leviitome

[leviitome]

kento sits cross-legged on the living room floor, his back straight as always, though there's a softness to his posture that only comes when he's with her. your daughter—small, determined, a bundle of focused energy—stands behind him on the couch, tongue sticking out in concentration as she arranges a parade of tiny pastel bows in his blond hair.

he doesn't move, not even when a comb snags or her little fingers tug a bit too hard. he only hums quietly, eyes closed, patient as ever. every now and then, he hears her giggle, delighted at her own handiwork.

"daddy, stay still!" she scolds, slipping a sparkly pink bow just above his ear.

"i am, darling," he replies, his deep voice gentle. "you're doing an excellent job."

she beams, threading another ribbon through a lock of his hair. you watch from the doorway, heart swelling at the sight—kento, the man who shoulders the weight of the world without complaint, now a living canvas for a child's joy and imagination.

when she finally finishes, she scrambles around to face him, clapping her hands. "you look pretty, daddy!"

kento opens his eyes and gives her a small, warm smile. "thank you, sweetheart. i think i look my best when you help."

she hugs him fiercely, bows and all, and he wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes again—not with exhaustion this time, but with quiet, perfect contentment.

A/N: for @gojover :)

[leviitome]

5 — After | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

EDITED | COMPLETED

Wordcount: 3.7k

cw: 18+, mature audiences only.

Minors DNI.

Newly promoted and chronically late, you unknowingly take the last elevator available to only the highest-ranking executives and apparently, it's him. Suguru Geto. Who promises himself to give you, your exhausted, frustrated self, some type of relief every time you take his elevator.

The HR conference room feels sterile under the fluorescent lights, all beige walls and corporate motivational posters that ring hollow in moments like this. You sit across from Suguru at the long table, maintaining professional distance even though every instinct tells you to reach for his hand. 

Shoko Ieiri from HR adjusts her glasses, a stack of policy documents spread before her like evidence in a trial. Ijichi sits to her left, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, as always. The third person at the table is someone you don’t recognize, a stern-faced man from Legal whose presence makes your stomach clench. 

“Thank you both for coming.” Ieiri begins, her tone carefully neutral. “I’m sure you understand why we’re here.” 

Suguru speaks first, his voice steady. “We do. And we’d like to address this directly rather than dance around it.” 

“Go ahead.” 

You take a breath, finding your voice. 

“Suguru and I have developed a personal relationship outside of work hours.” A partial lie. “We understand this creates complications given our professional dynamic and we’re committed to finding a solution that works for everyone. 

The Legal representative, his nameplate reads K. Nanami–leans forward. “The concern isn’t just about complications. There are liability issues, potential claims of favoritism or a hostile work environment. When there’s a clear power imbalance–” 

“I understand,” Suguru interrupts smoothly. “Which is why we’re here to discuss alternatives, not to defend something that clearly violates policy as it currently stands.” 

Ieiri nods approvingly. “What kind of alternatives did you have in mind?” 

“Transfer one of us to a different department,” you suggest. “Remove the direct reporting relationship entirely.” 

“That’s… actually reasonable,” Ijichi admits, sounding surprised. “We do have an opening in Strategic Development. Same level, same pay grade, but different chain of command.” 

You feel something ease in your stomach, “I’d be interested in that position.” 

“It would mean working more closely with external clients,” Ieiri explains. “More travel, different responsibilities. Are you sure you’re prepared for that change?” 

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. You’ve already risked everything, what’s a little more change?

Nanami makes notes on his legal pad. “We would need to establish clear boundaries. No interaction beyond what’s professionally necessary during work hours. Separate projects, separate meetings when possible, and certainly separate elevators.” He eyes you both sternly. A familiar knot forms in your stomach, forcing you to look down in shame. Suguru takes notice and his jaw clenches. 

“And outside of work?” Suguru asks. 

“Outside of work, you’re both adults,” Ieiri says carefully. “But any hint that your personal relationship is affecting workplace dynamics, client relationships, or team morale, we will have to revisit this conversation.” 

