offices taking up a whole damn hallway and floor to ceiling windows house owners could only dream of having. marble floors detailed with golden accents lead toji over to the ceo’s main office, a red velvet carpet leading to a huge mahogany desk.

the chief of police pulls toji over to the side, passing over a file with all the evidence collected from the case. a couple shots that a camera took nearby, none of them capturing your face clearly. "i know we called you over here but try to keep my officers involved. they already feel like you're taking the credit."

toji merely let out a scoff—it wasn’t any of his business what the officers thought—but he found himself nodding regardless. waving the other man away, “yeah, yeah, we’ll do that.”

he looked through the files he’d been handed, brows furrowing at the evidence recollected. you were methodical, you didn’t make mistakes. “ryomen,” he calls in, feeling a headache starting to root itself deep into his skull, “she left something to track. you want me to go after it?”

sukuna lets out a gruntled sigh from the other side of the line—equally as puzzled as the other man. “yeah, go ahead. report back on what you find, we’re meeting up at the precinct later to figure out what to tell the press.”

the address led him to the back of the paris las vegas hotel, a lock being handed to him by one of the employees upon entering. toji made his way over to the bridge out back, where couples were in bliss and hooking their lock into the fence under the illusion of ‘forever.’ his footsteps padded against the heavy wood, making his way across.

toji wasn’t sure what he was looking for—if it would be something amiss or just simply another distraction from you. though he supposes a playing card left behind is as best as it’s going to get, kneeling down to pick it up.

meet me at the venetian at 9 pm, agent fushiguro.

so you were watching him just as he was watching you.

he’d encountered lots of writing during his time as an investigator, from sloppy unintelligible scribbles to clean, almost psychotically methodical sentences from individuals who thought they were smarter than the bau.

yours fell into none of those categories. it was natural, small, letters separated just enough, and slanted like you’d been rushing. like your brain was working faster than your brain.

the team was busy interviewing various members from the company by the time he arrived, some of the uncooperative while some simply just didn’t know what to say. either way, nothing had come out of the interviews. “tell me ya got something, fushiguro,” sukuna lets out a quiet huff, rubbing a hand over his exhausted features.

he’s aged two decades over the span of this mission. toji drops the card on his desk, plopping down on the seat across.

sukuna takes the card, examines it closely before turning it around. "so the suspect knows who you are." a sentence that hung heavily in the room. the best move would be to go—strap microphones onto his chest and get as much information as possible. the best that they could hope for would be an admission, something that could be used for a conviction.

a foolish hope, but worth giving a chance.

sukuna's expression turns serious for a moment, arms tightly crossed against his broad chest. what he usually saves to intimidate the new recruits. "you sure you can take this mission? your daughter's sick and i don't know if you wanna be in the hospital with her tonight.

“you're my best man, fushiguro. but the higher ups keep getting on my ass that it's affecting your quality of work."

if it wasn’t for the mutual respect between them, toji would've been out the door long by now. "tsumiki's got nothing to do with the case. i can take it."

tsumiki had been in a coma for the last few months, leaving him with a hefty bill from the hospital to ensure she was comfortable and well taken care of. his presence was better here—out in the field doing something instead of feeling helpless in front of his children and his wife.

he spent more time at the office than he did at home. one more night wouldn’t make a difference.

after more failed interviews, sukuna finally relented. a short brief was given to the rest of the team, each member with something to do. nanami and geto would be with the press— trying to shift the narrative from how 'useless' the police was, gojo was in charge of trying to track any of your movements, and shoko would be conducting any extra interviews.

the wait until eight thirty was almost agonizingly slow. though it gave them some time to practice what kind of questions he should be asking, what would get you to make a confession. and then, just in case, sukuna had him practice a round of blackjack with nanami.

despite the fact that nanami had never once gone out with the team out for drinks or well, just out in general (toji would assume), he was still beating his ass in blackjack. even with a twelve, a twelve of all things, nanami still somehow managed to get the upper hand over him.

"maybe they're not that good at it." the only attempt at consolation nanami bothered giving, patting toji's shoulder before shaking his head.

toji was completely and utterly hopeless. a lost case, if you will.

the bau had picked out a suit for him, a classic black and white tux with cameras smuggled nearly everywhere. toji's certain that he even felt one near his ass crack. but if even one of them caught a single grain of your face, that would be enough for gojo to trace back onto any database. and then came the maze of microphones.

"don't know what kinda obsession this one has with you but get them to t-” sukuna clasped on what seemed to be thousandth microphone onto his bare chest, barking orders he'd heard a number of times already.

