cinnamon girl

"me? a distraction?" satoru gasped in mock offense. he shifted his weight, dropping down to lie on his stomach next to you. he propped his chin up with his hands, a movement that caused the fabric of his shirt to tauten over the heavy definition of his upper back and shoulders.

your eyes tracked the movement. you blinked once. twice.

wait.

you looked from the textbook diagram of the deltoids and pectorals, then right back to satoru’s very real, very defined body. a sudden, brilliant spark of desperation ignited in your fried brain.

"toru," you said, your tone suddenly dead serious. "take your shirt off."

satoru froze, his smirk faltering into a look of genuine, rare bewilderment. his beautiful blue eyes blinked in confusion. "wh—now? i mean, i love the enthusiasm, babe, but i thought you were failing a class?"

"just do it. for science. for my gpa."

muttering something about how you were terrifying when stressed, satoru crossed his arms and pulled the compression shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. he sat cross-legged on the bed, presenting a perfect, shirtless canvas of lean muscle.

"alright, i'm naked—well, half-naked. what's the plan, professor?"

you didn’t answer. instead, you lunged off the bed, grabbed a neon green washable expo marker from your desk, and crawled back over to him with a manic look in your eye.

satoru eyed the marker warily. "uh, what is that for?"

"hold still," you commanded, uncapping the marker with your teeth.

you leaned in close, your left hand resting gently on his shoulder for balance while your right hand brought the marker to his skin. satoru tensed for a fraction of a second at the cool, damp touch of the felt tip, but quickly relaxed, watching you with an amused, fond expression as you began to draw.

"okay," you murmured, tracing a neat box right over his chest. "these are the pectoralis major. big chest muscles. easy." you wrote pec major in bold green letters right across his right pectoral.

"wow, using my body as a cheat sheet. i feel objectified. do it more," satoru chuckled, his chest vibrating under your hand.

"shh! i'm concentrating," you chided, moving your marker up to his shoulder. you traced the rounded muscle cap. "deltoid. anterior, lateral, posterior. it's like a shoulder pad." you carefully scribbled deltoid on his shoulder, giving it a little pat.

"and what about these?" satoru asked, flexing his arm slightly, a proud grin on his face.

you stared at his arm, the marker hovering. "ah! the age-old question. bicep is on the front, tricep is on the back. bicep pulls the arm in, tricep extends it." to cement it in your memory, you drew a giant arrow on his inner arm pointing up labeled bicep, and a matching one on the back labeled tricep.

for the next thirty minutes, satoru’s bedroom turned into a live-action, neon-green anatomy lab. you moved around him like a mad scientist, labeling his serratus anterior (the "rib muscles," as you initially called them), his trapezius, and even trying to map out his abs, though you kept getting distracted because his stomach kept twitching from being tickled by the marker.

"stop laughing, toru, i'm trying to find your external obliques!"

"i can't help it! your hands are cold and that marker is tickling the life out of me!" he gasped, squirming away from the green tip.

finally, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. satoru was covered from the waist up in bright green boxes, arrows, and messy anatomical terms. he looked absolutely ridiculous, completely contrasting his runway-model face.

satoru looked down at himself, then glanced in the vanity mirror across the room. he burst out laughing. "i look like a radioactive paint-by-numbers project."

"you look like an a-plus," you corrected proudly, capping the marker. "i actually remember them now. visual learning is a powerful tool."

satoru smiled, leaning forward and wrapping his green-labeled arms around your waist to pull you into his lap. "glad i could be of service to your education. but you know this stuff washes off, right? what are you going to do during the actual quiz tomorrow when you can't look at my chest?"

you hummed, resting your hands against his (now labeled) pectorals. "i'll just close my eyes and visualize my very hot, very heavily graffitied boyfriend."

his sharp grin loomed above you. watching you over the rim of his copper-framed glasses. and within his eyes, you saw something that terrified you.

hearts.

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo perfectly prepared your jar. he cushioned the bottom with soil and moss. a slab of bark laid on side, with a network of flourishing, pink mushrooms growing along its length. a polished pebble for you to perch on, right beside the singular, blooming daisy where you could sleep. he wasn't a monster, after all…

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo watched you with fascination as you tapped on the glass helplessly, your wings batting and your tears shimmery. so fairy dust was real.

"please."

your tiny hands smacked into the glass. peering up at the man as he sat at a table and chair. "please, why won't you let me go? I'll do anything."

he had scooped the jar into his hand, levelling you with those terrifying blues. "now, why would I let something so pretty go?" he crooked his head, snowy hair dangling to the side.

"i've waited for you for many years, sweetheart. don't be selfish."

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo would give you everything you ever needed. food wasn't an issue, every day, he fed you something new. a juicy strawberry. honey and puffballs. mango slices. crackers. one time he even tried to hold you in his palm and feed you a small piece of vanilla cake.

you bit him.

he smiled.

"I suppose even pretty things can be feisty." his grip tightened on you, ever so slightly. a thumb brushing over your wings that fluttered erratically.

"let me go! you monster!" you squeaked.

he tutted, stroking his thumb over your back in a tender path. "sshhh, sweet thing. you'll bruise your little lungs…"

he continued the motion until your wreckless squirming melted. your head limped on his knuckle, your limbs still, and your head droopy.

he chuckled, carefully scooping you back into your jar. "thankfully, I've studied your kind extensively. I know you intimately, sweetheart."

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo sometimes lets you out of the jar, but only when you have manners. he doesn't have to worry about you flying away, because he always so meticulously ties your wings with a silk ribbon.

"remain still for me, okay?" he hushed at you, kissing your head as you thrashed and shouted at him.

he even tied it into a pretty bow, before he set you atop one of his books.

"why do you do this?" you huffed, balling your little fists as you helplessly tried to flutter your wings. "how can you be so twisted to keep me here?"

satoru always spoke to you as if you were a flower. even lowering his head to be at eye level with you. lashes fluttering, almost droopy in the presence of your beauty.

"am I so twisted for being in love with you?"

the way your eyes gaped at him made him smile. he brought his pinkie to gently poke at your head. "what? am I?"

"you're insane…" your murmur sounded frightened. fear looked pretty on you, too.

"maybe," his voice lowered to a whisper. "or maybe I'm just very dedicated to my work."

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo made little tools out of silver to help fix your hair. he'd do the usual routine of scooping you out of the jar, tying your wings and sitting you on his palm, before he set to work on carefully helping you.

"I made these for you." he'd say affectionately.

and when you didn't respond, he blew a bit of air onto your wings until you squirmed and giggled.

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo makes sure to let you have a little soak in one of his favourite teacups with some warm water. no, he doesn't peep at you. he's not a creep. a pretty little lady like yourself needs her privacy, after all.

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo sometimes takes you out to dance you around the windowsill when the moon shines just right. he lets you hold onto his pinkies. twirls and dips you all night long. treating you as delicate as a flower as he watches you with awestruck eyes.

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo brings you bundles of flowers to drink nectar from. he'll nudge your chin up so gently with his index nail and feed you himself. makes sure you don't choke.

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo wraps you up in his glasses cloth when it gets too cold, or sometimes even scoops you into his pocket where you can nap to the sound of his heartbeat.

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo despite being so gentle, would remind you what kind of man he was. not all of the times he plucked you from the jar were for your benefit.

at times, he'd tie your wings a little tighter. laying you out on a leather-bound notebook and analysing you piece by piece.

"fascinating," he mumbled, prodding at your arm with a flat, wooden stick. applying pressure. testing. "your limbs are stronger than they look. is it your magic, I wonder?"

he spoke about wanting to take you apart. bit by bit, to understand you better. when you gave him a horrified look, he chuckled, cocking his head as he tickled your wings.

"what, sweetheart? wouldn't it be intimate?"

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo wouldn't ever hurt you. he didn't think he had it in him. you were too soft, too elegant, too pretty. it broke his heart whenever he'd see you weeping in your jar.

"don't cry… please don't cry," he'd whisper as he laid his head beside the jar. watching you with sullen blue eyes.

you'd cry for him to let you go, and it ached a deep part of him.

"I can't. I'm sorry, sweet thing." his lips brushed the glass, a sincere apology from a man so sadistic. "I need you." came his shaky breath.

"I need you here. with me. I'm just so lonely. please don't hate me."

 𔘓  ·  yandere researcher!nerdjo saw you staring at the wall of wings while he worked, once. silent and wide eyed.

he sorely misinterpreted you, tilting his head with a crooked smile. "do you like any of them?"

scooping you out of the jar, he cradled you in his palm. "I could make you a dress… would you like that?"

your look of horror bewildered him, and when tears streamed down your face, he rushed to soothe you. brushing away your tears with a petal plucked from a flower on his desk.

when you told him why you wept— because you thought the wings were your fallen brethren, his face twisted. almost disgusted that you could compare your pristine, perfect wings to those baneful butterflies. still, his shoulder shook with a little laugh. he found it morbidly amusing.