The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, covering documentation, transition timelines, and the kind of corporate liability language that makes your head spin and your eyes glaze over. But the core message is clear: they’re willing to make this work. And you couldn’t be more relieved. 

As you all stand to leave, Nanami adds one final comment. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you came forward proactively rather than making us discover this through complaints or incidents… or even denying it simply, it speaks well for both of your characters.” 

-

Three weeks later, you’re settling into your new office in the Strategic Development wing. It’s smaller than your previous space, but the work is engaging—more creative, more client-facing, more aligned with where you’d eventually wanted your career to go anyway. 

The transition hasn’t been seamless. There were awkward moments the first week when you’d instinctively head toward the fourth elevator, muscle memory from months of routine. Colleagues asking casual questions about the sudden change in department. Learning new systems, new team dynamics, new responsibilities. 

But there are unexpected benefits too. Your new supervisor is brilliant and supportive in ways that feel refreshing after navigating the politics of the executive floor. The work challenges you differently, stretches skills you’d forgotten you had. 

And the best part? No one here knows a damn thing about you and Suguru. No whispers, no knowing looks, no weight of shared secrets. You’re just the new Strategic Development specialist who’s surprisingly good at client presentations. 

The hardest part is the distance. Suguru is only three floors up, but it might as well be three cities. Your text conversations are limited to logistics–when to meet, where to go, careful not to leave digital trails that could be misinterpreted if anyone ever cared to look. Everything about you two when it comes to the workplace has been all about strategic, and stolen moments feel more precious now. You share brief encounters in the lobby when your schedules align. Careful smiles across crowded conference rooms during company-wide meetings. The thrill of secrecy has been replaced by something deeper and connected–the satisfaction of choosing something real over something easy. 

There’s no guilt anymore. 

-

It’s already been six months since the transfer when Suguru texts you on a Thursday evening: Free tonight? Want to cook for you. 

You’re at your desk, finishing up a client proposal that’s due tomorrow, but the message makes you smile. Your place or mine? 

Mine. I’ll pick you up at 7. 

I can drive myself. 

I know. I want to pick you up. 

The distinction matters now in ways it didn’t before. Every gesture feels more chosen and intentional. You’re not just fucking your boss in secret, you’re building something that exists outside the building entirely. 

Suguru’s apartment is a sleek high-rise downtown, all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture that probably costs more than your monthly rent. You’ve been here a handful of times now, but it still feels surreal, like playing house in someone else’s life. 

“How was your day?” he asks, taking your jacket and hanging it in the closet. The gesture makes your chest feel all warm and you smile at him appreciatively. 

“Good. Challenging. Gojo has me leading the Henderson account presentation next week.” 

“That’s huge.” His pride is genuine, uncomplicated by the workplace politics that used to color everything. “Henderson’s a major client.” 

“I know. I’m scared.” 

“You’ll do great.” He guides you to the kitchen, something that smells incredible is simmering on the stove. 

You settle onto one of the bar stools, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising competence. This domestic side of Suguru still catches you off guard, the man who commands boardrooms and has his own elevator, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, not looking up from the cutting board. 

“About?” 

“About us, and how well this is working. The separation, I mean. It’s been good for us.” 

You shift in your seat to make yourself comfortable. “You sound surprised.” 

“I am, a little. I thought it would be harder. Not seeing you every day, not being able to…” He glances up, something heated flickering in your eyes. You nod and laugh. 

“The elevator sessions?” 

“Among other things.” His smile is soft, fond. “But this feels more real. We’re not sneaking around anymore.” 

You nod, listening to him. 

Suguru sets down the knife, giving you his full attention. “When we were sneaking around at work, there was always this element of inevitably. Like we were caught in something we couldn’t control. But this, choosing to be together when we don’t have to be, when there’s no forbidden thrill driving it, it feels different, a good different.” 

You know what he means. The urgency has been replaced by something steadier, more sustainable. The hunger is still there, but it’s something accompanied by genuine affection, by the kind of comfort that comes from actually knowing someone beyond the confines of stolen moments. 