"yeah, yeah. get them to talk and then get outta there, i—ow," sukuna merely glared as he tightened the last microphone tighter than necessary, letting it slap against the other man's chest.

the las vegas strip had finally come to life in full swing by the time the mission started, the concoction of lights flashing from one side to the next almost dizzying. cars passed by in a flash through the narrow streets, only a blur of headlights left behind. more people walked through the streets than earlier, debating on a club or a casino.

toji walks with purpose in a place where people walked to the place with the flashiest decor.

the casino you'd managed to book for the night wasn't the most luxurious by any means, his loafers kept getting stuck on sticky floors with every step that he took. cheap dollar slot machines lined up the entrance, each one entrancing customers walking in with the promise of a bigger reward.

but it was still relatively nice. a bright chandelier hung off the ceiling of the lobby, the few people around the casino dressed in either black or white, a few selected by the bau to act incognito and a couple others that managed to stumble in.

champagne poured in bedazzled glass bottles, rushing through each empty cup much like the luxurious fountains outside the hotel, coins clinking and dropping against machines, each one dropped in with the anticipation that it’d be the winning drop.

you hadn’t walked in yet and he could already hear an incessant yapping in his earpiece. "tojiiii, hurrry up. there's a late night laser showing at the csn planetarium," gojo whines from his cushy office chair back at the bau.

he could hear the nerd's every movement, from the moment the freak crunched chips in his ear to the moment he ripped a loud fart and blamed it on the printer. toji didn’t hesitate in lowering the volume of his earpiece, leaving the other man talking to himself.

he's not really sure what—who?— to expect. toji's staring intently at every person that just happens to pass by his table, almost expecting one of them to take a seat. he feels like an anxious teenager all over again, waiting for a first date with the hope he wouldn't get ghosted.

the sound of heels clicking against marble floors breaks him out of his stupor, looking up to see you approaching the table. your back was pin straight, head held high. each step you took was with entirely too much confidence. for someone who had nine patrol cars awaiting them outside, anyway.

your eyes were covered by a masquerade mask, the golden lace matching the tight black dress you had on. simple black gloves on to avoid leaving fingerprints behind. nearly everything was accounted for. you had on bright red lipstick, attracting attention without having to do much.

"you showed." you almost sounded surprised, taking a seat across from him at the table.

toji shifts a little, angling his wrist to be facing you directly. "yeah, keep it just like that big boy," gojo murmured from his spot on the line, keys clacking as his fingers worked at 290 words typed per minute. he nearly rolled his eyes, but didn't bother moving. you simply smiled, like you could see right through him.

"there's no trace of her face anywhere," gojo finally muttered, his typing coming to a halt. he sounded utterly perplexed, editing down the photo to its barest pixels to see if he could find you anywhere. there wasn't anything on social media, any government documents, almost as if you didn't exist. "i can't find her."

a server passed by, dropping a deck of cards along with a selection of chips to be distributed between the two of you. "anything to drink?" they questioned, fishing out a drinks menu.

"reposado, please." toji could've spent a couple minutes analyzing your choice of drink and what that said about you as a person, that you prefer to be spontaneous and bold, but you're already looking at him. waiting for what his order would be.

"i'll take the same thing." he doesn't even like alcohol. before he has a chance to change his mind, the server's already walking away over to the mini bar. you're shuffling through the cards already, splitting halfway across the deck by riffling cards with your thumb.

after making two piles that are nearly the same size, you bend the cards and shuffle. all without looking away from toji. "do you like gambling, officer fushiguro?" the question had come out simple, as if you were asking for the weather. the second stack is squared onto the original deck, ensuring an even run for the two of you.

you passed over his cards before taking yours as the designated dealer of the table. there wasn't a single tell about you as you picked up your selection of cards, not one lip bite or eye twitch that would indicate something.

toji let out a quiet scoff, picking up his own cards, "not on blackjack." usually, his luck was tried on boat and horse races. he never had much luck with those either, usually ending up with the boat falling short.

half the time they wouldn’t even finish the lap.

he flips over the cards, almost wanting to groan at the sum he’s been faced with. 16.

it doesn’t give him a lot of room to work with—leaving him with a slim number to increase his chances and an even bigger risk of going overboard. he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, what you could possibly have. so, he does the first thing he thinks of.

he pushes more chips onto the original stack, holding up one finger. he was choosing to double down. toji fushiguro was bluffing, it was obvious even by the way he was sitting. you plucked a card from the top of the deck, passing it over.

toji makes a big show of looking over his cards again before picking up the one off the table. he visibly tenses up upon the results, poker face gone to the wind. he almost wishes he wouldn't have flipped the card—all he has is a six.

you don't pluck any card from the deck, only leaving him even more suspicious. "fold." he places his cards on the table, a striking 23 meeting your gaze. you place the two cards you had on the table—an ace and a ten of jacks. a natural twenty one. you eagerly swipe your arm across, taking his chips with a shit-eating grin on your face.