"oh, my sweetheart. of course not," he cooed at you. "those are butterflies. you are the only fairy I've had in my grasp."

pale lips brushed your little head, ever delicate. as he whispered. soft, lovingly.

"that's why you're so special to me."

you didn't look too convinced. your small sniffles broke his heart, so he sighed as he gently nudged you over. till you were slumped over his thumb and forefinger.

"sweetheart, please don't insult yourself so," he lightly scolded. "butterfly wings are so brittle. so dull. but yours…"

his other index slowly, tenderly brushed down your spine. tracing your wings in that same gentle, sick fascination he always had.

"yours are pristine. delicate… perfect."

his shaky breath tickled your wings, and they twitched. his throat ran dry. heart hammering a bit faster at this little, intimate moment.

with a gentle squeeze to you, he leaned down. pressing a slow, velvet kiss to your wings. smiling into them as they fluttered and you pitched a whine.

"see?" satoru breathed, lips brushing over their little twitches. his smile was soft, sick.

"these are all mine. my special little sweetheart."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. art cred: @/poafie (ig)

🌷♡ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

There’s an almost electrical anticipation in the air as Subaru’s hands find your thighs, smoothing across the soft skin. You’re seated on his lap as he lies against the pillows, propped up just enough for Lyca’s proper viewing. Your heart thunders in your chest as the mood turns sensual, pressing against you on all sides just as Subaru is doing now.

“Are you truly okay with this?” he whispers in your ear, and you have to stop your hips from jerking toward his hands, begging for their touch.

“Yes. And I remember the safe word, too,” you murmur, reaching behind you to cup the back of his head.

He’s such a worrier when it comes to you. It’s sweet enough to make your legs shake.

He starts slowly, sliding his fingers across your thighs again, this time towards the swell of your belly. Lyca watches with a fiery blush on his face, clenching and unclenching the sheets under his fingers, uncharacteristically silent. The only sound in the room is Subaru’s soft cooing and the rustling of your clothes.

“Show him what my love can do,” he breathes, pressing one hand down on your belly and dipping the first finger into you.

You toss your head back and gasp, the feeling of eyes on you more than you can bear. It feels wanton and hungry, like Lyca is sizing you up, already wondering just how good you’ll taste. Cracking open your eyes, you reach out to Lyca with your other hand, beckoning him closer.

You see him look over your shoulder at Subaru, as if for approval—what you don’t see is the dark-eyed nod Subaru gives him in return.

“See how they stretch open, Lyca?” Subaru asks, adding another finger for emphasis, “Look at them.”

“It’s...embarrassing,” Lyca gnaws at his bottom lip, eyes flickering from your hole to the other side of the bed.

“It’s not,” he reassures, “It feels really good. Just look.”

A whine from you snaps Lyca’s attention back to where the two of you connect, his eyes wide with awe. Subaru presses down on your belly and you twitch as his fingers curl. It’s easy to tell that Lyca's still unsure, still apprehensive, but it’s lovely to see him warm up to you.

“Do you think they’re ready, Lyca?” Subaru asks softly, adding a third finger as you muffle your own whines.

Without waiting for an answer, Subaru tsks and grasps your jaw with his free hand.

The message is clear. Don't quiet yourself.

Your mouth falls open obediently, accepting his fingers between your lips. Spit coats his gloves, dripping down your chin as Lyca looks on, every muscle in his body tense.

“Take...what?” he asks, enraptured.

Subaru doesn’t answer him with words. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of both holes and grasps your hips. You follow his lead, lifting yourself up and allowing the tip of his cock to kiss your opening. Lyca shudders at the sound of your desperate pleas.

“Pleaseee, pleaseplease—been so good—” you beg, wiggling your hips to tempt him.

“You have, you have,” he reassures you, “But this is for Lyca, remember? Make him happy. Make me proud.”

It’s a sentence meant only for your ears, but with Lyca’s super hearing you’re sure he caught at least some of it. Shaking, you lower yourself down on him, mouth falling open wider and wider with every inch you take.

“Suba...” Lyca trails off, beholding you as though you were Venus herself, “They look...”

“It’s a nice view, right?” he coos, trailing the back of his hand over your cheek.

The stretch is manageable, you’ve done it before. It’s his words and Lyca’s gaze that make it harder. You clench down on him, sucking him inch by inch.

“They’re gonna take you like this too, Lyca.”

You sink down on him entirely with a whole body shudder, the force of it wracking your limbs. As if sensing your ecstasy, Subaru’s hand slides over the expanse of your thigh and finds your clit. His touch is feathery light and you know he’s teasing you, riling you up, making a show for his dearest friend—so you indulge him.

Rolling your hips forward, you inhale sharply at the gentle wet noises of his cock inside you. Lyca seems to have an even stronger reaction, his tail and ears making an appearance as he leans closer. Shame is thrown to the wayside as you raise and lower yourself on him over and over, then rocking back and forth as he nudges your clit with his fingertips.

Sensitivity builds faster than usual as you make eye contact with Lyca. He’s much closer now, nose twitching as the scent of sex and sweat fill the room.

“Good, good, you’re doing so good for me. That’s it. Lovely,” Subaru breaths, voice gravelly and dark, his hand gradually increasing its pace, “You’re close, love, I can feel it. Just a little more.”

You whine, high pitched and needy as you take him deeper, grinding instead of bouncing, not wanting him out of you for even a second. You can tell he’s holding himself back for you too, waiting til you can cum together, your pleasures mixing as one.

“Subaru!” you shout, gripping his arms so hard your nails dig into his sleeve.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know,” he murmurs, soothing you, “Go ahead.”

And you shatter, throwing your head back so hard it hits the back of his shoulder, letting your moans fall freely from your mouth as he fucks you through it. This must be the first time Lyca is seeing something like this so you lower your head, riding out the rest of your high while staring into his eyes.

He swallows thickly, cock twitching inside his slacks.

“That’s it, lovely,” Subaru purrs, securing your hips with his hands as he lifts you off of him, “Now go help Lyca, okay?”

You nod shakily, your pleasured haze radiating off of you. Getting on your hands and knees, you moan weakly at the feeling of Subaru’s release dripping down your thighs as you make your way to Lyca. He freezes completely when you sit in his lap, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Do you still want this, Lyca?” you ask softly, placing your hand on his belly.

“Obviously,” he grumbles, looking away with a blush, “...Do you?”

“Of course I do,” you grin, lovedrunk and satisfied, glowing with the aftermath of Subaru, “Let me take care of you, then.”

It’s easy to get him out of his pants—he doesn’t try to fight you. You know werewolf anatomy, you’re not surprised at what you find—and yet it still sends a thrill through you all the same. Biting your lower lip, you shimmy your way up his thighs, keenly aware of Subaru’s eyes on your back.

You drop down in one smooth motion, rocking your hips to take him easier.

“Shit—” Lyca curses, tearing the sheets with his claws.

There’s a sick sense of satisfaction you get from making him swear, from being able to affect him as much as you did. You immediately start moving, wrapping your arms around him.

He groans out your name, hands jerking towards your hips before he slams them back down on the bed, tears leaking from his clenched eyelids as you ride him. A part of you want to turn back and look at Subaru, but you know this is about Lyca—and so, you cup his face and coax his eyes open.

“There you are,” you murmur, offering him a reverend smile, “Keep looking at me, okay?”

“Can’t—Gonna finish too fast if I do that,” he grunts, turning away from you.

“It’s okay,” you coo, “This is about you.”

“No it’s not! Suba made you cum, and I’m gonna do that too,” he huffs, stubbornly looking down at where you connect.

His hand fumbles around until he finds your oversensitive clit. You gasp and jerk your hips and he immediately zeros in on that spot, averting his gaze to your upper thigh so he doesn't have to see your desperate movements.

“Lycaaaaa,” you whine, gasping and moaning into his shoulder, “Please, please—”

“I got you, alright!? Stop—squirming.” he says lamely, gritting his teeth, “Shit—”

“Cum inside, Lyca,” you coo, Subaru’s release still dripping from your hole, “Do it for me.”

And he does.

You feel the gush of warmth burst inside of you at the same time as your climax, your hips and thighs aching with the force of your grinding. Fully satisfied, you sink even further down, taking his knot with a pleasured whine.

Subaru is by your side in an instant, looking at you and then the mess between your thighs, eyes dark as he appraises the sight. His release, Lyca’s release, and where both of them are stuffed inside you.