The timer goes off, and he turns back to the stove, but not before catching your hand before bringing it to his lips. The gesture is casual, easy, the kind of unconscious intimacy that speaks to how naturally you’ve settled into this. 

Dinner is excellent, some kind of pasta with homemade sauce that makes you think he stole the recipe from his mother. You eat at his dining table, city lights flickering beyond the windows, conversation flowing easily between work stories and weekend plans and the kind of mundane details that somehow feel significant when shared with the right person. 

“I have something to tell you,” Suguru says as you’re clearing the dishes. He leans against the doorframe at the end of the kitchen as he watches you. 

Something in his tone makes you pause. “Good something or bad something?” 

“Good something. I think.” He walks near you and leans against the counter now, suddenly looking less certain. “I got offered a position. Different company, but a really big step up. Senior VP of Operations.” 

Your heart does something complicated. “That’s… wow. That’s incredible, Suguru. When?” 

“The offer came in yesterday. I haven’t responded yet.” 

“Why not?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, studying your face. “Because it would mean relocating to Tokyo. And because I wanted to talk to you about it first.” 

The words hang between you, loaded with implication. You set down the plates you’re holding, needing something to do with your hands. 

“Tokyo,” you repeat. 

“I know it’s complicated. Your career is here, your life is here. I’m not asking you to drop everything and follow me. But I also can’t make this decision without knowing where you stand.” 

The honesty in his voice makes your chest tight. A little over a year ago, you were two people sneaking around in elevators. Now he’s considering job offers based on your opinion. The growth feels dizzying. 

“How long do you have to decide?” 

“Two weeks.” 

You nod, processing. “It’s a good opportunity.” 

“The best I’ve been offered. Complete operational oversight for a company twice the size of our current one. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.” 

“Then you should take it.”

The words surprise you just as much as they seem to surprise him. “Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” You move closer, reaching up to touch his face. “Suguru, this is your career. Your future. I won’t be the reason you turn down such a great opportunity.” 

“And what about us?” 

The question you’ve been avoiding since he started talking. You take a breath, finding courage you're not sure you even possess. 

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can find something in Tokyo. Maybe we do long-distance for a while. Maybe this is exactly the kind of challenge we need to figure out how serious this really is.” 

His expression shifts, something like wonder replacing the uncertainty. “You’d consider moving?”

“I consider a lot of things.” You smile, “If it means Tokyo, then we figure out Tokyo.” 

The words are out before you can second-guess them, hanging in the air between you like a bridge you can’t uncross. You’ve never said something without carefully thinking about it before, it feels strange. 

Suguru’s response is immediate and wordless, his mouth on yours in a split second. He cups your face like you’re something precious. The kiss is soft and reverent. 

You laugh, surprising yourself. The sound is bright and genuine. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He rests his forehead against yours. 

You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of possibility lingering in his mouth. When you break apart, the future feels less daunting. 

“So,” you say, straightening his collar in a habitual gesture. “Tell me about Tokyo,” 

-

The conversation about Tokyo continues over the next hour, sprawled across his couch with the city painting patterns on the window. You talk about logistics and timelines, career opportunities and cost of living. But underneath the practical considerations is something else, the giddy excitement of planning something together, of choosing each other completely. 

You settle against him, head on his chest, breathing in his scent that’s become your sense of comfort. 

“Can I ask you something?” you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

He nods. 

“That first day, in the elevator. Was it planned? the stopping, the—” 

“No.” You can feel his laugh vibrating through his chest. “God, no. I was genuinely just going to the ground floor. But then you walked in looking like you were about to fall apart from stress, and something about the way you held yourself together, I knew I had to do something instead of just admiring you from afar.” 

You think about yourself in that elevator months ago, frazzled, insecure, desperate to prove herself. You feels like a different person now, someone you remember fondly but have outgrown. 

“I should probably head home soon,” you say, though you make no move to get up. “Early meeting tomorrow.” 

“Stay,” Suguru says quietly. “Stay tonight.” 