"what's your idea of an ideal date, agent fushiguro?" you question, leaning forward a bit. toji only blinks slowly in response, hearing the incessant chatter in his ear again. from sukuna, from gojo, from anyone who could talk into the mic.

you could've asked about the fbi's top security codes (he wouldn't have given them regardless), about how much evidence they'd collected against you (once more, he wouldn't tell), and yet you chose to ask that.

"you serious?" he's waiting to be let in on the punch-line of your joke.

"deadly so, agent."

toji blinks slowly, thinking back to the best date he's had as of yet. it's been far too long since he's been at home for more than ten minutes at a time to get changed into a new suit, even longer since he's had the opportunity to be with his wife.

"wife likes this ramen spot. type where your feet stick to the ground, the bell doesn't chime anymore, but the food, fuck, the food makes up for it. so that," he speaks up after a while, the most sincere he's been this afternoon.

19.

toji places his cards down, leaving you to make the next move. you have a twelve, your only move is to pick up a card. your brow twitches upon picking it up, the only thing giving you away. still, your only option is to pluck a card off the table. a 6 of queens. you could pick up another one, test out your luck, but with chances this slim…

you fold, revealing your hand to him. a striking 18 to his nineteen. toji has to a double take, looking between his cards and yours. for the first time tonight, toji ends up winning a hand. and he's more than eager to collect, pawing at your chips and sliding them over.

"why'd you start taking money from these companies?" he decided to ask, taking your chips onto his side of the table. "could've gone for ones with less security."

you simply raise a brow, unsure if you should be amused or offended. "surely you don't think i'm stupid enough to answer that one."

he simply shrugs in response, leaning back against his chair. a waste of a question, one could say. "i don't know why the suspect's doing what they're doing, but i do know that taking away from companies that are polluting the environment we live in and donating said money to people who need it, well, it's retributive."

toji's mind briefly flickers to tsumiki—of spending a few thousand every month just to make sure she's even alive. of how much that amount of money would ensure better treatment, better quality, better everything. but just as quick as he let his thoughts stray, he focused back onto the conversation. "you saying you're a robin hood?"

you take a sip from your glass before giving another vague answer, "that's another question, wouldn't you say?"

you're not sure how much time has passed since you started playing, the few people that were once around had slowly started to trickle out as the night progressed. probably looking for a place with much more ambiance than the one tonight. chips flew from one corner of the table to the other, a hefty stack on your side.

lady luck had not gone with toji tonight.

toji reaches over to take a sip from the glass set on the table by a bartender passing by, the tequila tasting like pure rubbing alcohol upon going down. his features settle into a grimace, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. he only has one chip left to bargain. still, he slides it over the table.

you slide two chips onto the middle, dealing toji two cards. he's slow to flip them over, wanting to prolong this as much as possible. wanting to give gojo as much possible time to work with. he's met with a nineteen upon flipping the two, the highest he's gotten without going over.

but just because the universe wants to mess with even further, you turn your two cards to expose a twenty to him. it's over and the crew is left back where they started—with no clues, no suspect, and no way of actually bagging a conviction without conspiring against the court.

to add salt into the wound, you take your two chips along with his, sliding them onto your side of the table. "you gonna ask me the question?" he prods, waiting for and already annoyed at what could possibly leave your mouth now.

you don't answer immediately, taking a sip from your glass of tequila. it goes down with much more ease than it had with toji. you're getting off on this, on having the upper hand. on how fidgety he seems to be getting by the second. and then, just barely, when he least expects it, is that you move.

your heel catches onto his pant sleeve, slowly pushing your way up his ankle to his calf. an innocent enough smile curling on your lips around the glass before your head tilts to the side. "would you like to come up to my room?"

he should be reporting you to his team, cuffing you and shoving you to the back of a cruiser. it'd be real simple, too. just finish up the paperwork and he'd be out of this desert before the sun came up,

instead what came out of his mouth was, "yeah, let's go."

glass doors give way to the elevator in the back, floors leading up to the 53rd level. you tap against the button that goes up to the twentieth floor, leaning against the railing next to agent fushiguro. a silence settles between the two of you, a comfortable silence filled by the elevator music filling the air between you.

sliding off your hotel card from your purse, you feel cold metal digging onto the small of your back where his hand had once been. a gun. you didn’t need to turn around to know. “no funny business,” toji orders, pushing the barrel of the gun deeper into your skin. a shiver runs down your spine, all the while you’re leaning back against it.

his thumb's pressed against the trigger, ready for any sudden movement. you simply turn around, lightly pulling him in by his tie. "no funny business, i promise," you whisper, your voice low before you turn the doorknob. the hotel room is almost shining from how clean it is, the only trace you have is a suitcase in the corner of the room.

a suitcase he doubts has anything personal inside of it. toji stands in the middle of the room, gun still tightly clasped around his fingers while he analyses the room. there's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to watch. nothing to look out for.

you take a seat onto the plush california king, gloved fingers undoing the straps of your heels. they fall onto the carpeted floor, a subtle clink that sounds all that much louder in the quiet room. "what's this for?" toji finally breaks the silence, gesturing to the room.