Kept inside you.

“You both did wonderful,” he praises, patting Lyca’s head and stroking his own, “...Would either of you like some tea?”

“Yes please,” you murmur sleepily, nuzzling Lycca’s neck.

“Thanks, Suba,” Lyca replies, equally as sleepy, his arms locked around you.

he talked about some hose clamp and how it loosened, but honestly, you were way too focused staring at his biceps to comprehend what he’d just said.

as he tightened the clamp, he uttered a silent “fuck,” his knuckles splashed with coolant and the warm breeze upon his bare chest made him slightly shiver. ‘this,’ you thought, ‘is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.’

“what can i help with?” you asked him, purely out of courtesy. kento breathed heavily as he leaned into the car, his arms tightening along. at the beginning you’d wondered if it was that necessary for him to take his shirt off, now thinking again, it certainly was needed. it was a necessity. your eyes lingered on his arms.

“nothing really— it’s almost over anyway.” he muttered under his breath, his muscles still flexing along his every move. “that must’ve scared you.” he added.

“yeah, honestly, once i saw that steam i almost thought the car was gonna blow up.”

he laughed with a strained voice, and you thought how the dry summer air must’ve been making it unbearable, let alone the heated breeze fluttering through the garage here and there.

“thank you, really, you didn’t have to do this.” you kind of felt guilty about how he was wasting his whole weekend morning on fixing your car, but then again, it was him who’d rushed out of his house once he’d heard you scream. with his mug full of coffee on his hand. and his surprisingly cute slippers.

well, you’ve always known that he had a rather unique approach on fashion.

“don’t mention it. i had nothing better to do anyway.” he smiled up at you, his cheeks reddened with a slight flush. his hair was messy in a way that made your heart throb.

“hmm.” you tilted your head to watch him as the leak stopped dripping and he slowly rose up, the warm breeze rippled through the branches across the garage and summer sun stretched across his flushed skin with a soft glow.

he was finished. probably.

“really, thank you so much nanami-“ you tried but he cut you off.

“kento. please.” the words tumbled out as he ruffled his hair with a nervous urgency. although you’d been familiar with each other through years of silent good mornings and shy attempts at conversation, you’d never crossed that invisible distance before. you smiled warmly upon his words.

‘fuck, just go for it,’ you cheered for yourself. there was no way you were letting that shirtless man leave.

“thank you so much kento. genuinely-“ you bit your lip, “actually, i was just about to get my morning coffee. there’s a really nice place i know nearby. how about,” you fidgeted with your hands. “a thank you coffee? my treat.”

you breathed out the last words with such haste that even you couldn’t comprehend what you’d said for a few seconds.

“well, that’s a bit generous for just fixing your car, isn’t it?” he laughed gently.

“a coffee?”

“you.” oh.

with heat creeping into your skin, you giggled, avoiding his gaze. “no, i think i’d say it’s exactly what you’ve earned.”

“bet your mouth would look so pretty wrapped around me.” he whispered to nobody, throwing his head back as he quickened the speed of his hand. it was cramping from how hard he was going on himself, cumming hard onto the bathroom wall.

any evidence of an orgasm was washed away by the water that was pouring out of the shower head.

“what a waste.” he watched the cum disappear. it’d look much better painted on your back.

when other neighbors warned you of satoru, urging you to get earplugs, you were confused to say the least. “earplugs? what for?”

“he’s always moaning with a new girl every other week day. we’ve tried putting in complaints but the complex won’t do anything of it.”

“really?  i haven’t heard anything.” which was a lie, partially. satoru didn’t moan to another girl these days that wasn’t you. every whimper and moan that slipped out of his place, spilled into yours. it was cute really, hearing his needy sounds with your name on his tongue after every interaction he had with you.

it was a huge help for you as well. having difficulty finishing, it became easier with just listening to him. your vibrator would touch just right, hand shaking as you moved the wand up and down.

the sudden silence of satoru’s place spread around the building. the fact that he hasn’t brought a girl over in a few weeks raised suspicion and honestly, worried everyone.

“maybe his company is being harsh again.”

“doubt it, he’d still find a way to have sex. something is seriously wrong.”

so they all kept a close eye on him, observing the way his line of sight lingered on your door every time he would leave or enter his place. satoru has been contemplating on returning the basket you had given him since you first spoke. it’s been sitting on his desk for a while now, collecting dust. surely, you wanted it back.

with the help of his black credit card, he filled the basket up with hundreds of roses, leaving it at your doorstep with a small note inside. 

your eyes widened when you reached your door after a long day of work, wondering if you were hallucinating or not. you bent over to grab the basket, reaching inside for the piece of paper. 

“feel like we barely speak other than you babysitting for me & the usual ‘hello’s’ & i’d love to take you out some time if that’s alright.” 

at the bottom read his initials.

s.g

his heart wouldn’t stop beating in excitement upon your acceptance. but since he was satoru gojo at the end of the day, the boy who swore he doesn’t do relationships — has no idea how relationships operate.

“i think ill have.. the vietnamese coffee.” you smiled up at the barista who jotted down your order on their notepad.

“uh yea ill get that too..” satoru stuttered, trying his best to calm down the pressure he was feeling in his pants. he had no idea you have heard him jerking off to you for the past two weeks and even more so that you were doing the same. 

when you spoke, all he could do was nod like a stupid bobble head, memorizing every word you said.

you were both out for a few hours getting to know each other better giving him extra time to figure out which position to have you in by the end of the night.

he knew doggy style would feel the best, but he really wanted to see your face. so, mating press would do it. except, you didn’t go into his apartment after heading back from the cafe. and you didn’t let him into yours.

“alright, good night satoru. thank you again for the date. hope we can go out again?”

he blinked, nodding. “of course. yeah, fuck of course.

with another of your gentle smiles, you leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek before entering your apartment, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

satoru stood there in shock. 

you didn’t want to fuck him? were you teasing him? surely you’d open the door again and allow him to come in so he could fuck you until all you knew how to say was his name.

but you didn’t. 

you made him wait. 

2..3..4 dates went by and the most you’ve done was hold hands as you walked through the mall and kiss each other strictly on the face. his personal favorite was the cheek so he could attempt to move his head to the side, allowing your lips to accidentally graze his.

but whenever he tried this dirty trick, you’d move away just in time. he was growing frustrated. you wouldn’t even kiss him let alone sleep with him!

yes of course he wanted to be yours more than anything but god did he want to feel your body under his.

finally, on the fifth date, you two made it official and the neighbors had a field day with that. for a bit at least.

“did you hear satoru and the cookie girl got together?”

“shut up. don’t tell me that’s the reason we’ve finally been able to sleep peacefully lately.”

“who could’ve seen this-“

“coming! m’cumming!” you whimpered into your bedsheets, tears streaming down your flushed face.

satoru finally had you where he wanted, underneath him sobbing dumbly over his fat cock after finding your toys in your closet. “ha.. so you’ve been playing with these shitty things knowing i needed ya?” 

he coo’ed feeling you tighten around him. “fuck. did ya hear me touch myself every night, hm? you got off on that?” 

your eyes rolled back once he brought your vibrator to tease your clit all while he kept hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. 

“mmm,” he chuckled. “who’s making you feel better huh?” 

“y-you! you satoruuu!” 

his hand that was placed on the small of your back moved to spank your plush ass, adding onto the already existing hand marks. 

“knew i had to have this pretty pussy the second you knocked on my door. i’m mad at you, baby. should’ve knocked on my door for a different reason but hey, least you’re my girl now.” 

he moved your head to the side, smashing his lips onto yours in a messy kiss. “go on sweets. cum.” he ordered.

you didn’t need to be told twice. 

your sweet juices spilled out over his length, body collapsing completely over the bed. satoru slowed his movements, fucking back your orgasm into you before spilling his seed in you. 

“nice and deep.. good girl.” 

his thumb shifted to turn off the toy, throwing it somewhere in the room. his cock slipped out of you making you whine. 

“oh? you want more? should’ve just said so, love.”

his hands grabbed onto yours waist, flipping you over so now you were both face to face. “let’s try this position now.”

around you, people stream past in costumes and wigs and carefully crafted props. someone dressed like a magical girl nearly takes your eye out with a glitter-covered staff. somewhere to your left, a loudspeaker announces the beginning of an important ‘sweetheart showdown event’ again, whatever that meant. somewhere to your right, a group of people is arguing whether you can discuss spoilers of an old anime series considering it’s been decades since its release.

slowly, you look up at him.

satoru stares back through his thick-framed glasses, silver hair more unruly than usual, university hoodie half-zipped over a graphic tee that says i paused my game to be here. he has the expression he always gets right before saying something so profoundly stupid that you have to question why you’ve stayed his friend for so long. the reason hits you begrudgingly; you’ve been locked into the title of “satoru’s childhood best friend” since you were five and your parents have no intention of letting it end.

you narrow your eyes. “what did you do?”

he winces immediately. “see, that tone is exactly what i was trying to avoid. if you open with that, it makes me feel like you’re not giving me any room to explain myself.”