The invitation isn’t new, you’ve spent the night here before, and he’s stayed at your place plenty of times. But something about tonight feels different, it felt more significant. 

“Are you sure?” 

Instead of answering, he shifts beneath you, guiding you to straddle his lap. The movement is fluid and natural, your body already knowing how to fit against his. His hand settles on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your work dress. 

“I’m sure about everything when it comes to you,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. “All of it.” 

The certainty in his voice makes something flutter in your chest. You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. His response is immediate, hands sliding up to your back to tangle in your hair. 

The kissing builds gradually, heat simmering between you like it has all evening. There’s no urgency now, no risk of being caught or interrupted. Just the two of you and all the time in the world. 

Suguru’s mouth trails down on your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. His hands find the zipper at the back of your dress, he slides it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room, making you shiver. 

You help him slide the dress off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your waist. The air conditioning makes your nipples firm, but it’s the heat in Suguru’s eyes that makes your breath catch.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks through the lace of your bra. The touch is gentle, exploratory, like he’s rediscovering familiar territory. 

“Tell me what you want,” Suguru whispers in your ear, voice low. 

“You,” you answer without hesitation.

The honesty seems to break something loose in him. His hands become more urgent, more possessive, pulling you closer until there’s no space between the both of you. You can feel him hard beneath you, pressing against your core through layers of fabric that suddenly feel like too much. 

You grind down against him, relishing the sharp intake of your breath it draws from his lips. His grip on your hips tightens, guiding your movements, creating friction that makes you both groan. 

“Bedroom,” he manages, the word more growl than speech. 

“Here’s good,” you counter, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. 

“Bedroom,” he insists, but his action contradicts his words as his mouth finds your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple through the lace. “I want to spread you out properly. Want to see every inch.” 

The promise in his voice makes you weak. You let him carry you to his bedroom, his mouth focusing all of his attention on your tits. 

The space is dimly lit by the windows, casting everything in soft silver. Suguru turns to face you beside the bed, hands framing your face as he catches your lips again. This time there’s nothing gentle about it, it’s hungry and desperate. 

Your hands work at the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling with urgency. He helps you, shrugging out the fabric and tossing it aside. In the dim light, you can see a landscape of shadow and muscle, and you take a moment to simply appreciate the view. You’re not even bashful about it anymore. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, mouth quirking upward at the sight of you admiring him. 

His hands find the clasp of your bra. Letting it falter down to the side before his mouth is on you once more. You find yourself pinned beneath him, your back pressed into the soft mattress of his bed. His hips nestle between your parted thighs, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your core through the thin fabric. You can feel the heat of his skin radiating on you, the weight of him bringing you into a haze. 

Suguru’s hands roam your curves possessively. His tongue delving past your lips to claim you thoroughly. You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair that he managed to tie up into a small bun during work hours. You hold him close as you lose yourself in the taste of him. 

The rest of your clothes disappear in a tangle of eager hands and whispers of sweet nothings. When you’re finally bare before him, Suguru takes a step back, eyes drinking in every inch of you. 

“Perfect,” he breathes. 

The reverence in his voice makes you bold. You reach for his belt, fingers working the leather until you can push his pants down his hips. He kicks them aside, and then you’re both exposed, bathed in the small light of the windows. 

Suguru reaches the apex of your thighs, you’re already wet and wanting, body responding to his touch like it was made for this. 

“Suguru,” you gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling with just the right pressure. “Please.” 

“I know, baby,” he cooes, lips brushing your ears. 

He works you with patient skill, fingers and mouth and whispered words of love until you’re writing with pleasure under him, balanced on just the end of release. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and desperate. 

This is one of the most frustrating things he does, and now you’re annoyed. You glare up at him, making him smile in a way that makes you know he does this for pure joy and amusement. 

“Not yet,” he says, ignoring your cussing complaints. He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re so ready for him that he slides in easily, both of you groaning at the feeling. 

“God,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours. “Every time. Every fucking time,” 

You understand exactly what he means. You make your way towards his shoulders as he begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust delicate and measured. You make eye contact with each other the entirety of the time, never looking away once. 