"come closer. i don't bite," your voice drips like melted honey, a saccharine sweet invitation that has his feet trudging forward, "well, not unless you ask." he's standing right in front of you, gun pressed against your temple. it should scare you, it really should.

but you lower the gun, wrapping your lips around the barrel. it's cold—probably hasn't been used in a while. your lipstick coats the top of the gun like some sick decoration, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. the cameras on his suit had long since been deactivated—leaving this moment for just the two of you.

"fuck me," a muffled groan leaves his lips at the sight, setting the gun back in its holster. you pull him down by his tie again, this time crashing your lips onto his. he kisses back like it's second instinct, like he's getting reacquainted with an old friend. it's nothing but messy, strings of saliva connecting your lips onto his, your nails digging onto whatever you could reach, while his tongue's invading your mouth.

there's a brief pause when you tug him onto the bed, the man landing on top of the silk 3000 thread count sheets with an ungrateful thud. that's all you get before his lips are on yours again, coaxing your mouth open. his hands move down, gripping your waist to keep you straddled against him.

slick drips onto to your thin lace panties, soaking through the material against his slacks. he hardens against you, your hips moving to rub yourself against him. "you want it that bad?" toji teases, a smirk spreading across his scarred lips like he wasn't about to bust his load.

"don't forget who's in control, fushiguro."

you unclasp the handcuffs hanging off his utility belt in one swift motion, dangling them in between manicured fingers. "you brought these just for me?” you coo, unclasping one of them, “i’m honored agent fushiguro.”

toji doesn’t bother moving, letting you snap it onto his wrist. one of your fingers twists the ratchet, leaving just a finger of space. escape is nearly impossible.

then you do the same with the other arm. taking a step back to admire your handiwork, you’re struck with the realization of just handsome toji looks. his cheeks are flushed, a thin layer of sweat beading on his forehead and a couple strands stuck.

his tie is halfway undone, the buttons of his shirt undone to expose every ab and every ridge of his torso. a couple scars littered across, evidence of hard years at work along with a few moles. and wires latched even onto his nipples, picking up every detail of this conversation.

you dig for a pair of scissors from your nightstand table, snipping through each one individually. it wouldn't be long until the fbi stormed into the building, calling this mission off. you give them twenty minutes to mobilize troops, another ten to make their way into the building. maybe ten to actually find the room.

still, you move like you have all the time in the world. "fushiguro, i'm calling this o-” sukuna's voice comes in through the static before the microphones shut off, leaving you to talk comfortably now. leaving you in complete secrecy.

your eyes trail to the happy trail dusting down his belly, leading down to just underneath his slacks. his cock twitches and strains against the material, a large tent you can’t help but rub the side of your face against. he smells musky, a mix of leather and cologne.

the man strains against the metal, hips bucking up to meet your cheek. your tongue swipes across your lips before you open your mouth, moving against the side of his clothed shaft. your thumb swipes across the twitching tip, wet even through the fabric. “you want it that bad?" you echo his past words to him, a scoff leaving him in response.

the scoff wouldn't hide the way he was aching for you to touch him though.

slowly, your fingers snake up his thighs—feel them tighten up underneath the most featherlight of touches—just past his zipper and move up to his belt. you unclasp it in one swift motion, moving the leather through the loops until it snakes onto the floor.

you slide his boxers down, long cock slinging back against his lower stomach upon release. drops of opalescent precum smear across the dusting of hair, tip reddened and twitching. it curves to one side, veins marking the sides of his shaft leading down to a heavy sac.

you almost drool at just the mere sight of it.

wrapping your lips around the tip, your tongue darts out to taste his pre. glob after glob of spit drips down your lips, coating his cock in a translucent sheen. you wrap your hand around the base, fingers tightening around it before twisting your wrist uppp and downnn. "better at sucking dick than getting away with crime," he tuts, his head thrown back.

your cheeks hollow out to take more of his cock in your mouth, your hand still jerking him off at the base. bubbles of drool pool up in your mouth before your lips part, smearing it down his shaft. "you wound me, agent," you pout, "i really tried y'know." your head bobs, taking him further inch by inch while your hand moves like you're trying to milk him dry.

a strangled groan leaves him once your tongue starts tracing each thick vein like you wanted to commit it to memory, taking him further and deeper down your throat. "just like that, baby." you meet his half-lidded gaze, cheeks hollowing out to take more of him in your mouth. the stretch makes your jaw ache, raven tuffs of hair tickling your nose when you take him in fully.

your thighs rub against one another, aching for whatever friction you could get. toji's finally shut up, reduced to half-sentences and groaned babbles. manicured fingers reach down to his balls, you're rolling them over in your palm before your tongue takes over your hand. you're jerking him off again, hand squeezing around the base. toji almost sees white.