“satoru, when have you ever needed room to explain yourself? you usually just keep talking until people get tired and let you continue to yap.”

“that’s weird, it’s almost like you’re suggesting people don’t like talking to me.”

you snort, finding nothing humourous about his statement. “don’t deflect, answer the question.”

he glances over your shoulder toward something behind you, and then back at your face.

“all right,” he says, exhaling through his nose. “so, in my defense, i didn’t think it would sound that serious when they said it over the speakers. it was just meant to be a joke.”

your stomach drops a little and despite the urge to look for yourself what has him so frightened, you do not turn around yet. instead, you look at him more suspiciously. “when who said what over the speakers?”

he gives you a smile so guilty it makes you want to hit him in the stomach.

“well,” he says carefully, “they may have just announced that the sweetheart showdown participants should report to the main stage.”

you blink. “the what?”

“the sweetheart showdown.”

“you can’t just repeat it like i’d suddenly know what that is. those words mean nothing to me.”

“it’s a couples event.”

the convention noise seems to recede for one long, terrible second as you stare at him. he, useless as ever, only stares back. you look around. shoko and utahime hadn’t tagged alone so what couple is he referring to?

then you say, very evenly, “tell me you didn’t.”

“technically, i haven’t told you anything yet.”

“satoru.”

“okay, yes, i entered us, but before you overreact—”

“overreact?” you repeat in disbelief.

“yes,” he says, holding up a hand. “because i can already feel you gearing up to become evil, and i really need you to hear the full story before you decide to kill me in a building full of witnesses. for one, i’m pretty sure i saw a conan cosplay so the chances of you getting away are very slim. and for your mother’s sake, i don’t want her to freak out when you get put behind bars.”

you let out a long, slow sigh at his rambling. “explain yourself, satoru, and maybe you won’t end up on the end of that magical girl’s sword.” 

“is that sayaka?”

“yeah.”

he shifts his weight, messenger bag sliding against his side. if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you might miss the nerves. but you do know him, you’ve known him since you were small enough to fistfight over crayons and dramatic enough to stop speaking to each other for two days because he told your class you cried during that one dinosaur pixar film. you’ve known him since he was small enough to climb up the side of your house and through your window, offering you his shiny pokemon cards with large watery eyes, already having cried his little eyes out when you gave him the silent treatment at school.

you know the signs. the slight tension in his shoulders, the way he keeps pushing his glasses up his nose even though they aren’t slipping. the twitch at the corner of his mouth that means he’s trying to construct a joke that will be his lifeline out of this blunder (he hopes).

unfortunately for him, you also know exactly how much trouble that means he’s in.

“why,” you ask, “would you enter us in a couples event?”

“because,” he says, like the answer should be obvious, “the grand prize is a convention-exclusive limited edition figure, and i need you to be a reasonable person about this. look, it really isn’t all that bad!”

“oh, really? please, tell me just how not-bad it is that you signed us up to a dating show.”

“well, it depends on how attached you are to your personal freedom.”

you stare, unimpressed. “satoru.”

“and your dignity.”

“you are not selling anything to me right now.”

“and, like, your legal last name.”

“excuse me?”

he places his hands out as if they alone are enough to hold you back if you so choose to throw yourself at him. “i also told them we’ve been dating for five years and are engaged!”

“five years?” you do the maths. “did you tell them we were high school sweethearts?”

satoru shrugs as best as he can without dropping his hands. “i’m sure you can see where i got the inspiration. sweetheart showdown, highschool sweethearts.”

you stare at him for another second, horror and disbelief evident like you’re waiting for his face to give and to open into a burst of laughter. hell, you wouldn’t even mind if he laughed and pointed right in your face if it meant he could end the moment with ‘oh my god, i’m just joking! you should have seen the look on your face!’. but then you look over your shoulder toward the nearby stage, where a large screen flashes promotional art for the event and your hopes and dreams die at your feet. because right beside the screen in a glass display case, sits the prize.

it takes you less than three seconds to understand exactly why this is happening.

“you signed us up to fake date in public over a hatsune miku figurine.”

he puts a hand to his chest. “first of all, don’t reduce her like that. second of all, yes, but in my defense, this is a limited, collectors edition. if nothing else, think about how much we could earn if we sold it. not that i would, but imagine.”

you point toward the display. “i swear i’ve seen a million of these in that one anime store we go to.”

“those are all bootleg. just goes to show how important it is.”

“important?” you snort, eying how little clothing the figurine is wearing. “or how appealing it is to the male gaze?”

“it’s summer themed,” he corrects hastily. then, at your expression, “and when you say it like that, you make me sound shallow. you’re one to talk, you have bikini figurines in your room too.”

“you are shallow.”

“you know, i contain depths you’ve never even tried to understand.”

“i’ve known you since kindergarten. i know every depth you have, and most of them are frankly very embarrassing.”

that makes him grin, quick and helpless, because it’s true and you both know it. you were there for every one of his humiliating phases. the year he wore fingerless gloves because he thought they made him look cool. the month he got obsessed with card games and kept trying to teach you the rules during lunch. the awful era where he insisted he had powers similar to an anime character he looked up to and kept saying really embarrassing power moves out in public. that one still makes you wince when you remember that you had to be the one to stand next to him and the only one conscious of the stares.

he’s seen you at your worst too, which is probably why he looks so annoyingly calm even now, albeit a little defensive.

“exactly,” he says. “that’s why this works. nobody on this planet knows me better than you do. you know my favorite characters, my most humiliating middle school phase, the name of the first game that ever made me cry—”

“nier automata.”

“see? and i know yours. i know what snacks to buy when you’re in a bad mood, i know you still rewatch the same three comfort movies every exam season, and i know you pretend to hate fantasy rpgs even though you put forty-two hours into one over winter break.”

you narrow your eyes, still slightly huffy despite how satoru has always managed to wear you down. “it wasn’t even that much, like twenty-four hours at most.”

his grin sharpens and he lowers his hands, knowing he’s got you. “but no defense for the fact that you were elden-ring pilled? looks like that’s a win for me.”

“there is nothing to win.”

“there is,” he says, tipping his chin toward the stage again. “there is a figure with removable accessories and crazy good paintwork waiting for me to claim her, and all i need is for you to stand there and look like you can tolerate me romantically for twenty minutes. please. that’s all i ask.”

you’re probably going to say yes. still, you hold onto your fraying dignity for as long as you can because if there’s anything that you are, it’s stubborn. “you can’t say that like it’s an easy ask.”

“for you, it should be.” he tilts his head. “you already tolerate me.”

“oh, so you know?” you hate that, out of everything he’s said, that is the line that almost gets a laugh out of you. you school your features immediately after. “it’s not willingly, trust me.”

“no, but you’ve been pretty consistent with it.”

you make a show of consideration, finger tapping on your bottom lip before you straighten, watching as he brightens along with you. 

“yeah, no.”

his face falls at once. it’s dramatic, of course, because he’s him, but you don’t miss the flicker of something potentially genuine beneath the pouting.

“oh come on,” he whines. “don’t say no that fast. at least pretend to think about it, so i don’t feel like i’ve built our entire friendship on a lie that you actually care about my interests.”

“our entire friendship was built on our mothers’ friendship. and the fact that you ripped my princess wig off my head that one time when we were like, two. all because you wanted to be the princess.”

he shrugs like he doesn’t find that particularly worth talking about. “i was always the prettier one growing up.”

“right, like that’s going to make me say yes to your stupid gameshow.”

he exhales, glancing toward the stage again as another announcement crackles overhead.

“all participants for the first round of the sweetheart showdown, please report to the main stage in three minutes!”

he shuts his eyes. “okay, that’s more urgency than i wanted.”

you stare at him. “what even was the process of all this? i doubt you suddenly went up and signed us both up.”

he opens one eye. “well, remember when you needed to go to the bathroom and left me alone?”

you groan, reminding yourself to never leave him to his own devices again.