Suguru’s pace increases, movements becoming more urgent as he chases his own release. You meet him thrust for thrust, bodies moving in perfect rhythm, everything else fading away until there’s nothing but this. The sound of skin against skin, the whispered endearments, the building pleasure that threatens to consume you both. 

When your orgasm finally crashes over you, it’s with Surugu's name on your lips and his body pressed tight against yours. He follows you over the edge moments later, face buried in your neck as he shudders through his own release. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together in the aftermath, breathing slowly returning to normal. Suguru’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath your cheek. 

“So,” you say eventually, voice soft in the darkness. “Tokyo?” 

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Tokyo,” he confirms. “If you’re serious about considering it.” 

“I’m serious about a lot of things.” You say. Smiling sheepishly against his chest. 

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You close your eyes, already half-asleep, and you let yourself imagine Tokyo. It feels less like an ending, it feels good and legitimate. You’re not running away from anything anymore, you’re chasing life as is. 

-

One year later. 

The Shibuya building is all glass and steel, reaching toward a sky that’s perpetually and devastatingly grey. You’re early today, a luxury you’ve learned to afford yourself since moving to Tokyo a year ago. You decided to live separately from Suguru for now, learning how to adjust to life in a new city without any of his help. It’s good. It builds character. But you don’t let your individuality get in the way of the both of you, so you make efforts to see each other often.

The marble lobby echoes with the click of your heels and the low murmur of conversations in what sounds like three different languages. 

You adjust your blazer, navy this time, paired with a soft silk blouse that actually fits perfectly. 

Your phone buzzes. A text from your colleague. Onecorp team arrived 10 minutes early. Conference room B will be ready in 15. 

Onecorp. Even seeing the company he works for in professional correspondence makes something flutter in your chest, though it’s anticipation now rather than anxiety. 

The elevator bank is busy with the morning rush, but you spot an opening in the fourth elevator just as the doors begin to close. Old habits. You almost feel nostalgic. 

You slip inside and freeze. 

Suguru stands against the back wall, exactly where he always used to position himself. Nothing about him has changed, but you act like you didn’t just eat dinner at his apartment yesterday. He takes note of the bit.

“You’re early,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“I’ve been practicing," you reply, the doors slide shut behind you. 

The silence stretches, but it’s different now. Charged with history rather than uncertainty. You’re both aware of other people in the elevator, the cameras, the professional distance you meet to maintain. But underneath it all is the electric current of everything you’ve built together. 

The elevator dings on the 58th floor. But as soon as you step towards the doors, his hand catches yours briefly. The touch is quick. Professional to any observer, but his thumbs brushes across your knuckles in a gesture that’s entirely personal. 

You smile, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “See you in the conference room, Mr. Geto.” 

The doors slide open, and you step out into the hallway. But this time, you glance back, just once, to catch him watching you go with something that looks like tenderness. 

As the elevator doors close, you realize you’re not burdened with secrecy anymore. You’re walking confidently toward a future you’ve chosen. 

The receptionist greets you with genuine warmth, and you have ten minutes to spare before the meeting starts and you get to see him again.

That’s ten minutes to remember how far you’ve both come since that first morning when you almost didn’t make it. 

[leviitome]

MEN WHO DON’T CARE IT DOESN’T FIT — THEY’LL MAKE IT.

“you’ll stretch for me. even if it hurts. especially if it hurts.”

Toji Fushiguro

He spits in his hand, strokes himself once, and pushes the head in while you squirm. “It’s not gonna fit—Toji—”

“Don’t care.” His voice is gravel. “I want it to hurt.” He watches your body fight it, stretch around it. “Feel that? That’s me ruining you for anyone else.”

Nanami Kento

He grits his teeth, holding himself back with trembling control. “You said you could take it,” he growls softly, voice dark and deep. You cry out—half pain, half pleasure—and he still rocks his hips forward. “Then take it. Take all of it.” One hand presses on your lower belly. “Look at that. That’s me. Deep inside where no one else gets to be.”

