Hello There

Whatever Etsy witch he paid to ruin your life would have been hunted during the Salem witch trials because you never find peace following the breakup. You find out he’d been cheating on you with a plethora of girls, you find out the lady living in the apartment next to yours is moving out, and worst of all, you find out the free elective course you enrolled in specifically to take it easy gives you an assignment on love.

ARTS505: Screen Media Practice Assessment 1: Observational Short Film — “Love” Weighting: 30% Due: Friday, 11:59 p.m. Length: 3–5 minutes For this assessment, students are required to produce a short observational film responding to the theme of love.

Go fuck yourself.

The day your neighbour next door moves out, you tear up at the news and let her believe it’s because you’ll miss her and not because you’re terrified her replacement won’t be nearly as forgiving.

Because she smiles when you run into her at the bottom of the staircase and gives you small containers of food, nagging you in the way old women do about eating healthy and sleeping early. To her sweet, unassuming face, you tell her you will though you won’t, and she’ll nod like she believes you and tells you she’ll try to keep it down, kindly avoiding the fact that she can hear you wail at atrocious hours in the night when you’ve assumed everyone has already fallen asleep.

She understood the highs and lows of being a newly single woman in this current social environment. But whoever moves in next? You’re not so sure will.

Okay, so maybe you do miss her.

Because you find out someone new has moved in from the heavy thumping of feet crossing the floor, the thuds of boxes dropped onto the floorboards, the vibrations seeping into your own floors. It seems Naoya’s Etsy witch still has their grip on you because your new neighbour is horrible. They play loud music in the morning, the afternoon, late at night, usually right when you have convinced yourself that this night you will finally get eight uninterrupted hours of blissful sleep. Thuds, banging, thumping, any onomatopoeia, your neighbour has done it.

Sometimes, they leave a pair of sneakers outside their door for two whole days, directly in your path to the stairs, so you have to step around them every morning. Their moving boxes sit in the hallway for so long they might as well be furniture, and you’ve started dumping your tote on the tower of them whenever you dig around for your keys. Packages get delivered to your door instead of theirs. They seem to always be ordering DoorDash, too, the scent of something sugary-sweet seeping under your door until you start craving DoorDash yourself. 

It’s even worse today. You’d come home with groceries instead of takeout, washed your bedsheets for the first time in a long while, lit a candle called Midnight Sunset, and sat down at your desk with the firm intention of brainstorming your film assignment.  Then, from the other side of your bedroom wall, your neighbour starts assembling what can only be a large, flat-packed piece of furniture. For forty minutes, there is nothing but the intermittent scrape of wood, the clattering of metal parts, occasional low murmured curses, and one very loud crash that caused the floorboards to tremble, along with all the tiny screws that rattled in an echo. By the time the banging finally stops, your candle has burned unevenly, your tea has long gone cold, and the only thing written under love film ideas is: ‘kill him’.

shoko: utahime and i are heading to the library to lock in we’re inviting you so you can’t say shit like there’s always a duo in a trio but don’t actually come we’re probably gonna js make out

you: ?

utahime: she’s joking we’re going to study

shoko: booo u whore you’re a cockblock y/n

you: i literally didn’t do anything if anything utahime is cockblocking you but i’ll come if ygs are actually studying i need a fucking break

shoko: we aren’t

utahime: we are shut the fuck up shoko oh my god

shoko: whats with u y/n u sound grouchy

you: im going to kill my new neighbour hes playing shit music through the wall like i miss the old lady so bad

shoko: you really gotta complain to the landlord or smth

you: hell no im not a snitch

utahime: ure weirdly compassionate abt the wrong things hows the assignment going?

shoko: teacher teacher! im snitching!

you: ? do u want me to snitch or not and its not going good at all how can i think about love when theres someone playing phonk in my ear at 6pm on a random tuesday afternoon?

shoko: have u even seen this person?? go up and give them a piece of ur mind or smth also come lib

you: give me a sec i might ive never seen them though theyre usually out at weird times and doesnt really sleep in their own room ?? but what if its a 40 yo gymrat and i get bodied

utahime: yeah thats actually scary write a note or something

shoko: and then come library

you: give me fifteen minutes

Perhaps Shoko’s insistence on going to the library is contagious because you’re suddenly eager to rip out a piece of paper to spill just how much you appreciate phonk in your ears to your neighbour. Or maybe you really just want to tell your neighbour to die.

It starts off innocently enough, the last of your patience allowing kinder words and a light reminder that your neighbour isn’t the only one living in this creaky, ancient building. But then it gets to you, the music, the thudding, the inability to remove laundry from the laundry machine appropriately, and you find you’re pressing the lead of your pencil deep into the paper until it almost leaves a mark on the table beneath.

You heave out a breath of pure catharsis and read it over, giving it an approving nod. This will certainly do.

Then, with your heart much lighter and a perk in your step, you sling your tote over your shoulder and head for the door. Instead of walking to the elevator after you’ve locked up, you make a small detour to your neighbours door and bend down to slide the letter under their door.

There, problem fixed.

With a smile, you turn and walk to the library, oddly lighter for it.

Shoko and Utahime thankfully do not make out the entire time you’re at the library. Unfortunately, they’re still Shoko and Utahime and the three of you waste time gossiping about the high school dead horse that just broke up again instead of doing anything productive. Your document for planning your films remains as empty as ever, only now it’s been shared to two email addresses so they can witness your writer’s block unfold in real time.

By the time you drag yourself back from the library, night has already settled in and you have to use your phone’s flashlight to illuminate the path to your building. The hallway is hushed in that apartment building kind of way, distant television laughter, pipes clinking somewhere behind the walls, the hum of someone’s microwave. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice it, a torn corner of lined paper stuck to your door with blutack.

You blink, too tired to make the connection straight away, brain still slogging through the haze of a caffeine crash. But then you peel it free, turn it over, and squint at the scrawny handwriting on the back.

are you twelve? what’s with the note passing come talk to me if you have an issue also i told the landlord btw lol have fun with that —4b

You crumple the note in your hand.

That fucking asshole.

The landlord does, in fact, show up at your door the next morning wearing a stern expression and with even sterner words. You apologise with a tight smile, offering up the half-truth that you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and didn’t mean it. And then, because two can play at that game, you finally snitch on 4B too, feeling a sharp jolt of triumph when the landlord sighs and assures you that’ll be having a word with the resident next door.

You incorrectly assume that’s the last of it. Because when you come home at the end of another long day of classes, there’s a sticky note taped to your door.

snitch

A disbelieving huff slips out of you as you let yourself into your apartment, your tote sliding off your shoulder with a dull thump, hands too busy flattening the wrinkled paper to catch it. Five minutes ago, all you wanted was to collapse face-first into bed and sleep through the rest of the day. Now, irritation blazes through you so quickly it feels like caffeine, sharp and immediate, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re fishing a pen from your bag and scrawling a reply across the back.

you literally snitched first asshole. maybe if you weren’t playing anime music at 7pm in the evening i wouldn’t have to snitch on u at all

You stick it to his door on your way back from taking out the trash, pressing your palm against the paper just to make sure it stays there. When you leave the next morning for your usual nine a.m., another note is waiting.

you literally told me to die im not a masochist i wasn’t gonna let that slide ps. ntm on the digimon opening theme that’s something special to me

You write a reply during class, sticking it to his door when you come home.

and u’ve been loud as fuck ever since u moved in here yk the apartment has thin walls right? also what the hell is digimon

It doesn’t take long this time. You’re still boiling water for a coffee when there’s a faint tap at your door. When you open it, there’s a new note stuck smack in the middle, scrawled in hurried letters. You glance up and down the hallway and see no one, and smile as you step back inside.

then just walk those five steps to my door and tell me next time? and ofc someone as unfun as u has never experienced the highs and lows of digimon in ur childhood it all makes sense now

You sip your coffee as you pen your reply.

i swear i’ve knocked in the morning and u didn’t open the door so r u gonna keep edging me or r u gonna tell me what digimon is

It’s only after you’ve already closed your door that you realise you didn’t respond to his second comment so you quickly take a pen and walk back to his door, pursing your lips in effort as you try to add another line against the door. Maybe you’re imagining it but you swear you hear footsteps pause on the other side of the door.

also i just searched it up and i can’t believe my next door neighbour is 12 years old watching cartoons

You quickly scurry back to your apartment just in time, hearing their door open after yours just as you closed yours. A couple seconds later, there’s a knock.

digimon is NOT just for kids

You stare at the note for a second, oddly thrown by the concession considering it had seemed too easy. You’d expected another argument, maybe some smug reply, maybe an insult in even messier handwriting. But instead, he had simply folded.

For some reason, it feels less like a victory and more like a sudden end to something you hadn’t realised you were enjoying. Your other neighbours probably didn’t feel the same considering they had to listen to you and 4B open and close your doors consecutively for the past few minutes.

Still, you tell yourself as you peel the note off the door, a win is a win.

The next morning, you check your door out of habit and is immediately rewarded by a piece of a4 paper stuck to the front.

hey 4a, first of all i want to say that i’ve been very good and very quiet recently which i hope pleases you. please acknowledge my growth — 4b

Because you’re lazy, you flip the paper over and write.

4b, sure ur growth has been noted (?) i feel like there’s more to this do u need something — 4a

You slide it under his door before you can overthink it. By the time you come home that afternoon, there is another note waiting.

4a, thank you for acknowledging my progress but i fear i have received your criticism and decided not to grow from it. maybe head out for the evening also important question do u own a screwdriver ?? thanks, 4b

You frown then write back:

why?

Five minutes later, his reply slides under your door and you watch as the paper slips through completely before standing and reaching for it.

i give u a yes or no question and u still manage to dodge do u own one or not? please. — 4b

The next time you tape a note to his door, you also leave a screwdriver on the ground beneath.

u better give this back

You’re halfway to backing your things for the library when his reply slides under your door. You pick it up while locking your apartment and read as you walk, catching the tail ends of some heavy thudding and hammering from the door beside yours.

people assume just because im a man i must have five screwdriver variants in my drawers or smth anyway im making furniture for my friend and its ikea :( wish me luck 

You snort despite yourself, tucking the note into your pocket as another dull bang sounds behind his door. 

“Good luck,” you think as you walk by, and then, less generously, “and good luck to all the other people living in this building.” 

The library turns out to be the right choice. You spend three hours pretending to work, two hours ranting to the group chat about Naoya’s latest monthly photo dump, and fifteen minutes with your fingers tapping away at your keyboard which is still fifteen minutes more of productivity that you wouldn’t have achieved at your apartment so you’d call that a success.

When you come home, you brace yourself before reaching your floor. 

Surprisingly, there’s a lack of any noise at all. No thudding, no  scrapping, no IKEA-related violence. Your screwdriver sits neatly outside your door, wrapped in a sticky note. 

returned in one piece like i promised! im hoping u took my advice and left the building otherwise can u write your complaint in five words or less? im sleepy zzz

You look at his door, a reluctant smile on your face. For the first time since he moved in, you wonder if maybe the problem was never that he was impossible to live beside. Maybe the walls were thin, and he was loud, and you were miserable, and neither of you had known how to be people around each other yet. 

Maybe, if you both communicated like normal neighbours, this could actually work. 

If you assumed life would look up following this revelation, then you’re sorely underestimating the evil forces (read: Naoya’s Etsy witch) conspiring against your happiness. 

Because the next morning, it isn’t some upbeat anime opening that wakes you up. Instead, it’s the mucus trapped in your airways and the pounding at your temples, dragging you from the dead only to make you feel worse for it. You throw your duvet over your head and pray that when you resurface, your cold will have miraculously disappeared. It doesn’t work, to no surprise, though that thought irritates you too. Then again, maybe that’s just the built up annoyance from having your nose blocked. Miserable and stuffy, you close your eyes and remind yourself to take in a deep breath through your nose when you’ve healed, just to not take it for granted. 

It’s times like this when you miss your good-for-nothing ex, times like this when you remember there used to be someone you could text without thinking, someone you could badger for some chicken noodle soup and maybe a hug and a kiss on your forehead. 

Your own weakness pisses you off.

With great effort, you drag yourself upright and shuffle into your kitchen, pawing through empty pantries. Any plans of heading to that early morning tutorial this morning immediately leaves your mind at your pathetic show of strength. 

You’re halfway through grabbing cereal, any other breakfast option simply too tedious, when a loud voice cuts through the haze. 

“Yeah, she just didn’t get it. And when you have to explain a joke, it’s already over. No dude, obviously it’s her fault for not being with it and not because I’m unfunny, don’t even kid.”

You frown slightly, munching on another chip, thumb scrolling past a video you’re not even sure you watched. Who the hell says ‘with it’?

“If you don’t fuck with with it, then you’re one of the people who aren’t with it. You’re without it.” He continues.

You make a small noise of consideration, vaguely thinking that you might get along with his friend as they seemingly voice your own thoughts.

Your neighbour continues, undeterred from his friend’s unenthusiastic responses. “There’s no chance I’m seeing her again. She did text me but I’m just going to leave her on delivered. Is it cruel or is it saving myself from someone who called my Agumon keychain the deformed twin Charmander consumed in the womb?”

You laugh, sound muffled when your neighbour’s voice peaks.

“He doesn’t, Charmander is from a completely different franchise! And I’ll have you know that keychain was from an artist at Anime Con so when you’re picking on my little guy, you’re making fun of a small business.”

A pause. You scrunch your nose.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to call it my little guy. If it helps, I gave my dick she/her pronouns like how a truck guy calls his truck a real beauty so she’s not my little guy.”

You snort, crunching down on a chip. You wonder if that sweet salesman next door is as enthralled in 4B’s love life as you were.

“Don’t make such a disgusted sound, she’ll take offence.”

There’s shuffling from above as your neighbour supposedly shifts to a different position, now closer to you such that you could faintly make out the voice of his friend.

“Is liking Agumon such a big deal breaker for you?” his friend says, voice smoother than the whiny tilt in 4B’s.

“Honestly, no. Agumon is my favourite character and I’m not really comfortable sharing him with others because he means a lot to me. But then when I started talking about Digimon she asked me why I didn’t just get a Pikachu keychain instead since everyone at least knew Pikachu and it’ll save me from the questions. Pikachu. The mainstream corporate mouse.”

“Okay,” his friend sighs, “but to be fair, most people know more about Pokemon than Digimon. At least she was trying?”

“That’s the problem!” your neighbour fires back and the image of him in your head changes around his enthusiasm about digital monsters. “No one gives Digimon the respect that it deserves. People act like it’s Pokemon’s weird cousin when really it’s more like Pokemon’s smarter, cooler, better-dressed older sibling who went overseas to continue pursuing their education.”

“And did you tell her that?”

“Yeah, right there in the restaurant."

“You’re never getting a second date.”

He snorts, apparently offended. “Please, like I wanted one.”

Despite yourself you laugh though the silence that follows is enough to rid you of all your amusement. Awkwardly, you trail off by clearing your throat, feeling somewhat like a creep for letting your eavesdropping be known. All this talk about knowing to stay quiet and yet you catch yourself slipping.

You listen as 4B says a quick goodbye to his friend. There’s a rustle, a soft thud, and then his voice comes again, closer this time, like he’s leaned right up against the wall between your apartments.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

For one fleeting second, you think that if this were a horror movie, he would absolutely be the first to die. Not that you’d fare much better, considering you answer him.

“Hi.”

There’s a small pause, then, “No way. 4A? What the hell, I thought you already left for class.”

Your heart skips, thudding against your ribs. For a second, you consider staying quiet and let the walls swallow the moment whole. Pretend it wasn’t you, pretend like the two of you haven’t been trading insults like you were passing notes in class.

There had been a fragile understanding between the two of you to never reach out. And yet, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to remember why.

You clear your throat, thick with the tail end of your cold. “Well it looks like you guessed wrong. Do I need to send you another death threat for you to keep it down?”

You hear him wince, a quiet sound muffled by the walls. “Maybe we should go back to writing notes to each other. I didn’t know you’d sound like a 40 year old smoker.”

“I’m sick, jackass.”

He hums, unconvinced. There’s a beat of silence as he thinks of what to say. Then, “So, you’re a girl?”

Your eyes roll to your ceiling as you sigh, whatever you were expecting immediately thrown away. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He huffs out a small chuckle like he can hear the exasperation in your voice and finds it amusing. “I’m just surprised. I mean, you’re so mean to me. Girls usually love me, you know, I’m kind of a ladies’ man.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, rough on your sore throat but impossible to stop. “You? With that personality? Consider me the one surprised.”

“I’m serious. I’m kind of a campus celebrity. Girls flock to me.”

You hoist yourself up onto the kitchen counter, angling your back against the wall where his voice comes through clearest. “You don’t have to lie to impress me.”

There’s a pause and you wonder if your playful insults had gone a little too far in your sick state.

“Oh, I might be into this.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” There’s the faint sound of movement on the other side before your mysterious neighbour talks again. “I meant, what type of person do you think I am then?”

“Considering you fumbled a first date because of a cartoon, I think you have your answer,” you coo with faux sympathy. “You should be nicer to her since I’m sure your cooldown for the next date might take a while.”

“First of all,” he says, apparently offended. “It’s not a cartoon. Second, she fumbled the date on her end. It was a necessary culling for me.”

You snort. “You got dumped over Digimon, let’s settle down.”

“You didn’t even know what Digimon was until I put you on a few days ago.”

You shrug, despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture. “And now that I know it’s even more pathetic. Agumon is the weird orange dinosaur thing, right?”

His whine comes through the wall, only cementing the fact that whoever is on the other side might be the biggest nerd you know. You wonder if he lied about not being a masochist considering he’s taking your insults pretty well. “Hey, come on. He’s just a cute little guy.”

“Right,” you draw out, unimpressed. “Don’t glaze him when he might be the reason you’re a social shut in.”

“That’s a new one. I am now, am I?”

“Please,” you start, warming up to the idea as she speak it into existence. “If women are all over you like you claim they are, why haven’t I heard anyone come over? You and I both know just how thin the walls in this place is.”

“Exactly,” he shoots back. “So why would I bring them back here? Unless you want to be kept awake all night.”

That makes you laugh, the idea of this voice you’re hearing now having any experience at all extremely humourous, much less with the ability to go all night long. You can almost imagine the state of his room, littered with anime posters and plushies making sex feel like a group activity. If you looked up past his figure over you, you’d probably see neon light up stars on his ceilings.

“If you can talk so much about my love life,” he trails off, voice deceptively casual and airy, “do you have a boyfriend?”

That makes you freeze. Something hard and spiky settles in your stomach and you shift on the countertop, searching for a spot that’s comfortable because for some reason, it feels like you’ve lost it. “No.”

The voice doesn’t say anything for a while. “My bad. Touchy subject?”

You shrug despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture and pull your legs to your chest. “It’s fine. It’s been, like, half a year. He was a douche anyway.”

“Okay, six months, not bad.”

Hearing the slight mumble from the other side of the wall but unable to understand it coherently, you frown and press your ear closer. “What was that?”

4B clears his throat. “I’m just saying maybe don’t talk shit when I haven’t heard you bring anyone over either.”

You roll your eyes, forcing your shoulders to relax and somewhat grateful at his deflection. “At least I don’t claim to be a microcelebrity. I keep my circle small and that works.”

“Is there room for one more?”

A laugh escapes you, genuine and surprised. “Why? Asking for a friend or yourself?”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “You diagnosed me as a social shut in, remember? I’m clearing asking for myself.”

“We’ll see, 4B,” you say, though you’re matching his tone with a smile. It doesn’t, however, stop your voice from sounding croakier than intended and you have to painfully make an awkward gargling sound to clear your throat a number of times.

4B winces sympathetically, and he lets you get the worst of it out before speaking again. “Sounds like you might need some water and then a nap.”

“Trust me, that was the plan.”

You start to wiggle down from your counter and grab something to drink, wrongly assuming the conversation ends here.

“Are we going to talk again?” he asks in a rush, and you huff as your feet touch the ground.

“We live next to each other, genius. I don’t think I could avoid you even if I tried.”

“And would you try?”

You sip from your glass, ignoring him.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll win you over, just wait.” There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s grinning, you can hear it in the peaks of his voice. “I’ll try to keep it down for you. And then maybe you’ll be less grouchy when you wake up?”

“Go fuck yourself, 4B.”

You roll your eyes, glad that there’s a wall between you to prevent him from seeing your smile. “Goodnight, 4A.”

Gojo Satoru isn’t a man who lacks. 

He’s got the grades (barely, but they’re there), the genes (obviously), the height (something even Suguru finds unfair), the charm (obnoxious), and a reputation on campus that both precedes and betrays him. He walks into a room and people notice. Professors sigh, girls nudge each other, guys scowl though it’ll be his friends that’ll roll their eyes at his presence first. 

He is used to winning. More importantly, he is used to having almost everything in a way that requires very little effort on his part. 

So what the hell is he doing, lying on his bedroom floor where the voice of a stranger still lingers, staring at his wall like it might crack open and offer him answers? She hadn’t even said much, not enough to leave this big of an impression. 

Maybe it was the shock that the person leaving at ungodly hours in the morning beneath him was a girl. He doesn’t know why he’d assumed otherwise. Maybe because the notes had always read so dry, so flat, so quick to snap back at him that somewhere along the way he’d started hearing them in Suguru’s voice. 

Except the voice through the wall had been unmistakably feminine, and now Gojo was having the deeply inconvenient realisation that he might, in fact, be into that. 

It wasn’t even what she said more so how she said it, offhanded and easy as if talking to him was nothing, like he was nothing. and curse his enormous ego, he was Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake. He’s got at least three people in his dms right now asking what he’s up to tonight and it would be as easy as typing back “nothing” to have any one of them. 

But none of them had left a note that told him to get his shit together. None of them made him laugh when ten seconds prior he was so ready to implode, none of them had him craning to his floor like some desperate victorian man listening to the ghostly whispers through the thin plaster. 

Gojo drags a hand down his face, then turns his head again to look at it.

The wall. Plain, off-white, slightly cracked near the skirting board, absolutely identical to every other wall in this terrible building and yet suddenly the most compelling thing in his apartment because now, you’re behind it. Separated from him by a few layers of plaster and paint and bad insulation, close enough that he can hear your laugh if the room is quiet, close enough that he can picture you leaning back against the other side without ever having seen it happen.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair, frowning. 

“This is bad,” he mutters for the second time that day as he explores the foreign feeling in his chest. 

The urge to hear from her again beats like a second heart in his chest, and the distinction between hear and see is important because now it feels less about appearances and more about something else, something he doesn’t have a smug enough name for yet.

Gojo reaches for his laptop, then drops it back onto the floor a second later when even pretending to do work feels stupid when he’s one bad decision away from knocking on the wall just to see if you answer.

Because Gojo doesn’t lack. 

Yet tonight, as he sits on his cold carpet, phone face-down beside him and no urge to answer any of his unread messages, he realises he might be wanting. 

The next time you wake, your fever has left you in an uncomfortable puddle of your own sweat, damp sheets sticking to your skin. A reluctant glance at your alarm clock confirms the worst: it’s 7 a.m. the next day, and you have a 9 a.m. lecture to attend. Somehow, you’d managed to sleep through a near-complete twenty-four-hour cycle, vaguely only remembering how you had stumbled out of bed for the bathroom or small bites of whatever you could find. 

When you open your door to make a hasty exit, jammed toast between your teeth and the delirious hope that you’ll run into a handsome guy around the corner of your block, you almost trip over something that ends your hopes (and almost your life). Thankfully, you catch yourself on your hands and glare down at the perpetrator. 

A sports drink looks back up at you, adorned with a yellow sticky note stuck to its side. After looking left and right down the empty corridor, you pick up the bottle and read the note. 

im not a fan of sick neighbour asmr —4b

You snort despite yourself, heading for the stairs. On the way, you flip the note around and pen a short reply, sticking it to 4B’s door before heading out. 

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Somehow, despite being sick, Shoko shows up to your tutorial later than you. You wave as she dumps her tote under the table and flops unceremoniously into the seat beside you. 

“Are you still sick?” she asks in lieu of a greeting. “You shouldn’t come to class if you’re not feeling well.” 

“What makes you think I’m still sick?” you ask in a voice that can only be attributed to years of smoking or recovering from sickness. 

She gives you a look. “Right. So the eyebags are just your usual go to?”

“It would be fucked up if i always looked like this and you just called me ugly.” You cover your face with your hands. “But it’s not that bad, is it? I still have a reputation I care about.” 

“I’m genuinely afraid of telling you the truth because it might push you over the edge. So yes, girl you look gorgeous.” 

You roll your eyes, slumping to rest your cheek against your arms, looking at her from the side. Her phone vibrates and you hear it loud with your ear pressed against the desk, flinching slightly until she picks it up. 

“What is it?” 

Shoko lets out an unamused huff and shows you the screen. 

gojo (DO NOT ANSWER): wanna hit me up with the pre lab questions? 

It would be a mission to go through university without hearing the name ‘Gojo Satoru’ whether in secretive whispers or muffled in laughter. For one, he’s sport captain for some sport you’ve never paid enough attention to remember. He’s stupidly charming in a way that makes people sigh even when they’re rolling their eyes with an accompanying begrudged smile. Half the girls in your course claim he’s flirted with them whilst the other half say they’d punch him given the chance, before pausing and muttering something like, “but he’s kind of funny, I guess.” 

The only other piece of information you know about him is that he’s loud, annoyingly so which places you in that category of girls that would more likely punch him in the stomach than kiss him. 

You wonder how on earth Shoko could be friends with someone her complete opposite. 

You look up and raise an eyebrow at her. “Well? Are you going to?”

“Do you read with your eyes closed? I clearly saved his contact as ‘do not answer’. If Gojo wants pre-lab questions that badly, he can go flirt them out of one of his fifty fans.”

You snort.“Glad to know you’re a bad friend to everyone and not just me.”

She shrugs. “He thinks I owe him a huge favour for something he did for me a while ago when that is not true at all. I’m sure there’s other people he can hit up for answers. You know how he is, there’s always someone trailing after him like a lost puppy.” 

“Considering I don’t know the guy, no not really,” you say, nudging your cheek more firmly into your folded arms, locking in for a storytime. “Tell me about him.”

Shoko narrows her eyes at you. “You want to know about him?”

“Girl,” you huff, “like gossip. I promise I’m not a groupie. I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a conversation with him so don’t look at me like that.”

“That makes sense. He’s usually only on lower campus so there’s little chance of him showing up randomly, anyway.” 

“Sounds like you don’t like him,” you say, intelligently. 

“I’ve been stuck with him and Geto since high school,” she starts and you actually feel bad for her. “God forbid I don’t want to see him in my formative years, too.” 

You laugh because misfortune is always better on others than yourself. “Now you have to tell me. What did he do to you?”

Shoko doesn’t seem amused. She looks you up and down, eyes narrowing at the smile on your face. “You know, I’m actually an incredible friend and as a friend who cares about you deeply, let me tell you this. You do not want to hook up with him.”

You splutter, lifting your head. “What the fuck? I just wanted to know about the guy! Can we start with being friends first, damn?”

“Let’s just say I know him,” your best friend continues, unfazed. “He wouldn’t be able to stay as just friends with someone like you.”

“Okay, and what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Look,” she says, and you open your mouth to cut her off because the telltale signs that she’s about to change the topic are there. “He’s also in Sig Kap.” The words hit like cold water. Whatever fragile lightness had been carrying you through the morning dims all at once. Shoko notices immediately, of course she does, and some of the bite leaves her expression.

“I just thought you should know.”

You slump back into your chair, crossing your arms and looking down at your table, contemplating if you should start banging your head against the hard surface and end your suffering. “What a mood killer. Did you really have to bring that up?”

“I’m just saying, if you start seeing Gojo around, the chances of also seeing your ex is very high. Sure, they’re not in the same frat but they’re both still in that same group of guys. You know, inter-fraternity relations.” 

“There’s a lot of assuming going on right now, like the fact that I would even see Gojo in the first place, but I’ll let it slide because I suddenly feel the urge to shoot myself in the head.” 

“I thought you were over your ex?”

You don’t say anything for a while, trying to muse out the complex ball of feelings in your gut. 

You had been falling out of love with Naoya for months before the breakup. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. It wasn’t like it happened all at once, and there wasn’t one dramatic collapse, no one, big, awful fight, just a slow and steady erosion. A hundred small disappointments, a hundred moments of realising he was more interested in having a girlfriend than being a boyfriend. He forgets the things you tell him, interrupts you to tell your own stories better, talks all pretty to your girl friends and then simultaneously talks shit to you about them when you ask him to stop requesting them on Instagram. 

So if you do miss him, then you might have a masochist streak in you. 

What you miss, maybe, is who you were before all of that. The version of you that believed romance was something soft and mutual and worth fighting for, instead of something performative that slowly hollows itself out while you stand there insisting it’s still alive.

“Y/N?”

You blink and realise Shoko is watching you. “Oh, uh. I am over him. I just wish I could have the pre-Naoya me back, that’s all.”

Shoko makes a disgusted sound on your behalf. “Do not say his name. I gagged.”

“Right?” You shake your head and dismiss whatever useless thoughts still linger, forcing yourself to relax back into something a little more light-hearted. “But it’s whatever. I’ve learnt my lesson now, frat boys are not to be trusted and dating one is like draining all the whimsy out of your body. I honestly don’t care about him anymore and I wouldn’t even think about him at all if I didn’t have that film to make.”

That makes your best friend giggle. “The one about love.”

“Is this funny to you?” you ask with a huff, but you’re grateful that she doesn't force you to say any more than you’re ready for.

“Extremely.” She nods, then dodges when you reach over to try and playfully hit her. “Look, I’m sure inspiration will hit you soon. Love always arrives when you least expect it, and all that.”

You give her a long look, face unmoving. “I don’t want the girl with the girlfriend of three years to say that. Get out of my face.”

Shoko laughs loudly, and you both trail off as the lecture starts. 

The rest of class passes in the usual blur of half-listening and half-heartedly playing minesweeper on the google chrome extension open on your laptop. By the time you make it back to the sketchy, wilted building you unfortunately call home, winter evening has settled in for real, the kind that turns everything blue-grey and has you squinting down the street every few minutes just to make sure the shape in the distance is a person and not a fire hydrant. You had to use your phone’s flashlight for this, and in the last few steps up to your apartment, it betrays you by dying. 

Thankfully, you still manage to make it to your place in one piece. 

You peel the note off your door on your way in, flick on the lights, and let your tote bag drop to the floor with a tired thud.

feeling better?

A soft smile tugs at your mouth before it fades just as quickly, replaced by a small furrow in your brow. Weird.

You’re halfway to the kitchen to find the stack of sticky notes you left on the island in a rush this morning when the world abruptly cuts out.

“The fuck—”

“Ow!” In the sudden darkness, you misjudge the turn around the counter and slam straight into the corner of it.

From the other side of the wall, 4B’s voice comes a little louder. “4A? You okay?”

You suck in a sharp breath, one hand nursing your hip as you try to steady yourself. “Yeah. Just walked straight into my counter corner. What the fuck happened?”

There’s the sound of faint footsteps, then the creak of something shifting as he leans against the wall in his kitchen. “I think this is what they call a power outage. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“I know that, smartass,” you mutter, though not so quietly where he can’t hear. “But how did that happen? It’s not even storming or anything.”

“What’s wrong? Scared of the dark?”

You scoff, already dreading the upcoming conversation. Despite this, you fumble to where that familiar countertop sits against the connecting wall between your apartments and hoist yourself up easily, leaning back so his voice is clearer when he speaks. “No. We pay rent for this place, of course I want to know what’s happening when the lights all suddenly cut.”

“I can text the landlord. If it happened to both of us then it’s probably a building wide thing so it’ll be their responsibility. But all we can do is wait.”

You sigh, long and full of suffering. “This sucks. Couldn’t the power go off at midnight or something?”

“I’ll let the landlord know your availability.” 

You roll your eyes and make yourself comfortable, relenting to stay for however long it’ll take for there to be light again. You mourn the death of your phone then, holding the power button for some kind of miracle and get reminded that, once again, your life sucks and is only full of betrayal and tragedy. 

For a short moment, silence settles between you, and suddenly you’re struck by the irritating realisation that beyond his notes, his terrible taste in alarms, and his frankly irresponsible attachment to Digimon, you know almost nothing about the stranger on the other side of the wall.

“So,” you start.

“Yeah?”

“What were you up to? You know, before the power went out and everything.”

“Curious, hm?” your neighbour replies, that irritating teasing tilt in his tone. “I was just about to lock in for an assignment so I can focus on the midterms coming up in a week.” 

You hum. “What course are you doing?” 

“Physics. And I know what you’re going to say—”

You snort. “Nerd.” 

“You know, some people find intelligence attractive.”

“Do those people also happen to be the same imaginary campus-wide fanbase you keep bringing up?” 

He laughs and you immediately lock onto the pleasant sound, not because you particularly care, but when your vision is knocked out, everything you hear seems amplified. Including the pretty tilt in his tone, the richness in his laugh, and the fact that his voice sits somewhere deeper than you expected from his petulant notes.

“Well, what about you, then? If I’m the resident physics nerd, what are you?” 

You glance out into your dark apartment, the outline of your living room barely there in what little evening light still makes it through the windows. Your camera sits somewhere on the table, your laptop buried inside your tote, your assignment still waiting to be done. 

“Film,” you say at last. “Well, not film-film. I’m just doing one elective this semester to boost my grades but if I could go back in time I would have picked that social media class everyone else does as a GPA booster.”

Your neighbour makes a sound of recognition. “Oh, that! Yeah, I took that in my first year. Our midterm was to write a report on the significance of ‘get ready with me’s’. I’m so serious.” 

You groan, dropping your head onto your knees. “I know, my friend was telling me how she did that class too.”

“Who’s your friend? Wouldn’t it be so funny if your friend was actually in my class that year?”

You roll your eyes. Shoko would have definitely told you about someone like him. “I doubt it. We do the same course and none of our classes are ever near the physics buildings.” 

He hums. “You never know. I get around.” 

That makes you laugh. “Sure, 4B. Let’s stick to hypothetical equations instead of your hypothetical maladaptive daydreams, okay?” 

“You pick on me too much,” he whines. “Give me something to work with, I’m starting to really feel this power imbalance. What’s your film assignment about?”

You let out a long breath through your nose, already hearing his voice in your head and every possible jab he can make. “It’s a film on love.”

He snorts. “Right, because when I talk to you I’m just overwhelmed by the love seeping out of you.”

You sigh. “Kill yourself.”

“See, this is what I mean.”

“All you know about me is my voice,” you shoot back, not necessarily offended so much as annoyed. “I’ve been told that I’m a very benevolent and kind person.”

He hums. “Maybe not when you’re so grouchy then.”

“I’m not being grouchy.”

“At least try and make your point come across.”

“My point is that I’m a delight,” you say flatly. “A warm presence, a gentle soul. Campus-wide rumours actually say I’m beloved by all who meet me.”

“Now who has the imaginary campus-wide fanbase?” he laughs, and even though you roll your eyes, it’s harder to hold onto your irritation when he sounds that pleased with himself.

The dark presses in around your apartment, turning everything into vague shapes and corners, but his voice keeps coming through the wall like a little light you cannot see.

“Okay, then,” he says after his laughing fit. “Prove it.”

You frown, even though he can’t see you. “Prove what?”

“That you’re not grouchy. That you’re a person full of fun and whimsy. If your film is about love, then tell me one thing you love.”

You make a face. “That sounds like world’s worst icebreaker.”

“Someone’s getting defensive,” he sings, sounding far too amused. “Come on, 4A. one thing. It doesn’t have to be deep. Actually, please don’t make it deep, I’m not emotionally prepared for that. Just something stupid that makes you happy. That’s still love, you know?”

You open your mouth with another complaint ready, but nothing comes out. Which is annoying, because it should be easy. Before Naoya, before the breakup, before the awful assignment and the worse timing, you had liked plenty of things without needing to justify them. You liked when orange and pink bleeds across the sky on the walk back from a long day of classes, you liked smiling at dogs when they crossed your paths on the streets, you liked the warmth of a delicious heated drink in your hands on a cold, winter morning. You liked watching people reunite at train stations, you liked filming light moving across your bedroom wall because, at the time, it had seemed like something worth keeping.

Now, asked to name that something out loud, your mind offers you nothing but static.

“Jesus, okay,” he says after a beat. “The silence is very telling.”

There is a soft scrape on his side of the wall, like he is sliding down to sit more comfortably. “Okay, I’ll go first since clearly you need a role model. I love when vending machines actually drop the thing you paid for instead of holding it hostage behind the glass. I love when you think a package is coming next week and then it arrives today like a tiny miracle.”

Despite yourself, you huff. “Sounds like you just love consumerism.”

“I also love when a dog on the street looks like it has somewhere important to be. Like, where are you going? Do you have a meeting? Are you late? Should I call ahead?”

Fuck, that was on your list too. 

“Fine,” you say, shifting on the counter until your socked foot bumps against one of the cabinet handles. “I love when you’re walking past a bakery and they’re making bread, but you’re not hungry, so you just get to enjoy the smell without spending money.” 

“How very financially responsible of you. You’re like the opposite of me. Anti-consumerism.” You can hear the grin in his voice. “Okay, next. We’re making a list now. That’s how brainstorming works, right?” 

You sigh like this is a burden, like you are not already turning the question over in your hands. “I love when the train comes right as you get to the platform.” 

“Really? That sounds stressful.” 

“I love when someone in front of you in line is ordering something complicated and you get annoyed, but then they’re actually really nice to the worker, so you forgive them.” 

“Because is it ever that serious?” 

You roll your eyes, but your mouth betrays you by pulling into a smile. It feels strange on your face, like trying on an old jacket you had forgotten in the back of your closet, something that had once been yours. It’s not a terrible feeling, you decide, perhaps just a little unfamiliar. 

“Okay, my turn again,” 4B says. “I love when you see someone running for the bus and the bus driver waits for them.” 

“That’s rare, some people have that sadistic bone in their body that wants to only see others suffer.” 

“Which is why it makes those off chance moments better. Rarity increases market value.” 

“There’s that consumerism bleeding through again.” 

A thought arrives quietly, not quite the decision you were hoping for in the library, but it’s a small, familiar itch of wanting to keep something before it passes.

“I love when someone laughs so hard they make the other person start laughing even if they don’t know what’s funny,” he continues.

Your eyes have gone to the table again. There isn’t a clean, decisive moment to it, certainly no sudden burst of artistic purpose that you might call inspiration. You simply slide off the counter while he keeps talking, careful not to knock your hip into the corner again and feel your way through the dim apartment toward your camera.

“Also,” he continues, completely unaware. “I love finishing a book or movie and getting so into it that you look it up on Twitter for everyone else’s take.”

“Sounds like you just struggle to form an original thought on your own.”

“I’m superseding my opinion.”

“Oh, what a big word! Good job, 4B.”

You finally find your dust camera hidden by more important things, and take it back to the kitchen.

The room is too dark for the lens to catch anything properly. For a second, you nearly give up, but then your gaze lands on the candle sitting untouched on your dining table, the one you bought months ago because it smelled like vanilla and cedarwood and you had convinced yourself buying one candle would somehow turn your apartment into a Pinterest board’s dream. You’ve never lit it.

But for some reason, the desire to make a mark in the wax comes to front and you set it on the windowsill without any more thinking.

The lighter takes three tries to catch.

“What’s that clicking sound?”

“What clicking sound?” you mumble, brows burrowed as the fire dies again.

“Am I going crazy? Just warning you but I have crazy keen hearing. And now with my sight gone, I’m even more locked in. Sounds like… are you lighting a birthday cake? Is it your birthday?”

“That’s what you think of first when you hear a light?” You don’t know whether to laugh or coo at his innocence in your dorky neighbour. “I’m just lighting a candle because it’s dark.”

The candle flame shivers to life, small and uneven. Throwing a weak gold light over the window ledge and the lower half of the glass. It’s frankly a terrible light source, dim but somehow managing to catch the smudge of your fingerprints on the window and turns the kitchen sink into a dark, warped shape in the reflection. When you prop the camera up against your water jug, lifted by two stacked coasters, the frame tilts slightly to the left.

You hit record.

“Okay, your turn,” he says.

You blink at the red dot on the camera screen. “What?”

“It’s your turn again. Don’t think I didn’t notice you going quiet there. Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean you can get away with not contributing your part to this list.”

“As if you’re keeping track of everything.” You settle back against the counter, close enough to the camera that your voice will catch. “Okay, here’s one. I love it when people apologise to furniture after walking into it. Oh, and, when someone saves you a seat.”

He hums, turning the thought over in his head. “That’s a good one. Could even be your thesis statement for your film, honestly. Something pretentious. Like how love is making room.”

You giggle. “Love is setting aside a space for someone.” 

“Love as chair politics,” he says smartly. 

“Love is an empty seat: an interdisciplinary exploration into effort-based decision-making.” 

“Okay, you made this not fun by actually sounding smart. What the hell is effort-based decision-making?” 

“Google is free.”

You hear the grin in his voice as he bounces off your words. “So is a tree, hang from it.” 

The laugh leaves you before you can stop it. It is sharp and ugly, startled out of you in a way that makes you clap a hand over your mouth too late. The sound echoes faintly in your dark kitchen, caught by the camera, your shadow probably distorted by the terrible angle and the water jug propping it upright. 

There is a beat of silence on the other side of the wall. Then, quietly, delightedly, “Oh, you thought that was funny. You think I’m funny?” 

“Please, it was a fluke.” 

“That was the healthiest you’ve sounded all day.”

You make an offended noise and reach blindly toward the counter until your hand lands on a tea towel. You throw it at the wall and it hits with a soft, deeply unsatisfying slap before flopping onto the floor. 

He gasps. “Did you just throw something at me?” 

“Consider it a formal complaint.” 

“I’m snitching to the landlord.” 

“Tell them to fix the power while you’re there.” 

“Fine. But I’m adding attempted murder on top of that previous violent note.” 

You shake your head to yourself, still smiling. If you were sane, you might take the time to wonder what the fuck you were doing, sitting on your kitchen counter, arguing with a man you’ve yet to seen, smiling like an idiot at your own wall. And yet, you hesitate to move. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything and a silence that isn’t quite awkward settles over you both. 

Then, with a sudden electric hum, the fridge kicks back on and the ceiling light blinks once, twice, and then floods the kitchen in a harsh yellow that makes you squint, and makes your neighbour curse in surprise. 

“Oh!” 

From the other side of the wall, he lets out a sigh. “Boo.” 

You laugh again, leaning over to check your camera. “Boo?”

“I was having fun,” he says, almost accusingly. “The dark was doing wonders for our dynamic. You were less mean when you couldn’t see.”

“You mean when I was visually impaired and vulnerable?”

“Exactly. It was bringing out your softer side. Or maybe it was all me.”

Looking at the camera, you see that the little red dot is glowing steadily on the screen, and only then remember what you were meant to be doing in the first place. Most of the clip is probably just your kitchen window, your voice too close to the mic and his voice muffled through the plaster, the two of you listing stupid things that barely count as anything. 

Still, your fingers hesitates over the stop button. 

On the other side of the wall, he shifts and the wall groans. “You alive over there? The light didn’t evaporate you when they turned back on, did they?” 

You press stop. “Now how does that make any sense?” 

You pick up the camera, thumb hovering over the saved clip. The thumbnail is dark and grainy, almost useless at first glance, but when you play the first second back, your own laugh cracks through the tiny speaker before you panic and mute it. 

Your face warms. 

Stupid. 

So, so stupid. But you don’t delete it. Instead, you set the camera carefully on the counter and blow out your candle still burning against the window. 

“Anyway, since the lights are back, I’m going to pretend to do my assignment now. Keyword pretend because I like to keep my goals realistic,” 4B says and the strange mood lifts and dissipates with the candle’s smoke. 

“Good luck with that.”

“Good luck with your love thing.”

You look down at the camera again.

“Yeah,” you say, picking it up before you can change your mind. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

You pause. Then you tuck the camera against your chest and head out of the kitchen. “Nothing.”

Behind the wall, 4B laughs like he does not believe you at all, and you leave before he can ask.

You don’t remember when but sometime along the semester, you begin to enjoy waking up. You hadn’t grown a newfound appreciation for your alarm, no that was still a work in progress, but something about opening your eyes to start a new day no longer evoked a groan. Your next door neighbour did that for you instead.

One morning you were waking up to a quiet early morning and the next, you hear an alarm ring parallel to yours.

You hear it again this morning as you rub the sleep from your eyes as some anime opening plays, muffled by the distance. When you step into your kitchen, it’s louder, and you hear the soft padding of feet against floorboards as 4B wakes.

“Morning,” he’ll mumble, voice rough from sleep, just as he did now.

“Good morning,” you’ll say back and hope he doesn’t hear the smile in your voice.

He’ll grunt in acknowledgement, heading for his bathroom which you’ve come to realise shares a wall with your bedroom. You’ll get started on packing a lunch to take to campus while he takes his sweet time getting ready. You wake far too early for him, after all.

You’ll pause on your way out, just as you did now, tilting your head slightly to listen. If he hears your door open, he’ll call out, “Good luck with your classes!” and if he doesn’t, water too loud or too immersed in something else, you’ll say, “See you later!”

It’s a routine you’ve come to love.

Sometimes when he hears you sigh coming back from campus, you’ll hear him close his fridge and fall into his couch. “Grey's Anatomy?” he’ll ask loudly and you’ll laugh softly, hand already reaching to grab your remote despite your drowsiness.

You tell yourself it isn’t a big deal. Plenty of people have neighbours and plenty of people talk to said neighbours. Plenty of people probably know the exact sound of their neighbour’s footsteps in the morning, the difference between their sleepy voice and their smug voice, the exact pause before they say something annoying just to get you to react. 

Probably. 

Still, the thought follows you out of your apartment and all the way to campus, sitting somewhere uncomfortable behind your ribs. It’s there when you catch yourself slowing down near the front steps because someone ahead of you laughs a little too loud and, for one stupid second, you think it might be him. It is there when you buy coffee and almost order an extra pastry because 4B once mentioned he loves sugary things first thing in the morning and frankly any other time of the day. 

It is there when you realise, with a kind of quiet horror, that you might actually like him. 

Recognising the telltale signs that you’re about to spiral, you decide to at least try and prevent it by taking a walk and touching grass. Unfortunately, you forget that there are evil forces against you because when you step into the main courtyard on campus on your way out, you immediately find yourself in hell. 

Like, actual hell. Like there’s a frat car wash happening in the middle of the campus kind of hell.

A row of cars lines the curb beside the courtyard, soapy water running down the pavement in bright, bubbly streams. Someone has set up a folding table with a cardboard sign that reads SIG KAP CHARITY CAR WASH in marker thick enough to be seen from across the street. A group of people have already crowded around the main attraction snapping away and laughing, the men scattered around yelling over each other as they try and organise the mess. There’s a JBL speaker playing Cbat and other such EDM trap that has you wondering if you’ve walked yourself into a rave. 

And standing in the middle of it all, shirtless and holding a sponge as flexes for his groupies, is Gojo Satoru. 

He’s hot. There’s really no polite way around it. His hair is damp from the spray of the hose, white strands pushed messily off his forehead and curling slightly at the ends. Water runs in thin lines down his throat, over the sharp cut of his collarbones, then lower and lower, disappearing along the hard planes of his stomach and tapering down into droplets that catch the sun on his abs. 

Your eyes follow a line of water that continues further down which is definitely a mistake. 

A deeply human mistake, but still a mistake nonetheless because it means you get an unwillingly thorough look at the narrow dip of his waist, the low-slung band of his shorts, the way his abdomen tightens when he twists the sponge out over the hood of a car. 

You shake your head, rattling any more indecent thoughts from your head. Sure, fine, he’s hot as fuck. But who is genuinely stupid enough to get seduced into donating money because some guy with abs and wet hair smiles at them whilst simultaneously wiping bird shit off a windscreen?

A group passes by the table and drops a note into the donation jar. 

You stare. Okay, nevermind. Apparently some people really will. Still, it has absolutely nothing to do with you. You don’t have a car, you don’t carry cash on you, and you don’t want to entertain a bunch of frat guys especially after all you’ve learnt this year. So, you adjust the strap of your tote higher on your shoulder and keep walking. 

“Hey, you in the band shirt!” 