"f-fuck, don't stop, right there, sweetheart," he moans, bucking his hips to meet your hand. your tongue moves up up up from the base of his scrotum to the sack, taking it in your mouth and swirling the pink muscle across the sensitive skin. his knuckles turn white from how hard he's gripping the bed sheets, streams of precum painting your wrist white as your thumb swipes across the sensitive tip.

toji's almost there, his toes are curled up into gang signs underneath his socks, head thrown back and chest heaving. his balls feel heavy in your mouth, tightening up with each second longer. "just like that, make me cum," his order comes out more as a breathless request. you flick your tongue around the sac in a figure eight, pulling away right before he had the chance to cum.

his chest is heaving when you take a step back, his cock still twitching from the aftershocks and dripping with saliva and pre. "…evil fuckin' woman," he lets out a breathless laugh, watching as you move you across the room intently.

your fingers carefully push up your dress, exposing the panties you'd chosen for the night. a pair of emerald green lace panties, ones that almost felt like looking in a mirror for toji. "do you like them agent?" you do a small show of taking them off, shimmying off the lace material before twirling them around your finger.

the lace flings off your finger, landing on his face. toji's unabashed—taking a sniff of the slick that's dripped onto it like a faucet before he's inching the crotch area to his mouth. he's sucking the material dry, his eyes closed as the taste of you fills his tastebuds. sluuuurppp! a better type of substance than the tequila downstairs, he'd say.

"fuckin' love it, ya taste so good," he mumbles, lips suctioned around your panties while drop after drop lands on his tongue. he opens his eyes to see you're already moving up the bed, inching closer and closer. you take off the mask once you're on his lap, fully exposing yourself to him for the evening. a sight that's more than familiar to him.

"atta girl, there ya go." your hand reaches beneath your legs, taking the base of his cock. smearing your slick onto his cock before you slowly start to lower yourself onto it. the thick, mushroom tip slips in between your folds, a stretch that has your walls clamping tightly around him.

your wetness envelops his cock as you slide further down, sinking inch by inch down his shaft until he fills you up completely. you don't move, not immediately, still getting adjusted to the stretch. you start off slow—a lazy roll of your hips half-way before you're moving down again.

his hips buck into you, a quiet way to try to claim control. you take toji fushiguro's prized gun from his discarded pants, the metal heavy in your palm. it's not loaded, you quickly realize. still, you press it against his temple just in the same way he'd done to you. and you swear you feel his cock twitch underneath.

"don't forget who's the one in control here." you start moving again, gyrating your hips and rubbing your clit against his pelvis. toji leans up against the gun, almost savoring the change in position as you fuck yourself into him. each drive of his cock into you has his tip hitting your g-spot, wetness enveloping his shaft like a slip n' slide.

his fingers twitch against the cuffs, wanting to reach out and take hold of your tits bouncing in his face. you lean in close enough, his mouth immediately latching onto one of them. his lips suction around your areola, swirling his tongue around the hardened nub. you twist and pinch at your other tit, rolling the nub between your thumb and forefinger.

his mouth's all too eager to latch on, pushing your fingers to the side. saliva drools off the corner of his lips, eyes fluttering closed like he's in bliss once again. you're sliding against his shaft, hips moving you against his thick cock. "taste so good, fuck, keep using me," toji let out a muffled groan, motorboating his face between your tits.

you keep fucking yourself back onto him, almost feeling it be enough. it's almost there, almost enough to have your toes curling, but you can't manage to fuck yourself fast enough.

your hands grip his chest, nails digging onto the skin while your hips grind in circles against his pelvis. thighs shaking and quivering, your pace starts to slow down to where you're barely moving against him. "look at'cha, could've been getting fucked properly by now," toji tsks from his spot, a mock glare shot his way.

"fuck me, please," the whine leaves your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

he bucks up into you once, just once before a shit-eating grin spreads on his face. "what was that?"

a huff leaves your lips, folding your arms across your chest. staring at toji with the nastiest glare you could muster. he's unmoving. barely blinking. "..are you deaf? fuck me, fushiguro."

toji slips out of the handcuffs with practiced ease, a quiet 'oof' leaving your lips upon being flipped over. his arm slides underneath your plush thighs, folding you in half and holding you like you weighed nothing.

“a-ah fuck!”

“you can take it, just like—” toji bottoms out in one push of his hips, your hands digging into his arm. you feel like you're being split in half, the pieces rearranging to fit around him. “thaaattt, sweetheart."

he presses against the bulge on your lower stomach, tip nudging near your cervix. "thought you were in control, what happened? big mean ol' toji took over?"

before you could muster a response, he's thrusting in and out of you—fucking you like nothing but a ragdoll. ah! ah! ah! broken little syllables leave your mouth, unable to come up with anything else. toji's satisfied—dragging his thick cock against your sensitive walls, hitting your g-spot with each push of his hips.