“you’re focusing on the wrong thing,” he’s quick to say. “the important point is that we qualified. very impressively, by the way. they said we have good chemistry.”

your best friend doesn’t say much else after that, choosing to instead stare at you pleadingly. 

that’s another irritating thing about satoru. for all his noise, for all his ridiculousness, and for all the random anime quotes he says on the regular, he knows exactly when to stop pushing and simply let you think. people who don’t know him well never notice that part, nor do they often reach it considering his walls. they only assume he’s all restless energy, all ego and all talk. but they don’t know how quiet and observant he can get, pretty blue eyes peeking past his glasses to hold you in his gaze, waiting for that crack.

it takes a little longer than he had calculated, but you eventually sigh. “what do i even get out of this?”

he brightens instantly, clearly having been waiting for that opening. “i’ll shout you crepes and one merch item under seventy dollars. and i’ll carry your bags for the rest of the day.”

“cheapskate.”

“be serious, we’re at a convention.”

you hum. “under eighty.”

“fine,” he concedes. “under eighty. but if you pick something massive and fragile and i have to be the one to carry it, then you can’t say shit about me complaining.”

with a long-suffering sigh, you adjust your tote bag on your shoulder. “if this becomes the most humiliating experience of my life, you owe me that eight dollars anyway.”

the relief that flashes across his face is almost enough to make you regret agreeing, because it softens him in a way you are not prepared to deal with in a convention this overstimulating. still, you can’t completely suppress your small smile. 

then, just as quickly, he’s grinning again.

“you’re my hero,” he says, catching your wrist once more and tugging you toward the stage. “you’re also, for the next twenty minutes, allegedly very in love with me, so maybe try to look less like you’re being led to an execution.”

you let him pull you along for exactly two steps before digging your heels in. “if you say one embarrassing thing up there, i’m telling everyone about the naruto running incident from year seven.”

he narrows his eyes. “that was one sports carnival, and i was committed to the bit. everyone was doing that because of area whatever number it was.”

“but you were the only one that tripped over your own shoelaces in front of the entire grade.”

“because the field was uneven.”

“please, like the real reason isn’t because you were twelve and embarrassing and running with your arms behind you like it helps with the speed.”

satoru huffs, rolling your eyes. “and here i was thinking fake dating would bring us closer.”

you smile sweetly. “if anything, it’s reminding me why this should never be real.”

something flickers across his face at that. it’s probably the shadow of the enormous fursuit you just walked past, something so incredible you pull your eyes away from satoru to watch as they disappear into the crowd. 

“did you see that?”

he recovers easily enough, grin returning as he tugs you a little closer.

“sure,” he says lightly. “keep telling yourself that.”

“what? i was talking about the furry.”

before you can decide what exactly he means by that, he’s already guiding you up the steps toward the stage, bright lights spilling across the floor and the crowd noise swelling around you, and suddenly the two of you are standing side by side in front of a microphone while the host beams at you. 

“welcome, welcome,” the host says, sparkling blazer catching the stage lights. “our final pair has arrived which means we can go ahead and begin!”

satoru immediately lifts your joined hands in the air. you try to yank it back but he squeezes, just once, quick and sly as he leans down slightly without looking away from the crowd. 

“commit to the bit,” he murmurs. 

you grind out around an awkward smile, “this better not be for nothing.” 

“hatsune miku is on the line. just do it for her. we can share, you can have her on every other weekend.”

“co-parenting or divorced?” 

“sure.”

the host interrupts your hush conversation by stepping forward, hands gesturing to speak into the mic. “introduce yourself to the audience!” 

“gojo satoru,” he says, and then he places one hand lightly at the small of your back, casual enough that it could almost pass unnoticed if you weren’t suddenly aware of his every touch. “and this is y/n.”

the other finalists are lined up to the side, multiple couples in coordinated cosplay which makes you and satoru by far the least convincing visually. you’re in regular clothes and he’s in his stupid hoodie. there is no universe in which you should be the couple people root for yet you receive a steady polite applause anyway. 

the host explains the rules. first, fandom trivia. then the sweetheart sync challenge where couple compatibility is tested. then, if necessary, a final lightning round between the top two pairs.

satoru leans slightly toward you. “see. easy. this is basically just an average tuesday for us, except now there’s a microphone.”

you eye the device warily. “sure, if our average tuesday also involves having our compatibility tested publicly in front of strangers.”

he hums. “you’re right, usually people just assume it.”

the host begins reading the first question. and, honestly, you’d like to say that from then on, the event is a stumbling hot mess of stuttering answers to questions you hadn’t prepared for because what it meant to be in a relationship with satoru shouldn’t feel natural nor easy. unfortunately, reality is often there to smack some sense into you because you and satoru are devastatingly good. 

it turns out that years of being his friend, if you can call your deeply hostile, weirdly affectionate arrangement since birth a friendship, has exposed you to so much niche information that your brain is a bank of all kinds of niche anime lore. 

“in detective conan, which detective’s name does shinichi combine to create the alias conan edogawa?”

satoru raises his hand quickly, that nerd. “arthur conan doyle and ranpo edogawa.”

“in puella magi madoka magica, what is the name of the witch born from sayaka miki’s despair?” the host asks.

“oktavia von seckendorff,” you answer instantly.

“correct again.”

while the host begins explaining the next question, you turn to satoru slightly. “wait no, because sayaka makes me so sad. she’s my favourite character in that show.”

he smiles softly down at your subtle pout. “i know.”

by question five, you’ve developed a lead you never expected, putting multiple couples in the dust. by question eight, you’re tied with one of the coordinated cosplay couples in first and by question ten, you’re the only one whose hand shoots up to guess the name of a soundtrack correctly. even satoru laughs, throwing you an amused glance amidst the applause.

“it only played for, like, two seconds. and you get on my ass for listening to the digimon theme song when you’ve clearly been studying that anime’s soundtrack.”

you huff. “you can’t call yourself a true fan unless you’ve searched the soundtrack on spotify.”

the host laughs. “i’m starting to see why you two made it this far.”

satoru grins and wraps an arm around your shoulder, drawing you in close until you bump against him. it’s not like you’ve never touched him like this before. he’s always been there to hold you in his arms when you’re down, whispering soft words of comfort against your hair, and he’s the first face you look for in a crowded party on your birthday, bringing him in to blow out your candles together because your birthdays share a night. sometimes you grab him and give him a squeeze when you finally defeat a boss in your darksouls esque game, and he isn’t afraid to hold you close and steal your warmth on cold, winter mornings, draping himself over your back, chin on your head and his cold, sneaky hands finding yours in your coat pocket, making you yelp.

despite all these memories filling your mind and reminding you of just how casual this should be, you still feel a tingle in your chest. 

the trivia round ends in a tie between you, satoru, and the cosplay couple dressed as rangkiku and gin. they look annoyingly photogenic and a little too prepared for something called the sweetheart showdown.

the host claps. “all right, now for the fun part. sweetheart sync!”

dread fills you as whiteboards and markers are handed out by staff appearing from the sides.

“oh no,” you say quietly.

beside you, satoru makes a similar face. “yeah, this is where the friendship goes to die.”

the host raises the first card, reading off into the mic. “what is your partner’s favorite food?”

without sparing any time to think, you uncap your marker and press the black tip onto the whiteboard. 

you write: anything overpriced and full of sugar.

beside you, satoru writes with an equally horrifying level of confidence.

“reveal!”

you both spin your boards around quickly, head swiveling not to gauge the audience’s expression, nor out of curiosity for what others may have written, but towards each other’s answers. 

his reads: whatever i’m eating if i look too happy about it.

laughter plays from the audience as the host begins to read through the boards starting from the right and you huff softly, taking the moment to talk to satoru. 

“that’s not even a food. if you don’t know, then just write that you don’t know, dummy.”

“it absolutely is.” satoru tuts, wagging a finger at you. “do you remember that one mixer we went to together? you said you didn’t want any of the finger food because your fingers will get greasy but then you immediately stole my fries anyway.”

“because you were making it a big deal and eating it all up in my face.” you recall the memory for yourself. “what even happened to that mixer? neither of us managed to get a date. i swear one of the guys was interested in me but he never asked for my number in the end. you were talking to him a bunch that night, what happened to him?”

your best friend only shrugs as the host comes around. they laugh a little at satoru’s answer, raising the card in their hand in your pair’s favour.

“i’m counting both as correct.”

the next question appears and a similar trend follows. 

“what is your partner’s most annoying habit?”

you put pen to whiteboard and write immediately. 

you reveal: talking during movies like the characters can hear him.

he reveals: pretending she doesn’t care and then texting me ‘home yet?’ every time i go out at night.

the audience lets out a collective coo that makes you want to fling yourself off the stage, though not before bashing his head in.

you turn to him in disbelief. “is it my fault for being worried about you? i swear you have the survival instincts of a capybara, i literally almost watched you run into a pole yesterday because you were too locked into a brawl stars game.”

“still counts.” your best friend shrugs. “i couldn’t really think of anything that annoying about you. and for the record, your movie answer is super duper rude. my commentary is valuable.”