Your foot catches slightly on the uneven pavement, and you make an embarrassing gesture getting back on two feet. Blind panic and something warmer, something more traitorous, jolts through you like a beam of lightning. 

No. 

No, because that voice—

You’ve barely rationalised anything before your head is whipping so fast over your shoulder you think you’ve given yourself a cramp. It’s instinctive more than anything, a kind of desperate hope for something indescribable, heart leaping up to your throat at the thought that a voice behind a wall has suddenly become attached to a body. 

And what a body. 

Gojo jogs toward you, shirtless and damp and unfairly attractive under the sun, towel bouncing against his neck with each step. There is soap clinging to his hands, water sliding down the firm line of his chest, one hand running through his hair as he shakes it of loose droplets. 

He comes to a stop in front of you, grin already loaded. You don’t even flinch when he flicks water onto your face accidentally. 

“Band shirt! Running away already?” he asks. “I didn’t even pitch you yet.” 

Gojo Satoru just spoke with 4B’s voice.

Your 4B. Except he’s no longer a faceless voice in the dark. He is Gojo Satoru. He is shirtless in front of you. He is looking at you like he’s waiting for an answer. 

“You cryin’? he asks, head tilting slightly as he glances at the droplets on your cheek. “Is the sun getting to you? We have buckets of water back there if you want to dunk yourself. Or maybe you want to dunk me and live vicariously through that? I noticed you staring.”

You force your mouth to move. “I don’t have a car.” 

Unfortunately, the voice that comes out is wrong. It’s too high like you’ve swallowed your own throat and replaced it with someone doing customer service over the phone. 

Gojo blinks. 

You clear your throat. “I mean, I don’t have a car,” you repeat, lower this time. 

Great, now you sound like you’re about to rob him. 

His smile twitches, one eyebrow raising slowly as he regards you. 

“Right,” he says, slowly. “No car. I think I got it the first time. What about a bike? We can wipe down the seat or something.”

You shake your head. 

“Scooter? Skateboard?” 

“No.”

“How do you get around?” 

“Feet.”

He looks down and you suddenly feel self-conscious of your shoe choice. 

“We don’t typically offer pedicures but I could make an exception for you,” Gojo says with a wide grin. “Or we could give your shoes a good scrub.”

“I don’t have anything for you to wash.” 

“What? Don’t tell me you’re attached to that layer of grime you have on them.” 

You’re so offended you temporarily blink of your stupor to splutter. “They’re not that dirty! They’re just well-loved!” 

“They’re clearly crying out for some divine intervention. Lucky for you, I might as well be the second coming of Jesus.” 

You scoff. “No way. Maybe I like them ugly, okay?” 

Gojo’s grin widens. “So you admit they’re ugly.”

You hate that he catches it so quickly. You hate even more that your heart picks up like a trapped hummingbird beneath your skin. 

Behind him, someone whistles. “Satoru, stop flirting and actually help!” 

“I’m not flirting,” he calls back without looking away from you. “I’m recruiting customers!”

He lowers his voice so it’s just for you. “You are planning on being a customer, aren’t you?”

You scoff. “Is this what the whole pitch is? Bullying people’s shoes until they donate?”

“No, that was just tailored marketing.” He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to reveal a conspiracy. “The real pitch is much more moving.”

“Okay,” you say, because apparently you’ve lost the will to survive. “Go on then.”

Gojo flashes you another smile, or maybe he hasn’t stopped smiling not even once throughout this entire encounter, and steps back, pressing one wet hand dramatically to his bare chest. He adopts a pitiful expression as he gazes at you. “Every year, hundreds of cars on this campus are forced to suffer through bird shit, pollen, and the mysterious sticky stuff that appears under trees for reasons science refuses to explain.”

You grimace.

He continues, undeterred. “For just five dollars, you can help one of these poor vehicles experience dignity again.”

“I don’t have five dollars.”

“For just three dollars—”

“No cash.”

“For one encouraging word—”

“Not happening.”

“—you can support a hardworking student athlete in his fight against grime,” he finishes calmly. 

“I think you just want to be shirtless,” you say what’s been on your mind the entire time, letting yourself steal another glimpse of his chest. Is it just your imagination but did he just flex his pecs at you?

He looks down at himself like he has only just remembered the state he is in. “This? It’s a uniform. Works wonders for pulling in interest.” He gestures vaguely over his shoulder where another person has just dropped money into the donation jar without taking her eyes off his back. “See? The system works.” 

“How are you so blatantly shameless?”

He shrugs. “Shame only slows you down.” 

Gojo steps slightly to the side when someone passes behind him with a bucket, and the movement brings him just close enough for you to catch the clean, cozy smell of soap and sunscreen underneath the damp heat of him. The towel around his neck drips onto his chest and a bead of water slips from his collarbone, trailing lower. 

Your eyes follow it again. Good lord. When you force your gaze back up, he’s watching you smugly. 

“So,” he says, voice dropping a little, “should I put you down as morally opposed to charity, or just immune to my charm?” 

“Those are the only options?” 

“Hey, I’m open to feedback. If you have a complaint, I’m all ears.” 

“Add a financially unavailable option.” 

“Okay.” He nods gravely. “Morally opposed, charm-resistant, and broke.” 

“I didn’t say broke.” You cut yourself off when you realise you’ve spent too long arguing with him when you had been so determined to walk away moments before. “Forget it, I’m walking away.” 

Gojo laughs and steps directly into your path, head tilting as he studies you like he’s trying to place a song from the first few seconds.

“You have quite the mouth on you,” he says, and something foreboding settles in your gut. “What’s your name, band shirt?”

Something about his voice tricks you into almost answering, perhaps because 4B has spent weeks training a response out of you. He says something stupid, you respond with something worse, and you fall into conversation that way. But while they sound the same you force yourself to remember this isn’t 4B through the wall. 

You have only one goal here: get out before he starts connecting ‘band shirt’ to ‘familiar voice’ that becomes ‘girl through the wall’ because then you’ll have to move apartments and potentially countries. So, you straighten your shoulders, lift your chin, and speak in the blandest tone you can manage. 

“No,” you say. “Short for none of your business.”

“That’s a terrible name,” Gojo says, nose scrunching up. “What did you do to your parents to deserve that? It’s going to look quite hurtful on the donation receipt.” 

“I’m not donating,” you say, already looking for the cleanest route around him. “So thankfully, your admin concerns are none of my concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

“You won’t donate, you won’t volunteer, and you won’t give me your name,” he says, still watching you too closely. “But you’ll stand here and argue with me.”

“That’s because you seem like the type who needs things explained slowly,” you quip back. “And besides, you’re in my way.”

His gaze flicks briefly to the open space beside him. You both look at it.

Then he looks back at you, smile unbearably smug. “Am I?”

You hate him because he is right, and because the longer you stand here, the more his voice settles into place with his face, and the more impossible it becomes to separate Gojo Satoru from 4B. You can feel it happening in real time, the two versions of him overlapping until the faceless boy through the wall starts becoming this shirtless jerk with wet hair and water dripping down his chest. 

“You’re very intense about names,” you say, forcing your voice into that same bland, too-flat register. “Maybe work on that before the next person you corner.” 

“Relax,” he says, voice dipping into something smoother. “I’m just saying, if a girl insults me this much, I feel like I should at least know what to call her.” 

“Band shirt is working fine for you. And if it’s not going on a donation receipt then I don’t see why you really need it.”

“Can I guess?” he asks instead, already leaning forward like the idea has thrilled him. 

“Absolutely not.” You take a step to the side, causing him to promptly mirror you. “Dude, quit it.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, immediately stepping back with both hands raised to showcase his harmlessness though it’s ruined by his smile. “Got excited. You’re so nonchalant and mysterious it just draws me in, you know? Come on, I’ll leave you alone if you just give me a name, your real name.”

“No.” 

“Okay, not a real one,” he concedes far too quickly. “Just so I have something to call you in my head when you’re already running through it so much.” 

“I’m not giving you a fake name either.” 

“That’s so much worse,” he says, sounding wounded. “Now you’re not even trusting me with a lie? I’m shirtless for charity, band shirt, I’m vulnerable.”

“Vulnerably harassing a stranger for her name in the middle of campus?” 

“Stranger feels harsh.” His smile shifts a little, still playful yes, but the focus underneath it becomes visible. “You don’t exactly feel like a stranger.” 

You need to get out here right now. 

You tighten your hold on your tote bag and start walking, not caring where your dirty shoes led you, not caring if it even led you back to that God forsaken carwash. Gojo doesn’t give up, trailing after you and eating up the distance you try to place with his long legs, body facing yours even as you speed walk. 

“Do I know you?” 

“No,” you say. “We don’t know each other.”

“But it feels like we know each other.”

“We? There’s no we. Maybe you’ve seen me in passing but it’s not something to obsess over. Okay, bye.” 

“Possible,” he says, nodding solemnly. “I do have a wide reach. I’m trying to expand it, actually, which is why I need your name.”

You pass the front of the carwash table once more and someone at the front turns, practically jumping on the spot upon seeing Gojo. He ignores them, still drilling holes into the side of your face. 

“First initial?”

“N. For No.”

“Last initial?” 

“O.”

“Does it have an A in it?” 

“Do you know when to quit?” 

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“No, it doesn’t or no, you won’t tell me? Or secret third option, No as in No your name.” He clicks his tongue like you’re the one being difficult. “See, this is getting really confusing. You could solve this entire problem by telling me your real name.”

You keep walking for a few more steps but it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t have a golden retriever trailing after your every step, and word, especially when he’s shirtless and a microcelebrity on campus. 

“Look,” you say, stopping and turning to give him a piece of your mind. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, so this has been deeply unnecessary. Let’s just leave it at that okay?”

His smile softens as he also stops, looking at you. “Then tell me your name and we can fix that.”

For one stupid, horrifying second, you almost do. His voice dips around his words, warm and familiar, and your brain gives you 4B through the wall saying morning, 4A, soft with sleep, and suddenly your name feels like something dangerously close to being handed over.

His hand lifts, reaching for your wrist at your hesitation but hovers short of actually touching, eyes holding yours for permission. 

Then someone calls, “Satoru!”

His face twists, mouth opening like he is ready to spit out another excuse, when a towel hits him square in the back of his head.

He jolts, hand leaving the space between you to grab at the towel before it falls. “What the fuck?” 

You both look over in the direction of the carwash. 

Sukuna stands by the donation table with another towel hanging from one hand, looking like he would rather be dragged behind one of the cars than be there voluntarily. He is also shirtless, because can you even see a guy with his shirt on in a fifty metre radius around you? Water drips from the ends of his pink hair, sliding down the hard line of his neck and over his chest, his skin still shining from whatever girl had convinced him to stand under the hose for a photo. 

“Oi,” Sukuna calls, lifting the towel like he might throw it again. “Are you done begging, or should we put a bowl out for you too?” 

Gojo’s expression immediately collapses into offence. “I’m not begging. I told you I was networking! You’re really cramping my style.” 

“Whatever you want to call it.” Sukuna jerks his chin toward the cars. “Get back here. Some girl paid ten dollars because you promised to write her name in soap on the windshield.” 

Gojo ruffles a hand through his hair and you catch a glimpse of his undercut before he groans, ducking his head. “Shit! I forgot I said that. Can’t you take one for the team, Sukuna?”

“She asked for you.”

The imaginary campus-wide fanbase turns out to be true, you think mournfully. 

A few people around the table laugh, and Gojo turns just enough to argue back, towel clutched in one hand, wet hair sticking messily to the back of his neck. You take the sight of his back muscles as a sign to leave. So before he can turn back around, you step away. 

Then another step. Then several more, fast enough that your tote bumps against your hip and your grimy shoes slap loudly against the wet pavement. It’s not running, because running would imply guilt, and you are innocent of everything except being cursed. 

“Band shirt,” Gojo calls behind you and because it’s not your name, you don’t turn around. 

You especially don’t turn around when Gojo’s half-groan, half-laugh follows you across the courtyard, short yet familiar enough to make your stomach twist. 

4B is Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru is 4B.

Someone needs to take down the Etsy website.

You never do wear that band shirt again. 

Not that it mattered much because you also don’t really go outside for a week, not if you could help it. You want to call it locking in because the midterms are coming up but in the brief moments when you allow yourself the truth, you admit it’s because you’re preventing any chance of running into Gojo again. 

It’s difficult to do that when he’s your neighbour. Or, well, when 4B is your neighbour. 

That distinction becomes very important to you. Gojo Satoru is someone you saw shirtless in the middle of campus using charity as an excuse to flex obscenely at the general public moving through their day. Gojo Satoru has wet hair, a stupid grin, and is highly dangerous because he has a face and a body and a set of eyes that pins you down, 

4B is a voice through the wall. 4B is his alarm going off too loudly in the morning, all groans and curses as he heaves himself from the warmth of his bed. 4B is ranting about the latest anime he’s watched, whispering through plaster when it gets late, knocking twice against the wall when he wants your attention but isn’t sure if you’re in.

So you let yourself have it. You avoid Gojo, and you keep talking to 4B.

After a while, there aren’t many problems with having Gojo as your next door neighbour. Sure, he can get loud during phone calls with his friends but you quickly forgive him when he gives sheepish apologies and dials down his volume. And sure, his alarm is loud but after that initial morning when you grilled him on the cheerful tune, he had changed it to something more appropriate.

The way he laughs is loud, the way he sings as he cooks is loud, the way he says your unit number is loud, all bright like he’s been waiting to catch you the moment you step into your apartment.

It seems Gojo can’t help but be loud. In every aspect.

You wonder if you should bring it up.

It really was unfortunate that your bedroom and his bathroom shared a wall. Whoever constructed this building many, many years ago must not have planned it out too well and simply settled for fitting rooms of different apartments together like tetris. And because of this, his bathroom ends up right next to your head when you sleep. 

You also gather that his shower is pressed against the said wall that you share with him, if his groans are any indication. 

You should probably bring it up. 

But how does one even bring up such a conversation? Hey neighbour! Not that I’ve been listening but I can hear you jerk off in the shower. Could you stop? 

In his defence, you relent, rolling over and pressing your pillow against your ears, he was trying to be subtle about it. You appreciate that he wasn’t doing it in his room since that would certainly turn you off from whatever you’re eating in your kitchen next to him. But if he believes the rush of water is enough to muffle his moans, he’s sorely mistaken. 

You roll onto your other side, shuffling when even this position isn’t comfortable. Your thin sheets are tangled around your legs and you’re desperately trying to focus on the book you’re reading on your phone. But who are you kidding, your thumb has been frozen on the same paragraph for the past five minutes, mind a million miles away. 

There’s a thud of something being placed down on the tiled floor, a slight rustle. And then, a low, breathy groan—so faint you could almost convince yourself you imagined it. 

But you definitely did not. 

You breath catches as you place your phone down and stare at the ceiling as if that will make the sounds stop. It never works. You tell yourself to just roll over again, put in your airpods and drown it out. You’ve done it before, you can do it again. 

But your hand is already drifting down, sliding over your stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts. 

The first stroke is unintentional, a simple slow press through cotton just to feel something. But then you hear him again, a sharper exhale, a whispered word you can’t quite make out, and your hips shift, pressing your palm harder against your cunt. 

Fuck. 

You close your eyes and instead of the dark of your room, you see steam. A shower, his shower, the one right on the other side of this wall. 

You don’t want to think about Gojo like this so you settle instead on your 4B. All you know is the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, the messy scrawl of his handwriting, the sound of his door opening and closing, the low rumble of his laugh when he teases you. It’s deep and a little rough around the edges. You’ve built a version of him from the sound alone, and right now, that’s more than enough. 

Fingers tracing the outline of your clit through the fabric, circles so light they’re barely there, you let your mind wander. 

You imagine stepping into that shower. The air is thick and wet, fogging up the glass. He’s already under the spray, back to you, water streaming down his shoulders. You don;t want to see his face, but you can see the way his muscles shift as he turns his head ever so slightly, giving you the slightest glimpse of his side profile before the steam whisks it away. 

It would be foolish to hesitate. You slide your hands around his waist from behind, palms flat against his stomach, and he laughs, the vibrations meeting your chest. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice deeper, lower with him so close to you. “Look at you, giving me a helping hand, hm?”

“Shut up,” you’d probably mumble against his shoulder blade, fingers already trailing lower, through the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. “You’re always so loud.”

He’d be hard already, and you can feel the heat of him, the slight twitch as your fingertips brush the underside of his shaft. 

“No, I don’t think that’s right,” he says. “Because you’ve been listening, haven’t you? All those nights wrapped up all pretty in your blankets, thinking you can get away with using me to feel good, thinking you’re an angel for trying not to listen. But you know exactly what I sound like when I’m close, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches as you wrap your hand around him, and he groans, deep and guttural, exactly the sound that’s coming through the wall right now. Your hand moves in time with the fantasy, slow strokes, thumb pressing into the slick tip, and he leans back into you, letting his head fall against your shoulder. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Such a good girl. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to touch me. Wanted to feel your hand on my cock for so fucking long, angel.” 

“Since when?” 

You stroke him faster, twisting your wrist the way you imagine he does, and his breathing turns ragged. 

“Since the moment you opened that pretty mouth and told me off. Fuck—faster, angel. Just like that, don’t stop. Your hand feels so perfect.”

Your own fingers press harder against your clit through your shorts, and you let out a tiny whimper you hope he can’t hear through the wall. Maybe he can, maybe he really does know exactly what you’ve been doing. That thought makes you even wetter, a choked gasp escaping. 

In the fantasy, his body tenses. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your grip tighter around him. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, voice strained. “I’m gonna paint the tiles with it, and you’re gonna watch. You’re gonna listen to me fall apart because of you. And then—fuck—then I’m gonna fuck you.” 

His hips jerk forward, and you feel the hot pulse of his release against your hand, the way he shudders and moans your name (which he doesn’t know, but you give it to him anyway, a whispered invention). His cum slicks the inside of your fingers, and you keep stroking until he pushes your hand away with an overstimulated whimper that might be your own. 

He turns around. 

You still don’t see his face, just the broad outline of his chest you saw during the carwash incident, the water catching in the hollow of his collarbone. He pushes you back against the cool tile with one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down your stomach, between your legs.

“My turn,” he purrs. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, in my shower, where you can hear every sound I make. And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you? Gonna be an angel for me and let me use this pussy like I’ve been dreaming about.”

You nod, mouth open, and he sinks two fingers into you without warning.

The gasp that escapes your lips is real. “Gojo—!”

“Nuh uh, pretty,” he coos in your ear. “Call me Satoru. C’mon, say my name, angel.” 

You shake your head against your pillow, back arching. “That’s—that would be weird.” 

He slows down, taking his time with you, dragging his fingers against your gummy walls before sliding over that spot that makes you see stars, chuckling when you gasp. “I’m making you feel this good and you’re still talking back? Gonna need to fuck that attitude out of you.” 

You bite your lip hard. “Satoru…”

He stills, before he presses down hard. “Hm? What was that?”

“Satoru!”

His voice is a rough, airy thing in your ear. “That’s it, pretty, you’re doing so good for me.”

Your own fingers mimic the motion, pushing inside yourself while your thumb circles your clit. You can hear him through the wall—a wet, rhythmic sound, faster now, and a string of words you catch in fragments. “Yeah… that’s it… take it…”

You imagine his cock,thick, already half-hard again from the feel of you, sliding between your thighs. He lifts your leg, hooks it over his arm, and presses the head against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he says, and you try, but his face is a blur of heat and water, just shadows and the gleam of wet skin. “Look at me while I fuck you. I want you to remember this.”

He pushes in slow, and you feel the stretch in your fantasy and in your own body as your fingers sink deeper. You bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. “You feel that? That’s my cock filling you up. That’s what you get for listening in, for touching yourself to the sound of me cumming.”

He sets a hard rhythm, the slapping of wet skin echoing off the shower walls. Your fantasy-self clings to him, nails digging into his back, and he keeps talking, his voice ragged and dirty, exactly what you need.

“That’s it, it feels so fucking good, huh? Bet you love this, love that you didn’t know what I looked like but you know the sound of my balls slapping against your ass. You’re such a fucking slut for it. Is it hotter now that you know who I am? Open your mouth and tell me, Y/N.”

You whimper, hand curling into the sheets. “I—I can’t. You’ll hear.”

“I know, I know, you’re trying so hard to be quiet for me,” he mumbles, so soft and understanding even as he drives into you. “But I’m going to need to hear you, okay? Need to hear how much you want this.” 

Your fingers move faster, matching the pace in your head. Your breathing is ragged now, little moans falling from your lips that you can’t hold back. You don’t care if he hears, and maybe if you’re slightly truthful, you hope he does. “Oh god, Satoru, it feels so good!”

In the fantasy, he’s close again. You can feel it in the way his thrusts lose rhythm, in the way his grip tightens on your hip.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he growls, and it’s a question and a statement all at once. “You want that? Want to feel my cum dripping down your thigh?”

“Yes,” you whisper out loud, into your empty room.

He buries himself deep, and the fantasy explodes in a rush of heat and words: “Fuckfuckfuck—take it—take my cum, you dirty little thing—gonna fill you up so full—”

You climax with a gasp, your back arching off the mattress, your fingers pressing hard against your clit as waves of pleasure roll through you. You hear yourself moan, a high, broken sound, and you don’t care.

The sounds from his side of the wall change.

There’s a final, shuddering groan and the squeak of a hand against tile. And then silence, broken only by the rush of water from a showerhead.

You lie there, panting, hand still between your legs, your skin flushed and damp. You can almost smell the steam, almost feel the ghost of his fantasy-body pressed against yours.

The shower turns off and you climb out of bed, running away to the living room. 

You’re not a freak. You can’t be. 

You’re a kind, virtuous person who knows no sin, who is gracious and angelic and trustworthy and not someone who listens in on her neighbour jerking it in his shower. That’s simply not who you are and not something you’d ever do. 

Despite this obvious fact, your brain tells you otherwise. And when you are at war with yourself, what else is there to do but consult your friends?

You find Shoko outside the campus cafe, sitting at one of the metal tables with an iced coffee and her laptop open, clacking away with a frown. The chair opposite her is empty though not welcomingly. It’s buried under her tote bag, a packet of cigarettes jutting out that would have her girlfriend at her throat if she saw. 

You walk over, tuck the box further into her bag and under her jumper, before putting her bag on the ground. “You’re smoking again?” 

“Hi,” Shoko says, looking up briefly before slumping down over her laptop. “Just to get the edge off. Midterms are coming around and I’m already feeling the effects.”

You nod, stealing her drink and taking a long sip. She looks at you again, squinting. 

“You don’t look as bad as I thought you would.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Isn’t that film of yours due next Friday? Where’s the panic and stress? Also, that’s my coffee you whore.” 

You take one last long sip and slide it back over. “I have bigger fish to fry. But shit, Shoko, you look completely under it already. We can call off girls’ talk for another day, I promise it’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” Shoko scoffs, hitting enter before closing her laptop. “You triple-texted last night at 3 a.m. not making any sense at all. What happened? Did Naoya text you again? You didn’t unblock him, did you?” 

“What? No! It’s…” you groan, covering your face. “It’s worse. It’s so much worse. I think I’m at the edge of the abyss staring down. Like whatever I do here on out will either make or break me.”

“Okay,” she replies slowly, clearly not expecting your response. “And who is this about exactly?” 

You wonder if you can tell her the truth. Hey Shoko, you might decide to start with, I’ve been crushing on the voice of my neighbour for the last month who I just found out is Satoru, you know your friend? Also, I’ve been listening to him jerk it for a while now and I have an inkling that he knows.

Instead of any of this, you whisper, “Satoru.” 

She flinches as if you’ve slapped her. “What?”

Your finger comes up to point before you stop yourself, realising it was impolite to point, but your gaze is far too telling. She hesitates, taking in your horrified expression before looking over her shoulder to find Gojo stepping into sight, head turning about as if searching for something. 

You almost delude yourself into thinking that when his gaze stops at your table, his eyes light up because he’s looking at you. You almost delude yourself into thinking that he’s making his way to your table. You almost delude yourself into thinking the smile he wears is for you. 

Only one of these things is true because the moment you see him, you’ve pulled your hoodie up until it’s almost flopping back over your eyes, leaning back and tucking your chin in.

Gojo saunters up to your table and stops just beside Shoko. Your friend groans, dropping her head into her hands. 

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” 

Not wanting to speak, you only shrug uselessly. Gojo doesn’t even spare you a glance, whining as he tugs on her sleeve to grab her attention. 

“Come on, Shoko, I’ve been trying to text you for hours now. Ignoring me isn’t going to make me disappear, you know.” 

“I know now,” she mumbles before yanking her arm away from his touch. “Okay, out with it, Gojo. I refuse to be seen in public with you so let’s get this over with.” 

“I need your help with something.” When Shoko only stares, unimpressed and not surprised, he presses on. “It’ll be quick, I swear! And it isn’t about the pre lab questions this time, I promise. I’m cashing in that one favour you owe me from last year.” 

“What favour?”

“Me hosting a party that got you and Utahime together.”

Shoko shoots him a withering look. “That wasn’t a favour, we just happened to meet at your party. You didn’t even know her back then.”

Gojo grins, and for a moment, you get lost in it. It would be so easy to tell him now and have that smile directed at you with recognition instead of casual politeness. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, but you feel yourself getting smaller as he keeps talking to Shoko and only Shoko, sitting there silently as if being quiet and sipping at Shoko’s coffee might excuse your lack of presence. 

Shoko rolls her eyes, turning to look at you. “Sorry, Y/N. We’ll talk after I’m done dealing with this kid.”

You wave her off stiffly and she narrows her eyes at you, sensing something off when you don’t say anything. Gojo seems to notice you then, looking over at you briefly. He tilts his head at you before Shoko’s voice pulls him back. 

“So? What do you want?”

“I need help finding someone.” 

You choke on your drink, hastily wiping at your chin when they both turn to look at you, a range of concern across both their faces. You wave them off dismissively, making small sounds to clear your throat as they continue. 

“For revenge or…?”

He hums, seriously considering her quip. “Maybe the opposite?” 

She narrows her eyes at that. “I don’t know everyone on campus. How are you so confident you can come to me for this?” 

“Because you’re doing the same degree as her and you’re a girl and so is the person I’m trying to find.”

There's still liquid in your throat and it’s getting harder for Gojo to pretend like his friend’s friend isn’t slowly dying from across the table. He lifts his eyes to study you, taking in the way you’re clearing your throat, struggling to keep quiet, and he sighs. 

“Hey, breathe through your nose.” 

You finally look up at him, the hood obscuring most of your vision though you still try to shoot him a look as if to say, oh no, really? and he smirks at that.

“I'm serious, just breathe for a second. Through your nose, come on. It’ll get rid of that coughing fit.” 

You close your mouth with effort and take a deep, shaky breath in. It goes in smoothly though the urge to cough still persists and you have to concentrate to not relapse. 

Gojo pushes your iced coffee closer to you, wiping his wet hand on Shoko’s sleeve after despite her protest. You take it gratefully, taking in a few sips before clearing your throat. 

Realising you couldn’t get out of this without speaking at least once, you lower your voice as much as you can and mumble, “Thanks.”

Gojo hums, accepting it easily, but his eyes linger on you for half a second too long before he turns back to Shoko. “She's someone in your course doing cardiovascular physiology. She has a lab on Tuesday and morning tutorials on Friday." 

You don’t miss the way Shoko has been staring bullets into you though her eyes flicker over to Gojo every once in a while. “A lab on Tuesday, you say.” And there’s something in her tone that has you looking up frantically. 

Gojo doesn’t seem to notice, nodding instead. “She usually comes back late, at around 5:20? Which means her classes end around 5 p.m.”

“5 p.m,” she repeats, her eyes never straying. 

You try to shake your head as subtly as possible. 

“She has the prettiest voice you’ve ever heard and the softest laugh when she finds something amusing. But then when she finds something funny, like really funny, her laugh is super loud and bright and it’s honestly cool the way she doesn’t seem to care.”

You kick Shoko’s foot under the table and she barely winces, realisation or something similar dawning on her. 

“I don’t need to know any of that, that won’t help.” Her lips quirk upwards slightly. “And why are we looking for this girl, Gojo?” 

He pouts at her words. “I’m looking for my neighbour.”

Shoko makes a gesture as if to ask if he’s serious. “Just go knock on her door? You literally know where she lives. That’s probably more than I could ever tell you.” 

“You don’t get it,” he says, tutting, wagging his fingers even. “We have this thing going on and I don’t want to ruin her trust by camping outside her door, for example. So instead, I’ll just conveniently come across her on campus because somehow our timetables seem to line up.”

 Shoko stares at him blankly. “So stalking.”

“Don’t be so crude, Shoko. It’s not stalking if I’m being emotionally considerate about it.” He leans forward slightly, hands on the table, and for a moment his voice loses some of its usual shine. “I don’t want to scare her off, okay? I know where she lives, but that feels like cheating. If you know her, ask her first. Ask if she’s okay with me knowing, or if she wants me to stay clueless and suffer with dignity.” 

Shoko’s expression barely changes. “You don’t do anything with dignity.” 

“I could start for her,” he says, then seems to realise what he’s admitted because he looks away with a small, helpless laugh. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, but I like talking to her. I like not knowing too much. I like that she can hang up on me by walking away from the wall whenever she wants. If I just knock on her door, then I’ve taken that choice from her.” 

For once, Shoko doesn’t interrupt. 

Gojo rubs at the back of his neck, grin returning but weaker this time, more embarrassed than smug. “But also, I’m going a little crazy. Call me pathetic, but sometimes she says something and I forget what my own point was. She’s mean in this really specific way, and funny, and then every now and then she’ll be nice like she didn’t mean to, and it fully ruins me. So yeah, I want to know who she is. I just don’t want to find out in a way that makes her regret talking to me.” 

You kick her foot again. 

“And what happens if you do find her?” she asks, rubbing the toe of her shoe against the floor like you have injured her beyond repair. “You’re going to walk up and say, hi, I’ve been listening to you through the wall for weeks and I reverse-engineered your timetable?”

Gojo makes a face. “No, obviously not. I have charm. I’ll make her fall for me first.”

You stand with a start, slamming your hands on the table, knocking your empty cup over. You hastily pick it up, shooting Shoko as many SOS signals as it’ll take for her to follow your lead. She lets out a slight laugh, especially after seeing Gojo’s bewildered face, and stands, albeit slowly. 

“I think I have an idea of who you’re looking for.”

“You do?” Gojo says, eyes wide and smile hopeful. 

“I have a feeling.” Her eyes leave yours after a pause, moving to shove her laptop into her bag. “But I’m going to need to confirm it before I tell you. Wouldn’t want to drag an innocent into your life.” 

He nods quickly and you mournfully think that he looks like a puppy. You didn’t need that imagery, especially not right now. You tune out the rest of their conversation though it mainly consisted of Gojo demanding more details and Shoko shooting him down firmly. When you have your tote over your shoulder, Shoko tilts her head towards the door. 

You all but run out. Vaguely, you hear Gojo ask, “What’s up with her?”

“Boy problems,” Shoko says before she catches up to you and the two of you walk out. 

“Where are we going?” 

You look over your shoulder, heart only settling when you don’t catch any glimpse of white hair. “Away.”

“Oh, so now you feel like talking.”

“Please, Shoko. Please.”

She laughs, loose and unrestrained. “Want to tell me what that was all about? Gojo looking for some Cinderella and you looking like you’re about to choke to death?”

You spin around, hands coming up to hold her still by the shoulders. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s exactly that. Shoko, stop looking at me like that, I’m going to freak out.” 

“Okay, okay.” Her hands come up to wrap loosely around your wrists, not pushing you off, just holding you there. “Take a breath. He doesn’t know.” 

“He almost knows.”

“I’m pretty sure he only suspects something,” she corrects. “Those are two very different things. And if you really don’t want him to know then I’ll tell him that. He might seem a little clueless in areas such as personal space, but he’s not a complete jerk. He’ll respect that.”

You let go of her shoulders slowly, though your hands stay half-raised between you like you might need to grab her again if she starts looking too entertained. “He was describing me.”

“He was describing his neighbour,” Shoko says, softer now. “You are only panicking because you know that’s you.”

“That does not make me feel better.”

“It should a little.” She tilts her head, cigarette-less and serious in a way you rarely get from her before noon. “Look, if he wanted to corner you, he could’ve knocked on your door. He literally knows where you live. But he didn’t. He came to me because, in his own stupid Gojo way, he’s trying not to scare you.”

“That’s the complete issue,” you sigh, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “The issue is that he’s Gojo, the exact kind of guy I said I was done with. I know what these kinds of guys are like, hell, I dated the textbook example of one.”

Shoko’s expression softens and in the silence, something bubbles up. 

“4B wasn’t that,” you say, voice smaller than you mean for it to be. “4B was just mine.” 

The second it leaves your mouth, your face warms. Mercifully, Shoko doesn’t pounce on it and instead nods slowly, looking away from you. 

“I get that,” she says and when you glance at her, she repeats herself. “I do, you’re not crazy. But Gojo being in a frat doesn’t automatically make him Naoya variant 2.0.”

“I know that,” you grumble. 

“Do you?” Shoko bumps her shoulder against yours. “You don’t have to trust him just because he’s 4B. You also don’t have to punish him just because he looks like the kind of guy who would have ruined your life last semester.” 

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“For now? Nothing. You don’t have to suddenly jump out and introduce yourself, but you also don’t have to shut up and ghost him forever. See for yourself what kind of guy Gojo really is now that you know both sides to him.”

Sometimes, Shoko’s rationality surprises you and you find yourself nodding along to her words, a small, dawning hope struggling out of its shell inside your heart. Just as you’re about to thank her profusely for her wise words, she opens her mouth and says, “You should come to Utahime’s this weekend.” 

“Uh.” You blink. “What?”

“It’s a small party, like actually small,” she says before you can look horrified. “Not a frat thing. It’ll just be a few of Utahime’s close friends, some drinks and food, you know. I haven’t seen you come out of your apartment for an entire week, Y/N, it’s setting off alarm bells. You’re hot. Funny. Maybe you’ll meet someone there that doesn’t remind you of Gojo or Naoya.” 

“Oh my God,” you say slowly, disgusted. “Why are those two people my only options right now? You’re right, I need to go out.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” Shoko says with sympathy before groaning. “Can I say ‘I told you so’ yet or are you still spiralling? Because I told you so, I told you to stay away from Gojo but lookie here, who’s scouring the campus for even a whiff of you?” 

You glare at her. “Not helping, Shoko.” 

Shoko bumps her shoulder against yours. “You can tell him when you’re ready. Or let him figure it out slowly if you want to be annoying about it.”

You shove her shoulder back in return, and she laughs, and for a few steps, it almost feels like a normal afternoon. Like you are just two girls walking across campus, talking about weekend plans, not one girl trying to outrun the consequences of accidentally falling for her neighbour through a wall. 

Then Shoko tilts her head toward the bus stop. “So. Do you want to go back to your apartment or not?” 

You think of the wall, of 4B’s—Gojo’s—voice slipping through it, probably asking why you were so quiet this morning, probably making some stupid comment about your sleep schedule, probably having no idea that your whole life has just rearranged itself around his face. 

You sigh. 

“Unfortuntely,” you say. “I live there.”

Gojo wonders if he has an addictive personality. 

Or maybe it’s just you. 

But when it’s just him alone in his mind, hands running through his hair to try and catch every last runaway thought about you, he allows himself the truth. It’s probably just you. 

And the kicker is that he was only 90% certain you even existed. Suguru was the one who planted the idea in his head, that the physics had finally fucked him over and he was hallucinating the voice of a sweet, snarky girl, If he hadn’t collected your sticky notes over the last few months, that statistic might have even fallen to a good 38% and even then he wouldn’t be too sure if it was the twisted humour of his friends or if he genuinely had his own Wattpad neighbours-to-lovers arc. 

He sighs and leans back into his chair, feeling it give way under the motion with a creak. He wonders, as he so often does these days, if you heard it. His body stills and he waits for an indication that you might be home, a soft chuckle, an exasperated sigh, or his favourite, that soft way you say his name (read: unit number). 

When it doesn’t come, he slumps. 

Fuck, he was so far gone. 

It’s not like this is new to him, the wanting. Gojo wants things all the time. He wants the last pudding cup from the convenience store, wants Suguru to stop pretending he’s above gossip when he’s the nosiest person alive, wants Shoko to stop stealing his lighters despite the fact that he doesn’t smoke because he needs them to light up his birthday candles. He wants good grades with minimal effort and attention when he enters a room and for his hair to sit right without having to do anything about it. 

He also wants you. 

Gojo’s phone buzzes against his desk and he only looks at it because he’s desperate from his own thoughts. Though he immediately regrets this when Utahime’s name lights up on his screen. 

utahime: party this weekend

show up or dont 

idc

He snorts. 

gojo: woww dont get too excited inviting me im basically suffocating in ur enthusiasm 

its chill though if u dont want me there

i wont go ive got plans anyway 

Another notification drops down after he hits send. 

shoko: do NOT come to utahime’s this weekend 

that was a mistake 

DO NOT COME 

Gojo freezes, eyes blinking at the message. He taps it, opening up his chat history with her that consists of many, many time stamps and read receipts, and very slowly, something that critical thinking sparks behind his blue eyes. 

Do not come, said so blunt and immediate and so suspiciously timed right after Utahime’s invitation as if Shoko had decided his presence would cause a problem. 

A problem for who? 

Gojo’s mouth parts. Then, slowly, his grin spreads. His thumb quickly swipes out to re enter the chat with Utahime and glides across the keyboard. 

gojo: actually ykw 

wouldn’t miss it for the world <3

utahime: wait im uninviting u 

gojo? 

i said u cant come

dont leave me on read you dick 

Gojo laughs, turning off his phone. 

He turns his head toward the wall, still grinning like an idiot, thriving off the single crumb he’s been graciously fed after days of searching for you. 

“You going to Utahime’s this weekend, 4A?” he asks softly, knowing you are not there to answer.

The wall says nothing but Gojo’s grin doesn’t fade.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs, phone warm in his hand. “I’ll find out.”

There are two possible explanations for your current situation. Either Shoko is a liar (completely and utterly plausible) or her girlfriend has around 50 close friends. You don’t put it past Utahime either but at least Utahime did you a favour and made sure not to invite anyone from TDP so you settle for shooting Shoko a withering glare.

Music thrums through the floorboards, bass rattling the soles of your shoes as you tap your feet subconsciously against the beat. It’s loud, too loud for talking unless you enjoy shouting directly into someone’s ear, though no one seems to mind. Certainly not Shoko as she leans close to Utahime, mouth brushing against her ear, eyes half lidded as she practically has her on her lap.

You roll your eyes, feeling slightly sour.

Shoko notices your bitter look and acknowledges it with a slight chuckle, taking your cup of orange juice and switching it with hers. “Loosen up!” She yells over the music.

Without many other options, you take the drink and cup your hand around your ear as if you can’t hear her, just to piss her off.

Utahime snickers when your friend swats you away, her hand comfortably wrapped around Shoko’s. The sight of a happy couple sickens you and when Shoko yells for you to “go find someone to make out with!” you do decide to stand up and leave, though not because of her words, obviously. 

You’re just getting air, maybe a refill. And maybe putting at least one wall between yourself and Shoko’s terrible, smug, in-love face. 

The rest of the apartment is no better. Utahime’s place is bigger than yours, of course, because some people get exposed brick and large windows while others get mysterious ceiling stains and a neighbour loud enough to seep into your own personal life. 

Bodies crowd every available inch of space. Someone is sitting on the arm of the couch with a drink in one hand and someone else sprawled across their lap, fingers pushed into their hair. A group by the kitchen is screaming the lyrics to the song currently playing and there’s two girls taking photos in the hallway mirror, swaying together, cheek to cheek. 

You’re halfway through to the kitchen when you see him. For a second, your brain doesn’t even attach a name to the sight. It only registers white hair, too tall, black shirt, one hand loose around a red cup as he leans against the wall near the hallway. 

Then your stomach drops. 

Gojo. 

The thought arrives with immediate, unreasonable betrayal. 

What the fuck? Didn’t Utahime promise you she wouldn’t invite any frat guys? 

Not that you care. You absolutely do not. Gojo Satoru could attend every party in the city and you would remain unaffected, obviously. It is just the principle of the thing. You had been promised a Gojo-free environment, and there he is, laughing at something one of the girls around him says, head tilted down so he can hear her better over the music.

There are three that you see, maybe four. It’s hard to count when they keep shifting, hair shining under the cheap coloured lights, shoulders angled toward him like flowers reaching for the sun. 

It would be easier to be angry, to roll your eyes and hate him in the clean, uncomplicated way you usually do. Instead, something dull and familiar settles under your ribs. 

You turn away before he can look your way. 

The drink in your hand is half-empty and you make it fully empty in one long swallow, grimacing only after it burns the way down and cursing Shoko’s name in your head. Someone near the kitchen cheers for no reason and you suddenly decide that if the universe wants to be annoying, if that stupid Etsy witch wants to fuck with you that bad, you might as well ruin yourself first. 

By the time Shoko finds you again, you have acquired another drink. And then another, and then even more. She squints at you with the vague concern of someone who knows your limits better than you do but you’re already being dragged toward the cleared space in the living room by one of Utahime’s pretty friends, and the music there is cathartic. 

So you stop thinking. For the first time all night, you let yourself move without checking who is watching. Your drink is gone, your cheeks are warm, and the room is soft and bright, all coloured light and laughing mouths and hands in the air. There is no assignment, no terrible apartment, no faceless neighbour slipping into your life through the poor insulation, no Gojo leaning against a wall with half the party orbiting him. The houseparty is bumping, the ladies look good, the alcohol is flowing. There is much pain in the world, but not in this room. 

Then an arm slides around your waist. It’s muscled, warm, steady in the way it wraps around you, the scent of something masculine and fresh entering your peripherals. 

For one stupid, glittering second, you let yourself hope. It’s only the alcohol, probably. The music, even, the heat of the room or the betrayal of coloured lights making everyone look better than they are. 

But the arm is firm around you, and the body behind you is tall, and when he leans in, his breath skims close to your ear. 

Maybe. 

The thought is so sweet it makes you dizzy and you almost lean into the hope. 

“Having fun?” 

Your stomach drops so fast the whole room seems to go with it. You turn, and Naoya’s ugly face is looking down at you. What the fuck is he doing here? Oh, you are so having a word with Utahime about this. 

And okay, Naoya isn’t actually ugly, not in a way that has anything to do with his features. What’s really ugly is his expression, the entitlement in his smile and the slow drag of his eyes over you like he’s appraising something he believes is his. 

His mouth curls and all at once, the music goes thin and static-y. 

You shove him away and stumble a few steps at your own strength. “Don’t touch me.” 

Naoya lets his hand fall, but not before making a show of it, palms lifting like you are the unreasonable one. “Relax. I was just saying hi.” 

“Okay, well you’ve said your hi. Now leave.” 

He laughs, eyes dropping to your mouth, then back up again. “You’re still so dramatic. I forgot how much effort it takes to talk to you when you’re like this.” 

You step back, but the floor tilts slightly beneath you. Fuck, too much alcohol, too much heat. There’s too many bodies pressing around the living room, none of them paying enough attention as you try to place distance between you and your ex. Your shoulder knocks against someone behind you and you mumble a sorry without taking your eyes off Naoya. 

He notices the stumble and his grin sharpens. “You’re drunk. Haven’t learnt how to control yourself in this kind of places yet, have you? It’s cute.” 

He leans closer, voice lowering as if the two of you are sharing something intimate. “Did you dress up for someone tonight?” 

Your face twists. “As if it’s any of your fucking business anymore, Zenin.” 

“No, I’m serious.” HIs eyes flick over you again, slower this time, and your skin crawls. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about being blacklisted. Sometimes things happen to teach you a lesson, you know? Looks like you’ve learnt to finally put more effort into what you’re wearing again. You should be thanking me.”

“I am not doing this with you.” You try to sound confident but you both hear the pathetic slur to your words. 

“You’re not doing much of anything,” he says. “You’re just dancing around hoping some desperate fucker takes pity on you and notices.” 

“Fuck off, Naoya.”

His expression hardens, that little thread of irritation pulling tight because you did not blush, did not smile, did not give him even a crumb of the reaction he came looking for. “You know, this is exactly why people get so tired of you. You make everything so fucking difficult. I’m trying to be nice, and you’re acting like I cornered you in a damn alleyway.” 

“You put your hands on me!” 

“An arm, Y/N. I put my arm around you,” he corrects, like you’re the one being embarrassing. “Don’t make it sound so ugly.” 

“Well, it felt ugly.” 

For a moment, you think he might finally drop the act. But then his mouth curves again, albeit thinner and meaner at the edges. 

“Come on,” he says, taking a step closer and the crowd seems to bunch in to prevent you from leaving. “Don’t be like that. We know each other, don’t we? You don’t have to do the whole untouchable thing with me.” 

The alcohol is making everything lag a second behind. The music, the lights, the heat under your skin now sickening, the disgust rising sharp and sour in your throat. You know what he’s doing, you know it so clearly it almost sobers you. That glint in his eyes as he shamelessly trails his gaze down your face and between your tits, the way his hand is already lifting to grope you, how his voice has softened to be more convincing. 

You take another step back. 

“I said leave.” 

Naoya laughs. “You’re seriously going to act like you weren’t leaning back into me a second ago?”

“I thought you were someone else.” The words are out before you can catch them and shove them back down. 

His expression drops in a way that’s almost satisfying, if not for the fact that it twists into something worryingly familiar seconds later. You hate that your stomach sinks. You hate that, even now, some stupid trained part of you expects the punishment that comes after disappointing him. 

Naoya leans in again, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath under whatever expensive cologne he sprayed on himself. “So what was the plan? Get drunk enough that you could pretend it was an accident when you went home with someone?” 

Your fingers curl into a fist by your sides. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, eyes wide with fake innocence. “I’m just saying, you’re the one dancing around like you want attention looking like that. You can’t get mad when someone gives it to you.”

“Move,” you hiss. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “You always do shit like this. You act so above everything it’s a surprise you haven’t been humbled yet. Is that going to have to be my job now too?” 

“You don’t know anything about me anymore.” 

“Don’t get such a big head,” he sneers. “You’re still so easy to read. Still so fucking pathetic. Still need to feel someone’s attention on you, need to feel wanted, just so damn needy all the time.”

Your hand comes up so fast that you know the weight in which it’ll strike across Naoya’s face will give you the nicest, most satisfying crack. 

But before you can bring it down against his stupid fucking face, someone grabs your wrist and gently redirects it.  It takes you a moment to register what just happened. Someone had cut cleanly into the space Naoya had taken from you, still holding your wrist behind his back, and you blink at the grey shirt until you look up and see white hair. 

“Is there a problem?” Gojo’s voice is light enough that, for a strange second, it almost sounds like he’s walked into the wrong conversation. 

Something imperceptible flashes across Naoya’s face, something easily missed if you didn’t know his every tell. 

“Not your business, Gojo.” 

“Oh,” Gojo says, “don’t be like that. It looked fun over here. What were you guys talking about?” 

You don’t care for this passive aggressive approach of his. You yank at your arm. “I was about to slap him.”

Gojo glances back at you. 

You’re too drunk and too angry and too humiliated to care that his face is suddenly closer than expected, all pale hair and blue eyes and a mouth pressed into a thin line. You tug again, uselessly. 

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Let me slap him.” 

Naoya scoffs and takes a step back like he has other things on his agenda than to be publicly embarrassed. “This is insane. You’re both insane. Whatever, I’m done here anyway, what a fucking turn off.”

He turns to walk away, one hand running through his piss-coloured hair. 

Gojo’s other hand snaps out so fast you barely catch the motion. One second, Naoya is tilted to walk forward and the next, Gojo has his wrist caught in one hand, fingers locked around him with an ease that makes Naoya’s whole body jerk to a stop. 

Naoya suddenly hisses. There’s a thin red line where one of Gojo’s rings has bitten too hard into the skin. Despite this, Gojo does not give him the time of day. Instead, he looks at you. 

“Hm,” he says, tone casual, as if you have asked him whether he wants another drink. “I hear you, band shirt, but there’s an issue. If you slap him, you might get into trouble.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“He’s the president of—”

You squeeze his arm holding yours. “I don’t care. He’s never been slapped before in his life and it’s obvious. He needs to be slapped, Satoru, he deserves this.” 