"only need to be thinkin' about how good i'm fucking you, right?" he teases, rugged voice right against your ear. a shiver runs down your spine, your head bobbing along in a nod. toji plants his feet on the bed, keeping his hand tightly gripped around your legs while he starts drilling into your cunt.

your cunt squelches back with each pummel of hips, each one knocking the breath of your lungs. "t-toji, fuck, just like that!" your moans fill the sex-ridden room, headboard smacking against the wall from the intensity of each one. one of his hands snakes down between your legs, rubbing his thumb against your throbbing clit.

"just like this?" he cooed behind you, though his teasing tone made it sound anything but. toji tilts your head towards him, met with the sight of your lipstick smeared and your eyes glazed over. a sight he couldn't get tired of. his lips slotted against yours almost instantly, a messy kiss with nothing but spit, teeth, and tongue.

"g'na cum, toji, almost there, almost there!" you moan into the kiss. he presses down on your lower belly, his other hand still rubbing at your swollen clit. "yeah baby, gonna cum? c'mon, you got it, all yours. come on, soak toji's cock." your eyes roll to the back of your head, orgasm washing over you like a wave. the rubber band inside of you tightens and tightens before SNAAPPP!

your essence dripped onto his thick shaft, a creamy base forming at the base of his cock. toji still rutted up against you, his own orgasm not far off behind. "ah! ah! ah! fuck toji, cum in me, please. need ya so bad, please please-” even if toji wanted to pull out, your pussy was tightly clamped around his cock. ropes of cum shoot deep inside of you, painting your walls white.

toji softened up inside of you, staying still. his head lolled forward, resting on the crook of your neck. "felt." he pressed a sloppy kiss onto whatever skin he could reach before trailing down. "so." another kiss. "fuckin' good."

“give me one more,” his lips suction around your glistening folds, sucking at the cum dripping out of you. his tongue dips inside of you, letting out a muffled groan upon each drop landing on his tongue. your hand moves down to the sweat slicked strands snaking in between your legs, gripping them tightly in between your fingers.

his tongue dips inside, determined on cleaning out the cum threatening to spill out of you. it dips inside of you, slurping up any drops before plunging two fingers deep inside. fucking it back into you. "toji, t-too much," you whine out through the shocks of overstim, each of your nerves like a livewire he keeps tapping against.

you're boneless by the time toji's done. he's moving across the hotel room, moving across the space like he'd been here before. toji comes back from the bathroom with a moist towel in hand, wiping you off with the gentlest of touches a brute like him could muster.

"don't gotta leave just yet." he wraps one arm around your tummy, keeping you tight against him. he's like a furnace to the touch, keeping you warm. "they won't be here til tomorrow." you want to protest, say that you should be on the run by now. but your eyes flicker shut, too exhausted to move. all you can manage is a meek nod before you doze off.

toji fushiguro wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing on the nightstand, about fifty missed calls from the team pinging up on his screen. you're not there next to him—you'd left in the early hours of the morning with only a playing card left behind as proof you'd ever been here in the first place.

see you in the next city, hubby. the bright red lipstick you'd worn the night prior left as a signature. he brought it up to his lips, almost imagining you were standing in front of him again.

sukuna would have his ass on a platter. if the man managed to find him.

devoted husband nanami my love

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Your heart was pounding, the roaring in your ears deafening as you continued to speed walk down the pavement of Shibuya. The men behind you were keeping pace, staying close enough not to lose you, but far enough to remain suspicionless.

You clutched your bag tighter, trying to make your stride longer, hoping to blend into the large crowds as you continued a route that led you back to Shibuya crossing. 

The setting sun was a mirror to your impending doom, if they were still following you once the darkness of the night blanketed the city, you were likely never going home. If you had to walk all night you would, it certainly beat the alternative of never seeing the light of day again.

The largest of the trio of men following you popped out of a side street, positioning himself closer than any had been so far. If he so  much as reached his arm out, he could close it around you and that would be it.

You could feel the sweat sliding down your temples, despite the cooler weather. Your mind was screaming at you to do something, anything, to keep this man from grabbing you as you saw him inch impossibly closer.

That’s when you saw him, the largest man you’d ever seen, standing on the corner waiting for the crosswalk to greenlight. He was wearing a tight black shirt, showing off his broad, muscled frame and those intimidating tattoos that covered his arms. His black baggy jeans sitting low on his hips and black combat boots peaking from beneath the hem added to his persona.

You weren’t sure what led you to do this, maybe his pink hair, but your instincts told you he was safe. You thought he would easily scare off these men with one look, so you shouted, calling out to him with a wave.