“save it for your letterbox review. and anyway, we only really watch thrillers so it’s just you trying to call the plot twist before we get to it.”

“i’m killing it, by the way. i think i’m about thirty-nine out of sixty-two with getting them right.” 

the third question is favourite comfort show.

you get his right, though you hesitate between two because he cycles through them based on what exactly he needs comfort from. he’s almost offended you take so long to flip your board considering he gets yours right immediately.

“you remembered that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

he looks at you like the question is ridiculous. “of course i remembered that. you think i don’t notice you putting it on when you’re feeling overwhelmed? i don’t even like the acting in it but we’ve watched it together at least twenty times.”

you hold his gaze for a second too long, words failing you, before jerking your head to face the front. 

satoru isn’t so quick to look away and you can feel his gaze burn into the side of your face until the host, mercifully oblivious or perhaps delightfully aware, moves on to dream vacation, favorite fictional character, worst childhood phase, and ideal weekend.

the embarrassing part is not that you get almost all of them right (failing only at celebrity crush), the embarrassing part is how easy it is.

you know that his worst childhood phase was the year he got into old samurai dramas and started using outdated, overly dramatic japanese like he was born in the edo period instead of suburban tokyo. he knows your ideal weekend includes a bookstore, a café, and being left alone by society at large. you know he still wants to visit akihabara with a budget too irresponsible to speak aloud and that he’ll beg to have you tag along. he knows you hate hiking but enjoy scenic trains and that you like silly sweet treats every now and then, sweeter too when you don’t have to pay for them. 

every answer peels back another layer of shared history for the audience to laugh over, and every time the crowd reacts, it drives home the same awful truth: the reason you and satoru are doing so well is because there are very few corners of each other left unexplored.

you find yourself having fun, though only after you’ve pushed that strange feeling to the back of your mind. you’re laughing along with the crowd at silly answers, reminiscing old inside jokes with a smirk, and giggling harder than you should at satoru’s corny jokes. he grins back, face a reflection of your own happiness. 

it’s so much fun that when the last question is read out, you’re not nearly as prepared as you should be. 

the host smiles too sweetly, drawing everyone’s attention with the tap of their mic. “last question and probably the most important of them all! what was the moment you realised you liked your partner?”

it’s a predictable question for an event called ‘sweetheart showdown’ and yet, you freeze, breath holding still. beside you, you can make out the sudden rigidity in satoru’s shoulders as he flinches. 

for the first time all day, neither of you has something smart to say.

you look down at your board as the crowd cheers and the couples around you write. 

there are a hundred fake things you could write, a hundred joke answers. or maybe, if you really wanted to give off the impression that you wanted to win, you might write something stereotypical. something about how pretty and soft his hair is, how he has that endearing habit of pushing up his glasses, how he has the most alluring eyes you’ve ever seen. you could even write about the time he won some casual magic: the gathering tournament in high school and took home absolutely nothing except a ten-minute bragging streak and a permanent reputation as the biggest nerd in your cohort. he’d come straight to you afterward, grinning hard, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he talked over himself because, for some reason, your approval had always been the one he wanted first. 

you could say something by the book about how his laugh is like music to your ears, and also his ears apparently considering how much he loves to laugh around you, how his smile is the only thing guaranteed to make you smile back.

instead, before you can talk yourself out of it, you write the first thing that comes to mind.

when the host counts down, you both turn your boards.

yours read: when he climbed the fence after we fought and sat outside my window until i forgave him.

his says: when i realised she kept every stupid little thing i gave her and thought i wouldn’t notice.

the crowd breaks into laughter and cheers at that, the host immediately launching into some delighted commentary as they start reading the other pair’s boards first. but you barely hear any of it. the noise seems to flatten at the edges, swallowed up by the fact that satoru is no longer looking at the audience or the judges or even the stupid whiteboard in his own hands. he’s staring right at yours.

then, after a second, he lets out the softest, most disbelieving little laugh. 

“climbed the fence?” he reads, and though he says it like a tease, there’s something thinner under it, something almost fragile. “why would i ever do that when i could’ve just opened the gate?”

heat creeps up your neck instantly and burns the tips of your ears.

you keep your eyes fixed on his board because you’re not sure what he might see if he looks at your face.

“at that age you weren’t tall enough,” you mutter.

satoru falls into a silence that does absolutely nothing good for your already fraying nerves. if anything, it makes everything worse. the air between you feels too warm, too thin, and suddenly the stupid little whiteboard in your hands is the only thing keeping you from running off stage. 

you quickly re-read his board and say, “what did you notice that i kept from you?” 

satoru’s eyes flick down to his own board and then back to yours, like he still can’t quite believe either of you wrote what you did. 

“you kept the little cat charm from the shrine trip,” he says. “the one i won from that stupid festival game and gave you because i said it looked grumpy.”

god, you’re just digging your own grave by asking for more details. because yes, you had. it had hung off your school bag for nearly a year before you took it off to keep it from getting scratched or stolen, and even now it still sits in the little dish on your desk with your keys and hair ties and other things too small to matter to anyone else.

you try to be dismissive. “it was a souvenir." 

the corner of his mouth lifts, but the smile doesn’t quite settle into his familiar grin. “and you kept every birthday card i gave you.” 

“sentimental value. i keep everyone’s.”

“you kept the toy ring from year seven,” he says finally, and now there’s a little more life in his voice again, though it still sounds gentler than usual. “the ugly one from the fair, the one that turned your finger slightly green. i only noticed because you kept it as a necklace for months.”

you look away, feeling fidgety and weird all over. “it’s still jewelry at the end of the day.”

satoru laughs then, but it’s quiet and warm around the edges, so unfairly fond it makes your stomach dip. “yeah, i know. i just liked that you kept a ring i gave you.”

the host fans themselves with the cue card. “is it just me or is it getting warm in here? let’s move on to results! clap your hands everyone, as we find out who will be crowned the sweethearts of all sweethearts!”

the crowd laughs again, eager to reach the climax of the event.

you are also eager, though it’s more because you’re grateful for a breather. 

the judges tally the scores while you try very hard not to look at satoru and fail at it almost immediately. when you do glance over, he’s already looking at you, and his expression is unsettled in a way you don’t often see on him. when he sees you’ve caught him, he looks away and pushes up his glasses. you don’t get a chance to sit in that for long.

“we have a tie!” the host announces. “lightning round!”

your head snaps to look at the scoreboard and notice that one of the coordinated cosplay couples had indeed caught up and were now tied with you and satoru. having this drag out for even longer makes your heart plead for mercy but there’s nowhere to run and you’re honestly too close to the hatsune miku figurine to quit now. as they say, 100% of losers quit before they hit it big. 

“all right,” they say, pacing the center of the stage with the microphone clutched in one glittering hand, “our final two couples are neck-and-neck, which means it’s time for the deciding challenge. and because our judges are evil romantics—”

the audience cheers like they have been waiting their whole lives for exactly this sentence.

“—the last round is all about physical chemistry!”

you’re not sure what you did in a previous life to deserve this, but it’s here now. 

you could honestly answer questions about satoru in your sleep. you could fill out an eighty-questions quiz on his day-to-day life and not only would you solve it with time to spare, but your name would appear in most answers. 

touching him is just as common, but suddenly the thought of having him in your personal space is enough to make you break out into a slight sweat which isn’t optimal, especially not when he might be touching you. 

the host claps their hands. “final round rules are simple! each pair will draw three prompts from the intimacy bowl. you must perform the prompt naturally enough to convince the judges you are a real couple and then, obviously, the best overall score wins.”

satoru hesitates beside you. he steps forward toward the host, hand reaching out to catch their attention. “like… a kiss on the cheek?” 

you almost choke as the host snorts. “obviously. maybe even more.” 

satoru looks back at you quickly. “hey, it’s okay. we can just go. we can, like, just be weird on purpose and make it obvious so we can lose. get kicked off the stage and you can call me an idiot and a dummy in the carpark and i’ll still get you crepes. i don’t really care about hatsune miku anyway, i just thought because i played project sekai once i should—”

you cut him off by sticking your hand in the bowl when it comes around. your fingers brush folded paper and then close around the first slip before you can think too hard about what you’re doing. 