Gojo pauses. Then, very seriously, he starts to nod slowly,  “I suppose that does make a lot of sense.”

Naoya jerks against his grip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Gojo’s hand only tightens, short nails digging into the skin, though he still doesn’t look away from you, not even when you whip your gaze over to your ex, wishing that looks could indeed kill. 

How did you ever date a guy like him? You stare at Naoya, at his ugly, furious, blotchy-red face, at the way he keeps looking around like there should be someone here to save him from the consequences of his own mouth. He keeps tugging and pulling but Gojo effortlessly keeps him there. 

“But it looks like you just got your nails done,” Gojo ponders. “And you could hurt yourself.” 

“It has to be me, Satoru.”

Gojo’s eyes soften at that and he finally smiles, voice going lower. “I know.” 

Then he shifts, letting go of your wrist. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you not to do it after all, that he is going to be sensible in ways that severely go against his reputation. Instead, he lifts his free hand between you, palm up. 

“Okay,” he says. “Then don’t hurt yourself doing it.” 

You blink. “What?” 

“If you’re going to do it, then do it properly,” he says, still speaking to you like Naoya is not standing there trying to pull free. “No weird wrist thing, And don’t throw your whole body into it just to put more force behind it. It’ll just make you fall over because you’re a little drunk and unsteady. You’ve gotta plant your feet.” 

Naoya laughs, no humour behind it. “Gojo, are you serious?” 

Gojo ignores him. “Also,” he adds, glancing at his own hand, “now that I think about it, rings might help.”

He holds your gaze for a little longer before offering you a kind smile and lowering his hand to you, fingers pointing towards you. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, gaze flickering up to his face then to his rings. “They might get bloody.”

“It’s okay, just take your pick. I can always clean them. This chance might not come again for you,” he tells you in a similarly soft tone. 

You reach out and take the one from his pinky finger because any other ring might be a size too big, and slide it onto your middle finger. 

Naoya’s face pales. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he snaps, trying again to wrench his wrist free. “You’re going to let her hit me?” 

Gojo finally looks at him. The smile he gives Naoya is bright enough to be mistaken for friendly. “Hey, man, it’s none of my business.” 

The ring is still a little too loose, the metal heavy and cold against your skin, and your hand trembles once before you curl it into a fist and open it again. 

Gojo notices and his attention is back on you. His voice drops just enough for only you to catch it again. “You sure?” 

You look at him, then past him, at Naoya’s pale, furious face. “Yes.” 

Gojo studies you for half a second longer, something soft passing through his expression before it disappears beneath a bright, almost cheerful smile. 

“Okay!” he says. “Then first, plant those feet and let your shoulders relax a little. If you hit him like that, it’ll go through your wrist, and then you’ll be mad tomorrow because he got your hand and your mood.” 

You nod and adjust. 

Naoya jerks in grip. “No, wait—”

Gojo doesn’t look at him. “You don’t need a big wind-up. It’ll be painful even if you don’t hit hard so no pressure.” 

“Hey,” Naoya snaps, voice pitching higher. “Someone get him off me.” 

“But I want to hurt him,” you say to Gojo. 

“You will,” Gojo says, very simply. “But you don’t have to hurt yourself to do it. You’re doing this for you, remember? To get it off your chest.” 

Naoya tries to laugh. It comes out wrong. “Come on, man. I said I’m sorry. Tell her to stop being dramatic.” 

Gojo tilts his head at you, as if listening to a distant appliance hum. “Do you hear something?”

You stare at him, cocking your head in a mirror of his own gesture. “The music?”

“No.” He waves his question away. “Something annoying. Anyway. Hand open, shoulders down and feet on the ground. You’ve got this.” 

You do as he says and then turn to look at Naoya. 

For months, he had made you feel like every reaction you had was too much, too loud or too needy, too embarrassing, too difficult to love. He had taught you how to swallow anger until it sat heavy in your stomach and called that maturity. He had always walked away with his shoulders up because you were always the one trying not to make a scene. 

And now, you’re finally going to leave a mark on him. 

You slap him. 

The sound cracks across the room, sharp enough to split cleanly through the music. Naoya’s head snaps to the side at the force of it, mouth open, but finally, finally, nothing leaves it. 

Your palm burns immediately, a bright sting rushing up your arm and the ring presses back into your finger, cold against the heat of your skin. It hurts a little. But it hurts so good. 

Gojo lets go of Naoya at once. Your ex stumbles back, one hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock. “You fucking—”

“Holy shit!” Gojo says loudly. “Is that Naoya from TDP? Dude, what are you doing here, do you even know Utahime?”

Naoya’s face drops slightly in confusion. “What?” 

Gojo’s voice carries easily over the music now. “No, seriously. Aren’t you the guy that one post was made about in the group chat? I wouldn’t have come to a party when you haven’t even said anything about the allegations.” 

The crowd surrounding you instantly starts murmuring amongst themselves, shooting Naoya dirty looks. 

Naoya grits his teeth, anger flooding his face all over again. “I didn’t—”

“It’s weird, I really don’t think Utahime would have invited you.”

“I was invited.”

“By who?”

Naoya opens his mouth but nothing comes out fast enough.

A girl by the couch scoffs. “Utahime would never invite him.”

“Yeah, didn’t she literally say not to let him in?”

“How did he get inside?”

Someone near you nods along to his words, and a girl wraps her arms around you, running her hand up and down your side. It could have so easily gone wrong, Naoya yelling something about being hurt and suddenly you became the problem. The drunk girl, the angry ex seeking vengeance. The one who slapped someone in the middle of the party. 

But now everyone is looking at him. And Naoya seems to realise this too because his eyes dart around the room, searching for sympathy and finding none. 

“Creep,” someone mutters.

“Get him out,” another voice says.

Naoya points toward Gojo, furious and scared in a way you have never seen before. “He’s lying. She’s drunk and she’s always been—” 

“Ugh, spare me, I know you were creeping around me too!” 

Gojo doesn’t stick around for the aftermath and you don’t either, his hand closing around your other hand to gently tug you through the growing crowd, his broad back guiding the way. 

It’s nice, you realise, which is a stupid thing to immediately think of next after slapping your ex-boyfriend in the middle of a party. Still, it is. 

The way he moves through the room without dragging you behind him, the way people part for him easily, but he keeps glancing back anyway, like he’s making sure you’re still there  and not swallowed by the music and body and the roaring awareness of what you’ve just done. His hand is warm around yours, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, firm enough that you don’t have to think too hard about where you’re going. 

You let yourself follow. Past the kitchen, past the hallway mirror, past two girls whispering near the wall,  both of them looking over your shoulder toward where Naoya had disappeared, their expression twisted with disgust. 

The noise dulls a little near the back of the house. The music still reaches here, bass-heavy and insistent, but the air feels cooler, less packed with breath and perfume. Just before the back door, Gojo stops. 

You nearly bump into him and he chuckles, turning around.

“Careful.” He looks you up and down not unpleasantly. “How’s the hand?” 

“It’s fine,” you say automatically. Then you pause, looking down. 

His ring is still sitting crooked on your middle finger, too loose and faintly warm now from your skin. Your palm is red and your fingers tingle but the slap keeps replaying in your head in satisfying flashes: the crack of it, Naoya’s face turning, and any regret you might have felt dissipates. 

“Okay, it might sting a little.” 

Gojo’s expression softens. “Let me see it.” 

You lift your other hand not in his, and he reaches out to take it, a sharp thrill running up your arm when he makes contact. He turns your hand over carefully, fingers light and ticklish against your palm as he inspects it. For a moment, you wonder about this gentleness that he shows you, how sharply it contrasts with the way he had held Naoya hard enough to draw blood. His fingers move over your palm with careful attention, thumb brushing beneath the base of your fingers, moving down to the sensitive skin of your wrist and making you shiver. The hallway is too warm and too cold at once, music pulsing behind you in dull waves, but all you can really feel is the shape of his hand around yours and the ridiculous, traitorous flutter under your ribs. 

“You’ll live,” he says eventually, fingers splaying over your wrist and forearm before dropping. “And you’re staring.” 

You blink when you process that he’s looking right into your eyes, his lips quirked into a small smile as he watches you.  “Thanks for helping me slap my ex.”  He shrugs. “It’s no problem, band shirt. I think my ring did the bulk of everything.”  You look down at your hand and notice that he’s right. The silver sits crooked on your finger, too loose and too pretty, catching the hallway light like it has any right to look innocent after drawing blood across Naoya’s cheek. Thank you, pretty silver ring, for your service. May your efforts haunt him for at least a few business days. Gojo lowers his hand under yours again and for a second, you think that he’s going to ask for it back. Instead, he lifts your hand slowly such that you have the chance to pull away. His eyes stay on yours until the last moment, before he lowers his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the ring.  Technically, it’s his ring and not your hand he kissed. Still, the warmth of his breath brushes your skin, and something bright and winged breaks loose in your stomach. Your fingers twitch once in his hold as your breath catches. His lashes lower into the kiss, before he opens his eyes again and looks up at you through them.  He smiles at you cheekily.   “Can’t run away from me now, can you?” he asks, lowering your hand just enough to comfortably interlace his own fingers with yours. “I never did give you my name that one time before but it’s Gojo Satoru, though it looks like you already know. Come sit with me.” 

‘Me’ ends up being him, and also his friends. Which is not as awkward as you thought it would be, mostly because the second Gojo opens the back door, Utahime and Shoko both sit up from where they’ve been lounging together on an outdoor chair like two cats disturbed mid-nap. Their fingers point at you at the exact same time.  “You!” “With him?”  “Hi guys.” You drop your hand from his under the piercing gaze of your friends. “How’s the party?” Gojo doesn’t say anything, only stepping around you with that easy, unbothered smile of his, and joining a conversation with some guys standing around the bonfire. 

Utahime’s backyard has been transformed into something of a cozy hangout spot. Cheap fairylights hang crooked from the overhead roof, blinking out of sink, and a few mismatched outdoor chairs and beanbags sit in a loose circle around a low table cluttered with cups, jackets, and a neat stack of cards. There’s a small lit fire further out, but you drag your eyes away from its company to focus on the people you do know.  Shoko shuffles closer to her girlfriend, patting the space next to her which you gratefully take. “Hold on, so did you find someone to make out with after all? And was it…?”  You quickly look back at Gojo who is now talking quietly with someone you don’t know, the long-haired boy nodding in serious thought at whatever is leaving his mouth. His eyes slide to you and when they meet yours, you flinch, looking away. “No! That’s not—God, my head is killing me. I didn’t make out with anyone, okay? I’m not here to find someone to hook up with.”  “Why are you here then?”  “You threatened me to come.” You point out.  “Well, you weren’t going to not come, that’s not in the cards.” Shoko presses you another cup into your hands and, because you have yet to learn your lesson from earlier, you take a trusting sip.  You almost choke out the battery acid when it hits your tongue, covering your mouth with your arm as you glare at your friends. “Oh, ew, Shoko. Seriously? Can’t you make something good for once? Your jungle juice is always so ass.”  “That’s how you know it works. Tongue loosened up yet? Why did you just walk out with Gojo? What’s going on between you two? Does he know now?”  You lean back into the seat at Shoko’s interrogation, and take another deep chug of Shoko’s disgusting drink. “Before you grill me, I have to grill you. Want to tell me what Naoya is doing at your party, Utahime?”  Utahime blinks. “Naoya is at my party?” 

“Was,” you correct yourself. “I think he got the message after I slapped him that he shouldn’t be here.”  “You slapped him?” Utahime sits up with a bright smile. “Oh my God, tell me you got that on video! To clear my name though, I definitely did not invite him. He must have snuck in or something.”  “Well, basically everyone saw so I’m sure there’s a video on someone’s story by now.” You look back at Gojo now standing with just one other guy. “Satoru just happened to be there at the right place and time to help. That’s it.”  When your friends don’t immediately press for more questions, you turn back and find them whispering and giggling to each other. When they feel your suspicious gaze, Shoko looks up. “Sorry, yes, right. Gojo saved you.”

Utahime clears her throat suddenly. “Wait, shut up. Three o’clock.”  You stiffen when a weight presses against you, someone’s body dropping into the narrow gap between you and the armrest. 

You instinctively shuffle closer to Shoko to make room, though there is not enough room to make. Your thigh presses ages his, shoulder brushing against yours, and his arm slides along the back of the chair, not quite touching your neck, but close enough that your skin tingles.  Shoko mutters, “This chair is clearly only meant for three.”  “I’d hate to think you don’t want me here,” Gojo says cheerfully. “What are we talking about? Me?”  “Your head is so far up your ass you only ever think of yourself,” Utahime grumbles.  You freeze, unsure where your limbs should go when you’re pressed up to the person behind the faceless voice in your walls. Admittedly, this realisation comes a little late. You should have armed your walled defenses the moment Gojo had grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind him, should have simply walked away after slapping Naoya (that was a non-negotiable, canon event) instead of letting him drag you back where you’re now trapped. Because he doesn’t know you’re her. And right now when you’re drunk and unsteady on your feet and thoughts? This might be the worst possible time for him to find out.  “That over there is Suguru,” Gojo suddenly leans in to say, breath ghosting the shell of your ear. His voice sends shivers down your neck and along your spine, every sensation suddenly all too much. The fabric that isn’t your own grazing high on your thigh, his hair tickling your cheek, his feet nudging yours slightly so you can move over just a little bit more for him.  “That’s Kento, with the frown and beside him is Yuu, without the frown. And those, on the table, are my Digimon cards. Who the fuck brought them out here?”  Haibara laughs. “Geto did! We were playing truth or dare with them!”

“You’re lucky that’s my dupe deck or I’d end this friendship right here and now,” Gojo says, an easy grin on his face as if he wasn’t pressing up against you, his chest warm and hard against your side, your elbow awkwardly jutting into him.  Your hand flexes around the cup, and the ring shifts slightly on your finger. Gojo’s gaze drops to it for half a second, a private little smile cutting across his mouth before he looks back at the table.  “We heard about what happened inside,” Geto says. “Are you okay?”  Would it be too late to suddenly go mute? If you’re able to recognise Gojo by his voice, then the chances of him putting name to face with the girl next door and you is also very high. Though, considering the way he isn’t immediately pulling you aside to ask if you are indeed the voice in his walls, you want to believe that he has yet to figure out your identity.  So no, it isn’t too late to go mute.  You nod in response to Geto’s question and flash him a smile, hoping none of it comes off as rude.  Gojo hums beside you, the vibration travelling through your bodies. He leans down to speak into your ear, a conversation just for you. “Not much for words? What happened to all the snark earlier?” You stall for time by taking a long sip of Shoko’s concoction, the sting temporarily skyrocketing to the top of your concerns. This may or may not be a bad idea because now that you’re seated, all the previous drinks sloshing around in your stomach and this adding sip burning down your throat, you feel the world tip a little. You probably can’t deflect this question, not when he asks like this, so you settle for something else.  Clearing your throat, you try for a lower octave than usual. “I only talk to the people that deserve it,” you say, then let out a small huff at how ridiculous you sound.  The grin he shoots you is all confidence and self-assurance, leaning in a fraction closer. “How would you know if you’ve never given me a chance?”  “It’s pointless, I already know what you’re like.” Maybe it’s the bonfire or the drink in your hand but you are getting really warm. You take another long sip. 

“We talked for ten minutes max the other day, I highly doubt that,” he cocks his head at you. “Do I know you from somewhere else?”  You hum. “Maybe.” 

“I think I would remember someone like you.”  That causes you to raise an eyebrow, letting his casual flirt roll off you.  “Flattery,” you start, poking his chest. You let him catch your hand in his, holding it there against his heart, “won’t get you anywhere especially when it’s empty.” “Who said it was empty? Besides, I know I wouldn’t forget such a pretty girl.” “Oh, you would. You are.” You laugh again, finding the inside joke hilarious. “Try a little harder to remember, hm Satoru?”  The challenge makes his eyes glow just like you knew they would, always have known from the moment when a wall still separated the two of you and he had laughed at your provoking, all dark and not humourous at all.  “Maybe if you gave me a name.” You’re not quite ready to hear his name from your lips just yet so you only shake your head, wagging your finger at him playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?” “I’m usually a patient man and I’m all for the chase,” he starts, fingers inching closer, brushing hair from the back of your neck as he leans in, “but you’ve left me high and dry for so long.” His words go in one ear and out the other, your breath hitching at the slightest touch. Despite yourself, you gulp and taste the bitter alcohol in your mouth. You feel it too, warmth pooling in your gut and making your head spin.  “I’m not an easy person,” you whisper, eyes flickering down to his lips and you bite your own, the rush of all your fantasies suddenly overwhelming you. In all other them, you’ve never once imagined his lips on yours, not until now. And you don’t doubt that after this, you'll be thinking of them often.  “Trust me,” he chuckles. “You’re not easy, you’re stubborn as hell and you always give me a hard time.” As if sensing your temptation, Gojo’s eyes trace the way your teeth dig into your lip, watching the pull before you release it, red and slightly jutted out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick the marks it leaves behind. 

Your breath hitches. He leans in slightly, looking up to search your face and wait to see if you’ll pull back. When you don’t, when he accepts whatever look is in eyes, he leans forward more. The anticipation builds and morphs into budding frustration when he continues to play this game of chicken, giving you countless moments to pull away if needed even when you’ve shown no sign of stopping.  Shoko clears her throat and you jump, accidentally crushing your solo cup. The liquid bursts up and flows down your wrist and into your lap.  “Shit!” you curse, immediately jumping up and pulling the fabric away from your skin.  Gojo quickly follows, one hand hovering on your lower back in case you tip back.  “Oh, fuck,” Shoko says. “You okay?”  “Yeah, it’s just super sticky.” You wince, accepting the tissues Nanami hands you though they do little good. “Ew, it’s, like, sticking to my skin.”  Utahime speaks up, watching you from over the rim of her cup. “There’s a bathroom down the corridor. Gojo knows where it is, he can show you.” “And maybe the two of you can make out there instead of right in front of us,” Geto says offhandedly, though his cup can’t completely hide his grin. The people around the table giggle at his words, Shoko probably the loudest.  You blush, immediately going to deny his accusations but Gojo beats you to it. “Shoko and Utahime are one second away from eating each other’s faces off but no one says anything about that!”

“That’s because this is my party, Gojo.”  “Yeah, well it was my party that got you two together,” Gojo shoots back childishly.  Everyone laughs again, chattering as they descend into the topic of other inside jokes, playing word association as they leap from memory to memory. There’s a sense of belonging that oozes from everyone as they lean into one another and talk and gossip. You might have appreciated this moment more, enjoyed the fact that they’re allowing you into this intimate moment, if not for the sudden blossoming warmth inside you. Before you can really think about it, you tug on Gojo’s shirt.  He immediately leans down, angling his ear to you. “Hm?” 

“Take me to the bathroom?”  Gojo stiffens, eyes flickering to your face then down your body. He bites his lip hard to focus, ignoring the temptation to let his mind wander at your innocent words. They had to be innocent, right? You, who was now looking up at him through your lashes with a pout playing on your lips, one hand tugging on the hem of his shirt, thumb rolling over the fabric slowly. You who was fidgeting ever so slightly, thighs rubbing together due to the cold. “Yeah,” he says suddenly, all humour gone. “Let’s go.”  Someone cheers behind you as Gojo helps you up and opens the back door for you, though neither of you seem to care. He doesn’t bother with answering greetings, only smiling shortly as you pass familiar people, something more impatient when he guides you than before.  He leads you down a corridor and into a dark room, closing the door behind you. Your heart leaps to your throat until he turns on the light, and you wince at the brightness.  “Sorry, pretty. Should’ve warned you,” Gojo says, only looking vaguely apologetic as he leans against the closed door, one hand still on the knob like he’s giving you a chance to back out.  He watches you carefully, tracing the line of your jaw, the slightest twitch of your brow and then, his favourite part, the flush climbing your cheeks. “The bathroom should be safer than a spare room. Who knows who is in there doing what.” You hesitate. “You didn’t have to follow me in.” 

“No?” He tilts his head, eyes roaming over you before settling smugly on your face. “You’re still holding onto my shirt. Maybe let go if you want to sound convincing.”  You shiver, letting go immediately and stepping back closer to the sink. You open your mouth to say something, a stupid excuse perhaps, but he beats you to it.  “You cold?”  “What?” “Earlier.” His eyes fall to your legs. “You were fidgeting. Thought maybe you were cold. Call me a desperate guy if you want, but don’t ask a guy to take you somewhere private while looking at me like that.”  “Like what?”  Gojo pushes off the door and you take a step back instinctively. “Like you wanted me to misunderstand you.”  You hesitate, looking around the bathroom. He seems to notice, and stops immediately, eyes softening. “Hey, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. Just shove me away and I’ll go, I promise.”  “It’s not that,” you bite your lip.  “Then what is it, pretty?”  “You talk too much. You’re too loud,” you manage to say, warm despite the chill of the drink on you. “Always have been.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”  “Yes.”  “Good.” He takes one step closer. “Then make me shut up.”  Your back meets the sink before you realise you have moved, the contrast of cold porcelain against your overheated skin making you gasp. He’s on you in an instant, hands roaming down your side until they’re gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.  “You’re so tense,” he murmurs against your neck. “You have no idea I’ve been watching you all night, do you? That little skirt? This tiny little top?”  He slaps your tits and you jolt, looking up at him in surprise to which he only grins down at you. You can’t seem to form a coherent thought, not when there’s alcohol swimming in your veins and turning your limbs to jelly, mind to fog. Still, you manage to say, “Did you just slap my boob?” “Don’t act like you didn’t like it. If I shove my hand down your skirt, am I going to find you wet, pretty?”  His knee nudges between your thighs, spreading them open as he steps closer.  “You are so gross—” you start, but he cuts you off with his mouth on yours.  The kiss is brutal and demanding all at once. His tongue slides against yours, tasting of expensive liquor and something sweet, or maybe that’s just your taste and he’s shoving it back against your mouth. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, tilting your head back. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your throat, sucking hard at the pulse point. “Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve wanted this since the first time I heard you. You have quite the perverted streak to you, don’t you?” Your breath hitches. His hand slides down, palm flat against your stomach, then lower. He doesn't bother with the fabric of your panties, just pushes them aside and drags his fingers through your slick folds. “Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re soaked. And you're gonna tell me you weren't dreaming about this? Getting yourself off to the thought of me touching you like this?”  His middle finger sinks into you without warning. You cry out, a sound that would be embarrassing if you had any sense left. But all you can feel is the stretch, the fullness, the way your body clenches around him desperately. “That's it,” he coos, tone shifting to something truly mocking. “You’re really feeling it now, aren’t you?”  He adds a second finger, fucking them into you with a rhythm that has your knees buckling. His thumb circles your clit in lazy, torturous circles. You're already so close, the buildup of tension from hours of dancing, of drinking, of watching him across the room, it all crashes toward a peak. “Please,” you whimper. “Please what? Use your words, pretty.” “Please fuck me,” you manage to gasp, fantasy and reality crashing together in a dizzying mess.  He pulls his fingers out abruptly, and you groan at the loss. But then you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his pants, and your mouth waters. He takes himself in hand, strokes once, twice, and then the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance. “Look at me,” he commands.

You force your eyes open. His are dark, pupils blown wide, a little furrow between his brows. 

“Are you with me?” he asks, brushing your hair out of your eyes.  You nod, rutting forward pathetically.  “Come on, pretty, I need to hear you say it.” “I’m here!” you choke out, gasping. “Please, I want this, I promise I—I want you. Satoru, please.” He groans, the tip of his cock pressing forward beyond that little ring of resistance, swearing at the involuntary thrust. “Okay, okay, I’ve got you.”  He noses into your temple, inhaling deeply, one thumb holding you open as he presses in and groans, filthy and depraved.  “Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasps, cock stuttering through until he’s buried deep.  The sensation of being stretched wide open on his cock makes you tense, before a ragged, grateful cry escapes your swollen lips. You can barely breathe through your nose, head spinning with pleasure.  “Oh god, oh my god!” you cry out, head thrown back. 

“Shh,” he hisses against your ear, his breath hot and sweet. His cock rams into you—a thick, punishing rhythm he picks up easily—and every thrust pushes your back against the sink. “You gotta stay quiet, angel. We don't want anyone hearin’ how much of a slut you are, do we?” But of course, all good things have to come to an end because through the hazy pleasure, you hear a grating voice.  “Hey! Y/N! I know you're in there!” You can recognise Naoya’s voice anywhere even, it seems, when you’re being fucked for every inch of your life.  Gojo’s hand closes around your mouth as he looks at you, grunting softly with every thrust. He pulls out briefly and you whine until he turns you around and presses you up against the cold tiles, driving up into you like he never left. His rhythm doesn’t falter, if anything, he pounds harder.  “Mm-mm,” you try to say, shaking your head, panic rising. He doesn't stop. He slams into you and your body jolts, your forehead knocking against the tile. “I said I know you're in there!” Naoya's voice is slurred, angry. He kicks the door. “Open the fuck up! We need to talk!” Gojo’s hand slides off your mouth though not enough to leave completely. It’s just his palm moving, his fingers hooking into the corner of your lips, prying your mouth open. Two of them slip inside, salty with your own slick, and he pushes them back until you're gagging.

“Answer him,” Gojo whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Go on. Tell him you’re busy.”

You can’t. His fingers are deep in your throat. You gag, tears springing to your eyes, and he just laughs, low and dark. “Oh, right. You can't talk with my fingers in your mouth, can you?” He pulls them out, slick and wet, and wraps them around your jaw, tilting your face toward the door. “Try again. Use your words.” “Naoya,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, breathless. “I’m—I’m fine. Just—” “Just what?” Gojo thrusts, hard, and your sentence crumbles into a gasp. His cock sinks so deep you feel it in your stomach. “Just getting fucked stupid? Tell him the truth.” There’s a beat of silence. You can picture Naoya on the other side of the door, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, certainly enraged. “You’re lying. I can hear you breathing. Open the fucking door.” Gojo’s hips slow. He pulls almost all the way out, leaving just the tip, and then drives forward in one smooth, devastating motion. You cry out, quickly muffled by your own hand. “Don't make me break this door down,” Naoya warns. Gojo chuckles, right in your ear. “He sounds mad. Poor guy. You really do know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?” He leans closer, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you’re not his anymore, are you? You're mine. For tonight, anyway.” He fucks you slow now, deep and deliberate, his cock dragging along every inch of your walls. You feel every ridge, every vein and your legs tremble in the delicious drag.

“Tell him,” Gojo whispers, “that you’re busy. That you don’t have time for him anymore. ‘Cause he’s nothing to you now, right? Tell me he’s nothing to you.”  You swallow, wanting nothing more than to open your mouth and babble about how incredible it is to get railed in a bathroom, how brainless Gojo’s cock is making you but you have to be good, he’s waiting for you. So instead, you manage to say, “Naoya, leave me—ngh—alone!” Naoya growls at the closed door before him, even going so far as to stomp his feet like a petulant kid. “Fine! Fucking fine, Y/N! But I promise you, you’ll regret this! I’ll make sure you do!”

Sure, you think, eyes rolling back, as if your Etsy witch can touch me anymore when Gojo is fucking me. You slump forward, relief flooding you when you hear his footsteps retreating, but Gojo doesn’t let you rest. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and resumes his brutal pace. “Good girl,” he purrs. His voice is different now, softer, honeyed and  almost affectionate. “Such a good fucking girl. You did so well. You listened. You obeyed.” He kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed, wet. “See? I knew you could be good for me.” The whiplash is dizzying and it only makes you arch more, something inevitable and delicious approaching in the far distance.  “That's right,” he murmurs, still fucking you deep and slow. “You took that so well. Pretended you weren’t getting your tight little cunt stuffed while your ex was right outside. That takes skill, pretty. You’re so fucking perfect for me.” His hand snakes around your front, fingers finding your clit. He rubs slow, tight circles, and your hips buck. “Bet you've been practicing, haven't you?” His voice is a low, knowing drawl. “All those nights you thought nobody was listening. Thought nobody could hear you moaning. But weren’t you the one to tell me? The walls are thin as shit, angel.” He’s ramming into you now, fast and rough again, his words spilling out between each thrust and all you can do is be a ragdoll in his hold.  “You'd lie in bed, late at night, fingers in your pussy, listening to me stroke my cock. I’d hear you. The wet sounds. The little ‘oh, yes’s. And I’d think... fuck, I need to have that. I need to feel that cunt clench around me.” You're dizzy, overwhelmed. His hand on your clit, his cock in your cunt, his words in your brain, it’s all too much. “Did you think I didn’t recognize you at the party tonight? The girl with the needy little moans?” He bites your earlobe, hard enough to sting. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to corner you. And then you showed up drunk and sad, with that asshole on your heels, and I knew tonight was the night.” He’s watching you in the mirror and you catch his reflection. His eyes are dark, lips parted, face flushed. He’s absolutely beautiful.

“I'm gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna pump my cum so deep inside you it leaks out for days. And when you walk past my door tomorrow, you're gonna know. You’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna touch yourself to the memory, and I’ll be right there, on the other side of the wall, stroking myself to the sound of you coming undone.” His hips slam into you. Once, twice, three times. You feel the pressure building, the coil in your belly tightening to the point of pain. “Satoru—” you gasp, hands fumbling for purchase on the wall.  “I know, angel, I know. Cum for me,” he demands. “Wanna finally feel you cum on my cock—fuck.” You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, your cunt clenching around him, your body shaking. You cry out his name—Satoru—and he follows a second later, buried to the hilt, his cum hot and thick inside you. He holds you there, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slick and sticky. Then he pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thigh. “Good girl,” he says again, his voice a warm, approving caress. He turns you around, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you, soft, tender, unhurried. “You did so well, pretty. So, so good for me.” Your knees are weak and he notices, turning you and pressing you to his chest to keep you upright. He continues to whisper in your ear as your senses return to you, and when you finally lift a hand to gently push at his chest, he lets you, eyes immediately flickering down to your eyes.  “Still with me?”  You nod, before you fall forward into his arms. 

When your body breaks down alcohol, it converts the ethanol into acetate, a process that produces a lot of NADH from NAD⁺. The imbalance of the NADH⁺ ratio leads to the feelings of weakness and grogginess that come from a horrible night out.  You wake now, approximately ninety percent NADH and ten percent regret.  For a while, you refuse to move. You only stare at your ceiling, blinking slowly at the familiar crack in the paint above your head, the soft grey light pressing through the curtains, the horrible cotton-dry feeling your tongue against the top of your mouth.  How the fuck did you get home? Your own bed, in most cases, the preferred place to wake up after all. It’s safe, it’s familiar, and most importantly, it’s yours. But the last thing you remember is not collapsing into the warmth and security of your own bed. The last thing you recall comes in fragments: Utahime’s party, Gojo’s hands on your body, the bathroom light flickering too bright overhead, the sink cold behind you and his voice low in your ear.  And then nothing. You suppose there are brief pieces after that, blurry and soft around the edges. Glimpses of a car window, someone cursing under their breath, the sound of your keys jingling and the vague sensation of being carried. That one must have been a drunken hallucination because it’s humiliating and therefore cannot be the truth.  You fumble for your phone which is not beside your pillow where you usually place it after your nightly doomscroll before bed, but placed neatly on your bedside table. There’s a few texts from friends on your lock screen, but there’s only one person you want to text. 

shoko: alive?

actually don’t answer if you’re dead

if you’re alive though please drink some water and let me know that you’re ok 

You laugh softly. Why did you jump to conclusions so quick? Of course it was Shoko that took you home! Who knew her upper body strength was so good that she managed to carry you into your own bed after a night of drinking. 

you: im alive!!

thank u so much for taking me home btw 

i owe u :3

She quickly reacts to your message with a heart before the typing indicator appears. 

shoko: i didn’t take u home (?) 

gojo did obv

he WHAT? is probably what you’re thinking but please remember to breathe and drink some water before you crash out 

You are, in fact, thinking he what?And because Shoko accurately called you out on that, you decide to follow through on the rest of her advice. You turn your head and stop a sticky note stuck to the glass of water beside your head, bright yellow and neat as a warning label. 

water is important when you’re recovering from a hangover! — satoru

Then, a little to the left, attached to a packet of painkillers, 

because i know your head probably feels like shit rn — still me 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, unsure whether to laugh or to run away. 

You do neither because your head really does hurt like a motherfucker, and take the painkillers along with a generous gulping or two of water. The cool liquid does little against the parched nature of your throat, but when you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you feel alive enough to venture out of your bed.  There’s a sticky note on the ground next to a pair of slippers you swore you had separated, one in the kitchen one somewhere in the living room. 

the ground is cold! wear slippers! — forever urs :3

“Forever yours?” you repeat aloud, voice wrecked with sleep and dehydration even as you shove your toes in. 

There’s another note on the back of your bedroom door. 

no matter what u see in the mirror remember you’re beautiful! — shrek to ur fiona?

You open your bedroom door and make your slow, regretful way to the bathroom where you lay your tired eyes on your puffy face. You have definitely seen better days. There’s another note stuck to your mirror. 

face wash is on the left toothbrush is on the right if you use the face wash as toothpaste, that’s between you and god — not your doctor 

Huffing out a sound that might be amusement, you pick up your toothbrush and ensure you squeeze toothpaste onto its bristles. The toothpaste is minty and makes your eyes water slightly, but by the time you rinse your mouth, you feel one step closer to not feeling like the undead. 

There’s another note stuck to the towel rack. 

if ur eyes are puffy, put a cold compress over them! — still not a doctor

From the bathroom back to your room for a change of clothes and even on your way to the kitchen, you’re guided by a series of sticky notes. 

clean clothes! i didn’t look through your drawers dw — feminist 

welcome to the kitchen! huge milestone for you — ur biggest fan 

water already boiled in here so when you wake up to reboil it it’ll take less time — the kettle knower 

drink real water first before the coffee !! seriously don’t put coffee in me just yet — mug 

soup inside on the second shelf :3 not homemade so don’t get too excited i’m handsome, not magical i couldn’t have it both ways — :(

in the microwave for two minutes with lid half on! take it out when it’s boiling — the soup sipper 

You finally feel alive enough to laugh, embarrassingly loud in the quiet of your kitchen. You stand there in your slippers, teeth brushed, face washed, and dressed in clothes when any other time you might have still been under the covers. 

The apartment feels full of him. A note when you open your utensil drawer for a spoon, a note sitting on top of a coffee pod conveniently placed on your counter, a note against the body of a vase you’ve placed on your dining table to feel more homey. 

eat slowly, you get hiccups when you rush! 

The notes take you away from your drying rack when you’ve finished the store-bought soup and washed your spoon, taking you to your living room. Your camera sits on your coffee table, a sticky stuck on the surface that reads: “turn me on ><” You roll your eyes but do so, lifting it up and framing the sorry state of your living room before hitting the record button. The first shot captures just how many sticky notes litter the surface of almost every object, the words telling you a funny joke or reminding you to put something back. You take your time walking through all of them, his handwriting everywhere, his name everywhere (except when he decides to write down a silly nickname). 

Satoru.

Satoru.

Satoru.

Then, you find the last one on your front door. 

if you’re overwhelmed, you don’t have to open this today. if you’re angry at me, just yell at me through the wall :( if you’re okay, i’d like to see you — satoru

And then, before you can think it through, you reach forward and open your door.  Gojo stands in the hallway, a bouquet of flowers clutched in both hands like he’s praying. His eyes light up when you open your door and he moves forward instinctively. He’s so close that the toe of one sock is nearly edging over the threshold of your apartment.  You let out a short scream.  He startles just as badly, eyes going wide as he reaches forward on instinct to steady you, and your camera slips from your hand. “Oh—”  It hits the floor before either of you can grab it, bouncing once, then sliding sideways across the carpet until it knocks gently against the leg of your couch. The camera keeps recording from there, tilted on its side. It catches the lower half of your open door, Gojo’s socked feet in the hallway, your bare feet on the carpet, and the hem of your sweater falling over your shorts. “Are you okay?” he asks in a rush. 

“What are you doing standing right in front of my door, you creep?” you shoot back, one hand pressed to your chest. “Were you standing there the entire time?” 

“I was trying to be romantic.” He shoves the bouquet toward you, panic making his voice crack at the edges. “I literally got you flowers!”  You take them automatically, bewildered by the weight of roses in your hands. “Thank you? Is that why you’ve littered all over my apartment?”  His face falls. “Was that not cute?” 

You blink. “Cute?”  “Did you not think it was cute?” he asks, suddenly horrified. “Because I thought it was cute. I mean, not in a weird way. Well, maybe a little weird. But intentional weird. Charming weird.” 

“The sticky notes?” He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Look, I’ve never done anything like this before, okay? This whole romance thing is seriously above me, I have no idea how I’m meant to ask you this without scaring you away.”  You stare at him for a long while before laughing. The sound pulls from your throat loud and bright that it almost hurts with an incoming headache, but it’s so funny you just can’t stop. “I knew you had no experience with women. I called it all along, didn’t I?” “Please, this and that are completely unrelated.” His shoulders seem to relax at your laugh, and he finally cracks a smile, running a hand through his hair. “You never were going to make it easy for me, were you?” 

“Easy? When you’ve just left forty sticky notes in my apartment and then lurked outside my door?” His smile trembles, trying to stay bright, but the nerves are still there beneath it. You can see them now that you know to look. The way his fingers flex at his side, the way his eyes keep flickering from your face to the threshold like he is measuring the exact line he is not allowed to cross.  “I wasn’t lurking,” he says, quieter. “I was waiting.”  Your fingers tighten around the bouquet.  Gojo looks down at it, then back at you. “I wanted to knock earlier, but I thought if you woke up and saw me before you were ready, you’d panic.” “Please, I wouldn’t have panicked.”  “You literally panicked ten seconds ago.” “Touche.” You look at him for a short while before glancing down at your slippered-feet. “I’m still scared, honestly. I think I’ve been cursed in every possible aspect of love. That’s why when I heard your voice all the way back during that carwash event, I didn’t want you to know it was me. It would break what we had going on through the wall and I liked that. It felt like something I could just keep to myself. And then I found out you were Satoru and it was obvious you weren’t just mine anymore.”  Gojo lets you talk, lets you call him Gojo again without saying a single word until you finish. Then he says, “Were you disappointed?”  “No,” you say immediately. “It wasn’t like that.” 

He smiles then, head tilting to the side. “Then I can be just Satoru. Just your Satoru, if that helps.”  It’s so stupidly cheesy that you have to scoff, even as your cheeks warm.  “I’m serious,” he chuckles along with you, stepping a little closer. “I liked being 4B. I liked that you knew me when I was just some guy through the wall that you liked talking to. I liked talking to you through blackouts and through shitty phone calls. I liked what we had too. Have, if you’ll let me.” “Are you asking me out?” He huffs, a weary smirk on his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”  Instead of answering him, you shove the bouquet of flowers back into his chest, watching as his brows furrow in confusion, before you’re reaching forward to cup his face and kiss him. In one suspended second, Gojo simply stands there doing absolutely nothing. He freezes so completely beneath your hands that, if you risked opening your eyes, you might find his bright blue ones staring back at you. His lips are still against yours, the rest of him gone rigid, roses crushed between his chest and yours, fingers locked around the stems not quite sure what else to do.  You almost pull back. 

But then, in a rush of movement, the bouquet is gone.  He throws it blindly into your apartment with a kind of urgent, graceless force that makes several roses scatter across your carpet. Before you can laugh, his arms are around you.  One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close enough you half tread on his feet, other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, warm and shaking just slightly. Nothing in the world has ever felt so right.  There’s too much smiling in the kiss, and your noses are pressed awkwardly for the kiss to be smooth but then he tilts his head and gets it right.  You kiss him until your lungs begin to object and then slowly, you pull away. Gojo follows you for half a second before he catches himself, eyes opening slowly. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, and his mouth is parted without anything clever coming out of it.  “So,” he licks his lips, eyes flickering down for a moment. “Is that a yes?”  From the floor, your camera continues recording from its crooked angle. It captures none of it neatly, not your face and not his, not the way his thumb brushes your cheek. It catches the fall of the roses, the way your bodies draw the other in in a rush, the stumbling as he walks you back into your apartment and you both disappear from the frame in a fit of giggles and whispered words.  “Yes, Satoru,” you laugh, letting him guide you further into your apartment. “It’s a yes.”  Later, when you edit the film, you leave the shot in. It isn’t as graceful as it could be nor will it win an Oscar in cinematography, but for your love assignment, you decide that this will do. 

That another man might be sleeping in your bed and tangled in your sheets. That while he was staring at the ceiling wondering what went wrong, you were staring up at someone new, getting split open and stretched out without even giving him a second thought.

"I'm fine," Satoru forced a strained smile, folding his arms across his chest.

Suguru glanced over at him once, but didn't say anything, just dropping the box in the shopping bag.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

They knew it was wrong and waited for it to fix itself? For you to be fine?

"I'm gonna go look at the protein bars," Satoru murmured, walking away before he could get stuck spinning in the same circles he'd been in for months.

He was supposed to be moving on.

But if he was still thinking about you, surely, he had to be on your brain too. There was no way you'd just forget the fun times, the fucking, how freely you used to giggle at his dumb jokes.

Suguru just didn't understand.

He could say he loved you, and yeah, he did, but Satoru was the one who found you first, had forced fate to tie you together.

It was his idea to introduce you to each other, his idea for you to live together, his idea to share you after Suguru snuck his way into sleeping with you first.

What kind of world was it where you weren't his too?

Sometimes, on those shitty nights where he ended up counting the seconds on the clock, he sorta wished he'd knocked you up when he had the chance.

At least then you couldn't completely cut him out of your life, like he was some sickness you had to cull.

He glanced up at the signs hanging over the aisles, searching for the one he was looking for. It wasn't their usually grocery store. Suguru's suggestion - a silent way of saying he was sick of hiding from your shadow too. But even going somewhere that held no memories of you didn't help the creeping feeling that you should be here.

With them. Him.

Satoru found the aisle, turning the corner just to freeze at the familiar outline and pretty face waiting for him.

Maybe fate hadn't forgotten him after all.

꒰ა ⠀ ໒꒱

"The fuck are these so overpriced for?" Sukuna grumbled, dismissively picking through the selection of protein bars while you tried not to smile.

"I dunno," You hm-ed, sneaking peeks at him while you looked through the shelves. He wasn't your boyfriend. But you guessed grocery shopping together post-sex wasn't too bad. "We could probably order some online cheaper."

He spent half the week at your apartment anyway.

You might as well stock up on them.

He hmph-ed, but after the past few months of forming a genuine friendship (and sleeping together), you'd figured out that was his way of agreeing.

"Chocolate? Or vanilla?"

You glanced over your shoulder, holding up equally-overpriced protein shakes in each hand as you offered them out to him.

Sukuna huffed, but he shuffled closer anyway, snagging the heavy shopping basket from off your arm after tossing both bottles in. His scowl only softened when he noticed you watching him.

"No strawberry?" He muttered, scanning the shelf in front of you.

"Nope," You hummed, glancing down the aisle and slipping away to find the next item on your grocery list while he trudged after you.

He never let you stray too far though.

A hand squeezed your wrist right as you turned into the next aisle, nearly making you crash into the chip bags lined up on the end cap before you turned around to see someone who wasn't yours - not anymore.

"Hey gorgeous."

Charming smile. Pretty blue eyes. Wild white hair.

Your former roommate.

You didn't get the chance to breathe before Sukuna was shoving Gojo away. Hard. And he did crash into the next end cap over, a few gift cards falling off their hooks and hitting him in the head while Sukuna stepped between you.

"Try that again," Sukuna didn't have to snarl or shout, just three short words in his husky tone was threat enough.

Your second assessment of Satoru Gojo was more critical. The wrinkles in his shirt and the dark circles under his eyes, the once soft buzz of his undercut grown out.

Recognizing that awful ache in his eyes you'd once seen in your own reflection.

He looked like shit.

"Sukuna," You forced his name out, swallowing hard as you folded your arms across your chest, as if it'd do anything to shield you from how hollow you felt seeing Satoru Gojo again. "Let's just leave."

Wherever Satoru was, Suguru was probably close behind.

"Don't," Gojo sounded panicked, his plea cutting through as Sukuna only stepped back enough to wrap an arm around your waist, still glaring at him. "Can we please talk? Just us? You know, catch up?"

You didn't understand how he couldn't see there never had been an us.

There was only ever a them.

"No thanks," You shook your head, settling into Sukuna's side. His grip was tight on your hip, like you might actually slip free and take Gojo up on his offer.

You ended up telling him the entire convoluted history one night half-wasted on wine coolers while you were supposed to be watching some movie, the tv forgotten and the volume turned down so he could listen to every embarrassing detail. How pathetically in love you were. How long they left you out. How empty you felt after being used so easily.

Sukuna hadn't said much in the moment, but his face made it obvious he loathed them even more than you did.

And even though you both established you weren't really looking for a relationship, he fucked you that night like you were, slow and sure, his mouth on yours and his hands holding your wrists.

"They don't bother you still?" He had murmured in your ear afterwards, your fingers coming through his hair as you laid flat on his chest.

"I blocked them," You shrugged, sighing as he pulled you up so he could press a kiss to your forehead.

For a guy who claimed to be only be concerned about getting his cock wet, he was hellbent on aftercare anyway, making sure you were comfortable and carrying you to the bathroom and checking the temperature for the shower or bath before letting you step in.

But it wasn't like you could compare him to Satoru, or even Suguru.

He was just different.

"Sweetheart," The Satoru in front of you now protested, standing up straight and ignoring the gift cards now scattered by his feet. One had gotten caught on his jacket, but he hadn't realized it.

A petty part of you hoped he would try to leave with it and set off the sensors.

But mostly?

You didn't really feel anything for him anymore. The holes in your heart had been patched up. Caulked and painted over until it was brand new. Or as close as you could get.

Time was funny. The past four months had felt longer than the last four years.

You accepted what happened already. You could blame them and point fingers and cry about it, but you had to face the fact you let them. Love wasn't an excuse.

"I hope you're doing okay," You managed a polite smile, letting Sukuna start to pull you back towards the cash registers.

"I'd be better if you heard me out," Gojo called out, his voice still saccharinely sweet, a pretty purr that stopped working on you long before you'd left him. "Two minutes, please."

If you gave him an two minutes, he'd ask for an hour. And then what? Beg you to come back? Promise he missed you? That all he wanted was to try again?

"Your boyfriend really won't let you talk to me?" He just couldn't help himself, could he? Bitterness bleeding through, a big dramatic pout probably plastered on.

He only cared when you slipped through his fingers.

Gojo would never be your boyfriend.

And sometimes you wondered if he'd ever really been your friend.

You didn't reply, chewing on the inside of your cheek when he reached back out, his fingers grazing your arm, about to grab you before Sukuna caught his wrist.

"Touch her, and I'll break your fucking fingers," Sukuna scoffed. You suspected he would've done it already if this wasn't where you regularly shopped at. A few of the cashiers were glancing nervously at each other, one of them reaching for the phone to call the manager or maybe even the cops before you pulled Sukuna back.

"Come on," You murmured, tugging on his sleeve as he let go of Gojo with a disgusted sigh. "He's not worth it."

Satoru made a sound that was half a scoff, and half, well, you weren't sure what.

Something hurt? Wounded? Betrayed?

You decided it didn't matter.

The show was over. You bowed out. Whatever you were to each other now, it wasn't anything more than background extras.

Sukuna slipped his hand into yours, fingers holding on tight as he followed you to checkout, mumbling something about what a fucking idiot Gojo was under his breath and readjusting the shopping basket hooked over his other arm.

"Goddamn prick," Sukuna muttered, throwing a mean glare over his shoulder as he started taking items out of the basket and setting them on the conveyor belt.

"It's whatever," You replied, trying not to find the fact he was more bothered than you funny. You snagged the basket when it was empty, glancing around to where the others were stacked. "I'm gonna put this back."

"Fine," Sukuna grumbled, digging his wallet out from his jeans. "But I'm paying."

You cracked a smile, watching him out of the corner of your vision while he tried to answer semi-politely to the cashier's small talk while you walked over to add your basket to the stack.

But a flash of something dark caught your attention.

Suguru was watching you.

Maybe had been for the past few minutes. A basket of his own hooked over his elbow, filled with familiar foods and snacks you hadn't tasted since you'd lived with them.