He turned with a frown on his face, showcasing the tattoos spanning across most of his face. His crimson eyes were assessing you as he pulled a wired earbud out of the ear closest to you.

You gave him the brightest smile you could muster, a pleading look in your eyes as you threw your arms around his neck, jumping into him. 

“I finally found you!” You kept your voice loud and clear, hoping the man behind you continued walking. The stranger was stiff beneath you, as he closed one arm tentatively around your waist, keeping you off the ground. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice was a gruff rasp in your ear, despite the fact he was playing along with you.    

“There are men following me,” you whispered back, watching over his shoulder as the man who was behind you continued walking. “Please act like you know me.”

He huffed out a breath filled with annoyance, “Fine.”

When he set you on your feet again, you pulled back finally getting a good look at his face. You were stunned for a second, admiring his strong, handsome features. He was so unique looking and probably the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

You offered him a sheepish smile, before taking his large hand in yours, it was warm and rough, adding to his hotness, “Where are we heading?”

“It’s a surprise,” he gave you a sly smile, flashing his perfect teeth. 

The moment the crosswalk greenlit you were off again, dragging him for half a second before his long stride matched yours. You faked a look at him, glancing past his shoulder for any signs of the men. One of them was still trailing far behind so you kept your hand in his as you flashed him a smile. 

“I guess you should lead the way,” you laughed weakly as you slowed your step to let him set the pace and direction. 

How you found yourself in this situation after a failed first date, the only explanation was it was just your luck. You only decided to stay out to make the best of what was left of the day after your date spent the entire time talking about himself and berating you after you offered any information about yourself. You were in a respectable career for your age, you lived by yourself, but you always kept that piece of information tucked away. You were pretty healthy. You only occasionally splurged on items for your apartment or wardrobe, so you were mostly wise with money. The only reason he thought he had something on you was his family name and being in a position he all but admitted was handed to him.  

All you wanted to do was to browse some shops, hoping to clear your mind and then maybe pick up a few things you needed for your apartment before heading home and taking the hottest shower of your life. Of course all of that hit the fan the moment you caught sight of the first man following you. At first you thought maybe it was a coincidence, there were plenty of people out right now and he could easily be heading in a similar direction. Your panic started to set in when another man joined him, still following you even after you completed a full circle. 

When the third man appeared, you were full on panicking as you rushed yourself back to Shibuya crossing. If this stranger you were currently holding hands with turned out to be worse than those guys following you, then you’d have to accept your fate. It would be fitting, all things considered. 

You had to admit, your intuition was hardly ever wrong and not once since you jumped into his arms had you felt unsafe. If anything most of your worries fell away as you walked in silence further away from the reality you almost faced. Best case scenario you were free of the men and got to go home and sleep everything off. Worst case, maybe this guy would pick up where they left off. 

When you stopped in front of yakitori-ya you finally focused on everything around you again. You scolded yourself because if this guy was going to kidnap you, you’d made it entirely too easy as you zoned out the entire walk here. You guessed it was a good sign your hand was still in his and you were still alive, and if you had to look on the bright side, being able to zone out around him meant your instincts were further proving he was safe. 

“Get whatever you want,” his voice was calm, the deep baritone of it settled in your bones as you furrowed your brows.

“I’ll pay for my food,” you dropped his hand, fumbling around your purse for your wallet before he firmly grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together again. A wave of warmth rushed through your body as you looked at him, stunned.

“Why would you pay for anything?” He grumbled, his frown settling across his face like it was a familiar expression. It probably was given everything you’d gathered about him in the past twenty minutes or so.

“I owe you,” you gestured between the two of you, clearly not understanding what wasn’t clicking for him.

He gave a long sigh, like you were the one being ridiculous, “Just order, woman.”

“Woman?” You pulled back, getting a better look at another one of his sly grins. You huffed, snatching your hand away as you crossed your arms, waiting in line in silence.

After you got your food from the takeout window you both settled into a mindless walk while eating the skewers. It wasn’t so bad being around him, even if he was kind of a brute, you found you didn’t dislike it. Somehow he made it work, rather than coming off as misogynistic like this one blond guy you went out with once who wore winged eyeliner and said something along the lines of women belong serving men. 

The stranger broke the silence first after you dropped your empty trays in the trash, “Why’d you pick me to come up to?”

“Honestly, I don’t really even know,” you laughed lightly. “I think my mind figured picking someone who was scarier looking than the people following me was a good idea.”

“Oh so I’m scary looking?” He gazed down at you, lifting one of his brows. You realized how much larger he was than you as you looked up at him, he was so tall and clearly worked out regularly. 

“Don’t be dense,” you rolled your eyes, earning a quick poke to the cheek.