‘prompt one: fix something on your partner’s face and hold eye contact for three seconds’.

this nothingburger of a prompt. if the two of you hadn’t spent the last few minutes stumbling your way into something dangerous, you could’ve done it without a second thought. but now that there’s this strange, terrible warmth lodged in your chest, threatening to swallow you whole and burn through you from the inside out, even the idea of holding eye contact sounds like hell. 

the host gestures invitingly. “whenever you’re ready.”

there is no universe in which you will find yourself ready. 

you can see satoru turn toward you from the corner of your eye but you don’t glance over, eyes trained instead at the giant cardboard hatsune miku just off stage and try to remember a time in your life when things were simple and you did not have a crush on your childhood best friend. but you weren’t one of those babies blessed with photogenic memory so you don’t have a single memory where that’s not the case to ground yourself with. 

“we can still tank it,” satoru whispers just for you to hear, even as he steps closer and lifts his hand. 

the offer is so soft it makes something twist low and mean in your chest because of course, even now, he’s trying to give you a way out. 

you look up at him then, not because of the prompt or the crowd or the stupid bright convention stage lights, but the fact that he would rather lose publicly than make this harder on you. his hand is lifted, hovering just shy of your face as he waits for your response. 

if only he was smug instead, if he was laughing or if he was being his usual awful self about this, then you would have something to fight against. but instead, he chooses to be sweet. and kindness has always been your weakest point when he is concerned. 

so you swallow once and say, “just get it over with.” 

and this is ridiculous. 

you have known this boy nearly your whole life. you have shared train rides and convenience store dinners and sick days and fights over game controllers and one horrible period in high school where he insisted on explaining the plot of every one piece episode you’d missed. he has sprawled all over your bedroom floor. you have patched scrapes on his knuckles. he has stolen bites off your plate and barged into your room with no restraint. there should be absolutely nothing destabilising about him being a little too close to you.

his hand caresses the side of your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, and he does it so gently that you hold your breath. 

the host counts cheerfully into the microphone. “one, two, three—”

you know his face, you know every angle of it, every stupid expression, every little shift in his mouth before he says something arrogant on purpose. you know the look he gets when he’s trying not to laugh, the one he gets when he’s tired and pretending he isn’t, the rare, awful softness that appears when he stops performing in front of others and simply sits with you in your presence, content to do nothing important at all. 

“okay, now kiss!” the host continues and you both turn away from each other in an instant. 

“excuse me?”

“you said no kissing in the pamphlet!” satoru stutters. “not on the lips anyway!”

“you’re a couple, what’s there to be shy about?” they narrow their eyes, ping ponging their gaze between the both of you. “unless there’s a specific reason why kissing in front of an audience of people is unsettling for you?”

you make a gesture of your hand as if to ask if they’re serious. “that is the reason why it’s unsettling.”

the host makes a thoughtful noise before shaking their head. “what a shame, looks like the underdog couple has sadly been disqualified! everyone, please give them a round of applause as they exit the stage!” 

“just like that?” you question, incredulously. 

“if it matters, i was rooting for you guys.” the host pats you both on the back shortly before gesturing for people to guide you off the stage. 

you and satoru stand off to the side away from the sweetheart showdown, both stewing in silence. and god, is it a truly spectacular silence. 

certainly not the comfortable kind nor the easy silence you sometimes find yourself in when it comes to satoru. this one feels hot and cramped and absurdly loud for something made out of nothing at all. the convention still rages on somewhere behind you—distant cheering, microphone feedback, music bleeding in from another event hall—but here in the little pocket of hallway just off stage, it’s just you and him and the participatory key chains the staff had shoved into your hands before kicking you out. 

satoru is the first to look at his consolation prize.

the acrylic keychain dangles from his fingers, the tiny white cat in sunglasses swinging with every little movement of his hand. he stares at it for one long second, then lets out a short, helpless laugh under his breath.

“a runner-up gift, huh?” he chuckles. “doesn’t feel that good when you compare it to first place’s prize.”

you look down at your own, the black cat with the bow and the little spoon. “tell me about it.”

you fiddle with the edge of the plastic, more so to give your hands something to do than because you care about the cute, though cheap, prize. beside you, satoru rubs the back of his neck, then drops his hand, then shoves it into his hoodie pocket like even he’s run out of ideas for where to put the bundle of nerves responsible for this tension.

“you could have just kissed my cheek,” you start. “it’s not like we’ve never done that before. when we were kids.” 

and you’re not sure why that makes your heart picks up so fast. it’s not like he’s going to lean over and do it now, right? not when there isn’t a prize to win or a crowd to please or a host forcing the moment into existence.

“no,” he says and your heart drops. “i couldn’t have just done that.”

your throat tightens. “right, sorry. we’re not kids now anymore, are we? so it wouldn’t have made sense anyway. just—forget i said anything, that was stupid.” 

you push off the wall too fast, smoothing out your shirt with shaky hands just to have something to do. “i’m getting kind of sleepy, i’ll head back to the hotel room if you want to keep looking around—”

“if i kissed you up there, i would’ve meant it.”

everything inside you goes still. life seems to go on, the audience from the gameshow shrieks with laughter, someone jogs past the mouth of the corridor lugging an impressive scythe, and distantly there’s a baby crying in the background because you can never really avoid them. and still, somehow, the world narrows down to just him. 

satoru looks down for a second, hands clenching and unclenching before he looks up, something like determination on his face. 

“i know that sounds really pathetic,” he says, voice quieter than you’ve heard it all day. “there's nothing i can do about that. but i just—i really couldn’t do it like that, not as a joke or for some stupid figurine. definitely not with everyone watching. there’s no way i’d settle for that after i’ve been trailing after you for so many fucking years just to have the pay off be in front of a microphone.” 

your eyes widen at his words. years? there could have been something between you two for years?

you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to almost hurt. “what are you trying to say?” 

“i’m trying to say that…” he trails off, mouth gaping as if there’s more he wants to say but the words keep catching before they can make it out. he lets out a rough little groan and ducks his head, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “shit, this wasn’t how it was meant to go either.” 

“it’s okay,” you whisper, stepping forward to close the distance. “say it. i want to hear it anyway.” 

he looks back at you and makes a face though, its chances of passing off as nonchalant fails due to the pink dusting his cheek. “can we just go get crepes? i think the nerves are making me really hungry and something smells really good right now. okay, yeah, let’s just go get crepes.”

he closes the distance between you, not with the press of his lips against yours but with his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you to turn around. “you know what we haven’t checked out yet? the artist alley. we should totally check in the artist alley.”

you dig your heels into the ground, unimpressed and unmovable. “satoru.”

“yes?”

“isn’t there something else you should saying to me right now?” 

satoru’s eyes freeze in their frantic jittering, finally settling on you. you watch his throat work as he gulps particularly hard, all deer-in-headlights and wrapped around your pinky finger. “i’m really craving those crepes?”

you smile and hit him in the stomach. he coughs, folding slightly around the hit with a noise of betrayal. “what the fuck—”

and while he’s doubled over, rubbing a hand over his stomach like it actually hurt, you step right into his space, cup his face in both hands, and kiss him. 

satoru makes the softest startled sound against your lips but his hands come up almost too quickly, one landing at your waist to pull you in, the other hovering before deciding your cheek, the side of your neck, your hand on his cheek, all of it is somehow too much and not enough at once. 

the kiss is clumsy with surprise and inexperience, though still warm, and there’s nothing hesitant in the way he kisses you back after that first second. 

you’re not really sure when to pull back, you always thought it would be a little more intuitive than it really is, and you think you might have pulled back a bit too early since he chases your lips a bit before realising. 

you open your eyes to find him staring, and frown. “wait a minute, did you even close your eyes during that?”

“um,” he starts before clearing his throat. “no?”

“you must be kidding.” you blush all the way to the tips of your ears, mind whirring with how you must have looked dazed out of your mind, lips pressed against his. “satoru, it’s kissing 101 to close your eyes!”

he shakes his head, eyes unfocused as he stares at you. “give me a moment. nothing is making sense in my head right now.” 

you cross your arms, a feeble attempt at regaining your dignity. “how long is that going to take? because i might as well go first. satoru, ever since we were kids, i’ve—”

“i’m in love with you.” 

the words are said with so much clarity that you struggle to believe it’s coming from your flushed face, dorky childhood best friend until he opens his mouth to continue. 

“i think i’ve been for a while,” he says at all once, speaking quicker now that the worst has already been done. “long enough that it’s not something dramatic but something that’s always been a part of my life. like, of course i save things to tell you first. of course i wait for you. of course i know what drink to get when you’re sick and which lectures you’ll want to complain about and what new movie releases you’re excited for. i think i’ve gotten so used to you being a part of everything i didn’t even notice when it stopped being friendship and started becoming something else.” 

you blink at him. he mistakes your silence for rejection immediately, something like panic seeping into his hurried words. 