He didn't make any move to walk over. His hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun, bangs swept away from his face so you could see how intently he was observing you. Dark brows knitted together, a phony smile he couldn't pretend reached his eyes.

His hand lifted up to wave, and you hesitantly returned it.

They missed you.

But you hadn't missed them.

꒰ა ⠀ ໒꒱

"Seriously," Sukuna huffed. "Who the fuck does he think he is?"

You giggled, getting up on the tip of your toes to put up a box of pancake mix. He grabbed it from your hand, neatly putting it up on the shelf for you while he sighed. His hand settled on your hip though, his chest to your back and broad frame blocking you from slipping away. You looked over your shoulder at him. "Kuna."

"Don't 'Kuna' me," He wryly said, face scrunched up. "I should've beat his ass for just talking to you."

You did laugh now, unable to stop yourself when his jaw clenched, lips tugged down in a serious frown.

"I'm not joking."

"I know," You grinned, shaking your head like you disapproved.

If you were somewhere else, a dingy bar or out on the street, he probably would've hit him. Grabbed him by the collar and given him a black eye or a broken nose.

You might've liked it a few months ago.

But you didn't need him to defend you now.

"You should go blow off some steam," You softly said, twisting so you could brush his hair back, running your fingers through the soft pink strands and craning your neck up to plant a kiss on the hard line of his jaw.

"Yeah," He reluctantly grumbled.

He leaned down to capture your lips against his, your back hitting the door frame as his greedy hands traced over the outline of your waist down to your ass, squeezing like it was some stress toy for him. His kiss was greedy, tongue lapping at your lower lip before hurrying to slip between them, to remind himself you were his to taste. You broke away first to catch your breath, lungs straining for air.

Sukuna groaned, his nose brushing against yours and sharp eyes searing through you.

"You're right."

"Usually am," You hummed back, offering one more peck to his cheek before slipping out of his grasp to finish unloading the groceries you'd managed to buy before you were interrupted.

"I guess I'll go the gym," He relented, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, you could ask Jin to go with you," You suggested before he could try to ask you.

All you wanted to do was nap. Catch an hour or two of sleep while you had a free afternoon since a certain someone would probably be cutting into how much you'd be getting tonight.

He helped you unload the rest, putting up the stuff that went on the higher shelves while you stocked the fridge. But when he went to pull out his phone, you snuck out to your bedroom, peeling off your shirt and jeans to change into something more comfortable, a thin tank-top and pajama pants. You tossed your phone on the nightstand before crawling in bed and pulling the blankets over you.

Sukuna popped in right as your eyes started to shut, squatting next to the bed to flick your forehead. You swatted at his hand before rolling over, hiding your head under a pillow.

"I'm heading out," He sighed, and you felt something in your hair, a small pull for your attention, or more likely, him fighting the temptation to tug on it.

"Okay." Your voice was muffled by the pillow, but you didn't bother peeking out.

"I'll come over after," He added, like he didn't really want to leave.

"You don't have to," You shrugged under the covers. Maybe you were friends with benefits, but it was on your terms this time. You enjoyed his company, but you didn't expect anything from him. If he wanted to go out afterwards and fuck another girl, it was fine by you. If you didn't see him again for weeks, oh well.

Being alone wasn't bad at all.

Sukuna huffed, his steps shuffling in place.

"I want to," He begrudgingly admitted.

"You can take my key then, I guess," You yawned, readjusting the blanket as you got more comfortable in bed. "Not going anywhere anyway. Just lock the door behind you."

Sukuna tch-ed, and you were glad the pillow hid how hard you rolled your eyes.

He'd been hinting at wanting a key to your place for the last few weeks. Well, hinting was an understatement.

The reality was he told you point-blank it'd be easier if he could just come and go as he pleases instead of texting and calling and feeling like he had to make an appointment to see you when he was over all the damn time anyway.

But he wasn't your boyfriend.

Shouldn't he have to make an appointment?

That's what this was? Or well, you wanted to think that's what this was.

Without a title, without something concrete and certain - which you weren't even sure you could handle - you didn't want to hand him a key into your heart home.

"Where's it at?" He grumbled, not pushing the issue though.

"On the counter," You hummed, trying not to yawn again, something about his warmth, his presence so close was lulling you closer to sleep, eyes getting heavy.

"I'll be back soon," He muttered, and there it was again. Fingers in your hair. But then he kissed your back. A handful of seconds where his lips brushed against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

You listened to him leave. Counted his footsteps and felt your heart stutter at the door shutting behind him.

And just maybe?

You might miss him.

꒰ა ⠀ ໒꒱

You woke up to the slam of the front door. It didn't startle you, probably because you'd just sort of adapted to the sound of him stomping around. The heavy footsteps and the thump of his gym bag hitting the ground. Making himself at home.

Settling back in and shutting your eyes again, face nuzzling into the pillow while you listened to the shower start in the spare bathroom down the hall.

It was almost cute, supposing he probably remembered you were sleeping and was trying to be quiet after he already woke you up.

You'd actually almost fallen back asleep before he walked in. It wasn't that he said something. But it was the silence that made you sit up, the fact he hadn't even grunted or offered some raspy hey.

Sukuna was just standing there, glaring at something on his phone, one of your towels slung low around his hips. Muscles defined and still damp, beads of water dripping down his sculpted chest to his happy trail peeking out. You had to drag your eyes up to his face, forcing yourself to focus despite the dreamy haze the world seemed to still have.

You were accustomed to attitude.

This was just different.

His eyes were too dark, his frown too tight, shoulders sagging with stress. It took him a few seconds to really look at you, and even then, his stare felt strange. Like you were some problem to solve.

"Wha' happened?" You yawned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

His head dropped down, combing through his still-damp strands of hair. "He was there."

"Oh," You breathed.

"Yeah," He grunted, all gravelly and rough.

His attempt to seek solace from Satoru had backfired. Your problems following him wherever he went.

"Well," You slowly spoke, and he met your eyes again. "You're the one here."

He didn't even smirk.

No smugness in any of the lines of edges of his face. Your stomach flipped, unsure what you could even say. Yeah, you had terrible taste? Yeah, Satoru was an idiot?

Sorry for sleeping with someone so stupid?

"You know what he said?" Sukuna slowly drawled, his scowl etched so deeply into his skin you wondered if it'd ever fade.

You didn't say anything, blinking at him with your lips still parted, waiting for everything to somehow get worse.

"To have fun fucking you while I could," Sukuna scoffed, disgusted at just repeating it. "That you'd be back in his bed once you got tired of this."

Like you were just having a tantrum.

"What?"

You had tolerated a lot from Satoru. Missed meetings and cold meals and more mistakes and broken promises than you could count. But to beg you to speak to him and turn around to what? Fucking slut-shame you? Treat you like a toddler acting out for his attention?

"I almost hit him," Sukuna begrudgingly admitted, frowning at the memory. "But they kicked me out first."

"What?" You repeated, still too stunned to form a full thought.

"Guess I'll have to find a new gym," He muttered, unclenching his jaw as he finally stepped closer to you, some of the tension starting to melt.

So what? Gojo had managed to get your not-boyfriend banned from his gym and cut your grocery shopping short all in one day.

What was left for him to fuck up?

"He's full of fucking shit," You grumbled, mulling over his words and wishing they didn't drag such a visceral reaction out of you. Hot, angry, coals stirring in your gut, searing through you and demanding you do something.

Being the bigger person didn't work when the person who pissed you off was a prick.

You wanted to hurt him, carve out a piece of his heart and crush it the way he'd do casually done to you, for him to be wounded and withering and for once in his fucking life, feel an ounce of regret.

And maybe it made you an even bigger idiot than Gojo, but you were grabbing your phone off the nightstand, unlocking it and pulling up the list of blocked numbers until you landed on a familiar one.

"What are you doing?" Sukuna deadpanned, watching you closely as your brows cinched together.

"Unblocking Gojo," You casually said, the seeds of the idea already planted.

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

You'd never actually heard him so upset. His molars grinding hard, reaching out to grab the phone from you. You held it behind your back, slyly smiling as he tried to snag it again.

"You wanna show him just how much fun you have fucking me?"

He paused, his jaw slack and his eyes widening for a brief second when it struck him just how serious you were.

"Give it to me," He grumbled, grabbing the phone. But instead of tossing it away or blocking Gojo again, he angled it carefully, reaching over to fix a strand of your hair.

"Whatever you wanna do, you know, just-" You offered, giving him free reign to fuck you and fold you and bend you until he felt better.

Oh, and whenever Gojo got the message.

"I'll take care of you," He huffed.

Sukuna kept his promises.

He flipped the phone around, the option to video call Satoru Gojo already pulled up, one click away. You knew he'd answer.

But you still hesitated, just for a second, before peeling your shirt off first, leaving you in a lacy little bra you'd only kept on for Sukuna to see tonight. Then, shuffling out of your pajama pants to reveal the matching underwear.

"You don't mind?" You asked, giving him an opportunity to back out, but he just scoffed, looking down to hit the button for you. The phone started ringing, and your face flushed, the idea suddenly seeming terrible but your fingers freezing around the phone, unable to move and hit the button.

He answered on the third ring.

"Angel," Satoru chirped, clearly fucking pleased-as-can-be, his smile bright and carefree as his face came into frame, too close to the camera. "I haven't stopped thinking about you, y'know, I was really hoping you'd-"

"Satoru," You hummed his name as sweetly as you could muster, lashes fluttering.

"Y-yeah, baby?"

"Are you with Suguru?" You asked, pitching your voice to sound breathy, tilting your head at the camera and chewing on your lip.

His face flushed. A few wispy strands of white hair were stuck to his forehead, and you recognized the wallpaper of his room behind him.

Fresh out of the shower too.

"Nah, not right now," He finally answered, taking in your appearance. The sleepy, seductive eyes. The sharp edge of your canine biting down on your bottom lip to to remind what it once felt like to kiss it. "Are y-"

"You wanna record this for him?" You casually suggested, slowly pulling down the strap of your bra, making a show of your fingertips grazing against your collarbone. "Or will this be our little secret?"

You knew what he would pick.

But it was cute he tried to act torn.

"Our little secret," He answered, and you were pretty damn sure he was already palming his bulge. A bet you'd be willing to take by the way the lump in his throat bobbed.

And sure, he said that, but there was no fucking way he wasn't screen recording already, thinking it'd be something to save and fuck his fist to again later.

"Oh yeah?" You glanced past the camera up to Sukuna, who was staring down at you like he was imagining all the different positions he was going to put you in after this.

The signature smugness returning as you winked at him.

How would Satoru feel to be the one left out of the secret this time?

You tapped the button to flip the camera around, letting Sukuna take the phone.

"Fuck."

Not great, you guessed.

You got down on your knees, tracing the edges of the towel and tugging it down to reveal Sukuna's cock, a shade of pink just as pretty as his hair, swollen and throbbing in your palm when you delicately wrapped your fingers around it. Slowly stroking upwards, collecting the pre-cum as you stared up at the camera. You sorta wished you could see Satoru's face, but Sukuna's surprisingly fast fingers snapped a screenshot.

To hide your giggle, you leaned in to drag your tongue over the thick vein bulging along the side of his cock, taking your time before wrapping your lips around the very tip of it.

Normally, Sukuna would scoff and scold you, grabbing your hair to guide you or flip you over and give you head instead. But he was indulging your dramatics, even groaning at the ginger way you lapped and licked every inch of him.

"S-sweetheart, you can't be fucking serious," Satoru flipped from needy to nervous, but he didn't hang up.

"Is there a problem?" You innocently asked, pausing from peppering kisses across Sukuna's shaft, before his free fingers found your hair, wrapping it around his knuckles and pushing you forward until your lips were brushing against his leaking tip again, parting them so he could press inside.

Satoru made some strangled sound when you started sucking on the thick cock shoved into your mouth. Watching you choke and gag on it, bumping into the back of your throat while your nails sunk into Sukuna's hips, grabbing onto him for purchase while he fucked your face.

When he didn't reply, you tapped on Sukuna's hip to get him to pull out, his cock still bumping against your lips while you directed your attention up. "You wish it was you?"

"Fuck, yes," Satoru groaned, and you didn't have to see him to know he was getting off on this.

Although, what he really wished for was probably that it was Suguru's cock you were sucking.

"Too fucking bad," Sukuna wryly mocked, using your hair to force himself back in, hips bucking forward to drive his cock deep enough your airway was closing around him.

"Who do you think taught her to do that?" Satoru snapped back, his voice hoarse and raspy, the sound of his fist furiously pumping his cock filling the background.

Sukuna took the bait.

One second his cock was bruising your throat, and the next you were being half-tossed onto your wrinkled blankets, bent over and your panties torn off.

Something wet and heavy hit your bare ass, glancing glossy-eyed over your shoulder as Sukuna's cock rested on your ass while his free hand traced over your spine.

He drew it out, his rough fingertips running over every ridge. You shivered at the touch, wiggling your ass back, but he didn't budge.

"You wanna watch me fuck her till she can't remember your name?" Sukuna casually asked, holding the camera up as his other hand slid back down, delivering a light smack to your ass, just enough to make it jiggle before he pried you apart.

Slotting two fingers in first, stretching you out in one single, rough thrust, down to the knuckle before pulling them back out to put on display.

Giving Gojo a front row seat to how soaked you were, skin damp and slick, spreading your thighs and teasing your entrance with his swollen tip. A mean grip on your hip, holding you in place no matter how much you squirmed around him.

"You asshole-"

"Sorry," Sukuna bluntly cut him off. "This is a private show."

He hung up on him, throwing the phone on the bed, but it barely took him two seconds to sheath himself inside you, the full length of him forcing past the first ring of resistance before you could stutter out his name.

"Shit," You gasped, clawing at the bedsheets as his hips smacked harshly into your skin, driving himself in to the base, having to lift your hips to fully sink himself in.

You tried to breathe, but each time you sucked in air, it seemed like there was nowhere for it to go, too full to do anything but pant when he bottomed out, grinding his tip in to get you to stop moving so much.

"He doesn't get this," Sukuna muttered, pressing your back into a pretty arch for him, your moans muffled into the blanket as he rutted into you. The fingers on your hip were bruising, nails scraping against your skin. He leaned over, most of his weight resting on you so he could angle himself impossibly deeper.

You didn't know what to make of that.

Or him right now.

Usually sex was the sort of drawn-out affair where you'd yank each other's hair or let him tie you up or fuck until you couldn't feel your limbs.

Switching positions just to try them out, to see how many different way he could drive you insane.

But this was undeniably intimate.

The possessive rhythm of him pounding into you, the weight of his chest on your back, the longing kisses he kept pressing into the crook of your collarbone and across your throat, how he would let his cock throb and stall when he was buried so deep the only sound you could make was weak whimpers.

"K-Kuna," You whined, sweat making his skin stick to yours, his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade while he groaned. You gasped at the pain, but then the hand on your hip forced itself around to find your clit, his thumb dancing over it before rolling it between his fingers just to tease you.

"You don't know what you're fucking doing to me," He grimaced, and you wished he'd just tell you instead of taking it out on your sore and swollen bud.

Massaging harsh circles around it while he readjust to slam into his favorite little spot in the back, the one that made you yelp every time he found it, squeezing around him as he rocked his hips against your ass. The pressure and tension pulling tighter with every brutal thrust, each drag of his thumb back over your clit sending stars across your vision.

You were seeing white when you came undone, eyes scrunched shut as you stammered out a second shattered cry of his name, trying to squirm forward to escape the intensity of it, but he dragged you back down to fuck you through your high. Dumb and pliant on his dick, letting him pull you how he wanted for him to shove himself in-and-out again and again.

He barely pulled out in time, fucking his hands until cum splattered across your back, thick drops of it dripping down the curve of your spine.

You opened your mouth, about to suggest him just grabbing the discarded towel to clean you off so you could go for a second round after a water break. But he was already wiping you clean, flipping you over into your back to trace over the scratch marks and broken skin he left on your hips, frowning at the sight.

"We match," You muttered, dazed and dreamy and still trying to catch your breath while you gestured to where you scratched his hips earlier.

Sukuna wasn't so amused.

"He's not going to leave you alone," He finally said.

"Does it matter?" You hummed.

"I hate him," Sukuna grumbled bitterly.

"You hate everyone," You reminded him. Sometimes, you wondered why he even tolerated you.

Or if he was just like them - what you said, what you did, it didn't matter much if you were sleeping in their sheets.

"Not you."

꒰ა ⠀ ໒꒱

It was stupid to show up somewhere they used to frequent. To order a drink at a bar you'd gotten wasted at too many times to count, retreating to one of the few places of solitude you'd found.

Every time you'd ever gone with them, you just ended up alone anyway. Drinking in a corner booth by yourself while they talked to other girls and try to make you jealous.

Still, it was better than staying home. You felt like you were suffocating inside the apartment. Sukuna hadn't shown up all week.

He left when things were still weird, looking at you like he saw you in some new light. Part of you wondered if he'd realized he didn't want to deal with your past.

You told yourself it was fine.

That you were okay with that.

But every day that passed with just a few awkward texts exchanged, the harder it was to breathe. Going to bed early just so you wouldn't have to think about him.

Wouldn't have to wish he was there.

And terrifyingly enough, you were just now struggling to face the fact you just wanted him.

Wanted him to come stomping through your door and over your heart, hear his grumble and feel his hands on your side.

You'd been shoving all those feelings down, scared to accept the risk that he might hurt you the same way Satoru and Suguru did.

He was giving you space, you guessed. Waiting for you to call him and tell him to come over. But you couldn't bring yourself to unlock your phone, to tap a few buttons and break the silence first.

You should.

You should suck it up and ask him to show up. See if he wanted to re-enact your first meeting and fuck in the backseat of his car.

Back when you thought you'd never see him again.

The thought of that happening now had started to curdle in your stomach. All sour and screwed up, the same way you used to be.

But you changed.

And he'd never been Satoru or Suguru to start with.

You sucked in a sharp breath, frowning to yourself when you shared your location with him. You couldn't think of a message to send him. But he would know what you wanted.

It was just up to him to take you up on it.

Although, after a handful of minutes passed without a reply, you were starting to get anxious. Readjusting the hem of your tiny dress and fixing the straps while you debated on getting another drink.

Had he seen it?

Was he just done?

So like an idiot, you called him. Just to feel like the biggest fool on the planet when he didn't pick up.

What did you expect?

Him to come running to your rescue? For him to promise to pick you up? Or maybe just a drinking partner since he wasn't your real one?

You couldn't take your eyes off your phone, polishing off the rest of your glass before you even noticed it was near empty.

But it didn't buzz or light up, even as the clock ticked by, getting later and later.

You were about to leave.

Call a cab or order an Uber.

"Hi, pretty." A soft purr. Velvet and honey and so smooth you sorta wanted to slap him for it.

Once again the wrong man.

This time though, you didn't entertain it. Didn't even look at him. Just got out of the booth and slipped past his broad frame, shoving your phone in your purse while you tried to squeeze between the sea of bodies.

You thought you blended in, or at least he'd have half a brain and know you didn't want to speak to him.

But he was right on your heels, following you outside the exit and into the warm air.

"What do you want from me?" You turned, exasperated and exhausted from bearing the brunt of their expectations for so long. Even after you left.

Suguru stared like a cat who caught his prey, looming over you like you were his favorite little mouse to play with. You'd forgotten how it felt - to be shrunk down to size when he was around. The guilt that gnawed at you.

Satoru made it easier.

He was all sweet talk and saccharine smiles and pretty sentences meant to make you melt until you were a puddle in his palm.

With Suguru?

He saw you. Could see through the lies you tried to sell and counter it until he had you cornered. But knowing you didn't mean he cared enough to change for you.

Suguru only wanted to piece you back together into a shape that suited him.

"Just to talk," He answered, and he sounded so sincere, you might've believed him if you were a little stupider.

Then again, you'd been dumb for deceiving yourself into thinking you were worth more than a few fucks and a fun game for them to share and see who could make you crack first.

"I heard that from your friend already," You bitterly muttered.

No matter what he said, or what they did, it was just a simple fucking fact of life. Satoru and Suguru were a pair. Friends, soulmates, whatever label you wanted to tack to it. You would just be a prize for them to share.

There wasn't space for you.

Not in the way you ever wanted.

And that was okay. You were over it. Didn't need any part of them. Didn't want it.

So why the hell did they have to just keep rubbing it in your face? Why couldn't they just go have sex with some girl that looked like you? That was all you'd ever been good for to them anyway.

"My friend?" Suguru echoed, a brow carefully arched up. "You know he misses you. I miss you."

"I don't care," You hissed, shaking your head. They needed to get that through their thick skulls.

"You don't mean that," He protested, not pushy, but subtly trying to convince correct you.

"I really do," You scoffed, stepping away and glancing around the street at all the people passing by, a few staring at the handsome man you were trying to get away from.

"I saw the video," He spoke up, and you threw a glare over your shoulder at him.

"Yeah? You enjoy the show?" You sarcastically asked.

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn't help but huff at him.

"I got the point." You sincerely doubted that when he was staring at you like he wanted to take you home and spank you. Like you were a pet he spoiled too much and had to reprimand. "Now come back home."

No waterworks. No begging. No getting on his knees and asking for forgiveness. Not even a fucking apology.

"You don't even care why I left," You spoke carefully, barely able to keep your voice even. It had never been your home. Only ever theirs.

"Of course I care," He murmured, again trying to bridge the distance, reaching out to grab your hand before you smacked it down.

"Don't fucking touch me."

"I'm sorry," Suguru apologized, but you could see the surprise registering in his eyes. It was faint, but uneasiness started to creep into his features, swallowing hard. "I know you're hurt and angry, but we never meant to-"

"I'm not," You interrupted, eyes hardening. "I don't feel anything for either of you anymore."

"Don't say that," Suguru said, and you just shook your head. "This is fixable. We-"

"There isn't a we. And I'm not something you can fix," You mumbled, biting down on the inside of your cheek. "I'm just done, okay?"

"Could I just take you out to dinner?" He hadn't changed. Maybe he'd try to coax you into thinking otherwise - but he still couldn't listen. "One chance?"

"You had a million," You sharply declined. Him and Satoru both. They wouldn't get another one.

His stare hardened, and he tried to step closer, but before he could, someone was moving in-between you, blocking your view.

You heard it though.

The sound of skin hitting skin. The distinct thud of a fist connecting with a face.

It took you a few seconds to process the picture being painted in front of you. The splashes of pink and red. The hint of black. The tan skin.

Then Sukuna brought his fist back and slammed it into Suguru's jaw.

You grabbed at his shirt, trying to pull him back, your lips parted in a protest that just wouldn't come out. Sukuna was seething though, probably seeing the same red that was splattering the concrete.

"You heard her," Sukuna snarled as Suguru spit out a thick glob of blood by his shoes.

"Kuna," You started, but you weren't even sure he heard you.

The door to the bar swung open, and a familiar head of white hair popped out, but Satoru froze before he stepped out, the heavy wood hitting him.

"You must be fucking brainless if you seriously thought she'd ever take your ass back," Sukuna scoffed, shoving Suguru back before turning to you. He grabbed your hand, knuckles still split and bleeding, but you didn't want to let go.

"Yeah?" Suguru dryly asked, wiping the blood away from his mouth, but it was already dripping all over his shirt. Satoru started to walk over, his brows furrowed and frowning at the scene, but you were already tugging Sukuna back.

You were sick of this.

Maybe years from now, when all of this had faded and none of it was fresh, you could stomach their presence. Could look back and find nostalgia in the good moments instead of drowning in the bad.

But not right now.

"Can we go home?" You got up on the top of your toes to whisper in Sukuna's ear, squeezing his hand soft enough you wouldn't hurt his bruised fist.

He nodded, but Satoru was trying to catch up.

"Hey, hey," He called out, once again desperate for attention you didn't want to give him.

"I swear-"

"Just let me," You murmured to Sukuna before he could potentially face a second set of assault charges.

Satoru sighed in relief when you glanced back at him.

"Thank you," He half-groaned, already holding his hand out like he really thought you'd let go of Sukuna's to take his instead. "I know you-"

You weren't really listening.

Studying his face, the softness of it, the pretty eyes you used to adore, the shape his lips made when he said sorry.

What happened to the man you met all those years ago?

The one who laughed and teased you? A sneaky hand under the table and a sloppy kiss to the cheek? Who looked at you like you were the sun instead of some burnt-out star?

Or had this always been him? Selfish and inconsiderate and shallow?

You supposed none of it really mattered.

"I'm not interested," You bluntly said, and Sukuna's palm tightened around yours, fingers pressing into your knuckles.

"What?" Gojo blinked, not comprehending even when you so clearly spelled it out for him.

"Whatever happened, happened, okay? It's over. I don't want to keep doing this," You replied, not caring how short and sharp it sounded.

And part of you felt a little bad, watching his face fall as it finally started to set in that nothing he said or did would change the words coming out of your mouth.

"I don't hate you, but I don't want to see you or talk to you or pretend to be friends when we never were to begin with," You rushed through your words, wincing at the word friends as Sukuna's arm brushed against you, an accidental anchor.

He was here for you.

Not to make you feel like shit or guilt trip you for standing up for yourself.

But you called and he came.

"You're my girl, you've always-" Gojo protested.

"That's bullshit and we both know it," You spoke softly, biting your lip hard enough to split it open, the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.

Suguru was just staring behind him, holding his sore jaw and watching you with those unreadable eyes.

"I meant it before, I hope you're okay," You forced yourself to finish. "Take care of yourself."

"I'm sorry," Gojo was half-begging, panic flaring up in his face at every step back you took.

"Yeah," You shrugged your shoulders slightly, the thin strap to your dress threatening to fall down as you swallowed hard. It felt like the last time. A proper farewell. "Bye, Gojo."

He opened his mouth to speak just to shut it, pausing just for his lips to fly open again for one final bargain. "Can't we just try again? Please?"

He sounded broken. Voice cracking and breathing stuttering.

But you repaired yourself before.

They would just have to do the same.

"Maybe in another life," You half-heartedly said, and then you turned away.

Let Sukuna lead you back to his car. Open the door and buckle you up. Turn the key in the ignition and pull out into the road.

One glance back in the rearview as you left them behind.

"My place or yours?" Sukuna grunted once you hit the first stop light, his intense stare carefully assessing you in the faint red glow. His hair looked darker, his face suddenly seemed so much more mature, knuckles strained and bone-white under the bruises and blood.

"Mine," You quietly answered.

He curtly nodded, reluctantly turning his attention back to the road as the light turned green again.

"I'm not letting it happen," He abruptly interrupted the quiet a minute or two later, and you almost laughed at your firmness of it, the way his face scrunched up and he didn't even know it.

"What?" You asked, lips struggling not to turn up in a smile despite the night you had. The past week of wishing you were with him.

"You being with them," He muttered, like he was a little embarrassed to say it. "Even in another life."

"Yeah?" You giggled. "You're gonna save me?"

"You make it sound so sappy," He grunted, as if he hadn't started it.

"Uh-huh," You covered your mouth to hide your smile.

"Shut up," He grumbled, and maybe it was the stoplight, but his cheeks looked almost pink.

"Let me clean your knuckles when we get home," You softly requested.

"Fine."

But once you got in, he ended up placing you on the cold marble of the counter, hoisting you up by your waist and digging out the first aid kit from underneath the sink.

He didn't wince or cringe while you wiped the blood away, letting your fingers tenderly examine the scrapes, but he held his breath when you gently brought his hand up to your lips to kiss those sturdy fingers.

"Isn't it s'pposed to be the other way around?" He asked, but he didn't pull his hand away either.

"What? Like you're a knight?" You laughed, trying to picture him in the whole getup - the shiny armor and heavy helmet.

"It fits."

You couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"What does that make me?" You tilted your head to the side. "Your princess?"

"If you want to be," He shrugged.

"And if I do?" It slipped out before you could stop it.

And strangely, you found you didn't want to take it back.

Sukuna's lips smashed into yours. Hard and hungry and filled with something you'd both been desperately denying until now.

Moaning into his mouth as his cold, calloused hands slid under your short dress, one reaching around to hold your back and pull you close while the other tugged your breast free from your bra, rolling your nipple between his fingers. Dragging the pad of his thumb over the bud and toying with it until it hardened, his tongue slipping past your lips to trace your teeth.

"My dress," You complained between kisses, trying not to smile and giggle when he huffed and struggled not to tear it when he pulled it off of you, briefly breaking the kiss to lift it over your head.

"There," He murmured, immediately shutting you up with another kiss.

He wasn't rushing though, no, he seemed to try and make each second last. It wasn't a heat of the moment make out or hookup. You weren't just meeting each other's needs. It meant more.

The start of something serious.

Where you would be his and he would be yours and it really was just that simple.

"Hey," You breathed, planting a soft peck on the edge of his lips and cupping his cheeks to stop him from suffocating you with another starving kiss.

His nose brushed against yours, his dark eyes locking onto you. And for the first time in forever, you wanted the intimacy. Wanted to share and soak in the feeling of falling in love.

"Hey," He murmured back, rough and low, sucking in an uneven breath. His hands were harsh, heavy in each touch, but he tried to be soft. Tried to be tender.

You were worth the effort to him.

The risk of putting your faith, your future, into him didn't seem like anything to fear anymore.

"You still want that key?"

꒰ა ⠀ ໒꒱

Suguru stuck to his habits.

Tea instead of coffee. Keeping to a schedule - even when Satoru tried to bend it. Refusing to break even when he, they were fractured.

Filling in the empty spaces with meaningless drivel, anything to occupy his heart and mind enough to not thing about what or who was missing.

And it worked. Most of the time.

But some days?

He still thought about you.

In the park. Watching tv. Washing dishes. Wondering what could've been - and what should've been.

Hearing footsteps in another room and picturing you padding around barefoot, or Satoru chasing you down the hall, protectively wrapping an arm around you when you tried to hide behind him.

He saw you in the shirts you used to steal from him. Felt you in the empty bed. Heard you in your old favorite songs.

Years had passed and yet, you still haunted him. Hung over his head ready to rain whenever he forgot his umbrella.

Suguru supposed he was just a man made up by old mistakes. If moving on meant he'd never get those glimpses of your ghost, he didn't care for it.

He readjusted the shopping basket over his arm. Fingers tracing over a bag of your favorite chips, junk he used to tease you for liking, but he was tempted to buy them anyway, just for old times sake - give it a try himself.

Someone else grabbed it first.

"Oh, sorry." His stomach dropped. "Didn't see you - oh."

Yeah, oh.

He had to force himself to turn.

Body switching into manual, his head slowly swiveling as he swallowed hard. Shifting focus to face the phantom from his thoughts.

"Hi, Geto," You acknowledged him with a pretty smile, one that was genuine, painfully real, like he was an old friend.

He expected sharp words, a pointed glare, to repeat the same conversation he'd come to regret. But you looked at him so softly.

"Hey," He breathlessly replied, unable to drag his dark eyes away from your face. How could he when he had no idea if he'd ever see it again? "Been a long time."

"It has," You laughed a little, and there were only a few signs of the years that passed in your face. A few extra lines, all the smiles and frowns and laughter he missed out on now faintly etched into your skin. Your hair was styled differently, and he suspected the lip gloss you were wearing no longer tasted like candy.

"How have you been?" Suguru heard his own voice asking, sounding far more collected than he felt. His throat was closing up, his chest too tight, heart and lungs straining to hold the rest of him together while he subtly picked at his cuticles.

"I'm great, how are you and uh-" You paused, like you were trying to decide if Satoru was still around or if it'd be rude to ask without knowing. You changed your mind, restarting the question entirely. "Anything new with you?"

Satoru was actually with him. Off raiding the candy aisle, probably. All it'd take was a text or a shout, and he'd show up.

But Suguru had never been good at sharing you.

"Nah, not too much," He started to answer, but then his gaze shifted down and he froze.

You were pregnant.

A soft hand resting on the swell of your stomach, probably what? Six months along? Seven? A cute little sundress clinging to your body, the bag of chips in your other hand and a gleam of gold and diamond glittering on the fourth finger.

You belonged to someone else.

"Never thought I'd see Suguru Geto speechless," You teased, seemingly unbothered by his stunned expression. He hated the way you said his name now.

Like he really was just a stranger.

"Baby, huh?" He slowly said, struggling to find the words that wouldn't make him sound like a jealous asshole when he was so desperately trying to be happy for you.

"He's due in a couple months," You smiled again, and Suguru's composure threatened to crack. You were having a boy, one that would have some stranger's eyes or nose, that wouldn't have his last name or even Satoru's.

He watched the way your hand settled on your baby bump, the affection in the simple gesture. His stare returned to the engagement ring on your finger, the wedding band below it.

And of all the times he imagined you'd get married, he always pictured himself playing the groom, or at the very least, the best man you'd be sleeping with after the ceremony. He never considered he wouldn't even get an invite.

"How long have you been married?" He asked, nodding towards the rings.

Your cute cheeks flushed pink, tilting your head to the side to do the math. "Almost five years now."

Half a decade.

It was longer than you ever lived with them.

"Your husband's a lucky man," Suguru managed to say, soft and low. He meant it. He'd probably trade anything to be in his shoes.

"That's what I tell him," You casually giggled, so carefree compared to the last time he'd seen you. Softer now. Happier.

There was the squeak of a shopping cart, a toddler laughing just a little too loud, and you were both glancing back to look.

Suguru recognized him immediately.

Sure, he had a few more tattoos, his hair grown out a little longer, but what grabbed his attention was what he already knew he'd find - a matching wedding band. The jealousy simmering in his blood had barely started to boil before he noticed the little girl swinging her legs in the cart. One with your hair and his eyes.

"Dah-dee," She whined, glaring at him. "Wan' candy."

"Yeah? You want cavities too?" Sukuna half-scolded, a relaxed quality to him Suguru had never seen before. Content somehow.

"I brush my teeth," She pouted, although it sounded more like teef. Sukuna was about to roll his eyes, looking up just to spot Suguru standing with his pretty, pregnant wife.

His scowl was immediate, his jaw clenching before you were already walking towards him, dropping the bag of chips in the cart and getting up on your toes to kiss his cheek.

"Look who I bumped into," You smiled, as if the last time the three of you had been in the same room, Sukuna hadn't given him a black eye.

Sukuna didn't say anything, just giving him a cold once-over before his stare returned to you. The warmth returned to his face almost immediately, the hard edges softening, his muscles relaxing, like he couldn't control the effect you had on him.

"Who're you?" The toddler in the shopping cart turned to him, a scowl she probably learned from her father plastered on her face.

"He was my friend before I met daddy," You hummed softly, poking her cheek and fixing a lopsided hair clip while your daughter continued to huff and stare at Suguru displeased.

Friend.

He guessed he had never asked for more.

Watching you wrap your arms around another man, his hand on your stomach and your kid begging for snacks in the shopping cart. A heavy ring on your finger and a baby in your belly.

And after this, you'd offer him a little wave and walk out of the aisle and away from him for good, oblivious to the part of him still pining for you, for the family you could've built together. That wished he was the one who'd be kissing your forehead and glaring at any asshole that approached you.

Maybe in another life.

Wasn't that what you said?

a/n: ten bucks says him or Satoru crash out and get another girl pregnant after this and sixteen years later reader and sukuna's son brings home a daughter that looks a little too much like someone they used to know lol - for my girls that love pain and suffering I would be willing to do an alternate ending (I was thinking like a time-travel fix-it but yknow just if y'all are interest lemme know)

Knock.

The sound of knuckles pounded against the door a single time, but it was loud, ringing through the apartment.

Shit shit shit.

You were rummaging through one of the boxes on the top of the stack, shirts scribbled on the front in permanent marker to find a tank top to tug over your head and shove your arms through.

You almost tripped when you rammed your toe into corner of a different box, cursing under your breath as your fingers found the doorknob to roughly tear it open.

But someone else had already beat you to the front door, a broad body blocking your sight out of who was at the door.

"I'd appreciate it if you left," Suguru's curt voice cut through the silence. Calm. Collected. Cold.

"Don't think I will," Sukuna grunted back.

You padded down the hall, your hand pausing on Suguru's bicep long enough for you to pull him away enough to catch a peek of the man waiting for you on the other side.

"You done being a dick?" You huffed at your roommate, your hip bumping into his side as your attention settled back on Sukuna.

His hair was damp - a few strands glued down to his forehead like he showered before heading over, casually clad in jeans and a t-shirt, his dark eyes sweeping over you the same. His lips curled up in a smug smile while his gaze flickered between you and an irritated Suguru.

"Ignore him," You returned his smile, gesturing inside the apartment before you forced the door open wide enough for him to enter. "Come on in."

Sukuna hadn't made it a step in before Suguru's hand was touching your back, his voice murmuring in your ear. "Can we please talk about this?"

You took your own advice and pretended you didn't hear him.

Sukuna slung his arm loosely over your waist once he was close enough, a possessive hand planted on your ass as you turned to show him the way back to your bedroom. You could feel the eyes burning a hole in your back when his huge palm squeezed, your shorts riding up higher on your thighs, the fabric thin enough he could probably see the lace pattern of your panties through it.

"You usually walk around like this?" He had to lean down to your level, but even then he was still too tall for it to really be in your ear, his grunt was loud enough Suguru had to hear.

He wanted to know if you were wearing it for him or for them.

"Sometimes," You hm-ed, finding yourself naturally gravitating towards him until your arm was bumping into his, your nerves fluttering in your chest at him being so close again. "You like it?"

"Was gonna rip whatever you wore off you anyway," He answered, all gruff and unaffected, but there was something serious in his stare, like he actually meant it.

"Yeah?" You giggled, a small grin spreading across your lips automatically at how blunt he was.

You reached your door, pushing it open enough for him to fit inside first before quickly stepping in after him so you could shut and lock it before either of your roommates could try do something as stupid enough as following you in. Especially considering the current state of it.

"What's this?"

He looked handsome with his brows furrowed like that - his eyes narrowed as they scanned the room and roamed over the boxes and your scrawl on the side of them when he walked in.

You hesitantly cast a glance through the wall, not particularly wanting this bit to be overheard.

"I'm, um, moving. Got my own place," You quietly explained, nervously crossing your arms over your chest while you took a small step closer to him. "Tomorrow, actually."

His mouth quirked back up into the same smirk as before, a hand reaching out to grab your waist and pull you in until you were flush with his chest.

"Guess they don't know that?"

A dark glint flashed in his eyes, clearly amused at the mess of a situation you just roped him into, picking up the undertones in every pause and glance.

"Not exactly," You reluctantly admitted, biting your lip.

He chuckled, his almost shrewd stare sizing you up this time, reassessing whatever he thought of you.

He must have liked it, since it only took him three seconds before his hand slipped around to your back and his mouth landed back on your lips for a rough kiss. Walking forward until your back was hitting your mattress, the springs creaking underneath you while he climbed on top of you. Effortlessly caging you in with his much larger frame, the smell of his shampoo and the fain scent of soap replacing the cologne he'd worn before, but fuck, something about it was even better. You tossed your arms over his shoulders, one tracing the muscles of his back while the other played with his surprisingly soft hair. He huffed a little at the touch, the tenderness of it, but his body relaxed into it, his other hand cupping your face.

It felt massive like that, his calloused palm and searing touch only adding to the heat pooling hotter and burning brighter between your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

The friction of the bulge barely contained in his jeans pressing down against your clit through your too-thin shorts was dizzying, gasping into his mouth right as his tongue forced its way in. Grinding against him naturally, rolling your hips up along his thick length and groaning when his lips moved down, messy kisses trailing across your jaw, sharp teeth skimming over the skin of your throat like they remembered what it felt like to sink in there, teasing you with the memory of it.

The hand on your face somehow ended up caught in your hair, roughly tugging at it to tilt your head to the side enough to give him better access to hungrily suck harsh spots down to your collarbone. His other hand was slipping in between the small space between your bodies, taking a breast in his firm grip and squeezing hard right as his canines scraped back against your sensitive skin, your moan unmuffled this time.

"S-shit," You stammered, blinking a few times as he readjusted his grip to pull you up to sit until you were straddling his lap again, supporting your weight with a warm hand on your back.

He was tearing your shirt over your head and tossing it away to hit one of the boxes with a soft rustle, making quick work of discarding your bra next, the cold air hitting your nipples making them harden before his tongue licked a clean stripe over one, his mouth latching on and sucking hard enough that you were gasping his name.

Tugging on his hair, fingers tangled in-between the fluffy strands and lost in the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud while his cock throbbed against your clit, trying desperately to hold yourself together enough not to beg for it immediately.

"Pretty," He murmured into your skin, pulling off with a lewd pop! just to pinch your nipple between his sturdy fingers.

A compliment coming from him felt like it was worth a hundred.

Or maybe you were just so starved for affection and connection you needed it to mean something more.

He wasn't the type to accommodate your contemplation.

Flipping you into your back and getting off the bed to drag you to the end of it, sliding a finger underneath the band of your shorts to tug them down your thighs, pausing just long enough for his eyes to flick over you spread out on display for him before he made good on his word and tore your flimsy underwear off with one hand and no effort.

"Needy girl," He tch-ed, rough palms pulling your thighs apart and pinning them to the bed so he had full view of just how needy you really were.

"Just gonna stare?" You teased back, batting your lashes at him just for Sukuna to huff and roll his eyes back at you.

"Careful," He practically growled, his thumb tracing half a circle as it dug into the inside of your thigh, like he was testing how pliant you were for him. "Unless you really want me to shut you up."

"Go ahead and try," You hummed, an electric sort of excitement racing through your veins, all the little neurons in your brain firing as you tried to etch each scorching touch into your memory.

The sound of skin hitting skin reached your ears before you processed the sting against your cunt, the pleasure tinged with pain, all the air forced out of your lungs, the you sucked in not giving your lungs any oxygen.

The realization you actually sorta wanted him to do it again caught you off guard, staring up at him with wide eyes. His fingers started rubbing circles back over the sore bud, soothing the ache, your body responding to him before your mind fully caught up.

The familiar corner of his lip twitching up to replace his stern frown at your flustered silence.

"Anything else to say?" He dryly mocked.

"Again?" You requested, pushing your bottom lip out in a pout that made him scoff.

The next one was harsher, the pressure of the palm of his hand pressing down on your sensitive bundle of nerves making you yelp, but it was two of his thick fingers shoved inside and stretching you out that had his name falling from your mouth in a strangled gasp. The friction as he rubbed his hand down harder, dipping his fingers deeper had your head sinking back into the mattress, the old springs inside creaking with each pump.

"Fuck, th-that's, oh," You groaned, back molars grinding against each other as his fingers curled, crooking in just the right spot, an equally crooked smile on his face like he loved watching you fall into pieces with just a few strokes of his fingers.

"Still talking?" He cocked his head to the side, smug in an annoyingly attractive way, picking up the pace until you started to stutter his name again.

"K-Kuna," You whined, scrambling to claw at the sheets, hips pushing off the bed to meet his hand just for him to slip his fingers out.

Your weak whimper at his absence was embarrassing - lips pressed together in a tight frown as you tried to hold it back. But he hummed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, the hand that had been holding your thigh down tracing a long line up your body until he ran his thumb over your lips, tugging it down so it was frozen in a surprised 'o' at how much softer his touch was than you anticipated.

It struck you that despite what he was saying, he wanted to hear you.

Or maybe what he really wanted was for the men next-door to hear you.

You nodded, a silent mutual understanding taking shape.

He chuckled, and his grip readjusted again, pulling you to the very edge of the bed and getting on his knees, his tongue diving in while your thighs tried to clamp down on his head. You freely moaned this time, delivering a pornstar worthy performance, pretty gasps of his name stammered out while he pressed his tongue flat, dragging his tastebuds over what felt like every piece of you.

The best part?

You didn't even have to pretend.

Not when every whimper and whine he ripped out of your throat was real. His mouth working wonders, rough licks and hungry sucks that only poured gasoline on the blinding need burning in the pit of your stomach, one you couldn't help but hope he'd throw a lit match on.

You knew it'd fizzle out once he was gone, but you wanted his warmth for a while. You knew you'd get burned, but it was better than the bitter cold you'd been living in for so long.

Sukuna pinned your thighs back to the bed, giving you a small hum of approval at how pliant you were for him, letting him move you how he wanted so he could angle his tongue deeper before dragging it up to your clit, planting a rough kiss there, wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud to suck.

And fuck, it was hard not to immediately snap, to not drop the act along with all your restraint and fall apart for him.

"C'mon, I know you wanna cum," He wryly commented, pulling back just enough so you could feel his warm breath over your slick skin. Your muscles tensed under his hands, your body giving him the answer your mouth couldn't form when you shivered at his deep voice and his calloused palms running over your soft thighs.

"G-god, fuck," You practically spit it out, biting down hard enough on your bottom lip to draw blood while his mouth returned to delivering open-mouthed kisses to your sensitive bundle of nerves, well-aware each one threatened to push you over the edge.

"Stop holding out on me, brat," He barked, but there was a hint of softness to how he spoke, not as abrasive or harsh as before, just enough to let you know he wasn't being an absolute asshole.

Then, the sharp edge of his canines just barely grazed over your clit before he rolled his tongue back over it and you were unraveling under the pressure, a white-hot wave of pleasure searing through to your core, a strangled moan escaping as his tongue worked you through it.

"K-kuna, please, fuck," You whined, your fingers tangling in his hair trying to pull him back up to you. "N-need you to fuck me."

Which, really, you did, but you also wanted them to hear you begging for him.

You felt his lips curve up first, still pressed against your skin before he readjusted, climbing over you to snag a pillow from the top of your bed before flipping you over and sliding it under your stomach to prop you up more comfortably.

His hand traced over your ass, lingering for a moment before he pulled back to spank you. It was deceptively loud, despite him not even smacking that hard, only a slight sting that was immediately soothed by a small kiss.

Clearly, he was trying to get a rise out of your roommates just as much as you were.

"You want me to wear a condom?" He offered as he stood, discarding his clothes piece by piece, tossing them next to yours on the floor.

And okay, yeah, you should've said yes.

But knowing who was listening one room over with their ears probably pressed against the wall, you couldn't help yourself.

"No," You murmured, just loud enough that they'd probably be able to hear. "Wanna feel you."

Sukuna chuckled, and then one hand was pressed against your neck while the other was splayed across the small of your back, holding it down into a pretty arch for him.

You glanced back over your shoulder at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek, wondering if you'd be overselling it if you said what you wanted to.

"I-I dunno if it'll fit," You stammered, pushing out your bottom lip in a pout you both knew was pretend, a laugh he could hardly hold in threatening to spill out.

"I'll make it."

Your own giggle was suppressed by his swollen tip nudged at your entrance, slowly splitting you open on his thick length, watching you stretch easily around him after his mouth prepared you so well for him.

Your breaths were broken, forced out in stutters, gasping and struggling not to groan with each inch he pushed in, the weight of his chest pressing down on your back as his fingers held you in place.

Burying himself inside you until he'd bottomed out, grunting as you instinctively jolted, whining his name as he kept you there, face down in the mattress as his cock twitched.

"C'mere," He huffed, his warm chest and carved muscles sinking into you, his breath dancing over your neck as he scattered lovebites, threatening to break the thin skin.

"I don't think I can get any closer," You sarcastically muttered, your voice muffled into the mattress.

He laughed again, dark and low, and it sent a sharp pang through your chest, something torn between unease and excitement.

"Oh?" Sukuna challenged, his hands readjusting so they were grabbing your wrists, pulling your hands free from where they were clawing at the sheets, pinning them over your head and settling his entire weight on your body. The new angle had you seeing stars, scrunching your eyes shut as his cock was shoved all the way in.

You waited for him to move, but he refused.

Grinding his tip against the spongy spot in the back, watching you wiggle and squirm underneath him, your lips sealed shut so you didn't have to admit you were wrong.

"How's this?" He taunted, and you couldn't even hate him because it was good.

Fucking fantastic, actually, but he'd have to fuck that information out of you.

"Fine." It was a whisper, a barely-audible squeak into the mattress.

"Gonna have to be louder than that if you want our audience to hear," He leaned down to mutter, his lips brushing over your ear.

"God, fuck, right there," You whimpered, moving so your voice wouldn't be obscured by the blankets or the bed, panting as he pulled out just to plunge back in.

"Good girl," He murmured, and a fluttering you weren't familiar with stirred up in your stomach, the pressure starting to return and build beneath it.