Gojo Satoru

He laughs when you try to scoot away. “Too much?” he purrs, pushing back in slowly. “Nah, you’ll manage.”

You claw at the sheets. He holds your wrists and thrusts in all the way.

“You wanted me, princess. So now you get all of me.”

Even as you cry, he kisses your cheeks. “So cute when you struggle.”

Sukuna Ryomen

He doesn’t even pretend to care.

“Not gonna fit?” he mocks, already halfway in. “That’s not my problem.”

He grabs your thighs and spreads you wider, forcing the rest in with one brutal snap of his hips. Your scream echoes — he smiles.

“There. Now it fits.”

Geto Suguru

“Shh, I know,” he whispers, rubbing your clit as you sob.

“It hurts, but you’re taking it. You’re doing so well.” He bottoms out, groaning low in his throat.

“I shouldn’t be able to get this deep, huh?” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “And yet—here we are.”

He stays buried to the hilt until your body stops fighting.

Hiromi Higuruma

He cups your face as you cry, kissing your lips. “Breathe. It’s okay.” And then he thrusts in deeper.

You sob. He moans.

“I told you I’d make it fit. I don’t care how tight you are—I’m not stopping.”

Shiu Kong

He doesn’t slow down for a second.

“No space?” he sneers. “Make room.”

His cock stretches you painfully, deliciously, unforgivingly. “You’ll thank me later. When you can’t take anything less than this.”

You break around him — and he smiles like he won.

[leviitome]

4 — HR Ruins Everything | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

EDITED | ONGOING

Wordcount: 4k

cw: 18+, teasing, vocal Geto, oral (f receiving), boss-employee relationship, Geto don’t gaf about anonymity and secrecy he’d fuck you in front of everyone if it meant proving how badly he wants you.

Minors DNI.

Newly promoted and chronically late, you unknowingly take the last elevator available to only the highest-ranking executives and apparently, it's him. Suguru Geto. Who promises himself to give you, your exhausted, frustrated self, some type of relief every time you take his elevator.

Like all rumors, they start small. Like they always do. It’s been months, five actually, you can’t even believe you’ve been letting this on for this long. But you let it anyway.

Every passing moment, a comment in the break room about how you and Suguru arrived at the same time pops up. A knowing look when someone mentions seeing you both in front of the building. Sarah from HR asking casual questions about “settling into the executive floor” with a tone that suggests she knows more than she’s letting on.

By Wednesday, it’s impossible to ignore.

You’re reviewing quarterly reports in your office when your supervisor, Kiyotaka Ijichi, appears in your doorway. He’s holding a manila folder and wearing the expression of someone who wishes he were anywhere else.

“Got a minute?” he asks, already stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Your stomach drops. “Of course.”

Ijichi sits across from your desk, the folder unopened in his lap. He’s maybe in his late thirties, with graying temples and the kind of tired eyes that come from one long decade of corporate mediocrity. He’s never been unkind to you, but he’s never been particularly warm either.

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” he says. “There’s been some… talk.”

You keep your expression neutral. “What kind of talk?”

“The kind that makes HR nervous.” He opens the folder, revealing what looks like printed emails. “Someone filed a concern about inappropriate workplace relationships on the executive floor.”

The words hit you like ice water. “Inappropriate relationships?”

“Look, I’m not here to play gotcha,” Ijichi continues, his tone slightly softer. “But I need to ask - is there anything going on between you and Suguru Geto that I should know about?”

The question, like always, hangs in the air. You could lie. You probably should lie. Deny everything, act offended, make it their problem to prove. But looking at Ijichi’s tired face, you realize how exhausting the deception has become.

“What happens if I say yes?”

Ijichi sighs, and suddenly, he looks even older. “Honestly? I don’t know. This is above my pay grade. But there are policies, protocols. Someone’s going to want to document this officially.”

You think about Suguru, probably in a similar meeting right now. Wonder if he’s handling it better than you are.

“Who filed the complaint?”

“I can’t tell you that. But…” Ijichi hesitates. “Let’s just say it wasn’t someone from your floor.”