“and yeah, okay maybe i orchestrated the whole showdown thing because you never seemed to look at me as anything but a best friend. that really sucked. but i’ve never thought of you as just that and i needed you to know. so no, i couldn’t have just kissed you on the cheek. it wouldn’t have been how i wanted it to be.” 

you still don’t say anything, too busy standing there with your pulse hammering stupidly in your throat and your entire body trying to catch up to the fact that this is real, that he it, that he means it.

satoru lets out a frustrated breath and drags a hand through his hair. “i mean getting punched in the stomach wasn’t the go-to either but i can’t ever figure you out so i’ll take it.” 

that makes you laugh. it bursts out of you all at once, breathless and startled, and the second he hears it, his whole face changes. the panic doesn’t immediately disappear but it certainly falters, teetering into a desperate kind of hope. 

“sure, like that's not going to hurt my feelings,” he says weakly. “okay. is that a good laugh or a bad laugh?”

you shake your head, still smiling helplessly. “it’s a you’re-an-idiot laugh.”

“right.” he watches you carefully. “as long as it isn’t a i’m-rejecting-you laugh?” 

“it’s definitely not that. those two sound very different and i’m not that cruel.” you look at him, at the boy who used to climb your fence because he was too short to work the latch properly and refused to go home angry, cute little frown between his brows suggesting he won’t give up, not when it comes to you. 

and the words come easily, as though you’ve said them a hundred times before. 

“i’ve liked you for ages too.” 

satoru’s lips part in wonder, shoulders slumping with the loss of a stubborn tension keeping him upright.

“i mean, i figured that’s what you were going to say earlier but this still feels unreal. really?” he breathes out, the corner of his mouth quivering. “are you serious?”

“is my sense of humour so bad that you think i’d joke about this?” you tease softly. 

“no, i—” he breaks off, pressing a hand flat to his chest to stop his heart from beating out. “no, hold on. you can’t just say that and make fun of me for being so shocked. you like me? like, like like?”

“like like like.” 

he presses a hand to his mouth which is definitely not the gesture you were expecting. maybe a kiss, or a hug, definitely not this sudden quickening of his breathing. 

“what the hell is wrong with you?” 

he shakes his head, clearing his throat aggressively.

your frown only deepens. “hey, are you okay? should we find somewhere to sit down?” 

satoru waves his hands in front of him as he pulls away, leaning one forearm against the pole of a nearby vacant stand, other hand clutching his heart. his shoulders lift on an inhale and stay there for a second too long. when he exhales, it’s shaky around the edges in a way that would be concerning if not for the fact that he’s smiling at the concrete ground, dopey and dazed. 

“satoru,” you say. 

he glances back at you over his shoulder, and the look on his face is so painfully relieved, so openly, stupidly happy, that it makes your own stomach flip. 

“i feel like i’m going to throw up,” he says, voice thin and breathy. “i’m so relieved i almost feel sick. which i get isn’t a cool thing to admit right after getting confessed to so i need you to sympathesise with me and don’t say anything at all.”

you stare at him for a still moment before laughing.

he closes his eyes. “i knew asking you nicely wasn’t going to work.”

“what the hell?” you repeat between chuckles. “you’re acting like that was your first kiss.” 

“that’s because it was, you know this,” he grumbles, still catching his breath. “oh my god, the world is spinning. is there an earthquake or is it just me?”

“definitely just you.”

“it’s unfair that you aren’t as affected.” 

you shrug. “it helps when there’s someone else more nervous than you are.”

“it almost sours the whole thing,” he says while looking at you from the corner of his eye, lips slightly jutted out and your heart swoons. 

“come here.”

he pushes off the stall and turns back to you, though his hand stays over his chest for one more second like he’s still trying to make sure his heart doesn’t leap out of his chest. you look up at him, laughter trailing off into soft giggles and then to nothing at all, just a sweet smile. 

you look at the flush lingering over his ears, the slight way his hair is messed up from when you grabbed his face, to the ridiculous little cat keychain he still has clutched in his hand. he looks like a disaster, a pretty one at that. 

reaching up, you fix his bangs from poking into his eye. “you were that nervous?” 

he laughs softly under his breath, tilting his head into your hand until it feels natural to cup his cheek. “you have no idea.” 

“i think i have some idea.”

“no, because if you did, you’d be a lot kinder to me right now.” his eyes flicker down to your mouth, doing a double take when he’s about to look up to meet your eyes because you lick your lips at his gaze. “can i kiss you again?” 

you don’t answer right away, not because you’re trying to be cruel nor because you don’t know the answer. this is your satoru, though that thought still feels too dangerous to hold properly, and he’s standing in the ugliest, most overstimulating hallway in the building with pink at the tips of his ears and one hand still hovering near his chest like his own confession had nearly killed him. 

you hadn’t let yourself picture something like this. no, that wasn’t quite the truth either. you had pictured it, of course you had, because you are only human and he has always been the one for you. you had pictured this that one time he had showed up to your house, asking your parents sweetly if you were in, plastic bag on his arm full of notes and your favourite drink, acting like it was no big deal to sit on the ground by your bed and play his ds while you were sniffly and snotty curled up in bed and watching over his shoulder. you had pictured this when he let you fall asleep on his shoulder during exam season and didn’t move an inch, even when you started to drool on his shirt. 

but at some point you had started burying those thoughts the second they appeared. 

because he got older and easier to want, especially after he swore off bowl cuts after his dad had given him a shitty one and he had cried to you while you struggled to not laugh. haircuts on guys really did wonders for their appearance. it had started to feel pathetic to like him, almost childish in a way like some embarrassing crush you should have outgrown before puberty but hadn’t because you were too sentimental, too soft, too far gone to call it what it was.. 

so you pushed it down and folded it into safer shapes and titles; he’s just your best friend, we just have history. 

you want to slap your past self across the face. but because time travel hasn’t yet been invented and you can’t give yourself a mean scolding, you settle for simply smiling and nodding. 

“you’re asking as if i’m going to say no.”

satoru’s mouth twitches, but the softness in his face doesn’t move. “i feel like i’m owed caution. you’ve been saying no to me all day.” 

you roll your eyes. “that was before.”

“before what—”

you kiss him again because if there’s one thing you know about satoru, is that his mouth is a motor and he never stops talking, not without some sort of divine intervention. 

your lips move smoother against one another, tasting the sweet drink he had chugged before the whole showdown incident. the warmth of his mouth, the slight tremor in the breath he takes when you shift closer, the way he seems almost reverent in the small pauses between kisses like he still can’t believe he has you in his arms. 

you kiss him back a little deeper and something inside you finally, finally unclenches. 

when you pull back, you don’t go far. his forehead drops lightly to yours, and for a second neither of you say anything. the convention noise swells and fades somewhere far away, distant enough to feel unreal. 

you can hear him breathing, can feel it even, feel the shape of his smile before he speaks. 

“yeah, i definitely feel a little sick.”

“satoru, if you throw up on me i’m going to hit you again.”

“romantic.” he leans forward to steal a quick peck, face beaming when he pulls back because now he has every right to kiss you whenever he gets the urge. “but i think i’d rather have that instead.”

“verdict on your stomach?”

he winces. “unsteady. maybe i need some more exposure therapy?”

you laugh because he’s testing his luck far too much. “nice try. you still owe me that eighty bucks.” 

satoru chuckles softly and lets you step back, though his hand finds yours and holds it lightly as if to keep you within his proximity. “and if i remember correctly, i think i still owe you those crepes. man, i am really killing it with this boyfriend thing already.” 

he grins, but his ears go pink again, which is so stupidly endearing that you have to start walking before you do something embarrassing like kiss him in the corridor again. 

he follows happily, ever the obedient little puppy until something catches his eyes and he digs his heels in, making you stop. you follow his line of sight automatically.

there’s another stage set up farther down the convention hall, smaller than the sweetheart showdown one but definitely louder, all flashing lights and too much pink. a host in a glittery jacket is currently shouting into a microphone while a crowd of people packed around the barricades cheers back. above them, hanging from a sign shaped like a heart with cat ears, are the words:

MIKU MANIA COUPLES CHALLENGE — SPECIAL BONUS ROUND

you close your eyes for one brief, exhausted second. “you have got to be kidding me.”

“come on,” he says, eyes bright enough to rival the stage lights. “let’s go win hatsune miku properly this time.”

you look at him then, really look at him, at the pink still clinging to his ears, the stupidly hopeful grin on his face, the hand wrapped around yours like he’s already sure you’re coming with him. and all at once, all you can think is that maybe saying yes to satoru’s terrible ideas was always going to be your favorite habit.

a/n: i am always going to be a fan of childhood bestfriend slop i fear. im so sleep deprived rn if i messed up ur tag please lmk! i have a scene where they fuck and satoru’s in a miku cosplay so also lmk if ure a freak and wanna see