"Y-you're so fucking hot," You groaned, genuine this time, a little overwhelmed by your growing attraction to him, the way you were starting to realize you liked every little detail you picked up on, how he talked to you and how much fun you were having.

He didn't say anything to that - but from the small glimpse you could catch of him over your shoulder, you could see the flicker of surprise on his face.

"Mm' so close." You were. Startlingly so.

Every drag of his tip inside your cervix, the way his thumb was absentmindedly rubbing half-circled over your wrist and the heat of his body, it was all too much. Already sensitive from the first orgasm he pulled from you, the second one seemed like it was going to wash over you whether you tried to hold it back or not.

"Hold on a little longer for me?" He grunted, like he didn't want to pull out, like he wanted to draw this out for as long as possible.

"I'll try," You whimpered, but you were squeezing too tight around him, all the tension pulling tighter and tighter and tighter until- "Fuck."

You finished first, drowning in the feeling of him fucking you through it before you even realized he was filling you up, warm cum painting your insides the same white that you were seeing. Unwrapped and raw, your nerves burning and brain rewired by this new feeling, this new high, how readily he seemed to claim you.

"Shit," He spoke first. "Sorry."

How that somehow sounded more genuine than a single apology you'd ever received from the men next door struck you.

"Don't be," You murmured, flipping over to your front with a yawn. "I'm on birth control anyway."

"Yeah?" You felt his attention flicker, felt his eyes linger from where his cum was starting to drip down up to your fucked-out face.

"Yeah," You nodded.

You should stand up, get some clothes on and offer to let him stay the night. Or maybe suggest ordering some food. You didn't think he'd decline either. Not when he was studying you like he wanted to do it all again.

But then he picked up his jeans and checked his phone, and whatever he saw there made him frown.

"Fuckin' idiot," He grunted, glancing down at his phone before sighing and pulling up his boxers and jeans so he could shove it in his pocket. He hurried through getting dressed while you watched. "I gotta go get my brother."

"Oh," You mumbled, still dazed as you tried to stand and wobbled on your feet. He steadied your arm, his hand gripping too hard before abruptly relaxing, like maybe he wasn't used to holding someone like that, struggling to mind his strength.

"I'll call you."

You weren't sure why, but you sorta believed him.

"Okay," You nodded, blinking a few times as you started to pull a t-shirt over your head, forgoing a bra as you snagged a fresh pair of underwear from a box, cum still leaking on your thighs.

You didn't expect it when Sukuna got down on his knees and took the underwear from your hands, guiding your palm to rest on his shoulder for support so he could help you step into them, sliding them up your thighs and readjusting them on your hips.

"Word of advice?" He grunted, and all you could do was nod, speechless at the sight of him beneath you like that, how big he still seemed, his wide frame and muscles bulging under his shirt, the hard setting of his chiseled jaw. "Whatever they did to you, do it back to them."

You were still thinking about it and him after he left.

Pacing back and forth across your bedroom, wondering if he'd keep the ripped panties in his pocket, debating how dangerous it'd be for your heart to answer if he called. Glancing at the wall while you deliberated on how risky it'd be to step out of your room to get a drink and take a shower, if your roommates would be waiting, all the talking and laughing they'd been doing before replaced with silence now.

You rubbed the side of your neck, all your previously relaxed muscles starting to tense up again already, your attempts at massaging it doing shit to help while you walked into the kitchen. Yawning as you reached up to grab a glass from the cupboards while you did the awkward post-sex stumble over to the sink to fill it.

Scrunching your eyes shut for a moment, replaying the teasing and the teeth, the ghost of his touch on your skin before someone else's hand was on your shoulder, thumb digging into the muscle to massage it for you.

"Knock it off, Toru," You mumbled, rolling your shoulder back like it'd get him to quit, but the weight of his chest pressed into your back, his free hand landing on the other side of the counter to cage you in.

You were even sure what gave it away that it was him, maybe his cologne or just his presence alone.

"What, sweetheart? Don't tell me that guy actually satisfied you," He teased, an edge to his light voice you'd rarely heard.

"He did," You huffed back, his fingers freezing in place. "But that's not your business, is it?"

"It sorta is when it's under my roof," He sarcastically shot back.

Asshole.

"Yeah? So you guys can bring over whoever you wanna fuck and I can't?" You twisted around to face him, scrunching your face up in a scowl.

His signature smirk was still in place, like if it faltered for even a second, this whole stupid affair would splinter, and everything would come out.

"You've already got the best, why would you want anything else?" He pouted dramatically, the hand next to your waist inching closer.

"And you had me, but you always wanted someone else so," You shrugged, your voice coming out colder than you expected, a hint of hurt betraying you.

He flinched.

A barely there twitch of his brow, a blink you almost missed, his pupils too-wide, only a thin sliver of blue showing as he stared.

"Don't worry," You clenched your jaw, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I won't invite him here anymore."

You'd invite him to your new place.

"I mean, c'mon, baby, don't we do our best to take care you?"

You were pretty sure your heart stopped. Stomach sinking at the not-subtle way he emphasized the we. The faint footsteps that had paused on the opposite end of the counter, Satoru refusing to step away even in Suguru's company.

He knew. They both knew. Maybe always had.

You were just the oblivious one.

Caught between the two of them while they played pretend and acted like this was normal, natural.

"Sounds like she's feeling a little left out, huh?" Suguru's honeyed hum wasn't so soothing, no, it sliced through you, cutting through the hurt until there was just anger left.

Sukuna's sly suggestion was still ringing in your ears as Satoru stepped forward and his hand skimmed from your waist down to your hip to hold you where he wanted you before you could slip out of his grasp again.

Do it back to them.

It wasn't a terrible idea.

Moving out wasn't enough - not when they still hadn't gotten a proper taste of precisely what they were losing.

No, it would probably be even easier than you imagined with the desperation underscoring each exchange.

"Yeah? You two gonna make it up to me?" You made your voice sound more breathless than it really was, poking Satoru's firm chest while a real grin was quick to form on his face.

Pretty and perfectly unaware of the cum leaking down your leg, a fun discovery for him to find later.

Suguru moved quietly, a second hand drifting up your arm until he was brushing his thumb over your jaw, tilting your head to the side so you could face him for the first time. His dark stare was just as piercing as Satoru's bright one. Eyes narrowed and brows pulled together, traces of disappointment or disapproval still lingering in the lines of his face.

"What?" You huffed at him, folding your arms over your chest just for him to pry them back off and pull you to him.

"Did I say anything?" Suguru murmured, but his features hadn't shifted, still stuck in the same borderline pissy expression.

"You're staring like you wanna spank me," You taunted, right as Satoru actually did squeeze your ass from behind.

"Think your friend already did that," He cooly replied, his nose scrunching up for a second as he spit the word out a bit differently than the rest.

"Jealous?" You cocked your head to the side, rubbing it in a little more with your fake pout.

They were.

They could deny it or try to distract you, but the proof was in their possessiveness, the clenched jaws and their greedy grip on you.

"He doesn't deserve you," Satoru leaned down to whisper in your ear, pressing soft kisses into the still sensitive spots up your throat.

"As if you do?" You murmured, the dull thrum of desire starting to flare up despite your better judgement, leaning back just for Suguru to yank you forward, ending up sandwiched between their much bigger bodies.

"I'd do anything for you," Satoru whined, sinking his teeth in over one of the hickies Sukuna had left, kissing and sucking at it hard enough you couldn't help but shiver.

He must have a pretty narrow definition of anything. After all, he wouldn't be your boyfriend. Wouldn't take you on dates or kiss you in front of his friends.

He could only do anything if you were alone.

And apparently, you must've been the problem if they both knew the other was sleeping with you and still treated you like a dirty secret they had to share.

"Go fuck each other," You grumbled, giving them one last chance to back out but you knew they wouldn't when you were tilting your head back against Satoru's chest, your fingers slipping up underneath Suguru's shirt. "Leave me out of it."

"Can't," Suguru murmured, gently grabbing your chin to force you to face him. "Always been about you, baby."

You could almost believe that when they led you back to Satoru's room with more sweet whispers and greedy hands. Pulling your shirt off, their stares sticking to the kiss-covered canvas of your chest.

Suguru was pushing you on the bed while Satoru climbed on behind you, pale hands covering your breasts, your back flush with his chest as he continued to pepper your neck with desperate sucks, teeth nipping at you like it'd erase the hickies someone else left there.

You hoped every one reminded him of what they screwed up.

Suguru forced your hips up in the air, his fingers toying with the band of your pajama pants before he slipped them down your thighs and discarded them along with your underwear on the floor. The phone in your pocket made a small thud as it hit the floor.

Sliding his hands over your calves, past your knees, up, up, up until they were holding your thighs, parting them and-

Suguru stopped, sucking in a sharp breath and shaking his head.

"Something wrong?" You innocently asked, tilting your head to the side so Satoru could kiss your collarbone, his soft hair tickling you.

"No." Yes.

Was it not exhausting to never say what was really on his mind? You were exhausted. Weighed down by the shackles you let them attach to you, the affection you once showered them with.

"Well?" You waited, daring him to snap, to break, to do something other than keep up this stupid charade.

But he just slipped two sturdy fingers inside, his sly smile refusing to leave his lips while your mouth fell back open as you shuddered.

You wondered if he'd ever scooped another man's cum out of a girl before.

Or if you'd have the honor of being his first.

You imagined it was usually the other way around - that he probably finished inside their guest star and Satoru was the one who cleaned up the mess.

Being the second act, the understudy, fucking sucked. You wanted to be someone's main attraction.

His fingers crooked up, curling deeper and deeper, the force of his thrusts coating your thighs and Satoru's sheets with you and him.

The wet sound of it reverberating through the room, his dark eyes never leaving yours while Satoru held you in place, pushing the cum out with every rough pump of his fingers. Intense was an understatement.

His stare was searing - but in an icy way, frosted over. Irritated that you were slipping further and further out of his grasp, irritated that he was sharing you in a way he hadn't approved of prior.

"Suguru," You purred softly, watching the way his jaw unclenched, his shoulders relaxed.

Satoru's cock jumped against the small of your back at the sound of your voice, throbbing against your spine.

"Yeah?" Suguru's voice was deep, raspy, right as he slotted a third finger inside, your breath torn from your throat.

Hips arching up into his hand, Satoru's hand slipping down from your breast to press down on your stomach, the pressure on top of his best friend's fingers stretching you out already painting pretty white stars across your vision when you scrunched your eyes closed.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna-" You cut yourself off, panting as you tried to squirm, but Satoru refused to let you, his free hand wrapping around your throat, long fingers splayed out and squeezing softly, just enough that your head was spinning.

"C'mon, pretty, wanna see you cum," Suguru murmured, and you were, but you were still thinking about the other person whose cum was on his hand. The piece of you that wished it was him calling you pretty again.

But this time? You decided you'd be okay either way.

You'd either see him again or you wouldn't. You weren't going to let another man keep you waiting and wondering, stuck under his spell and spending every night thinking about him before you fell asleep.

"That's it, baby, let go," Satoru goaded in your ear, misunderstanding you once more - maybe for the last time too. "You're so gorgeous, you know that?"

Suguru was still shoving his fingers in-and-out, coaxing you through your climax, ignoring all the little praises his partner-in-fucking-you was whispering into your skin. Satoru pushed the hand on your stomach down harder, as if he'd actually be able to feel where Suguru was inside there, his grip on your throat tightening at the same time.

You couldn't let go with them anymore, but you did let yourself enjoy your high a little longer.

Lost in a fantasy from another life.

Wrapped around one man's fingers while the other's were wrapped around your throat.

Suguru slipped out with a wet sound that still made you blush, a hint of self-consciousness persisting even now. He dragged his slick fingers up to where Satoru's hand was resting below your belly button, prying them off of you.

"She was mine first," Suguru muttered, releasing the fingers from your throat next. Satoru scoffed, trying to grab your waist, but Suguru picked you up with ease, his hand damp when it landed on your back, bringing you in until your breasts were pushed against his chest.

"Only because you cheated," Satoru argued back, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling it just hard enough to twist your face around so you were looking at him.

Despite how, uh, handsy, he'd been, he looked almost devastated. His pupils were too-wide, the blue still hardly visible. Brows scrunched together, his bottom lip a little farther out than the top.

"You loved me first, right, angel?" He tugged your hair harder, enough that he was able to lean over you and kiss your cheek.

Love was not a word you ever allowed yourself to accept when it came to them.

It stung more that all the feelings you tried to hard to bury had already been unearthed by them. Acting like they were entitled to you when they were just grave robbers.

"You're both insufferable," You mumbled, and Satoru laughed. Flicking Suguru's forehead with his free hand before sneakily wrapping a sturdy arm around you in order to twist you around to face him.

"But I'm right?" Satoru hummed, pulling you one way while Suguru readjusted your body for you until your hands and knees were sinking into the mattress. A pretty puppet for them to play with.

"Does it matter?" You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek while you heard the rustle of Suguru disrobing behind you, his clothes hitting the ground while Satoru peeled his shirt over his head, discarded his boxers next, a damp spot from where his swollen and leaky cock had dripped pre-cum over his thick, pink tip.

"Come on," Suguru joined in on Satoru's childish games, something hard pressing into your ass as the bed dipped behind you where he climbed back on. "You have to have a favorite."

And so what? You'd never be either of theirs.

One set of hand held your hips, and you weren't sure if it was you or him (or him) that was making your skin so wet when he positioned his thick length to rub along your entrance. Satoru pretended, at least, to be more sentimental about it, leaning over and cupping your face to draw your attention back up to him, this thumbs tracing over your cheekbones until they were almost squishing your face.

"Well?" He quizzed.

"I hate you both equally," You grumbled, but he didn't seem to believe you'd bite considering he just smiled so sincerely at you, letting go of your cheek to guide his cock towards your lips, the slightly salty taste of his pre-cum coating them a glossy white.

"You love us."

Satoru was probably just saying it because he needed to believe it. Needed it to be true more than he ever actually needed you.

If this was happening to you a a year ago? You'd probably tell them whatever they wanted to hear, making promises between kisses just for the hope they'd return a fraction of your adoration.

"Satoru," Suguru scolded him, the fingers dimpling around your waist digging deeper while he dragged his cock back across your heat, the pressure on your clit making you shudder on instinct, your mouth parting just enough for Satoru to slip the first few inches of his cock in your mouth. You had barely started to swirl your tongue around him, gradually allowing him to edge his way in before Suguru's tip caught on your entrance.

You couldn't decide which to focus on - Suguru's slow approach, taking his time to push in each searing inch, or Satoru's cock throbbing in your mouth, bumping into the back of your throat with every too-fast thrust.

"It's alright, baby, you don't have to answer him," Suguru leaned down, his mouth brushing against the bare expanse of your back as he spoke. Each kiss lingered. Soft, tender, his breath warm on your skin as he lodged himself deep enough you could practically feel him in your lungs. "I love you."

Time stopped. Your spine went stiff, all your muscles too-tense, frozen in place. A pit tearing open in your stomach, anxiety curdling and coiling and tying itself in knots you wished you could just rip out of you.

You were actually thankful for Satoru scoffing and shoving his cock back in your throat so you didn't have to reply to that.

"Seriously?" Satoru groaned, and it was half-annoyance, half-pleasure. "You were supposed to let me say it first."

"You took too long." You didn't need to see his face to know Suguru was probably shrugging and smirking while he slowly picked up the pace. Sliding his cock in-and-out, leaving the impression he was trying to make sure you memorized every vein and ridge of his cock while it seared inside you.

"I love you more, sweetheart," Satoru pitched his voice down to a low purr, caressing your cheek and stroking your hair like he might actually mean it. "You know that, right, baby?"

What you knew was they both had a pretty fucked idea of where the line was drawn between friendship and love and lust. They didn't love you.

They loved your attention. Your eyes glued to them, peering up at them on your knees, worshipping them with your mouth. They never paid attention to any of the words coming out of it.

Your own scoff was snuffed out by Suguru thrusting in hard enough it forced Satoru's cock to hit the back of your throat again, his vein pulsing fast over your tongue. He groaned, his grip on your hair pulling tight suddenly like it was all he had to hold himself back.

"See how good we can take care you?" Suguru murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin while his own hold on your hips dug deeper, like he wished he could leave fingerprints so you'd be left with the reminder you were still theirs.

"Mm, fuck, baby, m'so sorry, promise we'll never leave you out again, okay? Take you out somewhere nice tomorrow night and-"

You had to tune out Satoru's lovesick rambling, the sweet sincerity in his voice rolling through you as he said stuff you used to dream of.

Stuff he was probably only saying because you were sucking his dick.

You wondered what he'd say when you didn't let him finish.

If he knew half the hurt he'd put you through, would he really feel bad? Or would he only regret it if you weren't around?

Suguru's cock stretching you out around him, his subtle groans breathed into your back as he fucked you from behind, feeling like an animal on a leash they were trying to tame with how tightly they were both clinging onto you.

The low buzzing on the wood floor was a wake-up call.

A phone call that felt more like an alarm, dragging you out of bed and away from the dream you couldn't keep closing your eyes and pretending you still wanted any part of anymore.

Pulling away from Satoru with a filthy pop! while you pushed off by his hips, smacking at Suguru's hand on your own to squirm free. Sore legs trembling when you wobbled on bare feet over to your crumpled pajamas, picking it up and digging your phone free from the pocket.

It didn't matter who it was, even if wasn't him. Because the excuse had already taken shape in your mind, a cruel pin for you to shove in their straw hearts.

"Sorry, it's my boyfriend," You shrugged, offering a semi-apologetic pout.

"Your boyfriend?" Satoru scoffed, condescension off the second word like it was curse.

"Mm, yeah," You yawned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while you let your gaze lazily drift from one of your still-nude roommates the other. Naked and bare, muscles pulled taut, sweat glistening on their skin, dreamy. It was just that you'd woken up. "Gotta take this. You guys can take care of each other though."

You were bending over to grab your shirt and scurrying out after throwing a short wave over your shoulder, both of them too stunned to properly react.

"Sweetheart," Suguru called out before you'd even shut the door all the way, speaking softer than he had all night.

Stay.

Another item on the long list of things you'd never say to each other.

The last box was in your car. All the big furniture loaded up in the truck, on the way to your new home, the pen you used for your newly-signed lease sitting heavy in your purse when you threw one last look around your empty old room. A silent exit out of their life, no goodbyes necessary.

The quiet was weird.

How long would it take to get used to that after living alone?

A week? A month?

Footsteps echoing through the apartment as you paused by the kitchen, setting your purse down on the counter while you pulled out your keyring, struggling the old key off, scratched and worn from years of use before it softly clinked as you dropped it onto the marble.

Maybe you'd catch them in the street some day, wave and exchange an awkward hello or how are you that you would scrub from your memory once they left your rear view. For now, though, they'd just be a couple of blocked numbers, a list of places you'd avoid until their ghosts stopped haunting them.

Withdrawal would be a bitch.

But sticking around to just be a third party in this fucked-up little threesome was an addiction you couldn't afford anymore.

As if on cue, you both heard the creak of the front door opening, the warm rumble of Suguru's voice calling from the entryway and Satoru was pulling out, tucking his throbbing erection back into his underwear and poorly hiding it in his sweatpants before yanking your panties back up over your thighs and fixing your flimsy excuse of a nightdress before you flipped over. Your legs were still trembling and the sore bundle of nerves between them was aching from the first orgasm he pulled from you, damp spots of slick and saliva making your panties stick uncomfortably to your skin.

"Meet you in the bathroom in fifteen to finish?" Satoru gave you a crooked grin, swiping a thumb under your eye to wipe away where your mascara had smeared.

"Sure," You nodded, knowing he wouldn't hold up his end of the offer anyway.

It all played out before. Where you'd both greet Suguru, who'd throw you a little smirk, a dark sort of glint in his eyes like he knew, like he'd always known, but he'd never say a word. Just smile at Satoru and ask how your morning was, before the two of them would eventually disappear back into one of their rooms or crash on the couch, an arm slung around the other's shoulder while they invited you to join.

But it mostly just felt like a courtesy invite.

That's what everything felt like with them. An afterthought, a distraction, just something to fill the empty space when the person they actually wanted was gone, someone who they weren't sure what to do with once their missing half returned.

A replaceable part.

Some nights when you declined going out with them, or tried to hole yourself up in your room, they'd invite another girl over, the sound of her laughter always cutting through the walls first before her moans mixing with theirs, the creak of the bedframe squeaking under their weight of the groan of the couch springs. The last one was the thousandth cut, unable to drown out the panting and slam of the headboard hitting the shared wall no matter how loud you turned up the music in your earbuds.

The one time you left, they'd actually had the audacity to complain about being worried about where you'd gone, baiting you with questions about if something was wrong when this whole affair? Relationship? Fucked-up friendship? Well, them or this, whatever it was, that's what was wrong.

If they had no problem sharing - why not you?

Why was it never you?

You guessed you'd just have to live with not knowing and they could just live without you.

They'd have no trouble filling your vacancy in a couple weeks once your new lease started, a small one-bedroom you found on the other side of the city, something closer to your job at least. You didn't pay rent here, Satoru refused to let you considering he owned the three-bedroom apartment you all lived in. It would be shitty to start, you know, actually paying bills and buying groceries, but the cost of your sanity was too fucking high to hand over in order to keep living with them.

You just uh, hadn't exactly told them that yet.

A little voice in the back of your mind wondered if it'd all be over when you did. The friendship, the yearning, the hunger for something unattainable that had been gnawing away at all your muscle and bones and organs until you just felt hollow, a shell of whoever you used to be living in the shadows.

So you settled for hanging in the background, following Satoru quietly out of his room and into the hall, rubbing the back of your neck when he was practically five steps ahead of you to bound into the kitchen, falling so naturally into conversation with Suguru he seemed to have forgotten you were even behind him. Both of them were putting up the groceries, protein bars and eggs and Satoru's favorite brand of chocolate bars, laughing at a joke you weren't privy to.

Neither of them noticed when you slipped back out into the hall, finding a shrinking sanctuary in your bedroom, crawling back under the sheets to sleep until the afternoon, so you wouldn't have to think about either of them for a few hours.

Or the rest of the day, apparently, when you woke up later than you intended and found a note one of them must've crept in your room to leave on the nightstand, Suguru's neat handwriting letting you know they were going to visit an old friend from high school and wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

You couldn't decide if you were relieved or disappointed, the strange fluttering in your stomach as you crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash refusing to go away even after a shower. It was beyond irritating. The hold they had over you even when they were probably hours away. Like the whole world (including yours) just had to revolve around them. The last little piece of your shriveled up heart turning to dust, whatever had kept you tethered to them dissolving with it.

All you wanted was something for yourself for once.

And simply going out for a few drinks to find that something somehow landed you here.

"What's your name again?" You giggled, a little drunk and distinctly dizzy with desire for someone new for the first time in God knows how long, sturdy hands on your waist as you straddled him in the backseat of his car in the parking lot of some sleazy nightclub, hickies probably littering your neck by now.

"Fucked stupid already?" He tch-ed, grunting as his hips rolled up, driving his cock deeper until you really couldn't remember his name. Or yours. Or your stupid roommates you were trying so hard to get away from.

"Oh, f-fuck," You stammered, blinking hard, passing headlights casting shadows on all the sharp features of his face, your fingers tangled in his surprisingly fluffy pink hair. His eyes narrowed, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he studied your face again.

"Sukuna," He finally spat out, taking out his annoyance in repeating himself on the sore bud of your clit, moving one hand to massage rough circles on it as he thrusted up hard.

His mouth returned to your throat, teeth scraping at the skin, no soft or tender kisses, no sweet whispers to cast the illusion this was anything other than what it was. A sloppy hookup, a one-night-stand if you ever actually made it back to his place.

It was refreshing.

The first breeze on one of those summer days where the oppressive heat of the sun felt inescapable, cool on your skin and rustling your hair and reminding you that nothing was forever, even if it felt like it.

You grinded back down on him, tugging on his hair and moaning freely, hoping no one would bother looking too close to the way the windows had started to fog, the slight bounce of the vehicle from the way his hands aggressively guided you up-and-down his thick shaft.

It wasn't awkward, but you didn't know quite what to do with your hands or exactly what to say when you'd only been having sex with the same two people for years. Would it be weird for you to kiss him? Would he like it if you murmured praises between each bruising thrust?

"Stop thinkin' so much," He gruffly mumbled, his mouth smashing against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, drowning you out with the next wave of pleasure.

He was warm. You were warm. A fuzzy feeling settling in your chest, while he stoked a different heat between your thighs, the taste of bourbon on his lips as they seared yours.

Filled to the brim with lust instead of unrequited love for once, split open with it actually, with how fast and hard his hips were thrusting up while his hands held you down. Probably making a huge mess in his backseat but he didn't seem to notice the damp skin slick on his own when his tongue was busy being shoved down your throat, his cock practically bumping into your cervix and aiming to angle deeper, deeper, deeper.

"T-there, oh, oh-" Your own filthy moan cut you off, and you were pretty positive you had just lost your ability to form words at all considering it felt like he'd lodged himself in your lungs, straining for every breath you gasped for. You buried your face in his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin as you started leaving hot, hungry little sucks across the muscles and tendons and the sharp edge of his collarbone, staining his skin the same way he'd done to yours.

"God," He murmured, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes, teetering right there next to you on the edge. One hand slipped from your hip so two thick fingers could toy with your clit.

Even that was rough, all messy circles and rolling the swollen bud back-and-forth, but the pressure alone was enough to push you over. You bit down on his shoulder to muffle the cry of his name he ripped out of you, splotches of white dancing across your eyes even when they fluttered shut. He kept fucking up into you through your orgasm, pinching at your clit to get you to stop your teeth from sinking into his skin but then he groaned, the reverberations of it settling in your core as his hips bucked up hard one last time and you could tell he was finishing in the condom.

His forehead falling forward, nose bumping against your neck when he suddenly bit you back, sharp canines pressed against your collarbone, your stomach doing somersaults at the new sensation.

"F-fuck," You gasped, moaning as his teeth sank deeper into your skin, marking it with his mouth as he grunted again, squirming against his tight hold when he didn't move a muscle.

Maybe it was the buzz of the alcohol or the fact that his cock throbbing inside you was making your brain feel incredibly fuzzy, but all you could think about was wanting more.

"You have another condom?" You muttered against his skin, whining when he readjusted and he lightly pinched at your oversensitive clit again with a chuckle.

"Greedy brat," He murmured, trailing a few rough kisses up your neck.

"Is that a no?" You teased, barely breathing when one of those massive hands of his tethered itself in your hair and tilted your head back to lick a clean stripe along the spot he'd just bitten.

"You think you can handle another round?"

Silence greeted them when Suguru turned the key in the lock and Satoru shoved his way inside first. They left Shoko's early, neither particularly wanting to stay the night when you were waiting at home. The lights were off, curtains drawn, no hum of a tv or phone playing somewhere to fill the empty air.

"Got your favorite, sweetheart," Satoru playfully called out, tossing a plastic bag stuffed full of to-go boxes onto the kitchen counter after flicking on the light switch, Suguru's ears straining to make out any small sound of you while he shut and locked the door back.

The quiet wasn't new, but it felt louder somehow over the past few months. You'd been keeping to yourself more, still laughing and smiling when you were around them, but it all felt dimmed, almost. Rehearsed.

Reciting your lines and practicing your expressions.

Satoru didn't see it.

But Suguru couldn't stop noticing all the little changes. What looked a lot like distance you were trying to wedge between yourself and them.

"She's probably in her room," He frowned, narrowing his eyes at his roommate, the bag crinkling as he started pulling out the boxes.

"Guess so," Satoru nodded, peeking inside one to confirm it was yours before leading the way down the hall. "Think she's asleep?"

"It's midnight," Suguru shrugged, but something uneasy had settled in his stomach. You were probably just passed out already in bed. Why wouldn't you be?

Satoru didn't knock. He steamrolled his way in just to freeze in the doorway, his lips twisting down in a distinct frown when there wasn't a you to be found.

Makeup scattered on the floor in front of your mirror, a few short dresses thrown over your bed like you couldn't decide what to wear.

You were out. The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it, the slim possibility you could be in someone else's bed by now.

"I'm calling her," Satoru mumbled. He dropped your food on your nightstand, plopping down on your bed as he dug his phone out of his pocket.

Suguru knew you weren't going to answer.

Your phone was probably off or on do not disturb, deliberately set so you didn't have to hear from them. The sense of something being wrong had hung in the air all day, like a rotten stench he wouldn't be able to find even if he tore apart every piece of furniture and cleaned every corner.

It wasn't until he got sent to voicemail the third time that Satoru paused, grinding his molars as he looked around your room again.

"She'll call back," He finally said, not making any moves to stand.

Honestly? Suguru wasn't so sure.

Satoru clung to the comfort of what he knew, but Suguru could feel the change in every smile, the way you watched him through tired eyes most days, sitting at the end of the couch or slipping away like you thought you went unnoticed.

It didn't used to be like this.

You used to laugh with them, wiggle your way in-between them on the couch, planning movie nights and cooking together, blushing every time one of them offered a wink or casually flirted with you.

Your attention was intoxicating. And your roommates were greedy.

Other girls they could share. They'd be gone the next morning. But when it came to you?

Everything was different.

Suguru slept with you first. Waited until Satoru left on some business trips six months after you moved in with them to treat you to dinner and by the time you both made it into the taxi back home, his hands were in your hair and his tongue in your mouth before you made it through the threshold. Tearing off both your clothes before he made it back to his bedroom, his shirt in the kitchen and your dress in the living room and your bra in the hallway. How successfully he'd managed to snag your attention under Satoru's nose only heightened the hunger while he watched you climb on top of him, your mouth trailing hungry kisses down his body until your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

You were his to hold and ruin. To love too, just in his own way.

It wasn't like him and Satoru, sure, but that didn't mean it was worth less. He knew Satoru would agree, too. Because you belonged to him as much as you belonged to Suguru.

So what if it went unsaid?

You had to feel it. Did they not take care of you? Could you not tell in every careful caress or longing look?

You were theirs.

They'd been getting pettier about it, fine, putting on a show to get a rise out of you, waiting for you to do something. Stake some claim on them or ask them to stop. Suguru never wanted to make you cry, but the thought of you tear-streaked and chewing on your lip, confessing he was all you wanted had been playing in the back of his mind from the moment he met you and subsequently decided to steal you from Satoru.

They were both sick, along with the stupid game they dragged you into playing too, competing for you like you were a trophy to be won, but even if the rules were unfair, he couldn't help but think you found every ounce as intoxicating as they did.

It all revolved around you, after all.

You were the referee, the audience, the scorekeeper, the prize at the end of the finish line.

If you wanted both of them, or even just one, they'd make it work. They might strangle or sleep with each other somewhere along the way, but still, they'd figure it out for you. He hated sharing what was his. But he could learn if he had too.

What happened if you didn't want either of them anymore?

"Here."

Something cold was pressed against your forehead, and you were blinking through bleary eyes at the strange surroundings. Bed, tv, dresser, none of them yours, but clearly uh, someone's room. You tried to sit up just, your thighs and hips sore and aching as you reached for whatever was currently trying to give you a brain freeze.

It was some energy drink you were pretty sure they only sold at shady gas stations (probably pending recalls too) electric coloring and exclamation marks on the label. You glanced up, the memories of last night filtering through, albeit a little blurry, as you cracked open the tab and took a sip.

Drunk you had good taste.

In men that was. Sober you thought whatever the fuck you were drinking was terrible.

What's-his-name (Steven?) was hot in that smoldering sorta way, all rough and jagged, the kind of jaw line and frown that insisted he might bite if you looked too long, which only made you want to stare even harder.

"What time is it?" You yawned, stretching as you took another needed sip of caffeine, hoping it'd give you the energy to face the rest of the day and your roommates whenever they returned this afternoon.

"It's almost noon," He grumbled, serious eyes narrowing at you while you shuffled out of his bed still-naked, having to scrounge up your dress and underwear from where it'd been scattered across the room last night.

"Shit," You gritted your teeth, tugging and pulling on your clothing until it was in place, shoving your purse's contents back inside from where they spilled out on his floor. They probably wouldn't be home yet, right?

"Need a ride?"

You'd already rode him - he could return the favor.

Him walking you up to your door instead of just dropping you off was a (not entirely unwelcome) surprise though. Leaning against the wall while you rummaged through your stuff for your keys, his sharp gaze slicing through all of the mess and straight to you.

By the time you fished your key out, his face was just set in hard lines, holding his hand out with an open palm. You just blinked, wondering if the hangover made your brain stop working too.

"Let me see your phone," He gruffly muttered, and even while you frowned back at him, you still complied, unlocking it and passing it over so he could type something.

"What?" You peeked over to see him sending a text to what you guessed was his own number. "Didn't think you're the kind of guy that comes back for seconds."

"Shut up," He grunted, glancing down the hall as he shoved your phone back towards you. You glanced down, making note of the name he added himself as. Sukuna.

"Make me," You mocked, the cheap caffeine or maybe the cologne clinging to his skin making your heart race a little when his hand skimmed over your hip.

"Call me sometime and I will," He threatened. Or maybe it was a promise. Something stuck in between, like he didn't even know.

"I'll think about it," You grinned, turning the key in the lock, pausing as you eyed him one more time.

He was really hot.

And after so long of soaking up being second choice, being someone's first, even if it was only for sex, was nice. Soothed the burn on your skin, filled the hole in your heart even though you knew it was just a patch job, a temporary fix.

You liked the way he checked you out, how openly his eyes trailed over you, the fire behind them. Liked feeling liked.

So when his hand grabbed your waist and his mouth pressed against yours, you let him. It was the first time you received a goodbye kiss with tongue involved, but you were not complaining.

Your hand awkwardly dropping from the door, key still in the lock as his palm pressed flat against your back to pull you in, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip like he didn't have his fill of biting and sucking last night, as if your throat wasn't still bearing the proof of that. A little moan you hadn't meant to make escaped when the hand on your waist slipped low enough to cup your ass and squeezed.

The door opened while his hand was underneath your wrinkled dress, his tongue in your mouth, head tilted back to accommodate him. You just didn't notice until you heard the grunt, the awkward clearing of someone's throat that made you snap out of it, twisting to see Satoru standing there.

His pretty crystalline blue eyes frozen in surprise, his own lips parted like the protest on his tongue just wouldn't come out. Suguru was a few steps behind him, arms folded across his chest, dark stare narrowed to glare at your company.

You expected embarrassment.

But really, a flare of smug satisfaction stoked up in your chest, and you trailed a slow finger up the muscled arm, not pulling away even after the kiss was broken.

"Sorry," You hummed a soft apology, fluttering your lashes as you smiled at him. "My roommates are just a little protective."

"Roommates, huh?" He chuckled, and you could see it in the curl of his lips that he was amused more than anything else.

"Don't worry, they're more interested in each other than me," You shrugged, making a point to not even look over at them.

He laughed.

And god, it felt so fucking good.

Why hadn't you done this months ago?

"I'll call you later," You winked, reluctantly pulling away with a wave, and he smirked, throwing a smug look over at Satoru while you slipped past him. Glancing back to watch the not-subtle way he sized him up, the look in his eyes that dared him to do something before he turned down the hall to leave.

The door slammed shut once you were inside.

You didn't think he even meant to shut it so hard.

But you didn't say anything, brushing past Suguru and ignoring both of them while you headed for your room. Sukuna's assessment was accurate. Neither of them would do anything. Not while the other was there.

When you slammed your bedroom door behind you, it was on purpose. Flipped the lock even though you knew it wouldn't actually hold up if either really wanted in, but wasn't that the point? They couldn't admit that they wanted in, wanted you, if it meant admitting it to each other.

Because once they said it out loud, they couldn't take it back. You weren't fun if you weren't something they could hide. A toy that they'd broken trying to take turns playing with.

At some point, the friendship that had once been there faded, dissolved until all that was left was this stupid tryst. Had it ever even existed? Or was it just a means to this end?

If you weren't warming their beds, a secret kept between their sheets, you had no purpose, no other reason to occupy their time or take up space in their life.

Your point only felt proven when the silence seemed to seep into every crevice the rest of the afternoon, barely stepping foot outside of your room outside of bathroom breaks and grabbing food from the kitchen, empty spaces where memories and laughter used to be.

The first knock came after the sun started to dip below the horizon outside your window, curtains drawn back to let the fading daylight in, scrolling through your phone on your bed, wondering if you'd regret answering.

"Open up? Please?" Satoru called out from the other side, the door creaking as he rested his weight against it, the doorknob twisting when he tried it again.

You sighed getting up, tossing your phone back down on your bed and frowning when you unlocked the door to yank it open, Satoru stumbling inside, his body nearly toppling you over before you pushed him off.

"Yeah?" You blinked, stepping back, putting enough space between you that his stare felt a little less suffocating, pretending the pout on his lips didn't send a sharp pang to your heart.

He wasn't sad he was losing you. He was just jealous you were moving on.

Satoru tried not to show it, wearing another mask like you wouldn't be able to tell what he was feeling when he stepped forward and shut the door behind him.

"Sweetheart," He sighed, talking slow and soft while he reached out to touch you. You took another step back before he could. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"For what?" You shrugged. It wasn't like it was the only time he'd forgotten about you. He just wasn't going to get the opportunity to do it again.

His cool exterior faltered, a flicker of nervousness in his stare at the roles being reversed.

"We didn't get to finish," He hesitated over the words, and you glanced over to the wall you shared with Suguru's bedroom.

"It's fine," You shrugged again.

You'd finished plenty without him later.

"It's not," Satoru murmured, and a few weeks ago, you might've melted at the tender way he was starting at you, the adoration you'd always hoped was there glittering in his bright eyes. But it all felt plastic now.

You could water it and hope it'd grow, but it'd never breathe or change or wilt because it was never real to begin with.

"Gojo," You quietly cut him off before he could say anything else, and he flinched at your use of his last name. "I said it's fine."

You walked around him to slip out of your room, keeping your eyes forward on your way to the kitchen, opening the door to the pantry and rummaging through the shelves for a snack. Acting like you didn't see Suguru sitting at the counter, or feel his eyes on your back when your other roommate followed you.

"You have fun last night?" Suguru broke the silence, his polite question pierced by something you couldn't even place coming from him.

"Yeah," You nodded, not turning around. "You guys?"

"Not really."

"Yep."

They both started talking at the same time, but you were a little more inclined to believe Suguru's plain answer, how dry his no was.

"You really going to go out with that guy again?" He asked, his voice low, and you wondered which one of you was going to scoff first.

"Why not?" You hummed, glancing over your shoulder at them.

Suguru was watching you, his jaw set in a hard line, but he didn't let anything else show past his furrowed brows, but Satoru was silently seething in the stool next to him, elbows on the counter as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"When's the last time you even had a boyfriend?" He tried to tease, but it came out bitter.

Whose fault was it that the last one had been before you met them?

"Maybe I just hadn't found the right person yet."

Being snarky back at him as a small punishment, “I believe that’s an onomatopoeia.”

He looks up from what he’s doing, “What?”

“‘Shh’, it’s an onomatopoeia, not a word.”

“I wasn’t answering your question,” he frowns, “also… yes it is.”

“Nuh uh,” you refute, “it’s the sound a word makes.”

“Onomatopoeia’s are also considered to be types of words themselves,” he looks over the top of his glasses at you, head tilted down, “it’d be like saying ‘bang’ isn’t a word because it’s also an onomatopoeia.”

Grumbling at him, “You’re wrong because I said so.”

“Oh! Of course, now I see that your argument is valid and correct,” he smiles at you.

Gojo Satoru’s smile pisses you off, not because he’s being a smartass—though that factors in sometimes—but because you find him so attractive that it’s unfair. You pout at him in response, “No one likes a know-it-all.”

“Says the one who started this by being a know-it-all.”

Wheeling the chair to the other side of him, “It’s cuter when I do it.”

“I hate to disagree but I think I’m cuter,” he smirks a little but ducks his head back into his work.

You flop onto his desk beside him, head on your arms as you watch his face, “You hate to do it and yet you do it anyways.”

“What are you looking for over here, sweetheart?” he looks down at you, knowing exactly why you’re bothering him, “What’d you get stuck on?”

Taking offence and muttering, “I’m not stuck on anything…”

He prompts, “…But.”

“But… I’ve reread the rubric so many times that my eyes hurt and I’ve decided it’s a tomorrow me problem.”

Gojo hums, “I feel like I’ve heard this before.”

“Mingling with the other students I see.”

“Yes, it’s certainly not that I heard that exact phrasing from you barely a couple weeks ago,” again his eyes leave yours, “maybe my age is messing with my memory but I also could’ve sworn that was right around when you put that same work off for another few days until it was the night of.”

“Okay but—”

“—You know… I think I also recall you getting so stressed about it that you cried to me about it and cursed out past you.” Flicking a page over, “That was you right? Or am I going crazy?”

You deadpan back, “You’re going crazy.”

He pinches your cheek and tugs, “Do your work and leave me to mine, this is my actual job… you know that right?”

“Who cares about you, this is about me right now,” you bat his hand away, “and right now I want to procrastinate by bothering you.”

“Lucky me.”

“You should feel lucky,” you poke his arm.

His brow quirks at you, “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

A few beats of silence go by and then you’re rolling yourself over to the other side of him, proposing with a coy, “You know… maybe if a certain librarian helped me with my work… I wouldn’t end up crying about it in a few days.”

“Trying to get me to do your schoolwork now?”

“I’m very nicely asking for your help.”

“Hmm…” he thinks on it for entirely too long, clearly just trying to put you on edge. He spins to face you, “What’s in it for me?”

You sit up and lean in towards him, incredibly serious when stating, “The feel-good feeling you’ll get from helping me.”

He stares you down, waiting for you to better your terms but all it does is make you self-conscious over how close he is and think about how pretty his lashes are. You refuse to back down though, now locked in an intense staring competition with him.

Good news for you, he cracks first, “Alright, fine. Show me what you need help with.”

A huge smile breaks out on your face, “Yay!”

“Be quiet,” he chastises, “you’re still in a library.”

Glaring at him a little, “I was gonna give you a hug but now I don’t wanna.”

“No, go ahead,” he opens his arms for you and even though you genuinely consider it, you choose to flick his forehead instead. “Ouch,” he rubs where you flicked him.

“No hug for you,” once again rolling to the other side of him and pulling out your laptop, “maybe if you help me…”

Gojo only laughs at you, smiling as he scoots closer to see your screen. “Can you guarantee that hug?”

You retort, “Can you guarantee your help?”

“Don’t have such little faith in me, especially when you’re begging for my help.”

“I don’t remember begging,” mouth pulling sideways at his comment.

He pulls your laptop closer to him, “Let’s agree to disagree.”

Despite his attitude, it’s thanks to him that you’re able to start your work and stop pulling your hair out.

────── .✦

Required readings… your enemy. Not only is this library a mess—sorry Gojo—but everything you need is too high up to reach. So, you have to spend nearly twenty minutes looking for one book, only to struggle to obtain it when it’s found. Fingers just barely tapping the shelf it’s sat atop. You’re glaring at your enemy of a book from below when someone is right behind you, warm body pressed to yours.

Your immediate thought is that some stranger is simultaneously, far too close to you and stealing the book you need. Before you can act on your first thoughts, the familiar smell of Gojo graces your senses and your face heats up. Feeling warm at his body pressed to yours, conscious of just how much taller than you he is.

His free hand is on your head as he reaches up above you, hand on your book, “This is the one, right?”

You nod back at him sheepishly, feeling far too shy to turn to look at him when he’s this close. Always knowing that Gojo is tall is completely different from feeling it when he’s pressed up against you, the height difference put into blaring perspective.

His body against yours prompts your brain into spewing out all kinds of images of him and how he might use his size to his benefit. If he were to touch you… would he be gentle? Your pussy drips into your panties at the idea, growing needier the longer he stays behind you. It’s an active effort for you to not rub your thighs together and beg for him to touch you.

Gojo finally takes a half-step back and taps the top of your head with the book, bringing you back to the now, “You all there?”

You turn and take it from him bashfully, “Yeah, sorry and thanks.”

“Feeling okay?” He tilts his head at you and blinks, his glasses slipping down his nose a little.

He’s sweet and now you’re feeling bad about having perverted thoughts about your very nice and helpful librarian. Stumbling over yourself a bit in your embarrassment, “I’m fine, I… I’m good, just– your library is hard to navigate.”

“If you’re getting lost, you could always ask for help,” he seems so close.

Your gaze averts his, feeling exposed under it, guilty about the material of your wet panties clinging to you, “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” he grins because it’s true.

“Maybe I felt like being benevolent,” you grumble. “I need another book, so if you could take another step back.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Of course,” walking past him, and saying with a playful tone, “I know this place like the back of my hand.”

He follows along beside you, waiting to see if you mess up, “So… how’re your classes?”

“They’re fine,” you pause and scan the aisles, thinking for a moment and ignoring the amusement radiating off of Gojo. Deciding to indulge the conversation with something that’s been bugging you, “well actually, lately some guy keeps sitting next to me during lectures and talking my ear off.”

“Oh?” suddenly sounding interested, “what’s he talking about?”

Finally in the area of the library you were looking for, all the way in the far back corner. Eyes ready for the tiring chore of looking at the spine of all the books.

“Stupid shit I don’t care about,” you recall his babbling and how you tried your very best to filter it out, “himself mostly, I think he just likes the sound of his own voice.”

You can hear the way Gojo clicks his tongue, like he’s growing frustrated, “Have you told him to leave you alone?

“I’ve tried,” you bend down to look at the lower shelves, “he’s annoyingly persistent, I don’t even know why he talks to me when I don’t engage him.”

His voice grows closer, “Have you always been oblivious?”

“Excuse me?” you stand up again and face him, “I am not oblivious.”

“He’s been flirting with you and you haven’t even noticed.”

“You don’t know that,” brows pulling together, “plus, you’re way more oblivious.”

He scoffs a little, “Name one time.”

Face hot and voice a little shaky, blurting out, “Just before!”

“What are you talking about?”

You’re annoyed and feel like sticking it to him, answering pointedly, “I got all wet because you just had to be all pressed up against me before and you had no idea.”

Heart hammering in your chest as he steps closer to you, his voice low, “Prove it.”

Your mouth drops for a second, “And how am I meant to do that?”

He points at your lower half shamelessly, “Lift up your skirt.”

“I—”

“—Should I do it for you?”

“No,” you drop your book and bag, “I’ll do it.”

Nerves running wild as you hold the hem of your skirt and lift it, exposing your underwear to your surprisingly perverted librarian. He stares at you for entirely too long before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes glancing up.

“Can I touch you?” he asks a little breathlessly, pupils dilated.

It’s probably not a great idea—any of this—but you’re needy and he’s showing interest in you. Plus, it’s a little hard to have a rational state of mind when he’s on his knees and patiently waiting for you to answer his very simple but loaded question.

You’re eventually nodding your head slowly, “Please—”

His finger presses into the damp spot on your panties and your knees buckle, the grip on your skirt loosens making him grumble up at you, “Keep your skirt up.”

Huffing a little at him but gripping the material tighter and pulling it back up, he seems content with that if his hum is anything to go off of. His finger is delicate as he traces between your folds, digit sliding with how wet you’ve gotten. All he’s doing is making you needier, whatever slight pleasure you’re getting not enough.

“Well, you weren’t lying,” he states, amused. “You always get this wet when someone stands a little too close?”

Making a point not to answer him, “So, you know you were too close.”

“Looking at your crying pussy right now, I have no regrets.”

A soft sigh pulls from your lungs at his finger flicking your clit, “Ah— and here I was feeling guilty about my perverted thoughts about the sweet librarian.”

Gojo scoffs a little at that and looks into your eyes, “You mean, the grown man who indulges you despite being on the clock?” He grins wide, and focuses back on your cunt, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Your reply is kept to a soft moan as his finger presses into your weeping hole, he’d be able to penetrate you with it if your panties weren’t in the way.

Distracted by the sight before his head snaps back upwards as if realising something, smiling like he’s charmed by you, “You think I’m sweet?”

“No,” you deny, breaths coming a little faster.

“Mm, you think I’m sweet,” he sing-songs back at you, leaning in while he gloats.

“I do not— ah!”