“Watch it,” he warned and you found yourself grinning up at him, feeling the argumentative side of you peeking through.

“Or what?” You challenged.

“I think you know what,” he stopped, bringing his body closer to you and lowering his face. “And I think that’s why you’re acting like this.”

“Acting like what?” You feigned innocence, placing a hand against your chest.

He gripped your chin in his hand, his voice low and promising, “A fucking brat.” 

“Am I?” You batted your lashes at him.

“You know what you’re doing,” he grumbled.

“Well, I think I owe you for saving me,” your voice was sultry as you trailed your hand up his strong biceps.

-

-

-

Those were your famous last words that led to Ryomen Sukuna (you this learned on the way to his place) pounding into you ruthlessly.

“Look at you, helpless while you take it,” his voice was rough against your neck, a sharp bite following that had you moaning even louder. “Fucking slut,” he grunted against your ear as he fucked you with long, deep strokes.

You were currently pressed against the wall in his entryway, legs thrown over his arms as he supported your full weight. You hardly made it inside before he had your clothes off and his huge cock shoving inside your sopping wet cunt. Your nails were clawing against his back every time he slammed upwards, his tip bullying the deepest parts of you.

“Oh god-” you moaned, slipping a hand into his hair and yanking roughly.

“I prefer Ryomen,” he gave you the sexiest grin before shoving his tongue into your mouth, claiming your mouth just as ruthlessly as his cock claimed pussy. When he pulled back slightly to spit in your mouth you moaned, noticing that he was watching as it slid down your chin.

The lewd sounds that filled the apartment would’ve made anyone blush, you were so wet you were practically dripping down his cock. You were completely helpless, as he fucked you stupid, your mind empty except for the overwhelming sensation of him.

“Harder- fuck-” you whined, clenching around him as he gave you exactly what you asked for. The frames hanging on the wall rattled every time he roughly thrust into you.

“You like being fucked like a slut?” His degrading tone had your pussy growing even wetter as he suddenly dropped your feet to the floor and spun you around. When he shoved you roughly against the wall you moaned, arching back against him. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your words cut off by his cock slamming back inside of you. One of his big hands fisted your hair, pulling your neck back allowing him to spit into your mouth again. His other drifted around your hip, finding your clit and rubbing circles over it as he continued to slam into you.

“Begging for my cock,” he hummed in your ear. “After you begged for my help earlier,” his fingers were working your clit quickly, the combination of his cock rubbing against the spot deep inside of you had you spiraling quickly. “Are you always this fucking needy?” 

“No-” your words choked on a moan as he pinched your clit roughly, the pain mixing with the pleasure overriding everything.

“Don’t tell me you’re so cockdrunk you can’t answer me?” He tugged against your hair as he began rubbing your clit again, working quick circles against you as he focused on hitting all the spots inside you.

“I can-” you babbled.

“Try again,” he pinched your clit, almost causing your orgasm to crash through you. The white hot pleasure fading quickly as he worked soft strokes against it, building it up again slowly. 

“Oh Ryo-” you moaned when he hit a particularly deep thrust, arching your back further as you tried to take him deeper. His soft strokes against your clit were maddening as you sat on the edge of your climax.

“Try harder,” he tsked, yanking your hair.

“It’s you,” you whined. “All for you.”

“There you go,” the pressure of his fingers increased as his mouth lowered to your ear. “Come,” his command had your orgasm cresting, your cries filling the small entry way as you came hard on his cock, tears spilling down your cheeks.

His fingers wouldn’t let up, his pace not faltering even as you tried to push away, the overstimulation too much. “It’s too much,” you moaned. 

His hand shoved your head against the wall as his fingers continued to bully your clit. You could feel another orgasm building deep inside of you as he continued fucking you.

“Might have to make you mine,” he grunted, his thrusts growing erratic.

“W-what?” You stammered, moaning as he angled himself deeper inside of you. Your eyes rolled back, you could hardly hear what he said next.

“Taking me like you were made for me,” he grunted as you clenched around him. “Wanna be mine huh?”

“I don’t know-” you moaned, his hand leaving your hair to close around your hip, shoving you down against him.

“Fucking liar,” he hissed, rubbing his fingers harshly against your clit. “This pussy’s mine.”

“Yes- all yours-” you moaned, his fingers working you quickly as he practically impaled you on his cock.

“Come for me again, fucking brat,” you came with a scream, it was quickly muffled by his mouth pressing against yours. His tongue bullying itself inside your mouth, swallowing all your cries.

You felt his cock twitch, before he was grunting in your mouth as he spilled warm, thick ropes of cum inside of you. He fucked you through his orgasm, drawing every last drop of cum from himself as he shoved it deep in your pussy.

When he pulled his lips away, a string of spit followed him as he looked you deeply in your eyes, “You’re mine now.”

And that sounded like the best thing in the world to you.