A short cry coming from you before your teeth dig into your lower lip to stifle it, he’d leant in and stuffed his face to your covered pussy while you were talking. Crudely inhaling deep and sighing happily. Eyes heated and barely focused on yours as he sucks on your wet panties, making the damp spot grow larger. He whines at the taste of you, a pathetic and needy sound that sends sparks through you.

You huff out at him, “I don’t know what you are but it’s not sweet.”

He lets go of your underwear and answers, “I may not be sweet but you sure fucking are,” always finding himself to be hilarious, eyes full of mirth as his tongue lolls from his mouth lewdly. Pulling your panties to the side quickly as he leans in, tongue warm and wet on your exposed cunt.

Butterflies erupt inside your tummy, the direct contact making you wobbly. Unable to even really recognise this as real life but the way his tongue slithers inside your hot cunt feels far too real for it to not be reality. Little mewls spill from your lips, beyond turned on by the sight below you. This big man on his knees for you and desperately slurping at your leaking pussy.

Groans rumbling in his chest as he greedily laps at you, messy in his pursuit. Almost feral, like it’s not about you but about how much he enjoys this instead. Nuzzling even closer, as close as he can possibly hope to get and still you know that if he could, he’d be getting closer to you. His tongue pulls from your hole and is replaced by two of his large fingers, stretching you open obscenely.

Deliriously happy as he watches your legs shake from under you, your hands unsteady as they faithfully hold onto your skirt and keep you exposed for his viewing pleasure. “You’re already such a mess,” he comments, “it’s real cute.”

“Shut— hnn— up,” embarrassment prickling at your skin and somehow adding to your arousal, walls trembling around his fingers in a telltale way.

Gojo’s a lot of things but he’s not oblivious, especially not to the way your body reacts at such a small hit of degradation. It has his cock twitching in his pants, humming knowingly at you and wondering how far he could push it. You have a lot of pride but you also seem weak to pleasure.

“I meant it as a compliment, pretty,” he coos, again catching your reaction. Now he’s confused, either you just like when he talks or you like both praise and degradation. It’s certainly piqued his curiosity, and for you? he can definitely do both. Hell, he wants to do both.

“Don’t—”

“—Don’t?” he crooks his fingers into your g-spot and chuckles at how you falter, “but, sweetie, you’re drooling everywhere.” You whine out to him and he feels the need to add, “Your pussy, I mean your pussy is dripping wet, twitching around my fingers like crazy.”

“Ah!— are you evil or something?” You pout at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, “just makes me want to bully you some more.”

And then he’s tipping forward and latching onto your swollen clit, so sensitive and needy as he licks and sucks at you. You’re completely wrapped around his fingers at this point, literally. All whiney and desperate, head feeling light as he fingers you to insanity. Squeaking suddenly when he’s stuffing his tongue in with his fingers, full to his knuckles as he grinds against your inner walls.

It's too much, the feeling of being so full and having all your sweet spots attended to at once. You’re weak to it and cumming pathetically quick, walls quivering as your cunt floods with fresh slick. Leaking around his fingers, even with his mouth drinking at you obscenely. Jolting through it, every slight touch has your nerve endings on fire and he’s not stopping.

He’s apparently got his own ideas on how this is going down because instead of rushing this—like he should because you’re in public—he’s taking his sweet time. Withdrawing his tongue from your cunt and opening you up with another digit, grinding the pads against your g-spot. The grin on his face pisses you off and you’d do something about it but you’re so close to being forced into another orgasm.

Legs shaking violently under you, your hands are finally giving way and your skirt is dropping back down. Immediately, you’re reaching behind and gripping the shelf. “Gojo— hnn— you gotta stop— hah— it’s too much.”

His free hand pulls your skirt back up, eyes hungry as he watches how you’re swallowing down his fingers, “Just gimmie one more and I’ll stop,” his voice has an excited lilt to it.

You whimper back at him, “I can’t.”

“Sure, you can,” answer coming a little dismissive, “you wanna be good for me, right?”

There’s a sting in your lower lip from how you’re biting down into it, cutting off the sounds you’re making. Your pussy outs your reaction though, trembling as you cream around him. Cumming hard for a second time, it has your eyes rolling, so much more sensitive and feeling it so much more.

Gojo lets you ride it out until you’re twitching away from his touch, then he pulls his fingers out and watches how your cum coats them. No self-control in how he sucks them into his mouth and licks them clean. Even less self-control when he leans in and licks your drippy cunt, groaning into your plush skin as he gently laps at you.

A hand in his hair has him pulled back forcefully and he whines at you, his eyes sulking at your cruelty. “I was just cleaning you up,” he tries to reason with you.

“Too sensitive, you’re making me crazy,” a small aftershock runs through you and you try to ignore how hot he’s made you all over, “I’ll end up screaming in your quiet library.”

He stands to his full height and crowds you in, his mouth right over yours, “I don’t mind getting caught.”

“I do!— mmph,” his lips on yours shut you up quick.

The kiss is messy and wet and impatient, his thumb pulls on your chin just so he can open your mouth more and slip his tongue against yours. It’s mind boggling how a kiss can feel this good, your head is spinning and you’re so far out of it you can’t tell if he’s just that good or if you’re delirious from your orgasms.

You’re looping your arms around his neck lazily and holding on, his hands move to your hips and grip you tight. You need it, you need his hold because your legs were already so weak and now they’re feeling much weaker with how hotly he’s kissing you. And it is, so hot, his tongue against yours is practiced and frustratingly enticing.

His kiss goes straight to your core, pussy tingling with arousal. It’s been all of a few seconds and you’re already feeling neglected and painfully empty. You must be greedier than you thought because you’re aching to have your cunt stuffed by him again and this time you want more than his fingers.

“Gojo— hff— I— mmh—” it’s hard to get his attention when he’s hellbent on kissing you, threading your fingers through his hair before pulling him away. His eyes are all glassy and he lets slip a little whimper, you ignore the way it makes you feel. “Gojo, I want…” your thighs rub against each other, suddenly feeling embarrassed about saying out loud that you want him to fuck you.

“You want…?” He coaxes, knowing exactly what you want but playing dumb. His lips kiss along your jaw and down your neck while waiting for you to be upfront.

It’s completely distracting and has you fumbling over your words, “I— uh— hum— well I… I want,” you huff out a small moan when he sucks on your neck, “stop that!” you push him back again.

He giggles at you a little, enjoying your reaction, “Sorry, what are you trying to ask me for, sweetheart?”

“Well, now I don’t wanna say,” you grumble.

“Don’t be like that,” he bites your cheek before leaving a chaste peck on it, “I’ll give you what you want, you just gotta ask for it.” His smile is crooked and a little evil because he knows you’re embarrassed and shy.

You’re glaring back at him, “Like you don’t know.”

“Oh, I know,” he whispers against your ear, licking it just to make you shiver, “I really wanna hear you say it though.”

“Fine,” you look through your lashes up at him, “I want your dick inside me.”

“That’s all you had to say, sweetie,” both his hands grab your head and he moves down to plant a full kiss on your lips.

Mumbling, “Oh, is that all?”

“Stop pouting so much,” he moves his hands to his pants, beginning to undo them, “my dick can only get so hard.”

“You’re such a freak,” you say that but your eyes are trained on where he’s unbuttoning his jeans, waiting for him to pull his cock out.

“I thought I was your sweet librarian,” his smile reaches his eyes, a mischievous sort of look. “Now, turn around because I’m like ninety percent positive that if I fuck you like this your legs are gonna give out.”

“No please?”

“Pretty please…” his hands grip your waist and encourage you to spin, “turn around so I can stuff my dick inside you, like how you asked for.”

He’s so annoying, so annoying in how he’s already understood exactly what has you tripping over yourself for him. Not like it was hard to begin with, you’ve been crushing on him for a while now. Why else would you bug him to high hell when he’s meant to be working?

You turn around for him and he places his lips beside your ear, purring, “So good at listening.”

“Don’t patronise me,” you grip the shelf in front of you, arching a little at his touch pressing into your lower back.

His laugh is airy, “I was being genuine.”

“Why don’t I believe you— ah!”

He’d waited until you were talking to slip the head of his cock inside you, “You should have a little more faith in me.”

You can feel his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his breath shuddering slightly, like he’s struggling to hold back. It’s agony, how slow he’s entering you. He’s torturing the both of you in one fell swoop, you’re whining back at him, “Hurry up.”

“Fuck— thank god,” he sighs at your plea and slams his hips the rest of the way.  

His dick is bigger than you expected and you’re about to let out a loud moan when his hand clamps over your mouth to stifle the sound. Mewls and whimpers tumble from your lips freely as he sits deep inside you, pulsing hot and heavy in your gooey walls. You can feel the way you’re bulging around the length of him, the emptiness you were experiencing not moments before completely gone.

Gojo’s almost gleeful when he huffs out, “I— hff— I thought you didn’t wanna get caught.”

You can’t even say anything back, still moaning about his cock inside you and he’s not even moving yet. And even then, his hand is over your mouth, any words you try to speak right now would be a garbled mess.

Frustrated, you wiggle your hips back, hoping you can entice him into moving. You somewhat succeed, he twitches forward and his head drops to your shoulder, a pitiful sound leaving him. “Hah— so impatient.”

An angry mumble vibrates through his hand from you and he laughs at it, mocking you when he asks, “What’s wrong? You need something?”

Opening your mouth, you nip at his palm and he groans breathlessly.

“Stop moaning so much and I’ll pull my hand away.” You force your mouth shut and swallow down your sounds, Gojo waits a moment and then pulls his hand back. Sliding it down to your throat where he grips you gently, just holding you, “What have you been trying to say, pretty?”

Gritting out at him, “I’ve been trying— hnn— trying to tell you to move!”

“Greedy,” he hums out.

It’s the only word you get before you’re wrecked by the thick drag of his hard cock pulling out and slamming back in. It has your world spinning, his tip knocking against your womb and making your head all dizzy. You’re almost screaming out about it but he’s quicker than you, hand on your mouth again.

Delirious giggles bubbling from him, “Ooh, that was a close one, huh?” He doesn’t stop, hips setting a devastating pace now as he fucks into you repetitively, “I think your pussy might give us away though.”

And now your brain is registering the filthy sounds of him pounding into your sloppy cunt, completely debauched and loud. He’s right, if anyone gets even remotely close to you they’re going to hear the telltale sounds of your insatiable hole being filled by the hot librarian.

Gojo wraps his other arm around you, pulling you back closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck. He’s letting slip little moans and whines and before he lets out a louder sound, he latches onto your skin. Biting down into you and making you mewl, cunt drooling around his cock and leaving a creamy white ring at the base of it.

It’s messy and desperate, the way he’s fucking you. All rushed and sharp thrusts, messy moans and hushed whines. You’re both supposed to be quiet but are completely failing, this corner of the library filled with nothing but the sounds of the two of you losing it.

“Fuck— you’re so fucking— god— you’re so fucking tight and warm and—” he’s licking over the spot he bit into, “you’re such a fucking mess.”

He genuinely means it as a compliment even if it is degrading, and even though it’s degrading it has your stomach fluttering and voice cracking with a whimper. Cumming ridiculously easy around him, spurred on by his ruined voice.

“You’re cumming? Already?” he’s excited, hugging you tighter, “you’re gonna make me— fuck you’re gonna make me cum.” The way your walls tighten around his dick and try to milk his own orgasm out of him drives him insane. Through his foggy brain, he manages out, “Can— hnn— can I cum inside you?”

You limply nod your head back at him, heart hammering at the idea of it. Turned on by the thought. Gojo doesn’t let that go, commenting on it, “Seriously? I can feel how you got wetter and you’re already drowning my dick in your own cum.”

The urge to tell him to shut the fuck up doesn’t escape you, muttering it out against his palm even though it can’t be deciphered.

He absolutely catches it though, chuckling. “Don’t be so mad, you’re about to be stuffed full of all my cum so it hardly matters.”

A sound half-way between grumpy and fucked out passes your lips and he finds it so fucking cute that he’s finishing. Slamming his hips close to yours and grinding his tip against your uterus, biting into the same spot on your shoulder again to keep his pathetic noises to a minimum.

The two of you stand there panting for a moment, you’re completely boneless in his hold and barely hanging onto consciousness. So deep in the pleasure that all you want is to lay down and sleep, held up only by Gojo’s arms.

He pulls his hand off your mouth and it’s coated in your saliva from how you were drooling into his palm, briefly wondering if he should lick it but deciding not to in case you get mad at him. He settles for turning your head to the side and sticking his tongue into your mouth, kissing you urgently.

You can feel that he’s still hard inside you and it has you weak, confused on how he’s still so ready to go when you’re sensitive and lost.

Gojo pulls his mouth off yours, “Could we?” He asks, pulling out the tiniest but before thrusting back in.

The sound you let out has his balls pulling tight and his brain melting, not muffled and completely clear to him. It’s like music to his ears and he desperately wants to hear it again, going to rut into you for a second time but you stop him, weak hand pushing back on him.

“We are still in public,” you huff out, “we’re in public and I think you just killed me.”

He lets out a controlled breath, holding back, “If I take you home, can we do it again?”

“If you’re lucky,” you purr before adding more humorously, “and if I’m alive.”

“So dramatic,” he leans away, “now, get ready?”

“For?”

He doesn’t answer, you find out really quick what for. He’s pulling himself out of your fucked hole and just before all of his seed leaks down your inner thighs, he tugs your panties back into place but that just means you’ve got a limited amount of time before it’s seeping through the material.

“We better move quick,” he pats your ass.

You finally turn around and face him, giggling lightly because his glasses are all crooked. Reaching up, you straighten them and say, “I’m not going anywhere quick, my legs feel like jelly.”

“We are gonna have to move quick because I cannot be sane while knowing you’ve got my full load held inside you by nothing but your panties,” his eyes glint deviously at you.

Worried he might take you in the library again, you concede, “Alright, we’ll move quick.”

𝒂ﾉ𝒏. thanks for reading! this was completely self indulgent of me but i hope you guys liked it too ଘ( ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈)ഒ

“What the fuck!? What!?” You jump up and fall, unused to the lanky ass legs that are currently under you, ones that cannot be yours – pale and muscular and so goddamn long. You’re way too tall, so tall you’d hit your head in your fucking dorm, looking down at everything in shock, stumbling into a dresser.

Even your voice is deep and – sexy!? You rush over to this fancy dresser, gasping as you see a perfect face in a mirror – a man’s face, with beautiful blue eyes and cheekbones to fucking die for. You smack at that face as if reality will hit – seeing chest muscles where your titties should be, blushing in his pale skin as you see that bulge in the mirror.

You're inside the body of the hottest man you’ve ever seen in some fancy ass home you could never afford!

“It has to be some dream,” you curse and rush out, running down spiral stairs – how big is this man’s house?! It’s a whole fucking confusing mansion, you’re rushing through everything, trying to find some hint of who he could be – of what weird ass fever dream you’re having, when the door knocks. “One minute!”

You’re rushing over now, opening it and seeing a dark haired man look at your body, rolling his eyes. “Put on some clothes, Satoru. We have training.”

“Training?” He raises a brow at you, and you struggle to act normal, searching your brain for anything. “Training…”

“Yeah, Satoru – training. Just because you’re perfect at everything doesn’t mean me and Shoko don’t need more practice. We have to set a good example if we wanna teach some day.”

“Teach. Examples…”

The man blinks his amethyst eyes, looking right at you now, too close, so close you fucking blush again. “What’s wrong with you, Satoru?”

Satoru – who was Satoru?

*****

Satoru was exhausted as he trained his fucking ass off, entirely exhausted – he wanted a break, he wanted a vacation, he didn’t want to fight anymore curses, or see anymore of his old classmates die. He didn’t want to take over the Gojo family name, and he sure the fuck didn’t look forward to the inevitable arranged marriage the elders were about to place on him.

Standing in his shower since he was covered in grime from fucking curses exploding, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he was not born a Gojo at all – what would it be like if instead, he had been someone normal? If he was just a normal guy at college, and not training to teach the newbies at Jujutsu high?

If he were a normal twenty two year old man who wasn’t about to have to become the clan leader, and take on all this goddamn responsibility he didn’t ask for? Sure, Satoru loved to be the strongest – but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the constant effort, the secrets, the lies they told – the way everything fell on him and his friends, all the expectations making him drown.

He was a Gojo – they were the strongest, and that’s all there was to it. Day in, day out, everything was simple. KIll everything bad, save everyone he could, but goddamit if he wasn’t exhausted, if he didn’t just want to go be a normal guy – maybe go study physics, study theories of the universe he wishes even he could know more about.

Go look at the stars with a pretty girl and laugh, a girl he chose.

Yet that doesn’t appear to be anything he will get – no, he was born a Gojo, and that was that. Even falling asleep in his silk sheets that night, he could not stop his mind from racing, frowning as thoughts raced through his mind at a rampant pace.

How could Satoru Gojo ever live a normal life?

Well, he wondered what normal meant that next morning when he felt hungover – something he never, ever was. Satoru did not drink, it dulled his senses too much, but every now and then he had gone out with Suguru and Shoko, Nanami throwing back whiskey like it was nothing, but he could barely hold one without getting sick.

And does he feel sick – and he feels sad, more sad than before, like emotional in a way he can’t remember being. He reached out as he felt tears burning his eyes – that doesn’t happen, either. Satoru trained himself not to cry from a young age, but now he’s doing just that, his fingers touching unfamiliar cheeks that were wet with tears he hadn't shed in years.

Unfamiliar.

He looks at this shitty little bed then and screams, plopping out of it – his arms fucking flailing. He can’t even take looking at these thighs – not his lanky ass legs, no, they’re cute thighs, ones he himself would grab and spread if it belonged to a pretty girl underneath him. Cute lil socks on his ankles covered in kittens.

Kittens!?

Satoru stumbles again, bashing his head and feeling hair fall against his shoulders, shocked with that alone, but especially not being white. He stands and rushes to the little dresser – too small for him, everything is too small for him, but he is not six foot four, not one goddamn bit he realizes, looking at his reflection, at the pretty tits half falling out of a tank top spun.

Tits on his body!? He grabs them and squishes them in his hands, confused as fuck now, but he can’t help but keep squishing these pretty tits, as if they could rid him of the fucking stress, looking at the unfamiliar face. Softer features than his, completely different in every way – though she…

He!?

This body was beautiful, this face was lovely, the type of girl he’d flirt with or throw on his charm, but be just a little nervous, a little shy. Her lips are swollen as if she’d been kissed all night, he knows that look from women he’s been with, that hung over, fucked out look – though…

He doesn’t feel fucked – well how would he know!?!? He pulls aside those shorts, blushing and then covering back up, the panties were just a little wet, soaking the matching kittens. And that’s when it hits him, that clenching feeling in his tummy – he’s got a pussy.

And TITS.

Satoru Gojo is a…

Knock knock knock.

Maybe it’s Suguru and this is a joke, maybe this is a curse fucking with him – it’s one of those terrible fucking villains who make his life hell, and he’s cast under something. Or it’s a test – Yaga is fucking with him, making sure he can tell what’s real or not. Some Gojo initiation.

Anything but what this is – when a girl knocks at the door and smiles at Satoru, leaning against the door and crossing her arms.

“How was the first kiss, birthday girl?” She teases, Satoru blinks.

“Um… kiss…”

She says your name then.

Your name, is that your name?

Just who are you?

“Are you skipping physics? Aren’t you failing bad?” She asks now, clearly concerned as Satoru sputters.

HIM failing physics? There was no fucking way – well, that and Satoru IS NOT A WOMAN. “Failing? Nah, I don’t fail any subject.”

“Girl last night you were a mess about it, what’s wrong?” She asks again, he shakes his head, well – your head – and your phone is ringing. “Gonna get that?”

“Yeah.”

What’s your pattern!? What’s your phone pattern!? He tries so many times he gets completely locked out, cursing. “Maybe you’re still drunk?”

“Um yeah, I’m gonna take a shower and… get it together!” Satoru says, trying to get used to the girlie voice rather than his own, laughing as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck – much softer than his own. When she finally leaves he leans against the door, picking up that phone again – a glittery pink one.

What the fuck?

*****

You were wearing this unfamiliar dark clothing – you’ll give Satoru this, the man has taste – it was as fancy as clothing could get. You’re absolutely sure that it costs more money than anything in your dorm put together, even these shades you have to wear must be expensive.

One moment you’re another girl, the next – you’re seeing curses.

"Focus, Gojo,” Suguru is his name – apparently, the man with the long dark hair, smiling tiredly as he smokes a cigarette. “You’re off today.”

“Right, focus…” You trail off and sigh, holding up your hand and gasping when blinding light erupts from your palms, obliterating the practice dummies right in front of you. You stare at your shaking hands – huge ones, by the way, all of this goddamn man was huge. “I did that!?”

“Rub it in,” Shoko teases, laughing as she leans against Suguru, smoking a cigarette and laughing at you a bit. “We know you’re the best, Gojo. Stop acting as if you’re like us.”

“I’m not…” You trail off then, focusing on this insane fucking energy again, feeling it course through your veins.

You don’t even get tired, like something is regenerating you constantly.

What the fuck was this? What was this power, these creatures, any of it they were talking about? You can only hope when you go to bed tonight, everything is fucking normal – that you’re failing physics, and that you’re not a six foot four rich man who seemingly never gets a break.

And you thought you worked hard.

Every moment of Satoru Gojo’s day was taken up – from training, to this driver named Ijichi who takes him all over, to the next meeting where you have to fucking hope you can keep up this act, a room full of doors, interrogating Satoru about his upcoming wedding.

This man is getting married?

There are photos of prospective brides, and all you can do is shuffle through them, curious when the fuck you were going to wake up and not have a dick.

****

“You cheated on this test!” The professor of physics comes and yells at Satoru after he aces the test, he raises a brow at her. “No way you didn’t.”

“Why would I cheat?”

“You are the worst student in my class,” she slams the paper on Satoru’s desk, a blank test with different questions. “Do this, and I’ll watch you the whole time.”

His classmates – well they’re your classmates – look at him, all worried, but he aces the goddamn test again, until she’s sputtering. Satoru can see why you suck at physics, considering how mean she is – but luckily he just knows everything, and she can’t argue a second time.

“Well, I guess you pass.” She mumbles, handing him his paper with a hundred percent. “Barely!”

Satoru is tired when his phone goes off – work at six.

WORK.

He has to go work!?

He re-set your pattern to a fingerprint, so he got your phone open – and found just where you work, a little coffee shop. Satoru was a goddamn barista. He was getting bitched out by customers when he’s used to fighting curses – and that’s the craziest thing of all, besides having tits and a pussy.

He couldn’t see well – in fact, your vision was shitty. You had to wear glasses and these weird contact things, and he certainly couldn’t see curses – they could be all around, and he wouldn’t sense them.

He had to get back to his damn body.

*****

You’re so tired when you come back to the Gojo mansion you plop in the living room chair, yawning and kicking off his dress shoes, eyes shutting with your head leaned back. Your body is sore, and you still can’t sleep – this aching, gnawing feeling of being inside this huge body taking over, wondering just what sort of hallucination you were having.

You fall asleep on that couch, as Satoru crashes face first in your tiny little dorm room, and the two of you wonder…

Will you wake up from this weird fucking dream, of bodies you two can't recognize? Was any of this real?

patreon - comms

For the past handful of years, you’ve been working at a large marketing company for the CEO as a personal assistant. The job is what it is and the pay makes up for any sort of… eccentricities from your boss. Despite this, it can’t change the fact that you’re struggling to pay rent and need to move back in with your parents.

You were coping before but your roommate… the guy you were… it’s complicated. Anyways he moved out and now things are just too expensive for you at the moment. It doesn’t help that anywhere else close to work is in the same range for rent, stupid fancy company in a stupid nice area. It’s frustrating because you’re attached to this job but it’s not feasible anymore.

So, as much as you’re unwilling to part from your current position, something has to give and you’ve chosen to resign. Steeling your resolve, you walk into Gojo’s empty office and gently place your two weeks’ notice on his desk. Lingering for a short moment, remembering your first day here and how intimidated you were by him.

It was never your plan to stay here so long in the first place but it’s nearly been five years now, maybe it is time to move on to something different. Think positive, you just have to think positive and things will be good. You’ll get a new job and you’ll make new friends and your boss will be kind and maybe not as weird.

Exiting the room, you sit back at your desk that’s located outside Gojo’s office. It’s hard to focus when you’ve got so much on your mind but sometimes you think that he wouldn’t get anything done if you weren’t around.

You’d gotten a text earlier about how he had an early meeting but you know he doesn’t, he’s probably just left the office to go get himself some sweets. He won’t be back for a while either because he’s going to sit in a park or somewhere quiet and eat the evidence before he gets back to the office.

Why he even bothers to lie to you at this point is beyond you but you’ll ignore it because sometimes you want to be alone for an hour too. Unlike him though, you simply don’t have the luxury of doing that on company time.

When he does get back to the office he stops by your desk and smiles at you like he wasn’t just shirking his responsibilities for the better half of the day. He waits very impatiently for you to acknowledge him, and you continue typing at your computer like he’s not there.

Gojo eventually speaks up, “Saying good morning to your boss is the polite thing to do, by the way.”

You hold up a hand while you finish up your email and send it off, only then do you look up and raise a brow at him, “Morning? Gojo… it’s nearly midday and you’re only just now coming into the office.”

“I told you I had a meeting,” he pouts because he knows he’s caught. “And how many times have I told you to call me Satoru?”

“If you had a meeting it’d go through me because no one trusts you to show up to the ones you agree to.” You look back down at your computer and continue working, ignoring the second thing he said.

Sighing dramatically at you, “You’re so mean to me.”

Not even looking up at him when you retort, “If I were nicer to you would your job get done?” He doesn’t answer and you add, “That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll get all my work done so quick you’ll be embarrassed about doubting me.”

“Uh huh,” as he walks off you call after him, “you’ve got chocolate on your tie.”

Gojo pauses, looks down to his tie and then uses his finger to try and swipe it off, “No, I don’t.” He scuttles away into his office.

It’s then that you’re remembering the letter you’d put on his desk and you decide it’s time for your break. Sneaking away, you hide a few floors down in the employee break room. Your hands cradling a cup of tea that was hot but has now gone cold in the time you’ve been holding onto it. You’re staring blankly at it, not knowing how you’re going to face Gojo when he’s read your resignation.

He’s a bit of a drama queen and you’re not sure… you don’t even want to leave so having him fuss over it might make you feel worse. Oh, but what if he doesn’t care. What if he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t feel like you’re all that important to him. That might be worse. You’re in a hell of your own making.

You’re brought from your spiralling thoughts by a hand on your shoulder, jumping at the touch and looking up to see Nanami. His face is as stoic as ever but his eyes are laced with a mild concern for you.

You talk before he can ask, “I’m fine, just daydreaming.”

A sound of acknowledgement comes from him, not believing you but pacified enough to move on and make himself a cup of coffee. Not facing you when he says, “Gojo’s looking for you.”

Frowning, “What? How do you know?”

He sits down across from you and plainly states, “Because I walked past him and he asked where you were.”

A small grumble leaves you, it’s just not possible to avoid him for the whole day and even if you could, you couldn’t do it for two full weeks.

“What’s going on?”

Your tea is too cold to drink now and you push it away, “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?”

He takes a sip of his coffee like he’s giving himself time to think about his answer, “…I want to know.”

“I have to resign,” is all you say.

Nanami nods, “Well, that explains the frantic look on his face.”

Scoffing at him because that sounds ridiculous, “I left the letter on his desk and then hid.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“I can try,” you smile, “he’s always showing up late and sneaking out anyways, I’ll probably be able to avoid him.”

The look on his face conveys severe doubt but he doesn’t comment on your words, “Why are you leaving?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re the only reason why communicating with Gojo is bearable, you leaving is going to be a nightmare for so many people.”

Your eyes roll at the sentiment, “Well, gee, I’ll miss you too.” A silence falls over the two of you and you explain, “I gotta move home for financial reasons.” It’s not everything but you don’t feel like spilling your guts to him right now.

“Ask for a raise,” he shrugs, “you deserve it.”

“It’d have to be one hell of a raise,” you fold your arms on the table and lay your head on them.

His tone comes out monotonous, “There there.”

Mumbling against your arms in reply, “You’re such a comfort, Nanami.”

“I know.”

The clicking of heels alerts you to someone else in the room but you don’t bother lifting your head to look. Not that you need to, the voice letting you know it’s Shoko, “Gojo’s looking for you.”

“I’m aware,” you sigh.

She sits down next to you, “If you’re hiding from him, this was a poor choice because I’m pretty sure he’s on his way here.”

“Have I got time to run?”

There’s a hand on your head, a tight lipped, “No,” coming from above you.

Ah, you’re caught. Sitting up, you smile at Gojo like you’ve not been hiding from him, “Gojo, is there something you need me for?”

He doesn’t bother trying to get you somewhere private, “Why are you resigning?”

Shoko asks, “You’re resigning?”

Sighing out a tired, “Yes,” before getting to your feet and walking out the room.

Immediately, Gojo is hot on your tail, “Why? Why are you resigning?” He keeps pestering you despite the fact you’re not answering, “Is it something I did? Have I been a bad boss? Do you want me to show up on time more?” A pause, “Is it because I never bring you back any sweets? I’m sorry! I just get so excited to eat them…”

Your foot taps impatiently as you wait for the elevator, arms folded and feeling frustrated by him. “It’s nothing to do with you…” he’s generally a good boss, a bit odd but he’s a good person and you’re quite attached to him, “though, you should be showing up on time.”

“Are you really not going to tell me why you’re leaving me?”

“I think my letter covered it.” The elevator dings and his presence is felt looming over you as he follows you in.

“Your letter didn’t cover shit,” he grumbles, “it was all that polite corporate speak.”

“It’s not a big deal, Gojo.” Your eyes meet his properly for the first time and he looks so genuinely hurt, it’s making this harder for you. “It’s nothing you did, nothing the company did. No one did anything, it’s just time to move on.”

“I literally cannot survive without you.” He blinks, “My company is going to go bankrupt without you and then Suguru’s will be number one, is that what you want?”

“If Geto’s company is ever number one it’s because he shows up on time and doesn’t ignore calls from clients.”

He scowls. “They should be calling you anyways, the old bastards only call me because they enjoy pissing me off.”

“Poor, poor, rich boy,” you say, looking away from him.

Gojo’s brows pinch up. “There’s nothing I can do to make you stay?”

“Nope.”

The pair of you walk off the elevator together and he’s still closer than necessary, like you’re going to disappear at any minute. “I’ve got two weeks to change your mind,” he singsongs.

It’s been a few days since that awkward conversation with Gojo and he’s been in the office every day… on time. You thought maybe the first day was just a fluke but then he kept showing up and staying. His behaviour is unpredictable at the best of times but this is the first time in the five years that you’ve been here that he’s shown up on time for multiple consecutive days.  

Whatever, you’ve just been ignoring him and continuing your work. At least you would be but he’s not giving you anything to do. Suddenly, he’s interested in doing everything himself and actually staying on top of things. If this is his way of getting you to stay… it’s not working. Not only do you have nothing to do but you’re worried that he’s fucking things up.

A few hours since you’ve been in office and you’re officially bored, staring blankly at your quiet inbox. This isn’t going to work for you, you get up and walk into Gojo’s office. He’s tapping away at his keyboard and you’re a little surprised by the focus on his face.

Pursing your lips as you stand in front of his desk, feeling conflicted on whether or not you should disturb him when he’s like this. There’s papers spread out on the surface beside him, his usually clean desk now messy.

“Gojo, I’m still your assistant until the end of next week,” your voice is gentler than how you feel, taking pity on him.

He doesn’t look to you, eyes firmly on the screen. “Not if I can convince you to stay.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to say this,” you take a step closer, “but my resignation has nothing to do with you, so there is nothing you can do to change my mind.”

His eyes meet yours then, he looks tired.

Continuing to add, “All you’ve done is make me redundant, stop stealing my work and do your own.”

“I won’t hire anyone else.”

“The board will make you.” Tilting your head at him, trying to add some levity, “And there’s no way you’re not messing things up.”

He points at you, “Hey! I’ve been very diligent.”

“Which you won’t be able to keep doing long-term.” Reaching up, you tap the tip of his finger with your own.

That has him deflating, falling back into his chair and humming at you, “Okay, have all your stupid and tedious work back.”

“I will.” You glare at him as you lean over to pick up the papers off his desk.

Shuffling through them, you can see they’re a bunch of companies reaching out and trying to set up meetings or sending through complaints. Things you usually handle before he sees because it’s not worth his time.

“So much of that stuff shouldn’t be coming to me.” He’s leaned in closer, annoyance clear on his expression. “It shouldn’t even be going to you; they should be communicating through the team they’re dealing with.”

“Yes, well, a lot of companies overestimate their importance to you.” Picking through the stack quickly, you pull out the papers that are solely for him and put them down on his desk.

His brow raises to you, “Now, where did they get that idea?”

“Who knows?” You smile politely.

His people person skills are severely lacking, especially when it comes to dealing with formalities. You may or may not be making up for it.

“I’ll get back to you about these.” Hand shaking the papers, “Do not even try sneaking off, I’ll need you here while I sort through this mess you’ve no doubt made.”

“I told you I’ve been diligent.”

“And I have absolutely no reason to doubt that.” Turning to leave before stopping. “You should keep coming in on time and staying the whole day, it’s nice.”

Gojo’s groan is heard as you walk back out his office.

After you took back your workload, Gojo decided to try and make you stay through other means. It’s almost as flattering as it is distracting. The very next day and he’s taken to pulling a chair in front of your desk and sitting with you. His arm holding up his head, chin resting in his palm. It’s got you on edge, he’s just watching you. Eyes tracking your every movement, silent like he’s maybe trying to think of something to say.

“Is there something you need, sir?” Phrasing it in a certain way in hopes of reminding him he’s your boss with his own work to worry about.

“Nope.” The singular word popped back at you.

Looking to your screen, you pull up his calendar, “So… you’re all prepped for the meeting later today at three?”

It’s silent and it prompts you to look at him again. The reply you’d been expecting comes only when your eyes meet. “I’m so prepared,” his smile is easy-going and you don’t feel the same.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve just been sitting here doing nothing.”

“Don’t worry about what I’m up to.”

“All I do is worry,” you glare at him, “it’s like my whole job.”

Obviously able to tell you’re growing a bit exasperated now and switching to flattery, “And you’re very good at it.”

“I could be better at it if you’d be a more willing participant in your own company.”

“Bleh,” he pulls his head back and waves his hand at you, the expression on his face disgusted.

You ignore the fact that you don’t find him as annoying as you probably should and change the topic, “Well, while you’re here doing anything but your job, I have some applications you can look through.”

“Applications?” He looks at you curiously and takes the papers you’re handing him.

There isn’t an answer from you as he reads them, his face scrunching up more and becoming annoyed as he realises what it is he’s looking at.

“Resumes?” Gojo’s voice has lost its chirpiness, coming a bit strained, “I didn’t know we were hiring.”

“I know you won’t do it yourself, so I put up an advert yesterday,” you point at the resumes he’s holding, “those are the best applicants.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“I can’t stay, Gojo. It’s out of my control.”

It’s his turn to glare, it’s the first time he’s been this angry with you. You still won’t tell him why you’re leaving because you’re embarrassed and also, you’re becoming a little concerned that he’d actually give you an insane raise. You can do without that guilt.

“Fine.” He eventually says.

A breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding leaves you, “Thank you.”

He starts going through the pile, “This isn’t an entry level job,” he flicks away that applicant. “No references,” another chucked. “Wouldn’t be able to put up with me,” that one is crumpled. “This one’s messy,” gone. “This person has put under hobbies ‘organising’,” he squints like he’s weirded out before deciding, “trying too hard,” ultimately it’s chucked too. The rest of the pile discarded in much of the same manner.

You’ve watched him in disbelief, blinking at him, “They all had better resumes than I did.”

“I didn’t want an assistant before you and I won’t want one after,” he shrugs.

Fingers rubbing into your temples, “How did I even get hired when you’re this picky.”

“You’ve raised my standards,” he praises you, “and your resume was so ugly looking that I wanted to see who sent it in.”

You gape at him, shocked, “That’s why I got the interview!?”

“And you got the job because you put up with me during,” his tone has softened again, “you adjust to your surroundings well and it impressed me, even if your resume didn’t.” He thinks for a moment, “Well, your resume actually did impress me but only because it was awful—”

“—Stop,” holding a hand up, “I can’t believe you hired me because you hated my application that much.”

“Don’t leave me,” leaning in on your desk, “I don’t think I’ll ever see a resume that ugly ever again.”

Grumbling and falling back into your chair, you cross your arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have worked here.”

He grins and stands to his feet. “Don’t show me anymore applicants, they’ll immediately get thrown away.”

“Gojo—” You call after him.

“—Bye bye now.” He’d cut you off, done with this conversation and the direction it was headed.

It’s Monday again and you’re concerned about what Gojo’s going to pull this week. Last week he’d obviously stolen all your work rendering you redundant and stared at you disconcertingly for nearly an hour before revealing he’d hired you because of your shit application. He also brought you back various treats every time he left the office, not to mention the insane amounts of praise he kept sneaking into conversation.

It's not something entirely new from him but he’s taken to doing it far more often lately and you hate how much you don’t hate it. His compliments making you a little flustered every time, you weren’t aware how much you liked being reaffirmed until he started doing it so obviously and frequently.

Apparently, he must’ve caught on to you not hating it because he’s not stopped. The grin on his face self-satisfied every time he does it, pleased by your reactions. You don’t know if your heart is going to make it through this week but it’s your last, so you don’t have much of a choice either way.

In the lobby, you run into Shoko. Greeting her with a small smile, “Good morning.”

“Morning, quitter,” she smiles back.

“Ouch,” you hiss jokingly.

Her head tilts at you, “Ah, you lasted five years, it’s impressive really.”

“I’m not resigning because of him,” you roll your eyes.

The rumours in the office have been abundant to say the least, everyone blaming your leaving on Gojo. You correct people every time but they either don’t believe you or are too excited about gossip to let themselves really hear you.

“You’d be the first,” sucking on her teeth as she recounts, “I think there was… five? six? Before you. They all quit because they couldn’t put up with him.” She pauses. “Though, he didn’t hire them personally.”

“Didn’t you hear? He only hired me because he hated my resume.”

“Good luck finding another job with it then.”

You chuckle at that. “I’ll miss you, Shoko.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she brushes you off, “if you really were gonna miss me, you wouldn’t be quitting.”

“For someone who’s so unamused by Gojo, you sure sound like him sometimes.”

She side eyes you, “Take that back.”

“Nope!” You laugh as you walk away.

At your desk, the first thing you do is pull up Gojo’s calendar. Double checking that you’re remembering the itinerary for today properly. He’s got a meeting just before midday with a large company, you’ve been trying to secure a meet with them for months and they finally caved. Taking them on as a client would be a huge win for the company and it’d bring Gojo joy because he knows Geto has been trying to secure a deal with them too.

Competition isn’t something you invest a whole lot of your time in personally but you can’t help but feel happy when Gojo ‘wins’. This week is going to be gruelling; it’s getting harder to ignore how much you enjoy your job. You thought it wasn’t going to be such a big deal. It’s a job, you do it and if you need to, you find another.

Everyone here will be part of what you miss though, you won’t get to work alongside Gojo anymore… Pushing down those feelings of affection, you start your day how you often do and check your inbox. Seeing the first emails coming through as soon as business hours are official always amuses you as much as it pisses you off.

The sound of a soft tap on your desk startles you, it’s just Gojo but you’re still not quite used to his early (on time) arrivals. He’d set a coffee down for you, expression bright as he smiles at you.

You reach for the drink, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he singsongs. “Feel like staying?”

“Because you bought me a cup of coffee?”

“Among other things.”

You’re thinking of how to answer him when he yawns and stretches his shoulders back. He seems tireder than usual, “You been sleeping okay?”

He takes the opportunity to whine, “No, my favourite employee is leaving me.”

“That must be agony for you.”

“It is,” eyes sparkling, “it’s awful, I wish she would just see reason.”

Instead of replying to that, you remind, “Don’t forget your meeting at eleven.”

Dropping the pleading look, he replies, “How could I forget? Stingy bastards took forever just to agree to meet.”

“Try to have a better attitude when you talk with them.”

“You know what would make my attitude better?” Grin on his face showing that he’s clearly plotting something.

“Dare I ask?”

“You basically did.” He points at you and then himself, “You come with me.”

A range of emotions go through you at that but it’s mostly reluctance, “Do I have to?”

“I’m your boss… so, yes?” Not waiting for your reply. “Be ready by ten-thirty.”

It’s going to be a long week indeed.

By the time ten-thirty rolls around, you’re in the garage of the building with Gojo. He’s guiding you towards his car and you’re confused, “Where’s Ijichi?”

“I don’t know,” his answer is dismissive.

“Should we wait?” you frown and look at your phone, “…I don’t want you to be late.”

Clicking on the keys, the car beeps as it unlocks, “We’re not gonna be late.” He moves around to the driver’s side and opens it, stopping before getting in when he sees you’re not moving. “Get in.”

Incredulous look on you face, “Can you even drive?”

“That’s so insulting, I’m a fantastic driver.”

You’re sceptical but get in the car anyways, not willing to be late because you were squabbling with your boss.

“Why am I coming with you?”

He hums, “Because I have a surprise for after.”

“Couldn’t you have just picked me up after the meeting?”

“No. If I have to go then you do too.”

Grumbling back at him, “You’ve never made me come before.”

“If I leave you in the office you might run away before Friday,” his tone carries a playful lilt.

“You’re so dramatic.”

By the way, he is decidedly not a fantastic driver.

The surprise he was talking about was lunch, he’s taken you out for lunch. You’re overwhelmed and feel underdressed, it’s a nice place that you definitely cannot afford.

Just as he’s about to walk inside, you grab his sleeve and pull him back, “Gojo, I can’t afford lunch here.”

He snickers at you, “You thought I’d force you to a meeting with me and then take you out to lunch and make you pay?”

You say nothing.

“Seriously? What do you take me for?” A hand rests over his heart like you’ve wounded him.

Frowning at him, “I’m… I’m also a little underdressed.” Wearing business casual doesn’t feel appropriate for here.

“You look great,” he compliments, “you always look great.”

It feels like your skin grows hotter just from that simple compliment. You can’t linger on it for too long though. From just off to the side of Gojo, you spot Geto and you know this lunch is going to be on the rocks. “Please remain calm and remember that you just got new clients and how nice that feels.”

About to ask what the hell you’re going on about when Geto makes himself known, hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “What a coincidence, Satoru.” He smiles politely, nodding his head at you in acknowledgement.

You’ve always been neutral towards Geto, if you had to describe him in a word, you’d say he’s gracious. But you’re not stupid, you can tell he enjoys pressing peoples buttons. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was merely an accident but you do know better and you can tell he does it because he gets a kick out of it. He’s similar to Gojo in that way.

“Suguru,” Gojo gives a tight smile. “What are you doing on this side of town?”

Oh, he’s already annoyed by his presence.

“This and that,” answer kept vague deliberately. “You guys about to have lunch?”

“Yes.” You answer respectfully, not forgetting your manners.

At the same time, Gojo lies, “No.”

“Perfect,” Geto ignores Gojo’s lie, “I’ll join you.”

From what you know, Gojo and Geto used to be close friends working at the same company before Gojo moved up. Geto left after that and started his own company. Usually, Gojo isn’t so annoyed by him but he’s been a little extra touchy about things ever since you put in your resignation.

“That sounds great,” you reply before Gojo can. Geto walks in ahead of you both and you tug on Gojo to get him to lean down. “It’s just lunch, we’ll both survive.”

“I’m not so sure,” he mumbles back.

It’s awkward, incredibly so. Geto knows that Gojo got the client they’ve both been angling at and it’s all grins with hidden meanings and sly jabs. It’s hard to enjoy the food when you’re stuck observing this disaster of clashing egos.

After a lull in the conversation, Geto suddenly says, “I heard you’re quitting.”

You’re taken aback, you didn’t realise that company gossip would travel so far, “Yes… I am resigning.” Putting emphasis on the last word because you don’t appreciate the attachments to quitting.

Gojo’s tense, you can tell.

Geto pushes past your slight attitude. “May I ask why?”

“You may ask,” you smile politely, taking a page out of his book.

He doesn’t even blink, “Well, if you’re looking for a new job I’d be happy to take you off Satoru’s hands.”

Gojo scoffs at that, “She’s still my employee, you know?”

“From what I hear, not for much longer.”

You hate that you even semi consider Geto’s offer, he’s unfortunately closer to your parents’ home so you could live there and travel to his company. It’d upset Gojo though and you don’t know if you have it in you, even if it is just business.

Stopping their bickering with a simple refusal. “I’m fine, thank you for the offer.”

“It doesn’t expire,” Geto pushes, “if you change your mind, you’ve got a job with me.”

“I want to remind you I’m a personal assistant, Geto, not some highly sought-after marketing whizz.” You can’t understand the push for you, other than he knows it’ll piss off Gojo and you don’t play those games.

Clearly, not one to be shaken so easily, “Oh, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short.”

“Alright, I’m done being all civil now,” Gojo stands up abruptly, “We’re leaving and you can pay the bill for pissing me off, Suguru.”

“Gojo,” you scold him lightly but he’s not budging, “I’m very sorry, Geto,” standing up as well, “lunch was nice.”

Gojo grumbles, “Don’t apologise for me, I’m not sorry.”

Geto ignores Gojo and replies to your last statement, “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Over my dead body,” Gojo points at him.

And then you’re being tugged out of the restaurant, following after an uncharacteristically angry Gojo. It’s not like he’s especially polite and he’s always had little jabs with Geto but it always seemed more like a friendly rivalry to you. To have this kind of reaction isn’t usual and you don’t really know how to approach talking to him now.

It’s not until you’re back in the car that he’s huffing, “Can you believe that? He tried stealing you out from behind my back… in front of me!”

“It’s just business, don’t let it get to you.” You mean it as a comfort but his eyebrow twitches.

He starts the car and mutters, “Not to me.”

Today is your last day. It’s been a busy week so Gojo didn’t bother you as much, anytime you spoke it concerned work. Well, that’s not completely true, he was still trying to get you to stay and begged a little but otherwise.

You don’t feel ready to leave, you know all you’d have to do is say you want to stay and Gojo would welcome you with open arms but you can’t make it work… not right now. It’s already been hard on you physically with all the moving preparations and now it’s hard on you emotionally. You don’t think people usually feel this much regret about resigning, shouldn’t you be all relieved or something.

After work, you and your empty apartment have a date with lots of alcohol. Drinking before you move may not be a great idea but you thought living with a guy would be a good idea and look how that turned out. Fuck him. This situation is so draining and unfair and you wish you could go back and change things but you’re stuck with the cards you’re dealt.

It’s quitting time soon, the hour hand on the wall across from you slowly inching towards six. Your riveting clock watching is interrupted by Gojo standing in front of it, “Could you go down to the employee floor and give this to Nanami?”

He hands you over a file and you take it without complaint, what’s another few extra minutes on your last day. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

You’re restless, caught between wanting to get out of here and not wanting your last day to end. The elevator dings and opens to the employee floor, when you step out you’re confused by how dark it is. It’s borderline scary, you’ve seen enough scary movies to know that you don’t stay on an empty and ominous dark floor.

About to turn around and head back for the elevator when the lights flick on and people jump out at you. You don’t have a physical reaction aside from a slight jump, only staring blankly and screaming on the inside. Taking in your surroundings you realise it’s a bunch of familiar faces standing underneath a shoddily painted banner that reads ‘we’ll miss you’ with a very small ‘quitter’ written under that. It’s like it was added last minute in pen and you have a feeling Shoko did it.

Gojo runs up from behind you, “Holy fuck, we have so many stairs,” he looks to your face and then at everyone else, “did she scream?”

Nanami answers him, “No, she’s just been staring like that the whole time.”

Gojo moves to stand in front of you, asking, “You okay? Did we get you too good?”

Everyone starts murmuring and you’re very suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions you’ve been stuffing down all week. Tears slipping from your waterline and trailing down your cheeks before you can stop them.

“Woah, what’s wrong?” he’s fussing over you, “Hey, I’m sorry, we just wanted to send you off properly.”

You use the back of your hands to wipe at your face, “Sorry, I need a moment.” Pushing the file Gojo had given you towards him before running off to hide in the bathroom.

Taking deep breaths, you try to calm down but it’s hard when you’re also dying of embarrassment. It was really nice of them; you weren’t expecting anything so to have so many people set up a going away party was really sweet but it’s just another reminder of your shitty situation and your reluctance to leave.

A soft tap on the door alerts you to someone’s presence, “Can I come in?” Gojo calls.

“No,” you call back.

It’s quiet and then he says, “I’m gonna come in anyways.” True to his word, he enters the bathroom but he doesn’t say anything more.

Unprompted you apologise, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to cry,” sniffling, “I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he walks in closer to you, placing a hand on top of your head. “If you’re so upset you could always stay.”

You laugh a little bitterly at that. “I’m fine now, I’ll come out and we can celebrate.”

“I can send everyone home if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“No, I want to say goodbye to everyone,” you look up to him, “thank you for doing this.”

“Of course,” he tucks his hands into his pockets, expression a little shy, “I couldn’t not give my favourite employee a send-off.” His upper body moves in a little like he’s going to share a secret, “I wanted to do something bigger but Shoko told me not to.”

A smile is on your lips at that, it’s so like him to want to go big. You owe Shoko for that advice, if he’d done something grand you’d be even more embarrassed than you already are. “Let’s go back.”

It’s not rowdy, it’s an office party so it’s mostly mingling and eating some snacks but it’s nice and it beats the hell out of getting drunk alone in an empty apartment. Nanami is the only one you’d given a reason as to why you’re leaving and he’d kept it to himself so you get a bunch of questions but you field them all pretty easily.

Your eyes keep finding their way back to Gojo before you feel a pang of guilt or sadness and you look away. Things slowly die down as more and more people head home and before it becomes too obvious, you slip away back upstairs to your desk.

Gojo’s office is left slightly open and you walk inside; it’s dark. The only light entering the room is coming from the surrounding building lights. You move to stand in front of the large window and look out to appreciate the view. You’re going to miss this part of the city.

“You’re not planning on robbing me on your last day are you?” Gojo asks from the door.

Getting over the shock of him suddenly appearing, you joke, “Are you kidding? I’ve been robbing you blind since my first day here.”

He crosses the room to stand beside you, “Only cause I let you.”

“What a gentleman.”

“I’m gonna say it one more time,” he looks to you, “stay.”

You don’t know how to answer him so you just lean in and hug him.

His arms wrap around you, “This isn’t very professional of you.”

“Cause you’re so professional,” you murmur back, “also you’re not my boss anymore.”

The both of you don’t say anything, just holding each other. Probably far too intimate for a working relationship but… you really needed this. It’s nice, he’s big and warm and he holds you gently. It’s giving you a lot of comfort and at the same time it’s making you want to cry again.

“I’ll miss you, Gojo.”

“I think you’ll be the first to.”

“Not true.” As much grief as everyone gives him, they’d still miss him.

He laughs a little and lowers himself so his lips are by your ear, “I’ll miss you, too.”

A shiver goes down your spine at his voice and you pull back to look at him. His face is close to yours and your eyes linger on his lips. Doing your very best to look into his eyes, you say, “Don’t ruin the company just because I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin all your hard work,” he grins.

You roll your eyes and move to untangle from him. He doesn’t let you. “What are you—”

Gojo’s closed the gap between the two of you with a kiss, a large hand cradling the side of your face. His thumb strokes high on your cheekbone as his lips implore yours. It doesn’t take you long at all to react, hands grabbing onto his jacket and kissing him back.

It’s overwhelming, his kiss all consuming. Almost like he’s been waiting for the perfect opportunity to kiss you like this. Lips insistent on yours, his body coming closer with a single step forward. His hand on your face tilts you up, thumb trailing to the hinge in your jaw and pressing.

You’re opening your mouth to him more and he sighs happily, licking to deepen the kiss as much as he can. It’s dizzying, mind slowly slipping of focus the longer he holds you. Your body shudders against your will because it’s never felt this good to be kissed before.

Pushing back on him, afraid you’re about to lose your mind and all he’s done is kiss you. Gojo pulls back with a suck of your tongue and your legs nearly falter, small whine leaving you. He’s stopped but he’s not moving back, hand still on the side of your face, the other having moved down to rest on your hip.

“You want me to stop here?” He asks, thumb pulling on your lower lip teasingly.

“This isn’t really—”

“Appropriate?” He asks, closer than he was before, lips almost touching yours, “Like you said… I’m not your boss anymore.”

Fuck it.

You’re the one to close the gap this time, kissing him again. It’s messier than before, an even more heated exchange and you’re realising he was being gentle with you a moment ago. Mood suddenly changed as it feels like he’s aiming to devour you whole.

He spins you so your back is against the cold glass of the window, his lower body pressing close to you. Able to feel his erection, it’s scandalous and making you tingle. You wrap your arms around his neck and he moves his hands down lower, sliding to your lower back. His fingers twitch against you like he’s holding back from touching you more.

Lips parting again so he can trail his kisses lower, burying his face into the side of your neck. Teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp, “Gojo!”

His smile reaches his eyes, “Something to remember me by,” he laves over the mark with his tongue.

Your heart twinges when you realise that your close relationship with him is ending and suddenly you’re asking, “Leave another?”

Gojo laughs a little breathlessly at that, “Hah, don’t have to tell me twice.”

He leaves another mark at your request, and then another lower down before trailing back up, his nose brushing against your neck until his lips meet yours. Words coming mumbled as he keeps kissing you, “You smell so fucking good.”

“Just shut up…” you grumble back, “and kiss me more.”

You know he wants to make another smartass comment but your shoving your tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet, he seems to be right where he wants to be though. Hands growing bolder as he grabs your ass and tugs you closer, grinding his erection against you.

Breaths coming heavy as you comment, “Pervert.”

“If I were a pervert…” he hums happily, “I’d do something more like this.” One of his hands is off your ass and slipping into the front of your pants, fingers swiping through your folds over your underwear.

A gasp leaves you, fingers digging into his shoulders as your knees grow weak. He’s prodding at your hole through your panties, almost penetrating if it weren’t for the material of them. It’s cruel, your arousal seeping into your underwear providing a slick glide for him to slide up to your clit.

“My,” he comments as if he’s shocked, “aren’t you a little too wet over a few kisses?”

“You can’t talk,” you pout, skin warming.

His eyes are bright with mischief. “Don’t be embarrassed,” finger carefully circling your clit and keeping you on edge, “it’s cute.” Sliding back to your dripping hole, “Though…” teasing you there too and then trailing back to your clit again, “you being embarrassed is cute too.”

“Are you– hff– gonna tease me the whole time?” You blink up at him.

“Probably.”

Hips rocking slightly, needy for him to touch you more, “Aren’t you being unreasonable?”

“I don’t think so.” He’s purposefully avoiding giving you what you’re seeking.

Your head falls to rest against him, hands gripping his shirt. Pleasure that feels just a little too distant running through you, making you weak and frustrated. Legs shaky to stand on with how antsy you’re getting. You should’ve guessed that he’d be a tease by how he acts regularly.

On the brink of asking him to touch you properly when he slips his hand under your panties, fingers immediately sliding inside your weeping cunt. You’re left gasping out a pathetic moan as he borderline whines. Clinging to him desperately as he angles his digits to hit the sweetest spots inside you. Slow in his pursuit, like he’s learning what gets the best reactions from you.

Gojo’s control is slipping, the tight grip you have on his fingers making it hard to think. Not to mention just how hot and wet you are, he’s not sure how he’s going to last fucking you when you feel this divine around his fingers alone.

Moans tumble from your lips and you struggle to stifle them back down, trying to rock your hips against his hand for anything more he’ll give you. It’s messy, dripping down into the palm of his hand, no doubt ruining your panties in the process. The sound of him finger fucking you obscene and too loud. Your skin is hot and you’re embarrassed from just how horny you’ve gotten, whimpering as he crooks his digits up and hits something sweet.

“Fuck– come over here,” Gojo pulls his fingers from you and tugs you over to his desk. He lifts you to sit on top of it effortlessly, hands tugging your pants and underwear off in one go. Movements rushed, impatience clear.

He’s sitting back into his desk chair and rolling forward a bit, hands resting atop your thighs. You ask him, “What are you doing?”

The answer comes incredibly blunt, “I’m gonna make out with your pretty pussy while you sit on my desk.” All smiles as he pushes your thighs apart, “I’m gonna think about this view every time I sit here from now on.”

Tongue boldly licking through your folds and making you squeal, your hand threads through his hair for something to hold onto. Quickly discovering just how good at this he really is, sliding his tongue inside your cunt and slurping at you lewdly.

Gojo eats you like a man starved, fingers digging into your plush skin as he holds you open. Your juices drip down his chin and onto his desk and all he can think about is how good you taste and how cute you are when you twitch around his tongue and how he’s probably going to get hard just thinking about this later.

Of course, he’s also going to be playing the whines and moans you’re letting out on repeat in his head later too. Finding everything about you completely endearing, even more so in your dishevelled and aroused state. To have you melting under his touch is almost too much for his poor heart to take.

Your lungs seize in your chest at how good it feels, his nose grinding into your clit with how close he’s pressed his face into you. If you had any higher brain function in this current moment, you’d be concerned if he could even breathe.

It’s getting harder and harder to sit still, desperate to move your hips in response to his stimulation. You’re falling back onto your elbows, hoping to leverage yourself better to rut against his face but he’s stronger than you anticipated. As if in punishment for your impatience, he pulls his tongue from you and trails it up to your clit. Licking it gently before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

The feelings that run through you are immense and head spinning, feet kicking at the shock of it. Your elbows shake and give out, back bowing up in response. Hand reaching back for his head, tugging on his hair which only has him moaning against you. The vibrations have your hole twitching. Ever observant, Gojo stuffs two of his fingers inside you. Hitting all those perfect little spots he’d found earlier. Apparently having learnt a lot about your body in a short time.

“Gojo– hng– you gotta stop– hff– I’m gonna—”

His eyes look up to you, glinting mischievously. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Mouth off you long enough to say, “I’m not gonna stop.”

Almost as soon as his lips are back around your clit are you cumming; twitching and writhing through the high flooding your senses. All sensitive and whingey as he keeps fucking you with his digits. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your head, feeling as though you’re floating.

That is, until Gojo pushes you dangerously close to overstimulation. His mouth off your clit, only to stuff his tongue back inside your cunt along with his fingers. Stretching you open as he eats you in a completely debauched manner.

“Too much– hnn– Gojo.” You push back on his forehead and he relents. “Perv.”

“Sorry sorry.” He grins, looking a little less than sorry about it.

He keeps your thighs open, admiring the way fresh slick drips from you entrance. He really wants to lean in and tongue your hole some more but he’ll refrain, diverting his focus to kiss your inner thighs. Sucking hickeys into your skin as much as he can, starting on the left before moving to the right. Getting a little too into it and biting your thigh a couple times, you twitch and whine at it and he doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches around nothing in response.

Gojo gets to his feet and leans over top of you, pecking your cheek before kissing you deep and slow. It’s not hurried, taking his time to explore your mouth carefully. You don’t even realise he’d been unbuttoning your shirt at the same time until he’s moving away and opening it. 

Hands quick to grope your tits over your bra, “Hmm… this is pretty,” he comments, fingers slipping under the strap and pulling back just to let it snap! back against your skin.

“Gojo!” you chastise, voice coming a little breathless.

He doesn’t even bother to take your bra off properly, just pushing it up and over your tits so he can gain direct access to your nipples. Head ducking back down to leave more marks on your soft skin, licking over your nipple to see what kind of reaction you’ll have. He’s not disappointed when you moan and tug at his hair.

Moving to rest his forehead against the valley between your breasts, he hums out, “You’re so perfect, from head to toe.”

“Don’t think flattery will get me to stay,” you joke, feeling bashful and trying to change his focus.

“How about a really good dick down?”

“Aren’t you a little too self-assured?”

Gojo stands up, shucking off his jacket and then beginning to unbutton his own shirt, “Ask me that again after we fuck.” He shrugs it off his shoulders and lets it fall to the ground.

You knew he was well built but seeing him shirtless is making you realise just how well built he is. All broad shoulders and toned abs, it’s a little hard to stay focused when you’re this horny and he’s that hot shirtless. Happy trail leading out of his pants to his belly button making your mouth water and you’re suddenly remembering that it’s rude to stare when you look back into his eyes.

Though obviously, Gojo takes it as a compliment. Large grin on his face at your blatant ogling. “Like what you see?” He asks.

“I didn’t say anything,” you turn away from him.

“You didn’t have to,” he laughs, “the hearts in your eyes said enough.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He starts unbuckling his belt, “Your pouting will only turn me on more.”

Sitting up as you tease, “You’ve got some weird kinks, huh?”

“Not at all, it’s just that I could get off to anything about you,” he replies smoothly.

You really shouldn’t find that as flattering as you do. “Not appropriate for the workplace, Gojo.”

“Getting tongue fucked on the CEO’s desk isn’t exactly appropriate either but here you are.” He reaches into his pants and pulls his cock out, hissing, “Plus, as you pointed out earlier, I’m not your boss anymore.”

There would definitely be some remark you’d make to that but your focus is kind of caught up on how big his dick is. You knew from it digging into you earlier that he was… well-endowed but to see it now is a little scary.

You point at it accusatorily, “There’s no way I’m taking that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs. “Don’t stress so much, it’ll fit.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him as if to ask, ‘you sure?’

“The foreplay wasn’t just for fun,” Gojo purrs, “though I definitely did have fun playing with your pussy—.”

Your hand slaps over his mouth, “Do you need to be so vulgar?”

He nods wordlessly from behind your hand, eyes bright with his enjoyment of this interaction.

You take too long to remove your palm and he’s licking it, your reaction immediate as you pull back with a grimace. “Ew, what the hell?”

“Ew? My tongue was literally in your mouth not five minutes ago,” his eyes roll at you.

“This and that are different things.”

“Uh huh,” brushing you off, “Open your legs more, I’m gonna blow my load before I even get inside you at this rate.”

Your legs cross at that, “Say pretty please.”

Gojo leans down and rests his hands on the desk either side of you, eyes level with yours, “Pretty please open your legs for me, sweetheart?”

There’s a bit of a begged tinge to his voice that makes you cave immediately, parting your legs again. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, humming happily,  “Thank you.”

The head of his cock is dragged from your clit to your opening and back again, sliding himself through your folds a few times just to make you desperate. Ignoring the fact that you’re already desperate, needy for him to fill you to the brim.

“Stop being a tease.”

“I thought you were worried about it fitting?” He asks.

Your retort is fast, “I thought you were going to give me a good dick down?”

“I believe I said a really good dick down,” notching the head at your pussy hole, “but I’ll forgive you this time.” He doesn’t push in immediately, instead leaving a chaste peck on your lips before he murmurs against them, “Deep breath.”

About to tell him he’s ridiculous and something about his ego being heavy to carry around when your lungs are struggling, the initial slide of his cock entering you making all air knock from you. Nails clawing at his forearms either side of you, not even able to make a noise as he splits you open.

Stopping not even half-way to give you a second to breathe, “I told you to take a deep breath.”

“Hnn– I– hng—” You can’t even reply yet, stopping your attempts to fill your lungs with air.

Gojo’s head dips as he looks at where you’re both connected, “Fuuuck—” he tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, “I’m gonna cum too early if you don’t relax.”

He’d already held off on cumming just from touching you a couple times, finally being inside you is driving him crazy. Not even at the half-way point and his dick is twitching like crazy, your cunt sucking him in greedily and clenched so tight around him. You’re still panting and struggling to wrap your head around the stretch of him and as cute as it is, it’s also a massive fucking turn on that’s making his life harder.

You’re falling forward into him, head resting on his chest, hands clinging to him desperately. Managing out through moans, “Why– hff– why is your dick so huge?”

Breathless laugh leaving him, “You’re being really cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Getting cuter.”

He wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your ear. With the movement his cock slides just that bit more inside you. The sound of his soft, needy whine is ringing in your head and making you twitch. Practically creaming around him already, it’s embarrassingly early to be this much of a mess but he’s worked you up so much and you can’t help but fall deeper into the pleasure.

Desire is overflowing from you and you have no idea what to do with it, holding onto him tighter as a result. Turning to the side, you kiss him wherever you can, it doesn’t take long at all for him to dip and kiss you back hard. Getting lost in his lips, wishing you could somehow pull him even closer.

While distracted, Gojo takes the opportunity to fuck the rest of the way into your tight pussy. Your mouth is dropping open with a whine, feeling the tip of his dick against your cervix has you trembling. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it but you’d swear you can feel the thump thump! of the veins on his cock throbbing against your walls.

He lowers you down onto the desk but the movement has him shifting inside you and you’re whining again, back arching against the wooden surface. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the need to cling to him even more.

Gojo’s head tucks into the crook of your neck, his words coming out mumbled, “Ooh, you’re gonna have me dreaming about this.”

“You– hng– you have to move.” You can’t take any more of this slow pace, your pussy begging you—and him—to be fucked.

His face comes into view, expression struggling to stay cool, “You need to keep your legs open nice and wide for me then.”

Pout making its way onto your face immediately because you really want to keep him this close but you also really want to do what he says. “This better be worth the embarrassment.”

“It will be.”

He’s pulling away from you at the same time that you’re parting your legs, hoping you’ll get away with resting your inner thighs against his hips. Clearly, that’s not satisfactory enough for Gojo because he’s grabbing behind your knees and pulling your legs further apart. Manhandling you lewdly into a position that exposes you to his greedy eyes.

Sighed moan leaving him, “You’ve got such a pretty cunt.”

“You’ve– ah– got such a dirty mouth.” A laugh moves through his chest at your retort and you don’t understand why you’re feeling butterflies over it.

“I’m gonna move now, sweetheart.”

“Please.”

The heavy drag of his cock pulling back gives you a visceral reaction, fingers digging into his desk, looking for something to hold onto. Every inch of him rubbing up against something delicious with each one of his movements, no matter how small. Tuned into every sensation you’re experiencing and feeling so sensitive with it. You’re feeling everything, pussy creaming around him at it, clearly in love with his dick.

On the other hand, Gojo’s losing his fucking mind about as much as you are—if not more. His cock throbbing, pulsing inside your hot cunt. Even though he’s going insane over how sweet your pussy is, he’s still pausing when he’s pulled out. Watching how your hole twitches and convulses around the head of his dick. Fresh slick dribbling from you and sliding down his shaft, he’s not sure he’s ever going to be normal again.

Slamming his hips to yours in one movement and as soon as he starts, he can’t stop. Repeatedly fucking into you over and over, his eyes glazing over as whimpers spill from him. You’re not doing any better, whining and grabbing onto whatever’s closest, obviously needing something to keep you grounded.

He’s bullying your womb with his tip and you’re so close to cumming, only a few more thrusts and you’re finishing around him. Surprised by your own high, hips meeting his to ride it out. Teeth digging into your lower lip as your eyes roll, too involved in yourself and the pleasure to be embarrassed.

“God– hah– you’re already?– fuck!” Gojo can’t believe it, his heart hammering in his chest at how you cum. Your pussy sucking him in divinely, begging him to keep stuffing you full.

In your fucked out bliss, you slip up, “Satoru– hmf—”

It’s the first time you’ve used his given name and his brain short circuits, everything inside him excited and he can’t help himself. Whining pathetically as he cums, not a hint of shame from him. Caught up in how pretty his name sounded coming from your lips, a little slurred in your messy state.

Not able to stop his thrusts either, your mixed cum drooling down the sides of his cock as he keeps fucking you. Keeping you both on cloud nine to the point of overstimulation. The pair of you buzzing and lost in each other. Everything is hot and messy and feels so fucking good.

His brain is stuck in a loop of your pitiful voice calling for him. “You’re unbelievable– hnn– you should stay– hah– don’t leave.”

“I can’t– ngh—”

“Breaking my heart,” he sulks, hips slowing to a steady rut.

You can feel tingling all the way down to your toes. “That’d– hff– be more believable if you weren’t balls deep inside me.”

He finally stops, pelvis flush to you. Looking down his nose as he replies,  “I’m multidimensional.” Sliding his hands from your legs to your waist, “And still horny.”

His dick slips from you and then he’s using his hold on you to flip you over so you’re face down on the desk. Taking a second to admire the way his seed drips from you before plugging it with his fat dick again. Shiver going down his spine, gaze trailing up your body. Disappointed by the lack of skin showing, you’re still wearing the unbuttoned shirt he neglected to properly remove in his impatience.

Touch gentle as he slides the sleeves down your arms, initially going to take it off but changing his mind at the last second. Instead, wrapping your wrists in it haphazardly and turning it into a makeshift restraint.

When you realise what he’s done, you struggle a little against it and then huff. Forehead resting against the wood, cunt overstuffed, and now restrained in your arm movements. You feel a little helpless and it makes your insides flutter.

Gojo checks in, “You good, sweetie?”

“Pervert,” you mutter in response.

“What was that?” Fingers unclasping your bra, sliding his hand over where it’d been fastened.

“I’m good,” you reply.

He pats your ass, smiling to himself, “Then this pervert’s gonna fuck you again.”

Pace instantly brutal, angling his hips so his dick drills into your weakest point. Already having figured out your body far better than you ever have, driving you to the brink of crying from how overwhelmingly good it feels.

You have nothing to hold onto, hands trapped behind you and forced to stay there. It’s got you squirmy, unable to ground yourself with anything and it’s manifesting as you wriggling and your toes curling. Panting and writhing below Gojo, digging your nails into the cotton of your shirt as a pitiful replacement for something sturdy.

Gojo groans, hands holding you still, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “Stay still, pretty.”

“Can’t– ngh– can’t help it.” Your eyes wet from unshed tears.

He moves one of his hands up to the back of your neck, putting just enough pressure there to stop your wriggling. Immobile under him now, taking what he’s giving you. Your pussy shaking around him, consumed by him and his presence. Trusting him wholly in this moment to do what will bring you both the most pleasure, a kind of trust you’ve not given to anyone before.

There’s a creamy ring around the base of his cock from your mixed cum, a sight that makes him even more aroused. Everything you do, everything about fucking you, is only working him up even more. Thinking he’s gotten as horny as he can possibly get only for you to whine, or call his name, or twitch, or pulse around him. Causing him to fall deeper and deeper into his own insanity, borderline unhinged from how you’re making him feel.

Everything feels so much more heightened now that you can’t take it out on the furniture, brain zeroing in on exactly where his tip is hitting or the sounds he’s making for you. The soft whines and moans from him are causing your brain to fry, tingling all over and smiling a little dumbly at how he sighs your name.

It feels so good, too good, it’s almost a little scary just how good it feels. Like you’re going to fall apart at any second and you have no idea of knowing when, kept on edge and waiting for the final thrust that will do you in.

Gojo can’t believe what’s in front of him, able to feel you so vividly but still feeling like he’s dreaming because it’s just too good to be true. But you are here below him, your pussy is crying around him and begging for more. It’s real and it’s heavenly and he’s greedy for more.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs, “so pretty– hff– and smart and your cunt sucks me in so fucking nicely.”

Managing to pant back at him, “Don’t talk.” Your pussy betrays you though, jumping at his praise.

“Why not?” Soft laugh leaving him, “Feels like you like it.” He hums softly, hand tickling down your spine, “It’s– hah– like how you got flustered by me complimenting your work.”

You’d almost forgotten that, all his words of affirmation and the kindness he’d spilled in an attempt to get you to not resign. It didn’t work but it definitely did make you feel all fuzzy inside. “I don’t know what you’re– ah!– talking about.”

“I think someone has a thing for praise,” he giggles. “That’s okay, I can give you all the praise in the world.”

“I don’t,” you deny poorly. It’s hard to sound convincing when you’re full of his cock.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” you can hear the smile on his face, “you’re doing– haa– such a good job, pussy taking me so well. Being real nice to me too, all wet and needy.”

It’s fucked up how easily he reads you, it shouldn’t be allowed. “Stop– hm– I’m gonna cum if you keep—”

“—Gonna cum because you like being told what a hot cunt you have and how great it is to fuck.”

He’s so annoying, so persistent, so stubborn, and so good at getting you off. You’re cumming around him as he gives you his nasty version of a compliment, moans loud and embarrassing. It’s the hardest you’ve ever cum and it’s knocked the wind from your lungs. A mess of shivers and whines as you ride it out. His cock prolonging your high because he’s not stopped fucking you.

Gojo’s head tips back, eyes watching how you’re squeezing around him, “Fuck– fuck– oh my god– hah– that’s it, cum around me juuust like that.”

It feels fantastic, your bliss washing over you. It won’t stop feeling good, brain all mushy and thoughtless as you barely register his words. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, holding his own orgasm off through sheer willpower alone. “Satoru… you– hng– you gotta cum, please?”

“That’s not fair,” he whines.

You’re not playing fair. He’s trying his absolute hardest to prolong this moment, wanting it to never end and here you are asking him so very nicely to cum. He couldn’t possibly deny you, not when you’re so placid and sucking him in so lovingly. Pussy practically begging him for another one of his heavy loads.

Voice calling to him again, “Please, I want it.” And you do, you want to hear how his moans get even more pathetic as he finally lets himself go.

Not even all the way through your sentence does he fold for you, hands slamming down onto the desk as his hips jut forward, filling you to the brim with his achy dick. His pelvis keeps you so close to the edge of the desk, the wood digging into you.

Your hole flutters around him at his pretty moans and he feels every second of it, his sensitive cock reacting to it. “You feel sooo fucking good– ngh– I can’t take it, you’re killing me, sweetheart.”

He’s panting from above you, trying to catch his breath as his body shakes from aftershocks. The both of you twitchy messes, all heavy breaths and soft jerks. Your body is all limp on the desk, brain fuzzy and not thinking much of anything aside from how delightful everything feels.

In his hazy state, he manages to remember that you’re still restrained. Struggling a little to untangle the mess he made of your shirt and freeing your hands. Your arms fall to your sides, all lazy and fucked out.

Gojo slips from you and sits back onto his desk chair, taking you with him. Your head flops back onto his chest as you whine in protest but you’re too weak to stand. “Your cum is gonna get all over this chair.”

The laugh that he lets out vibrates against you, “It’s fine, I’m sure the owner won’t mind.” His big hands come around to your front, pulling your bra off properly before cupping your tits in them.

“The owner is a weird pervert.”

He’s playing with you, groping your tits how he pleases, “Oh, you’ve met him? Should I be jealous?”

You continue going along with his bit, “No, he’s some lazy guy who never shows up on time and always sneaks out to blow off work, I’d never have sex with him.”

“Wow, lucky I’m not him,” he tilts your head to the side and kisses you deep. Humming softly against you as he licks at your tongue. When he pulls back he asks, “So, was it a really good dick down or what?”

Your eyes grow wide and your skin heats up, “I refuse to answer that.”

“Because then you’d have to stay,” he grins back, arms moving to wrap around you.

There’s a quiet that goes over the both of you, “I can’t.”

He tucks his head into your neck, asking, “Are you finally going to tell me why?”

“If I told you why you’d want to help and I’m handling it on my own.” There’s a lot you can’t manage to tell him and needing to move is only the tip of the iceberg.

As much as he wants to argue back or push more information from you, he accepts your words, “There will always be a place here for you, I was serious about not hiring anyone else.”

These are your last moments with him, him being kind to you after giving you the best sex of your life and you can’t even be completely honest with him. Instead of mourning the moment before it’s over though, you let yourself be here. Held by him and warm.

𝒂ﾉ𝒏. thank you sm for reading !!! i'm sorry it took me so long to finish it 🥲 my writing speed fluctuates rapidly, i am who i ammmm. ngl i got most of this done ages ago and got stuck on the smut. ANYWAYS,, i have ideas for a second part with a little bit of angst and dramaaa but only if people want it smile ◡̈

also if it seems unrealistic to what working in marketing is like #sorry i've never worked corporate. i'm studying psych and worked as a lifeguard so i've got NO CLUE 😛

You’re pumping your fingers in your needy cunt just thinking about it after every damn date with this boy. Whining out in your bed with your hips bucking up, gasps escaping your lips desperately in your empty room. Pumping faster and faster until you’ve got that sticky release all over your hand.

It’s almost as if you have this sort of ritual now, before you see your boyfriend and right after/.

Your rose toy is probably fucking tired of you.

As if you don’t you ache so damn bad around him it’s painful, hard not to shamelessly hump his thigh till you cum. No, the toy? This takes the edge off just a bit, but even the way you moan his name in your sleep is endlessly hilarious to your poor roommates that have to hear you between the walls of your off campus apartment.

“Still a virgin?” Utahime asked with a laugh when you had woken up this morning, getting ready to see Satoru.

“Not by choice,” you grumble, shaking your head and grabbing a coffee pod from the little rack, popping your favorite inside and pressing the on button. The aroma hits immediately, waking your tired brain.

You’d had the filthiest damn dream of him fucking your tits, cock sliding up and down in messy strokes that had you needing a damn shower right now.

You’re just perpetually ovulating.

Satoru is the perfect boyfriend, truly he is. He’s sweet, he’s a gentleman despite his blue eyes and where they glance too long. Mostly, he cares. You’ve fallen so in love with him so quickly over these past few months, but every time you think that things might progress, Satoru stops it. Gently lifting you up off his lap and sighing, kissing his way up your jaw, his snowy lashes tickling your cheek.

‘Sweetheart, let’s pause this,’ he would murmur those words all sweet and sultry against your skin after almost sucking on those nipples that just stay hard around this man, instead hovering a breath away so it ghosts your tits. Those huge hands brushing just underneath them.

It’s torture, really.

‘Oh, okay Toru,’ you’d whisper back, he’d moan and kiss up your neck, breaths tickling your skin. ‘Mnh…’

‘You’re so beautiful, god look at you.’

It was just wrong to talk to you like that!

“You poor baby. At least you have your toy collection,” Shoko teases, sneaking in and brushing your hair back. “Extensive, too.”

You flip her off, peeking at the phone then and seeing Satoru's name pop up.

Study session?

“Dick session?” She asks, you gasp, as if affronted at such a suggestion.

“I would never assume such a thing!”

You hope so.

*****

It’s not.

No, it’s not a dick session at all.

It really is an actual goddamn study session – both of you were sitting there in Satoru’s living room, his place was far fancier than anywhere, but that came from him being the Dean’s very son. It intimidated you a little at first, but now you’ve grown comfortable, as he made you feel so special.

Today though?

Well, you can’t focus on anything but how badly you’d love to kneel and suck your nerdy boyfriend, his thighs spread wide all slutty.

God his legs are long.

You bet his cock is-

“And this equation?” Satoru teasingly asks you, distracting you from your slutty freaking brain.

You're not even sure what stumbles out of your mouth for an answer, without saying how thick you think the circumference of his cock must be.

That is something you’ve done with your past experiences, and you know you’re good at it. You could easily deep throat a man and you wanted to see his cock so damn bad – could he be a challenge, though?

Your eyes drift down his chest, he peeks at you curiously.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks casually, spinning his pen between his fingers and studying you. “Hard question?”

“Um… yeah, a very hard time…”

Stop that! Stop looking at his dick print!

“The question is hard?”

“Uh… the question… yes.” You feel like a damn pervert every time you’re around him, can’t you chill and let things happen when they happen?

He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms up over his head, his abdomen revealed when his dress shirt rides up, showing those little v cuts that make your ovulating brain just a million times worse. It’s like you’re in heat. It's so pathetic right now – maybe you should avoid him till it stops.

“Let’s take a break then.”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles at how eager you are at the thought and comes up to you, leaning down with a hand on each arm of your chair, tilting his head so some of that soft white hair falls over his forehead. You brush a bit of it back and he kisses your palm, lips warm and sweet.

“You’ve been such a good girl, how can I not treat you a bit?” Your heart hammers in your chest, until those next words spill from his lips. “Boba?”

“What? Huh?” You blink as he eases back, pulling up his phone and leaning against the desk. “Boba??”

“Yeah, Boba, I’ll buy you some, I know you love it,” he smiles curiously as you bury your face in your hands. “No Boba? Matcha then?”

“I’m um…” About to cum if he touches you once even. “No, I guess Boba is fine. Thanks Toru.” you manage to say, thighs pressing together, Satoru frowns, kneeling now and gently taking your hands off your face, seeing your blush.

“Are you sick!? You’re all flushed!”

“I’m not-”

“You’re burning,” he touches your cheek in concern, and you almost fucking feel bad – you’re not sick, you’re ovulating. “Baby girl, let’s get you to a doctor right now!"

“No, no I feel fine, I’m not warm because of that,” you shift in your seat and whine out at just that friction. “Promise.”

He frowns and watches you carefully. “You’re hurting, it could be the start of something!”

“Well yeah I hurt,” you sigh as he spreads your thighs and kneels between them, shoving at him. “You’ll make it even worse down there.”

“I’ll make what worse, exactly? Your…” He trails off then, seeing your panties and blushing himself, pink dancing across his high cheekbones and dusting them in that rose. “Y-your… your panties are so… uh… s-soaked and…”

You should freak out at this proximity, at just how much he can finally see of you, but all you can do is whine again, as his eyes shoot back up to yours. “I’m okay, promise.”

“Am I neglecting my pretty girlfriend?” He asks softly, just a little nervous. Satoru has never touched anyone but you, but he’s extensively studied the female anatomy, and how to make you cum.

He just wanted your first time to be perfect.

That’s why he was waiting – the last thing he needed was for you to not enjoy your first time, though he knows you’re a little more experienced than he is – Satoru’s hardly kissed anyone before you. Not because he couldn’t – he just had no interest in that sort of thing until he met you – and even then, he really couldn’t find the damn courage to ask you out forever.

“No I’m being a damn pervert,” you cover your face and he chuckles at that.

“You’re being a what, now?”

You sink into the seat, mumbling. “You heard me.”

He’d been your best friend for so long, thinking there was no chance in the world – always jerking his cock with any article of clothing you’d leave in his room, like a filthy depraved pervert – and you think you were one perverted here?

Does him wanting the timing to be just right making you think that?

Satoru exhales softly, just a hint of what he wants to say slipping from his plump lips.

“What, do you touch your little pussy thinking of me?”

His voice has you lowering your hands, he spreads those thighs and slides up your skirt, making you moan out, head falling back, your hands gripping the arms of the chair even tighter.

“Wha-?” You can’t even finish your damn word.

“Asked you a question, baby.”

“God,” he’s diabolical without knowing – or maybe he does know. You’re trembling as you lean back, letting his thumb brush on your clit and gasping at the touch, already getting slick from a brush on your skin. “What question?”

“Not paying attention, tsk,” he clicks his tongue and his teeth nip your inner thigh, sinking in and making you whine out. “Do you touch her?”

“Y-yes,” he hums a bit, tugging your panties up until your lips are visible, that dark spot growing as slick starts pouring. “Please…”

“Be patient, baby,” he leans back now, smirking at you. “Show me?”

“Are you sure you…”

“Please? I wanna see so bad,” you blush now, you masturbate sure – but not in front of people! “I’ll show you?”

“Show me you um… jerking off?”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah?” You sigh a bit.

“Toru…”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t I um… suck you?” He is bright red now, he’s almost busting just thinking of your mouth – that won’t do. His first blow job and he busts in one go!? No, Satoru has to jerk it three times before he gets the privilege of fucking your pretty little mouth, of feeling your pink tongue on him.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? But you’re so hard,” you giggle and tease him with your foot nudging his thigh, he glares and catches it, shoving it wide. “Not yet, then. So you just wanna see me touch myself?”

“God yes, dreamed of that since…” He trails off then, he doesn’t want to admit just how long he’s jerked off to you, because it was before you even knew who Satoru Gojo was. “Lemme see.”

“Okay…” you lean back, running your fingertips over your panties, slipping underneath and leaning your head back, eyes fluttering shut, hearing Satoru’s soft little whine. “Toru…”

“Fuck,” he thought he could handle this, but he’s utterly failing, he can’t even see your pretty pussy and he’s already throbbing, leaking so much pre it hurts, sticking to his brand new digimon boxers. “You’re s’pretty, sweetheart.”

You blush as you look at him with dazed eyes, running little circles right around your puffy clit, coated in hot slick as it dribbles out of your panties. He swipes some of it on his fingers, studying it carefully, his tongue going to lap at it, moaning as the sweetness coats his tongue.

“Oh you’re t-tasting me,” it makes you needier, until you have to plunge two fingers inside your messy, quivering hole, that loud squelch echoing in your ears. He’s gripping your thigh with one hand bruising until you cry out.

“Fuck, so s-sorry… baby I hurt… y-you…”

“No, no, like it,” he moans and puts his hand back on your thigh, squeezing again so hard it aches. He's jerking his cock faster, whining out when he sees your slick fingers pull out of your panties. You press your cum soaked fingers to his lips and he eagerly wraps them around, sucking them off. “Toru…”

“So sweet, my pretty girlfriend,” his glasses fog up when he leans down, licking your inner thigh that is trembling, sliding higher until his tongue is on you – but it's not on your skin, it's on the soaked cotton of your panties.

“Fuck…” he moans as he gets those juices that are spilling through the fabric, his and squeezing his own cock as your thighs sit over his shoulders. 

“More, please,” you're tugging at his hair so hard it hurts, bucking up your hips for more. “I need you, please.”

“Such a needy girlfriend,” he murmurs, thumb circling his drooling tip, looking up at you with desperation in his pretty blue eyes. “You want me to lick it more for you?”

Your answer is a little nod, even having him lick you over your panties is more than you've ever had done, and fuck it feels good. Sinful as he trails a long, slow stripe over the fabric, the tip stopping right over your twitchy clit, his moan is muffled against the damp cotton.

“Toru!” He's lost in your scent, in that taste, the little hints of lace decorating your panties rough against his tongue, the sound is fucking filthy.

Satoru tugs those panties up more firmly, strings of gossamer saliva dripping and dissolving, peering up at you with flushed cheeks. “Like that, baby? Is this what you were thinking about instead of studying?”

Your only answer is to nod quickly, a jerky little motion as he sees those puffy lips just swallowing the damp material. He swipes his tongue over and over, the heat and wetness of his mouth making your entire body tremble. You feel it heating up, hearing the messy sounds of his own cock fucking his fist, wishing it were your throat instead.

"Oh god, Toru," you whimper out it so pathetically, your hands tangling in his soft white hair, fluffy and silky underneath your touch, trying to pull him closer, to shove his face where you need it. “Not enough, mnh!”

He chuckles against your puffy cunt, the vibration and the quick lave of his tongue have you on edge. Pulse racing as he had the audacity to tease you, landing a wet smack on your cunt that had you pathetic.

"Ah - ah," he clicks his tongue, catching your wrists in one of his stupidly large hands and pinning them against your waist, smirking at you in a way that's utterly not dirty at all. "No touching yet, sweetheart. I'm taking my time with you."

“Meanie,” he chuckles again, but you love it – feeling that strength as he grips you so tight. “My panties are ruined, Toru.”

“Mmm. Yes they are,” he tugs them again, looking at how wet the material is, just a pathetic little scrap of fabric with your juices pouring.

Instead of showing you mercy and moving them, he just presses them further against you again, tongue shoving that fabric until it's flush with your needy clit, you swear you can feel his tastebuds as that tongue drags through the fabric, pausing everywhere that has you jerking and honing in.

Like this nerdy boy is studying you.

Oh. He is.

He's methodical, almost clinical with his research of your needy, clothed cunt just separated by this pathetic little piece of fabric, his tongue pressing more firmly against your soppy lil hole. She is pulsing around nothing, torturous strokes, pressing his fingers up and down, you're hot and sticky underneath his touch.

“Toru!” Your wrists are still pinned, his cock forgotten even though it's dripping down onto the soft, plush rug below his knees. Satoru finds your clit again and looks up under snowy lashes, you watch the drips of slick connect with that wickedly long tongue.

“Mmm. I bet I could see myself inside you,” he whispers, you suck in a breath at that, as if he is measuring the distance of your entrance to your belly button, easing your wrists to tug up your top, nipping your puffy lips over the fabric. “Scientifically.”

“Then experiment, scientifically.” He chuckles like the little shit he is, finding your clit once more, a hand pressing where he imagines his cock would bulge out.

“You are so needy f'me, s'pretty like this,” his words slur as he wraps his plump lips around your twitchy clit, barely concealed and swollen underneath the cotton material that is dripping wet. He pulls it in his mouth and sucks it hard through your panties, humming against you.

You're aching, cunt filling his hungry mouth as your hands land back on his hair, his movements making you cry out and buck your hips against his mouth for more.

“So sweet right now, god, look at that…”

Satoru is so close to cumming when he grabs his cock at the base again, squeezing so goddamn hard – he could almost bet that if he felt your cunt without the fabric, he'd spurt his white ropes everywhere.

Make a mess of you.

“Mnh. You close, sweetheart?”

Your answer is a jerky little nod, as he keeps torturing you with this fucking barrier, his teeth grazing that tiny clit ever so lightly through the fabric, making you scream out, your head falling back. Your panties are absolutely ruined now, utterly transparent with your slick and his spit coating them, your sweet little cries rushing through his ears.

Satoru? Well, he laps at the mess he's making happily, his tongue coating the entire area in circles that deliberately avoid that spot until you're twitching, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Such a messy girl," he moans out those words, eyes black when they peek up at you, his voice husky as your slick clings to his lips. "Soaking these pretty little panties f’me.”

“Please, Toru… move ‘em please,” he smirks and decides to have mercy on you, tugging them to the side of one of your lips and exhaling, watching the slick drool and spill down. You gasp as the air hits your cunt, already aching and needy, the dampness making it a cool shock.

“Fuck, you're so pretty,” he murmurs, his cock just about to bust without his touch, he glides his tongue from your ass all the way to your clit, looking right up at you. “Is this what you were thinking of, hmm? My tongue inside you?”

“Your cock, too,” he chuckles against you, but just a couple more flicks has you close, as he spreads your cunt wide, studying your every expression.

“Look at that. My slutty little girlfriend.”

Satoru is trying his best to hold it together, but when his tongue glides into your gummy walls and they grip him, he's too far gone, slurping up every bit of the cum that just pours out. You shatter so damn pretty, squirting all over his face, dripping down his chin until it's glossy, his cock starts pulsing right with your hole, imagining her milking him.

“F-fuckk….”

“Toru, mnh! S'good I… please…” You’re overheated, body sensitive, it’s just not enough, even with his tongue lavishing every bit of your pussy.

Not enough.

“Please what, baby? Mnh,” he grips his veiny cock as he cums with his tongue on your clit, more of your mess drenching his throat, his face, his shirt. His white ropes coat his hand, lashes fluttering shut as he savors your jumping clit in his mouth, whining against you.

“Want your cock in my mouth, Toru please…” he exhales, breath making you jolt, looking up at you with a blush.

“I um…” he leans back on his knees and you see the mess, blushing at it. 

“I didn't touch you though…”

“Didn't need to,” he's clearly a little embarrassed, you take his cum soaked hand then – dripping white – and wrap your mouth around one of his thick fingers. “Oh fuck…”

You suck him right off, tasting that salty white substance and moaning as it hits your taste buds. Satoru pulls back and laps it off his own fingers, before kissing you right with it, the mess spilling between your mouths and dripping down.

Satoru Gojo – your nerdy boyfriend with an insane Digimon collection was a fucking freak, greedily drinking his own cum off your mouth.

You’re trembling when the door knocks, and you faintly remember that he has ordered you boba. He’s the epitome of a perfect boyfriend after that, considerate, caring, cleaning the little rivulets of your own release from your inner thighs – you’re stuck back on the opposite side of the bed, cuddling him and watching a movie.

Satoru even has the audacity to snore after, heavy body wrapping as you ache to get filled by him – at least the movie was so damn boring you drift off right next to him.

****

“I’m gonna die a virgin,” you mumble to Shoko and Utahime the next weekend, aside from more heated kisses and grinding on Satoru’s thigh after your well planned out dates – nothing.

You’re aching.

How much use could your rose toy really see!? And now you even have two more toys going along with it, though you doubt any of them are getting close to Satoru and how good he must feel. No ‘clit sucker’ could come close to what that nerdy little mouth could do.

“You look like you’re dying, girl, damn…” Utahime earns your glare. “Is it that bad?”

“He finally got me off and…” You blush now, unable to finish your sentence, remembering his tongue drinking up your juices.

“Does he know what a clit is?”

“Very much so, it was so good.”

They look surprised.

“You all have no clue, he really was,” Shoko laughs at that, leaning back and hitting the vape, handing it over to you. “No, no.”

“You need a smoke, sweets,” you grimace, brushing your hair back, pacing back and forth as the two girls watch you, snuggling with each other. “You’re pacing holes in the carpet.”

“I can’t handle this, I just… god I wanna suck his dick, is it so terrible? He hasn’t even let me touch it. I sound like a horny ass man, I hate it. I wanna respect him, I really do.”

“You wanna respect him with his cock in your throat?” Shoko finishes.

“Yes. I mean!? I will respect him without the cock in my mouth! You two are menaces.”

They’re laughing like the brats they are, blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, you damn near moan in frustration. Satoru’s gotten you off that one time, then since then he has gone right back to worshipping you in the sweet way he always did, as if you’ll what – forget about his tongue?

His stupidly long fingers…

The cum on your tongue that you lapped right off!?

The taste.

“Ugh -” you lean back and sink further into the couch. “I really am gonna die.”

“Can’t die, we’ve got that party tonight,” Utahime teases, kissing Shoko’s lips and giggling just a bit, you pout at the two of them.

In public Satoru would kiss your hand at best.

Where on earth even had that freak come from that spit his cum in your mouth last week!? He’s all gone again – the pocket protector wearing Nerd Gojo in his place, like some twin fucking took over for a minute.

“I can’t go to a party and get drunk, I’ll make a fool of myself around him, one drink and my pussy has a mind of its own…” You finally sit down, plopping back into the seat. “I feel like a pervert.”

“You are! Let’s just call you fucking pervy Sage.”

“Hey!” You glare at Utahime, Shoko is inhaling another puff of smoke, you cough just a bit. 

“Hah – Sanji from One-”

“Don’t even!? I’m not that bad,” you huff at her, frowning now. “I swear I'm not trying to be pervy. God, what is in this weed?”

“Hmm,” Shoko tugs Utahime on her lap. “I wonder if he's scared you'll like … bite his dick.”

“You're so fucking mean,” you cough a little more, eyes watering as you scowl at the two of them.

“Look slutty, like really slutty,” Shoko walks up now, tilting your chin up and crooking her lips up at the corner. “Something that screams – fuck me.”

“He licked my panties and didn’t even…”

“Really slutty,” Utahime agrees, tapping her chin. “Ooh! I know, I have the perfect outfit in mind, that little black dress of yours.”

“But it’s too small for me now! It’s from like high school, and thanks to you two cooking all the time, my hips-”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? Oh…”

You trail off now, realizing what everyone knew – that Satoru loves your hips, he grabbed on to them every chance he got, even when he was just a little bit shy.

“Okay…”

They kiss again in front of you, laughing a bit, making you lovesick for your man – your nerdy man who you wish would kiss you in that way, tongues all dripping. It’s not even fair.

“All lovey dovey, fuck you both.”

They’re so hot and rude laughing at you – you decide to just disappear, you don’t need your hot ass best friends making out in front of you when you’re already in pain from the constant edging from Satoru. You are rushing to your room and trying on outfit after outfit, before finally deciding on the exact fucking one they brought up.

You would look as sexy as you could and hopefully get your boyfriend to not be able to resist you.

But also you’ll respect his decision, dammit! You can wait as long as he wants to, even if you were absolutely gonna put your tits and ass out there for him. Looking in the mirror and touching up your lipstick, swiping a finger across your lower lip to smudge it just a tad.

“Oh damn you look hot, Sanji,” Utahime says when you come out.

“I am not Sanji.”

“You are.”

“Fuck you both!”

*****

Satoru can’t keep his damn eyes off you.

Fuck you’re pretty tonight.

That damn little black dress clinging to your skin is fucking ruining Satoru’s mind, brain short circuiting as the two of you navigate the insanely packed frat house, one of his hands on the small of your back protectively. People are all bumping into everyone, stumbling around, absolutely no chance he lets someone hurt you by accident.

Moreso, Satoru Gojo can’t get his fucking hands off you, no, he can feel your warmth right through the thin layer of cotton material, fingers splaying across it. He reminds himself in his head over and over just what a horrible thing it would be to fucking take your first time at a frat party, even as he has to adjust his cock, turning from you to face the wall for a moment.

“Everything okay, Toru?” You ask softly, hand on his back, he laughs, a fake and terrible attempt at being normal, turning right back around to you.

“Me!? Yes, yes. Do you need a drink, babydoll?” He asks.

The music kicks on as he speaks, and all you can see are his plump lips forming words, ringing from how damn loud they’re blaring the worst dance music known to man. “What!!”

“A drink!!”

“Huh?”

“A DRINK-”

The music pauses for just a minute, switching to something else but leaving multiple people to stare at Nerdy Gojo shouting.

You blink a bit at his shouting, he swears he’ll kill Suguru and Nanami for having the audacity to fucking laugh at him and his pain. Them smoking weed earlier and trying to give him every tip known to man on how to bury said tip right against that surely cute little cervix.

As if Satoru hadn’t studied extensively.

“Yes, please,” you smile all pretty, letting him guide you through, he just about loses it from the sheer amount of eyes locked onto you, gripping you just a little too tight, feeling the curve of those breedable hips underneath his fingertips.

Imagine having them bent over, his hands fit so perfect-

No, he can make it another night, a dumb frat party was not the time or place for something so precious as your first time. Even if you smell that good, and you’re dancing all over him, giggling, your ass brushing right against where his cock has tented his dark jeans.

Your drink in one hand, the other in his as he pulls you against him, for a nerdy boy, Gojo can absolutely move his body. You feel so goddamn good against him, with your waist in his grip now, his lips pressed against your ear – he can inhale that sweet scent you just naturally fucking have.

That’s when he realizes he’s about to cum if your ass rubs up on his cock one more damn time with those heels making you tall enough, he could bend you over and slide it right in. God he bets you’re so wet too.

Satoru has to pull back, making you blink just a bit in confusion, he downs the rest of his drink, smiling apologetically.

“Bathroom, sweetheart.”

“Oh, um… okay, want me to-”

Satoru runs the fuck off.

Maybe you’re doing too much, shit… you were absolutely grinding all up on Satoru because you were craving him so bad. You needed to give him more time! If the roles were reversed, you know he would, even if he may want to as badly as you do. Going to pour yourself a shot, you throw it back and let your eyes shut, sighing just a bit as it burns your throat.

You need to ease up and let Satoru take his time, even if you have to press your thighs together to resist the needy urge of rubbing your cunt on anything right now.

Maybe you are fucking Sanji.

*****

Satoru’s leaned back on the door, unzipping his pants and seeing his reddened cockhead, and just how fucking swollen it is. He’s jerking his cock desperately, whimpering out as the door gets knocked on, banged on in fact by fucking Sukuna of all people.

“Gotta take a piss man, stop jerking it.”

“I’m not!? I’m pissing right now – w-wait,” Satoru is jerking it of course, but how dare Sukuna call him out on it. Dickhead fratboy that he is, he’s chuckling outside of the door, but none of it is getting rid of Satoru’s throbbing erection.

He’s just way too needy, too sensitive, he can see his reflection in the mirror – those flushed pink cheeks. Sukuna thankfully fucks off, but Satoru can't even cum with just his hand, not when he knows your little fist would feel so much better, when your mouth and pussy would grip him.

No, Satoru is left tortured.

*****

You are alone for some time, concerned if he was somehow drunk or sick when the leader of the frat – the slutty ass, pink haired jock named Sukuna comes up to you, sipping his cup and flickering his red eyes up and down your face.

“Hmm, Gojo left you all alone?”

“And?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him now, he smirks just a bit, leaning close. “He’s busy. Okay?”

“Mmm… yeah,” he peeks over his shoulder now, then looks right back down at you. “So.”

“So, what?”

He grins all big. “Wanna play beer pong?”

“Beer pong?”

“Mhm,” he tugs at a little lock of your hair. “Bet I stomp your ass at it. Look like such a good girl.”

“Hah you think I've never been to a party!?”

“Never seen you before aside from with your nerdy lover boy,” he pours you a drink now and inclines his head.

“I've partied, just… usually me and Toru are busy.”

He snorts at that.

So busy your boyfriend is jerking his cock in the bathroom.

“I see, so busy, huh?”

“Yes but…” you curse now, shaking your head. Satoru has been gone fifteen minutes and won't answer a text, a game of beer pong wouldn't hurt. “Fine then.”

It doesn’t take long until there is an entire gathering of people to watch you absolutely annihilate Ryomen Sukuna in beer pong, to the point he is fucking furious. You're landing the pong ball in every cup, decimating the entire frat at a certain point, giggling as you study them, down to the last shot, against Sukuna again.

“Beginners luck or some shit,” he’s fucking furious – you swear you see his vein ticking underneath his jaw.

Satoru is still not here.

You’re worried but you’re also enjoying the cheers, especially when you land that last one, giggling as the frat brothers who were talking all that shit about the nerdy girlfriend of Satoru moments before are now staring in disbelief. With one final, perfect arc, the ball splashes into the last cup. 

It really is beginner's luck.

But.

Also, fuck Sukuna.

"Damn, girl!" someone yells, and you take a little bow, rubbing it right in Sukuna’s face now, who is slamming down the rest of his beer.

Surely he drank enough to get annihilated – but somehow still standing just normal, big ass man has some insane tolerance because those eyes look completely aware.

"Guess I'm not such a good girl after all, huh?" you tease Sukuna, who's standing there looking down at you, setting the cup down and crushing it.

“Hmmm,” his red eyes dilate just a bit as he steps closer to you, suddenly making you feel just a bit nervous.

Satoru hates Sukuna.

It’s well known, since high school the two of them have been overcompetitive and absolutely insane against each other. He’d be fucking furious if he saw you anywhere near him at all. You peek and see him across the crowd then, getting a text from Shoko blinging on your phone.

He’s really mad.

He is.

You get another text now from Utahime, biting down on your lower lip.

Make him jealous and maybe you’ll get dicked down, Sanji.

“I’m not Sanji,” Sukuna raises a brow, lips twitching. “I’m not.”

“Sanji? Who the fuck is that?”

“One piece?”

“Nerd – hey, wait,” you’re turning and he grabs your wrist for just a moment. “Shit, I mean… you’re right, you’re not a good girl, huh?”

“I sure beat your ass,” you say, pausing when he reaches out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray piece of hair back from your face, rough knuckles brushing against your cheek for a second too long.

"You did, you're full of surprises, brat.”

“Brat? Whatever…”

You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you – you’d pull back, but part of you wonders if making him jealous would bring that freak out that spit cum in your mouth – maybe you are a brat. You sip your drink, remaining normal.

“I’m dating Satoru, you’re too close.”

“Would nerdy ass Satoru know what to do, how to handle your ass?” He taunts, your eyes narrow, his laugh echoing despite the music as your boyfriend starts shoving his way through. “Show you that digimon collection?”

“I’m very pleased, thank you.”

“You look like you need to get your attitude fucked right out of you,” your fingers itch to slap him now. “If he fucks up, you know where to find me.”

“No thank you, I- Toru!”

Satoru is between you and Sukuna, shoving him off and glaring right at him – perhaps the two tallest men at the party right face to face, Sukuna’s smirk making Satoru want to punch him.

“Why are you so close to my future wife?”

“Wife?” You blush and he glares at you.

“Yes, and baby momma – but you’re being a brat,” he whispers, Sukuna snorts at that.

“She is a brat.”

“You can’t call her that,” he shoves the big ass man and takes your hand now. “She has better shit to do than talk to you.”

“Aw, but we were having fun,” Satoru is dragging you away, you blink just a bit, almost scowling at Sukuna who blows you a kiss.

What a dick.

BUT.

Satoru is fuming, and he’s hot.

You’re so toxic!

“What’s wrong, Toru? I was just playing some beer pong,” you say all innocently, as he drags you past everyone, you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Um… what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong!? Hah,” he’s laughing, psychotic and feral like you turned on a switch in his brain, when he finally starts getting some privacy. “Everything.”

“I don’t get it…”

“He was hitting on you,” Satoru yanks you away in the center of the party, you barely bite back your giggle at how excited you are to see him this way, looking ever so serious when he glares down at you.

Maybe you are evil, loving how mad he is, how jealous he is when he presses you against the hallway wall on the other side of the party, you can feel the music humming through the walls, but not as fast as your heart is racing looking up at your blue eyed boyfriend. Blue eyed angry boyfriend.

This isn't sweet Satoru at all, no – he's completely fucking unhinged, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths, cupping your face and jerking your chin to look up at him.

“You think he was?” You ask softly, making him raise a brow. “I thought he was just… being nice?”

You make him laugh without humor now, thumb brushing across your lip. “Are you being bratty, sweetheart? Teasing me, making me jealous?”

“What? No,” you straight up fucking lie to his face, batting your lashes all innocent and cute, but you can tell my that little smirk he doesn’t buy any of it for shit right now.

“No?”

“No, I was just talking, Toru. Isn't that fine?” You trail your hands up his chest, wrapping your fingers around to hook behind his neck, tugging him down to face you. “It’s fine for me to make friends, isn’t it?”

“Not when he's looking at these pretty tits,” he cups one, making you suck in a breath – your needy boyfriend is never this bold. “They're not his to look at.”

“Oh?” You lean forward now, tip toeing as he leans low, thumb brushing over a nipple, making it perk up for his touch. “Are they yours? Yours to look at?”

He’s losing it, his pulse hammering behind his ears, in his wrists, everywhere was hammering, his mouth practically salivating as he cups that tit right where anyone can see, big hand squishing it. You gasp out at the sensation, your lashes fluttering closed, little whines mingling against his lips.

“Yes, mine, every inch of you is mine,” Satoru shakes his head now with a soft laugh. “He thought he could dance with you. Kiss your lips? Lips that are mine.”

“All yours,” you open your eyes and giggle again, earning his scowl. “Sorry you're just so cute like this.”

Satoru blinks.

“Oh, I’m cute?”

You go to press a kiss when he snatches you up in one swoop, you gasp and wrap your arms around his neck now. Thighs trembling as he carries you to some room he finds, stumbling you in and shoving you right against the door.

“You think I'm cute,” he presses his cock against your slick heat, slutty little panties practically ruined for him, grinding his cock until you're gasping out. “Well I think that you're a brat.”

You gasp. “Me?”

Two people calling you that.

Well… maybe you are.

“You are bratty, with those pretty fucking lips,” he's kissing you filthy, tongues dancing, saliva dripping between you both, easing you down so that you slide against his body achingly slow. “Maybe I should shut your bratty mouth up.”

Oh fuck.

“Yes please?” He glares at your big fucking grin. 

“On your knees then, sweetheart,” you so eagerly obey, he laughs softly, his heart hammering in his chest, a mix of being utterly furious, nervous about his first time, and dumbstruck by the sight of your heart eyes. “Look at you, bein’ such a good girl – but are you really that desperate to suck me?”

“Please yes,” you have no shame – all you want is Satoru’s cock deep and buried in the back of your throat. “If you want though! C-consent.”

“As if I haven’t wanted this for years,” he shakes his head and tilts your chin up, sighing. “I wanted to do it all perfect, to lick and kiss every inch, worship your body until you were writhing, so fucking needy for it.”

Satoru unclicks his belt, the metallic click hitting your ears. “Mnh… years?”

"Years," he repeats softly, unbuttoning his jeans entirely too slow for you, you go to move your hands and he halts them with a little smack, you bite down on your lip, aching. “Hands on your thighs, you’ll listen to me for once, since you’ve been driving me so fucking crazy.”

“Me, making you crazy, really,” you do as he says though – eagerly – palms on your thighs, he laughs a bit, the sound of his zipper lowering echoing in the room even with the reverberating walls.

“You know every time you drag that messy cunt on me it ruins me, right?” He draws out that word, sighing now. "Every time you wore those little skirts and bent over, every time you'd bite your lip while concentrating…”

Satoru drags a thumb down your lip now, achingly slow against the plumpness that moves underneath it, your teeth nip on his thumb teasingly, and then you let him push your mouth open.

“Open real wide, sweetheart,” you do just that, and he can’t help but whimper as he presses down on your tongue, as if he’s studying the recesses of your open, eager mouth. “Wider, can’t you? For me?”

You listen eagerly, opening wide and fucking obscene, your tongue out for any bit of him he wants to give you, core just aching.

“Fuck, I've imagined this exact moment."

Satoru won’t tell you just how long he has, either, he swallows – just a bit nervous now.

“Suck,” you suck his digits, slurping them and moaning around them, imagining his cock instead, loving how dominant he’s being. “Stop.”

You obey, making him raise a brow.

“You like me tellin’ you what to do? Is that why you got me so fucking mad, so jealous, to have you listen?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, as he shoves his jeans down, and the hard, thick length of his bugle strains against the thin fabric of his boxers. “Pokemon? You traitor!”

“I can’t wait to shut your mouth up tonight,” you giggle at that, Satoru sighs and frowns at them, brushing your hair back a bit. “They were a gift, okay?”

“I’ll buy you digimon ones.”

“God, you’re so perfect,” you’re still giggling, when he gently smacks your face – the lightest little touch that has you almost moaning. “Open up again, yeah? Be a good girl, baby.”

“Mmm, yes,” you nod your head, doing just as he says – the side of freaky Satoru you only saw hints of last week when he’d lavished your panties with his long tongue.

“You got me jealous on purpose, yeah? Wore that slutty outfit to fucking ruin me, wanted cock in your throat that bad? Got me fucking leaking so much… fuck…”

Your answer is to keep that mouth open, leaning forward as you lap your tongue along the damp spot where his pre cum has already soaked through, right over a traitorous yellow pikachu. You’ll make more fun of that later, right now he’s jerking his hips, hissing at the drag of your cute lil tongue on him.

“Fuck…” You’re teasing him just like he did you – licking and sucking his tip over the damp cotton of his boxers. “Act so sweet and you’re evil, shouldn’t feel that good through that… mmm…”

Satoru’s letting you suck around his fat cockhead, slurping every bit of his white cum from it, tongue lolling right along that slit over and over.

“Torturing me back?”

“Yep,” you lick your lips, making him sigh, shaking his head now.

“Go on then, take what’s all yours…" his voice is low, hoarse damn near as he for the very first time pulls his cock out, letting it spring free, slapping against his lower abdomen with a loud, wet smack. “Can you fit all of it?”

You knew he’d be big.

You didn’t know he’d be that big, with his jeans undone all slutty, his pokemon boxers shoved down – his cock is perfect, just the right amount of thick and entirely too fucking long, with a prominent pale blue vein running along the underside. You’re literally drooling as he strokes it right in front of you, the head flushed a deep, pretty pink as it leaks white.

You’re soaked, fucking ruined.

“I can.”

You cannot.

Maybe?

You will try!

“Go on then, sweetheart, lemme see how good you can take all of me,” he chuckles as you lean forward without hesitation, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. “Teasin’ me more?”

You lap your tongue up, keeping your hands right where he asked you too, sliding underneath so you hit that frenum. His sharp inhale is met with his huge hand tugging in your hair so hard it hurts, pulling at the hairs on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck… greedy lil mouth,” he’s damn near slurring his words when you swirl your little tongue around the head, lapping up the salty taste of his cock underneath, brushing along that vein. He whimpers out when you wrap your lips around it and suck. “Oh my… f-fuck…”

Satoru loses it the first time you really suck his cock, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you down further as his other hand rests on the doorway, beginning to move so that he’s choking you. You’re whining out, aching to touch your cunt so bad you slide your fingers down.

“So desperate,” he tuts his tongue, fucking your throat now, his cock slamming the back of it as tears spill. “B-baby, is this s’okay?”

You pull back as he does, with a wet, filthy pop, grinning. “I want it, all the way deep in my throat, Toru, I can take it.”

“You can take all of it in that tiny lil’ throat? When she’s this tight?” He whispers, your nod makes him glare now. “Have you done this?”

You blink a bit. “Yes?”

“Then I’ll fuck your throat so hard you’ll forget anything but me,” he takes you over now, slamming deep inside, you’re whimpering as one of his feet spread your thighs, and you’re soaking his black boot. “That’s it, rutting on my boot and taking cock like a little slut, hmm?”

“Mnhgh…” you’re done for, this is exactly what you needed, him railing your throat until you can’t think, until you’re gagging and tears are spilling.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, you do just that as he presses deep, sniffling as you try to take all of him, he hisses as he feels his tip stretching that tight throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You know I fucking love you? And respect you?”

You giggle around him and he glares.

“You have to know if I’m gonna say all this,” you pull back again, fingers all coated in your slick, gliding it along his sticky tip.

“I know you love me, Toru. I love you…” He sighs, touching your cheek. “I love you talking to me this way, you could be meaner.”

“Oh? Fuck my frustration on your throat?”

“Please?”

“You’re ruining me,” he mumbles, slamming right back inside, now that he knows you’re okay, he can lose control, see how much you can take, as you grind on that shoe, nails now pressing in the muscles of his thighs, jeans slipping down. “Want our first time to really be right against this door? Shove your slutty skirt up and ruin your cunt for fuckin’ anyone?”

God, Satoru’s sexy like this, fogged glasses and all.

Your answer is to take him all the way, your nose brushing against the white hair, the tufts of it tickling your nose, he’s stuttering now, unable to stop himself from fucking faster, harder, the wet sounds mixing with his whines. He doesn’t hold them back, either, every time he does he feels a fresh gush of wetness even over that leather, he can see it shimmering as he pulls back and slaps his cock on your mouth.

“Slutty girl, this all f’me, huh? Not that fucking loser downstairs?”

“All you.”

“Hold that tongue out,” you do just that, and Satoru slaps his tip on your tongue over and over, as you keep grinding on him. “Can’t believe you’re this much of a pretty little whore, god I thought you were a good girl?”

“Toru… please…”

“Please what?” You just keep rubbing. “Desperate, fuck… stand up.”

You can hardly do that when he helps you by tugging you up, spitting directly in your mouth, you swallow it greedily, earning his pathetic moan as he turns you, shoving you against that door. “Mnh!”

“Stop me before I fill all your fucking holes with cum,” he’s kissing down your neck, his glasses cool against your neck, whines escaping his lips as he shoves that slutty lil dress up the gentle curve of your hip. “All of them, I’ll have your cunt drippin’, your throat full, fuck that ass while I’m at it.”

“Mngh, please, please,” it’s all you can do but to arch.

“That needy?” He’s tugging your panties to the side, dragging his tip up and down over and over, moans escaping his lips when he bends down, turning your face to him. “First time in a frat house against a door? You’re so wet do I even need to finger you right now?”

“Already did,” you answered, he laughs, shaking his head and kissing you, rubbing even more, teasing your slit with the fat head of his cock until you’re weak, your thighs shaking. “Please, please….”

“Please what, fuck your cunt for the first time? That’s what you’ve been wanting, me to lose it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, teasing even more, mouth messy and mean as he bumps your clit, until you squirt right down his length, dripping all down the carpet.

Sukuna’s carpet – it’s his room you faintly notice, as you see the little pictures on the walls.

You wonder if Satoru meant that.

“Squirting already, haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pulls back and bends down, slamming his cock so deep you scream out, head falling back as he tugs your hair, making your ass arch out as he fills you. “Oh my g-god… baby…”

“Toru,” he lets you adjust to his thickness, the very first time your cunt has ever been filled – and this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.

He wanted to stretch you out – one finger, two, then three – but you’re so soaked you suck him right in. Such a tight, perfect fit he can hardly take it, bending down to press sweet kisses on your bare shoulders, easing back and shoving in again, taking your hand and placing it on your tummy, pressing so you feel it all.

“Feel me here?” He asks softly, desperately – worried for a moment with how tight you are that he’s hurt you, but your answer is to look back at him with those slutty, parted lips and dilated eyes, nodding. “Who’s inside you?”

“You, Toru.” you answer, cunt spasming as she’s already close, his body overtaking you, wrapping and tugging, shoving even deeper.

“Who’s first?”

“You.”

“Who’s gonna make this cunt stretch out?”

“Y-you and… ah!”

“Mine, mine… fuck you’re all mine,” Satoru gave you that minute to adjust, a last mercy before your nerdy boyfriend fucking loses his mind. “Mine, this pretty body, this perfect pussy… you… mine…”

“Yours,” you whisper it over and over as Satoru fucks your messy cunt, even though it’s hard to take, you’re so full it feels perfect, letting his hand wrap your throat, fingers pressing on either side of your windpipe. “Ah!”

“Hah – such a perfect fit, made f’me,” he’s fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, cock gliding in and out of your sticky, gummy walls, fucking you so goddamn messy it's dripping down between your thighs. “B-babyyy…”

You arch for more when he pulls out of your cunt with a filthy squelch and you whine from the loss. “Back in, please…”

He lifts and carries you to the bed, thighs shoved wide, feral now as he shoves back inside and sees himself moving inside you. Every slick glide smoothing your puffy cervix, until she is bruised and aching, that dress shoved higher, panties tugged firmly to the side. He uses both to move in you, laughing as you gasp out, as your thighs tremble.

“Aw, is it too much, sweetheart? Too deep?”

Feral Satoru is here, mixed with sweet Toru, but his cock is anything but sweet – the way it stretches you out, fucking ruins you, pummels your cunt so deep you’re about to cum all over his length, already sensitive.

“Mhm!”

“Full of me?”

“Nghhhh…”

You don't know how the fuck else to answer, it all is entirely too much, the way he can see his cock print, his insane laugh, those blue eyes glittering with the frames fallen off. So blue it hurts to look at, eyes almost threatening to close.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me, that's it,” Satoru keeps pumping into your cunt, leaning up to shove your thighs against your tits, smushing them as he fucks you dumb.

He knows it too.

“Can't think?”

“mmm, nnnhhh,” your answer is pathetic and just a babble really, as your nerdy, once virgin boyfriend pummels your messy, needy cunt until she's stuffed so full it hurts. Your nails pressing into biceps, digging in as he stretches your puffy lips on it.

“Can’t even fucking talk – already?” Your eyes roll back in your skull as his cock ruins your pussy, so deep you do feel him all over.

“Gonna pump you so full, hah will you finish college without me breeding your cunt?” Satoru Gojo is batshit insane, as he leans over you, bending you so that you're folded in half under his heavy weight. “What would you do then, hmm? If I breed your slutty cunt? Make you mine.”

“Want it, mmm,” you’re utterly fucking shameless about it, feeling his bruising grip, his cock getting creamy at the base as his heavy balls slap.

“Jerked it in the bathroom, had me so hard,” you bite down on your lip, gasps escaping your throat, eyes locked. “You love that, huh? Driving me insane, slutty dress, pretty body… god…”

He presses your thighs down enough to tug your tits out, gripping them and exhaling, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re peaks.

"Look at you," he pants, "taking my cock so well, pretty girl. You’re just such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

You can only moan in response, your body trembling as he hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, your answer is to grip his hips with your thighs, letting him cup your face, pumping you so full that you can feel it all over. Warm and hot when he whines out so pathetically in your ringing ears, slutty little moans falling from your lips.

“Takin’ all of it, god…” He kisses you even as you shatter, your cunt spasming all around his veiny length, milking him for every drop. “So fucking greedy. So needy.”

He leans down and captures your lips, spurts of cum still pouring, you can feel him twitching, nails pressing into the strong muscles of his back. “Toru… l-love… toru y-you…”

“Cock drunk, sweetheart?” He teases, like the menace he really is – but he also lovingly caresses your cheek. “You took me like you were made for me.”

“I did?” You’re so damn drunk off him you’re slurring your words, pussy achingly empty, feeling his cum slipping out.

“You did a very good job. Such a good girl.”

“Yay!”

Satoru snorts at you, shaking his head and peppering kisses, leaned up on an arm, his shirt half open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. “You’re s’cute… I wanted to take it easy your first time.”

“I loved it,” you admit, yawning now, peeking around the room. “Mmm, can we go home though?”

“Of course we will,” he kisses down your body though, breath ghosting your thighs, spreading them to watch the filthy mess of his cum pour out, groaning. “You’re wasting it all, baby.”

“Hmm? Ah!” Satoru scoops some of that mess up against his fingertips, shoving it right back inside your quivering hole. You’re gripping him tight, thighs clamping down on his hand, as he smirks. “Toru you’re… crazy…”

“Mmm, you really have no idea what I have wanted to do,” he clicks his tongue, pushing that cum deep again, watching your every expression. “Gonna keep you so full of cum it’ll drip everywhere.”

Satoru does not just fuck you once, no – he makes sure to bend you over in the backseat of his car, fucking cum back inside. Once you're at his house he is pumping ropes of cum on your tits, laughing at how messy you get coated in white, before spreading it all over your body.

Satoru fingers and fucks all that cum inside until you're a trembling mess in his arms, passing out and snoring.

“So funny you started all this but then couldn't keep up, hmm?” He teases softly, cleaning you up, cock sore from how you gripped him, how much he came. But even the sight of milky drops escaping your hole had him damn near twitching back to life, groaning against your skin.

*****

“Good morning,” your nerdy boyfriend is littered in pretty kiss marks, indentions of your teeth all down his neck, a loopy smile on his face as he stands there shirtless, glasses firmly back on.

“Oh! Good morning…” you thought you'd be the one to ruin Satoru Gojo, ride his cock till he whimpered and cried from overstimulation.

You had no clue he'd fuck you so good you couldn't sit up right without his help, cupping your face and leaning down to kiss your lips, tilting your chin up and smirking. You're a mess.

A pretty mess.

Hair fucked up, covered in fingerprints and hickies, taking the coffee he brings and sipping it, sighing as it hits your tongue. “Mmm… good morning.”

“Don't you look pretty in my bed?” He muses, smirking on his features. “I wonder what Sukuna thought of his bed covered in your squirt.”

A blush heats up your cheeks. “I didn't squirt that much!?!?!”

“You really did,” you shove him playfully, giggling then. “My cum too though.”

“You did it on purpose, his room!”

“Me? Never.”

Satoru absolutely did.

That's what Sukuna gets for hitting on his girlfriend, dried up cum all on his blankets – as if he could handle you ❤️

heheh i hope ya'll liked horny reader for a change!!!

You scoff and almost immediately feel his breath against your ear as he says low and smooth as silk and sin, “Should I remind you what happens when you give me attitude?”

Your eyes widen and a jolt of lightning rips through as his hand glides gently up the back of your bare thigh just under the hem of the uniform skirt. 

You know exactly what happens, that’s kind of the point.

Things with Satoru are great, he's sweet, he's considerate—sometimes—he's attentive, and your relationship is anything but stagnant. In fact, today is the first time you’ve seen each other after he got back late last night from handling a few annoyingly persistent curses up north. He’s been gone for a few days, so when the opportunity came up to handle a few sites together today, you jumped. For reasons not… completely wholesome. There’s ulterior motives that he may be catching onto slowly, but he has no idea of the full extent of this devious game plan. 

The katana slips through your fingers and it clatters to the ground. “Shit, so clumsy.” you bend at the waist to pick it up and arch your back to push your ass against Satoru and he inhales sharply, his whole body stiffening at the sudden contact.

Immediately, you seize the moment. Your fingers curl around the tsuka and you break into a sprint down the hall. Your sneakers squeak as you skid around the corner to dash through another corridor, hearing an indignant scoff from where you had left him as you run off into the building.

Satoru is faster than you—no shit, fastest sorcerer alive—but you’re pretty good at suppressing your cursed energy, and you can be very sneaky when you want to be. And besides, if he wants you to do all the work today, you deserve to have some fun while you’re at it. And what could be more fun than fucking with the strongest man alive?

Stupid grin plastered on your face, you leap down the stairs to the main floor of the building, gripping the corner to keep yourself from slamming into the opposite wall. You zip through the hall, scanning a few of the rooms before finding one with another door leading elsewhere and darting in.

It’s a cafeteria, and the second door connects to the kitchen of the orphanage. Perfect.

You pause for a moment after slipping through the door and shutting it quietly behind you, looking around at the cluttered and dusty kitchen.

Where is it? These kinds of places always have one.

Spotting exactly what you’re looking for, you step quickly over the mess on the floor to the other side of the kitchen and pull the cover of the laundry chute open as quietly as possible. With a breath, you hop in to slide down into the basement of the building.

You land on your feet on a pile of old rags and towels. The smell down here is foul. Mildew from the stagnant wet material and old rotted food mix together and make your start to regret the decision. But heavy footsteps thud above and it snaps you from the disgust and back into action.

Your steps are light and quiet as you sneak up the stairs on the other side of the laundry room back to the main floor. This time, you re-emerge outside of the kitchen.

Waiting at the top of the stairs pressed against the wall, you listen for any sounds from the kitchen. But it’s quiet, ominously silent. You swallow and wet your lips, taking a small breath and reining cursed energy in, before taking off in a sprint again down the hall.

Almost immediately, Satoru pops up at the end of the corridor. Hands in his jacket pockets, head tilted back to look down his nose a little and and a gentle curve to his lips.

“Oh, hey.” He says casually, like he didn’t just corner you. Your shoes squeak as you slam on the brakes, scrambling to halt before you run right into him with eyes widened in slight surprise. 

But you’re still smiling wide. A little noise of excitement—almost a giggle but more breathless—slips out as you find purchase and tear off in the other direction.

He definitely could’ve just caught you right then and there, but that would have put an end to this. So you guess he’s playing along. 

For now at least. 

Stifling another laugh, you skid around the corner again and push off the wall to rush into the first open door you see. A classroom with a wall of windows.

Sliding the glass up, you throw a leg over and hop down to the ground outside to run around the building towards the main entrance.

You peek around the corner to check the area, and immediately turn to run the other way with a gasp. Finding Satoru on the steps up to the entrance staring right back with a smile that looked anything but nice.

Heading for the back entrance of the building, you peek out again before running out from behind the corner. There’s no sign of him this time so you rush for the door and slip through. Your back presses to the solid wood for a moment as you scan the hallway. It’s empty and quiet again so you peel off and walk through. Keeping your energy low and steps light and silent to not tip off the predator currently hunting you through the site.

Not yet at least.

You make it to the stairwell again and head up to the next floor, stopping at the first door you see to open, and immediately slam it shut, sending a loud bang echoing through the floor. Before the first echo sounds out you’re already sprinting off down the hall to the window at the end. You just make it before familiar energy swells and fills the hall.

Throw a look over your shoulder as you slide the window up, turn to sit on the sill, prop one foot up on it and let your legs fall just open enough. Gotcha. 

Satoru’s eyes widen and his lips part as his jaw drops a bit with a startled noise like a scoff. Staring for a moment before meeting your eyes again and shutting his mouth. You lift a brow with a satisfied smirk playing on your lips and stand on the sill, wiggling your fingers at him before turning around and dropping down to the ground outside again. See ya, sucker!

Not bothering to stifle your cackle this time, you sprint around the outside of the building and make it to the front entrance again and skid to a stop in front of Ijichi.

He looks up from his phone at you, and then just over your shoulder. “You’re both ready to go?”

You’re practically vibrating in place, your lips twitch and fail to stifle a smile and you nod at him before taking your spot in the car’s front passenger seat, not looking back over your shoulder.

The rear door opens and Satoru takes his seat behind Ijichi. His uniform shifts as he pulls his phone out. A moment of pause, then your phone vibrates. Still not looking back at him, you pull it out and open the message. 

[2:23PM] Satoru: kinda risky going commando like that don’t u think?

[2:23PM] Satoru: whered they go?

Pursing your lips, you adjust the hem of your skirt, pulling it down a bit before sending a response. 

[2:24PM] Me: I like the air flow and why should I tell you? Figure it out.

[2:24PM] Satoru: Ohhh really? Well u should run faster than that next time.

You bite your lip but the next message that comes makes you gasp a small sharp breath. 

[2:24PM] Satoru: Cuz whatever this is is SO over when I catch u.

Swallowing down the feeling of your stomach jumping up into your throat, you send two messages back. 

[2:25PM] Me: hmmmm don't you mean IF you catch me? (｡•̀ᴗ-)

[2:25PM] Me: Check your pocket.

His uniform shifts a few times before he finally reaches into the left pocket of his pants and lets out a quiet breathy chuckle.

You’d started this at the last site, playing the mouse to his cat before putting the game on pause and letting him catch up and that’s when you’d done it. Pressed up close and distracting him with another fast, hard kiss, you slipped your hand into his pocket and left the lacy little undergarment to be used as part of the next step.

[2:26PM] Satoru: Cmoooonnn just make this easy and admit defeat already. We both know im gonna win (≖‿≖)

You send two final messages before slipping your phone back in your pocket. 

[2:27PM] Me: Only if you can catch me Satoruuuuuuu (ꈍᴗꈍ)

[2:27PM] Me: [IMG.]

A photo. Not obscenely graphic, but when you passed by the bathroom mirror at the last site after removing the lacy scrap of material, you snapped a racy picture quickly to use as ammunition later.

You turn to Ijichi, making idle conversation and hear a long, strained exhale and a quiet “Oh, fuck me.” from the back seat. Your lips twitch again as you nod and listen to Ijichi talking about the details of the next site.

Your phone buzzes and you glance quickly to Satoru, sunglasses back on with his head down and phone in hand. His head lifts slightly and you can feel his eyes on you but you ignore it and keep the conversation with Ijichi going.

When you arrive at the next site, you get out of the car quickly. Katana in hand, you both head into the four story office building. An unhinged grin on your face as you practically speed-walk. Satoru is right behind you, you can literally feel the heat coming off him.

You stop abruptly and he bumps into you. Your back arches to push your ass against him. It makes that idiotic grin even wider when you feel just how hard he is right now, knowing he was probably uncomfortable as fuck the entire drive here. It’s been days, you know he’s just as pent up as you are, but he’s not quite where you want him yet. He hisses a breath through his teeth, but you push off with your back foot and sprint away just as his hand grazes your hip.

“What are you up to with all this?” Satoru calls as you dash ahead through the hall. “You’re being kinda mean, y’know!” The words are playful, but there’s an edge in his voice that hints at frustration. So close.

“Get to work, Sa-to-ru!” you call back, skidding around the corner and laughing like a mad man.

As you get deeper into the building exorcising curses, you run into him a few times. He doesn’t take advantage or interrupt though, not while you’re both working. The curses have to be dealt with and despite your goading and teasing, his priorities still lie straight. The exorcisms come first. 

But he’s worked up, it gets more and more obvious with each passing glance, every sweet smile and brush of your hand on his arm, over his chest and down his abs as you both work your way through the site. It’s just constant build-up with absolutely no relief, and the tightness of his jaw, the look in his eyes that burns brighter and brighter every time you see him is fuel on this fire that keeps you running from him.

Exorcising curses is fun on its own, and this is just a cherry on top.

Slashing through the last curse, you flick purple ooze from the blade and twirl around to Satoru, standing arms crossed in the doorway with his chin up to look down his nose at you. Shoulders tense, sleeves strained tight over his biceps. He looks like a coil that's been wound just about as tight as it can be, about to burst free with a single touch.

“What, not gonna try to run this time?” He asks, voice deep, the words clipped and tinged with irritation. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you close the distance and stop once you’re close enough to feel heat pouring in waves from his body. Your chest barely grazes his sternum before you halt.

Staying silent, your hand glides lightly up his thigh, just grazing the outline of his erection and he sucks in a sharp breath with a shiver. You keep your eyes on his with a—not so—sweet smile.

Satoru’s hand shoots out to grab your waist and pull you flush to him. He leans to bring his face down to yours and says level and low, tone totally in control and contradicting the words coming from his mouth. “You’re really testing my patience here so whatever little game it is you’re playing, you should wrap it up or I’ll do it for you.”

You tip your head side to side before meeting his bright eyes again with a smirk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You wriggle out of his grip and dash off through the door to zip through a string of random rooms, hearing a long and very unimpressed sigh as you leave Satoru behind.

Every step is another shovel of dirt you’re digging in your own grave right now but you just can’t help it. If he doesn’t want you fucking with him he should stop being so much fun to fuck with.

There's a heart pounding adrenaline in being hunted. Knowing you won't wind up dead—probably—if you get caught doesn't dull the feeling. There's something wild and untamed in Satoru. It's something deep and stifled in his everyday life, only surfacing when he allows it to. But you've seen it in brief moments, and you know that if you keep urging and provoking, it'll surface. The idea is nerve-wracking in a way that surges like electricity. 

Seeing a side of him that most don't even live to tell the tale of.

Poking a beast and sticking around for the consequences is certainly one way to get a thrill. 

You make it out to the car again and slow to a quick walk as you approach Ijichi. He looks up from his phone, “Oh, finished already? That one was quite fast.”

Nodding with a bright smile at Ijichi and completely ignoring the looming presence behind you, “Yup! I think I got most of them again, I know he just got back but Satoru is really slacking off today.”

He scoffs behind you, “Excuse me?”

You whirl around and cover your smile with a hand, “Oh! I didn’t see you there. Sorry, but it’s kind of true, slacker.” You wink.

He drags his tongue over his teeth and narrows his eyes, glaring at you silently. Well, that was probably the final nail in your coffin.

Satoru looks at Ijichi, pushing his glasses back up to sit high on his face. “Anything else for today?”

Ijichi checks his phone again before looking back to you both, “That was the last site set up for today. It’s still pretty early though, I can see if there’s anything—”

“No,” Satoru cuts him off and opens the rear driver door to take his seat. “Let’s go.”

Ijichi looks at you and lifts his brows, you shrug and walk around to the passenger side.

Oh yeah, that was the last straw. You are fucked—literally and figuratively.

You pull out your phone again when you all start driving back and check the last message he’d sent. Another jolt of lightning surges through and you shiver a little.

[2:29PM] Satoru: alright then. hope ur ready for this

Are you playing with fire right now? Abso-fucking-lutely. Are you going to stop? Hell fucking no. Not when this is going exactly how you’d hoped.

Scrolling through your phone, you find what you’re looking for and hit send. 

[3:36PM] Me: [IMG.]

Another photo, not from today, but it’s downright lewd and has just the effect you want.

His phone dings and he lets out a frustrated sigh, then the shift of his uniform as he pulls his phone out. 

You glance back at him in the mirror and watch as he opens the message, eyes going round for a moment before he groans and lets his head fall back, muttering something you can't quite hear. He takes a deep, contemplating the choices of his life that led him here breath, then looks back down at his phone. 

Lips pursed, his jaw works as he stares down for a few seconds before looking back up over his glasses and meeting your eyes in the mirror.

Your gaze averts quickly and you start chatting with Ijichi again, keeping the conversation going the entire way back to the school and not once looking back at Satoru. He doesn't respond to the message. The total and uncharacteristic silence from him makes a twinge of dread work though you. You can taste how thick the tension in the air is and it almost makes you feel guilt too.

But he’ll get revenge, once he can catch you, that is. 

Back at the school, you wait for Satoru to get out first this time and leave your katana in the car as you step out, then turn and bend at the waist to grab your blade, and shut the door with a flip of your hair, strutting off. Katana in hand and not looking back once.

“I’m done, we’re going home the second this report is finished, so don’t bother trying to run again.” He mutters behind you. It's a warning, a command. You stifle a laugh and keep walking towards the main building.

Like that’s gonna happen, he should know you better at this point.

Walking through the courtyard, you’re in a ‘time out’ zone of sorts. Even though he jokes around and acts flippant about it, he takes his job seriously enough—both teaching and as a working sorcerer—to be somewhat professional on campus.

The perfect opportunity presents itself. 

Yaga, I fucking owe you one.

He stops Satoru in the hall of the main building to ask something about the upcoming exchange event and you pick up your pace. Not running, but walking as fast as humanly possible. You glance back over your shoulder to see Satoru, jaw clenched and mouth pulled in a tight, hard line, and whip your head back around.

He looks like you’re about to get murdered. 

Ohhh shit! How long do you dare keep it up? Should you let him catch you?

Naaah.

You make it to the end of the hall and round the corner before breaking into another sprint, running into a classroom and hopping out the window to make a mad dash across the courtyard towards the student dorms.

Bursting through the front door, you shut it behind you and hurry to the empty third year section, passing Nobara and Megumi with a wave that they return with confusion on their faces.

You make it to the first empty room and slide down to sit on the floor on the opposite side of the bed to the door. Steadying your breathing, you lie in wait. The window just ahead is the only escape, but it’s within reach if—when—you need it.

Heavy footsteps in the dorm send a surge of electricity through and you laugh quietly.

Not quietly enough though because a moment later the door bangs open.

You startle a little at the loud noise and jump to your feet with a look over your shoulder, about to dive through the window. But Satoru is right there and very unimpressed. A squeal escapes as you grip the ledge and haul yourself through the window.

“Ah, got you." Before you can somersault over, your ankle is caught in a strong grip and the escape is halted. "Hope you had your fun, because I am beyond done now.”

You flail and brace with one palm out to keep from hitting your face on the outer wall.

Dangling out the window, one hand over your skirt to pull it down and keep from flashing the woods the dorms back onto, you keep your charade going. 

“Oh, hey, what’s up? I was just-agh!” He yanks you up and through the window again. A breath whooshes out as he tosses you over his shoulder, and turns back to march out of the room. “Satoru! What are you do—”

“I must be going crazy because I told you not to run, didn’t I? Quit fucking squirming, you’re not gonna like what happens if I have to chase you down again.” He growls and his grip on your leg tightens, arm wrapped over the other to pin you in place.

You pass by Nobara and Megumi again and gape at them. Feeling a furious flush on your face as they stare back in shock, blinking a few times like whatever they’re seeing might be a hallucination. If the poor kids weren’t traumatized already, they certainly are now.

You’ve clearly shattered whatever sense of decency Satoru had been holding onto by taking off again after explicitly telling you not to, and he has now lost the will to give a shit in front of the first years. 

“This is so inappropriate!” you hiss at him as he pushes the door open with his foot.

He scoffs, “I’m being inappropriate?” His hand slides up your thigh and his thumb swipes up your bare slit. “Just what the hell is this if not inappropriate?”

You gasp and grip the back of his jacket. Your thighs squeeze together, trapping his hand in place and he laughs. 

He makes it back out to the courtyard and halts right in the middle. You feel it, energy surges, space distorts, and in a blink, you’re at home. Well, you’re on the street just outside the building and luckily it seems that nobody is around to notice you both appearing from thin air.

You’d usually say something about the risk involved when warping into public spaces, but you get the feeling that chiding Satoru right now might result in you actually getting murdered. So you stay silent as he takes you up to your apartment, still carrying you over his shoulder like a towel or a dead animal and ignoring the looks from a few of your neighbors in the lobby. 

The man has negative shame.

How the hell are you ever going to face these people again?

He kicks the door shut behind him, marches right to the bedroom and throws you down on the bed. Coming down fast on top of you with hands on either side of your head. Your lips purse, eyes wide as you search your own reflection in his glasses. 

Slowly, you reach to lift them off his face. He licks his teeth, brilliant blue eyes narrowed and glaring silently.

“Got anything you want to say to me?” He says finally and pulls back to sit up, kneeling between your legs. Your lips stay shut tight, keeping silent as his eyes flicker down to where the skirt has ridden up and he huffs a single short laugh. “Really? No comments about anything else inappropriate?”

The words get stuck in your throat with bright blue eyes roving up and down. Hunger, irritation, and something wild that you don't know if you've ever seen. 

Did I go too far? 

Your mouth opens, and promptly shuts when he meets your eyes again.

“Don’t try to act all innocent now, this is what you wanted, right?” He sneers, “Calling me a fucking slacker, in front of Ijichi too? You really wanted to piss me off, huh?” His hand drifts dangerously high on your thigh, fingers dragging along skin, the touch not gentle as it usually is from him.

You swallow and smile. “To be fair, you were slacking off a little.” The glare intensifies, he clicks his tongue and you feel like you might just disintegrate under the weight of it all. 

He pulls back again and stands up, running a hand through his hair and eyeing you. “I knew something was up when you said we were going out together, but I thought you just missed me, wanted to spend some time with me. Not fuck around and get me riled up at work. Tch, what do I do with you now.” It isn’t a question as he shakes his head like you’re a disobedient student in need of reprimanding. Or punishment.

Oh god, why is it… kind of hot? 

No–absolutely hot.

A shiver works through as you sit up, pulling your legs under to kneel on the bed, hands folded in your lap and staring silently with wide eyes up at him. Feigning innocence you definitely have no room for.

Satoru laughs, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “You are unbelievable,” He looks back at you, eyes bright and wild and lips curved in a filthy grin. He motions with two fingers. “Stand up, come here, now.”

You obey and move to stand in front of him, he pops the buttons on your uniform jacket and practically tears it off, tossing it onto the dresser. He yanks your shirt off to throw on top of the jacket and presses closer, stepping forward and using his body to force you back down on the bed. He grabs your legs and throws you farther up. The skirt stays on, for now.

Your legs draw together as you lift up on your elbows to watch him unzip his own jacket and shrug it off. The usual black compression shirt hugs him but it only stays on for a moment before he tugs it off too. Both are discarded onto the growing laundry pile on the dresser. 

His whole body is tense, coiled tight like a spring. Shoulders hiked, biceps flexed, veins pressed up under pale skin, big hands in loose fists at his sides, toned chest rising and falling in short breaths. Like a predator ready to pounce.

He absolutely catches you staring and clicks his tongue at your smile before crawling back over, settling his hips between your thighs and holding himself up with a hand beside your head, the other gliding firmly up your bare side. His face drops to yours. Lips pressing hard, your mouth opens for him as his tongue forces inside in a dominating, suffocating kiss.

The buckle on his belt digs into the soft skin low on your stomach and you whimper into his mouth at the cold bite of the metal, pushing at his hips to lift him. But he groans deep in his throat—almost a growl again—and pushes harder against you.

Finally Satoru pulls back and sits up again, lifting your leg to rest on his shoulder and dragging his mouth down your calf, grazing with his teeth and nipping harshly at the skin, eyes drifting down between your legs.

His hand follows his gaze and he glides a finger up your slit, just light enough to wet it with the slick leaking out and he hisses through his teeth. “Look at that, absolutely soaked. It turns you on, huh? Making me chase you around like a fucking animal?” He grits against your leg, biting down hard.

You bite down on your lip to stifle the noise threatening to tear out of your throat and Satoru leans down close to your face, pressing your leg to your chest 

“No, don’t bother trying to act shy now. I know what you want and I know you’re just gonna do it all over again to get it if I don’t break you right here and now.” He says, low and in control, but it sounds like a threat, his usually bright eyes dark and locked on yours.

“I know you, so don’t pretend like you didn’t have a little fun too.” You roll your eyes, still holding your ground. Why? You love sweet, kind and caring Satoru, but maybe you enjoy watching this barely tethered part of him snap free a little bit more every time you push him.

“See?” He hisses in your face, teeth bared and jaw clenched hard. “Right back at it. Never thought I'd say this, but you need a hard lesson on respect.”

You choose your next words carefully, knowing you’re walking a very thin line right now.

“So you’re gonna break me, huh? Teach me a lesson? How exactly do you plan on doing that? Hey… sensei?” 

He chuckles, the sound is condescending and wicked and he sits up again, “Well, you’re obviously dying for me to play with you, so lets fucking play, baby.” Those words send something akin to fear tingling up your spine, but it’s hotter and settles deep. It’s anticipation. Excitement. 

He stands up and you lean up on your elbows again, biting your lip and staring shamelessly as his hands move to undo his belt. Your breath catches as he tugs the black leather free from his waistband and runs the length of it through his hand. 

His dress pants drop the slightest bit without the belt, the black waistband of his boxers visible now. Even more of the hard, curved lines at his hips visible now too. Same with the soft trail of white hair that descends from his navel to disappear into his waistband. 

You drag your eyes up slowly to meet his gaze, lingering over every inch of his infuriatingly perfect body and taking your time knowing the second you look him in the eye and speak, it’s so fucking over.

Your knees draw up and press together, smirking as you finally meet his darkened eyes and sealing your fate, you open your mouth to say, “What are we playing? I know you like Go but that's kind of an old person game.”

A smile curves his lips and it drips with wicked intent. “Keep talking if it’ll make you feel better about this, but you know I’m right.” He steps forward, belt in hand and grabs your ankle to yank you down the bed to him. A yelp escapes and he laughs at that, towering over with the cruel smirk still teasing the corner of his mouth.

“Arms up.” He demands and you’re a little embarrassed by how quickly you oblige.