Someone from lower floors, then. Someone who noticed you both arriving together, or saw something in the lobby, or maybe just put two and two together from office gossip.

“I need to think about this,” you say finally.

Ijichi nods. “You’ve got until Friday. HR wants to meet with both of you then.” He stands, leaving the folder on your desk. “For what it’s worth, you’ve been doing good work up here. Don’t let this derail everything you’ve worked for.”

After he leaves, you stare at the folder for a long time without opening it. Your hands are shaking - not the adrenaline rush from stolen moments with Suguru, but something colder.

The afternoon crawls by in a haze of attempted productivity. You try to focus on spreadsheets and client emails, but your mind keeps drifting to worst-case scenarios. Transfer to another department. Demotion. Having to find a new job entirely. All the progress you’ve made, all the respect you’ve earned, potentially wiped away because you couldn’t keep your hands off your boss.

Your phone buzzes around three, a text from an unknown number that you immediately recognize as Suguru’s personal cell.

Can’t talk at the office. Meet me at the Meridian Hotel Bar after work. 7 PM.

You stare at the message for a full minute before typing back.

Okay.

The Meridian is downtown, expensive and discreet. The kind of place where executives have affairs and business deals happen over thirty-dollar cocktails. You’ve never been there, but you know about it, everyone in corporate circles does.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in a state of nervous energy, checking your watch every few minutes and jumping at every sound in the hallway. By the time five-thirty rolls around, you’re practically vibrating with anxiety.

The bar at the Meridian is all dark wood and soft lighting, jazz playing quietly in the background. It’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect Suguru to choose, sophisticated, understated, expensive. You spot him immediately, sitting alone at a corner table, still in his work clothes but with his tie loosened and his jacket draped over the back of his chair.

He looks up as you approach, and something in his expression makes your chest tighten. He looks tired more so than you’ve ever seen him.

“Rough day?” you ask, sliding into the seat across from him.

“You could say that.” He signals the waitress. “What are you drinking?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

He orders two whiskeys, neat, and you sit in silence until they arrive. The first sip burns, but it’s a good burn, warming you from the inside out.

“So,” you say finally. “I’m guessing you had a similar conversation to mine.”

“Similar.” He takes a sip of his drink, wincing slightly. “Though I get the feeling mine was a bit more… pointed.”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say that when you’re in my position, people expect you to know better.” His voice is flat, professional. “They expect you to understand the implications of your actions.”

“And do you? Understand the implications?”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and then you see something in his eyes that makes your breath catch. Not regret, exactly, but something close to it.

“I understand that this is complicated,” he says carefully. “More complicated than either of us anticipated.”

The words feel like a rejection, even though his tone is neutral. You take another sip of whiskey, using the burn to ground yourself.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Are you?”

The question is loaded in everything you haven’t said. Because yes, you are having second thoughts. How could you not be? This morning you were secure in your career, confident in your trajectory. Now you’re sitting in an expensive hotel bar, drinking and wondering if you’re about to lose everything.

“I asked you first,” you say, deflecting.

Suguru’s mouth quirks up in what might be a smile. “Fair enough.” He leans back in his chair, studying you. “You want the honest answer?”

“I think I deserve an honest answer.”

“The honest answer is that I’ve been thinking about nothing else all day. About what this means, what it could cost us. What it could cost you specifically.”

“And?”

“And I keep coming back to the same conclusion.” He leans forward, his voice dropping. “I don’t care.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. “You don’t care?”

“About the job, the politics, the gossip - no, I don’t care. Not when it comes to you.”

You want to argue, to point out all the reasons why he should care, why you both should care. But the way he’s looking at you makes the words die in your throat.

“That’s easy for you to say,” you manage finally. “You’re not the one who’s going to get pushed out if this goes sideways.”

“You think I’d let that happen?”

“I don’t think you’d have a choice.”

Suguru’s jaw tightens. “Maybe I won’t. But I’d try like hell.”

The conviction in his voice surprises you. You’ve gotten used to his confidence, his certainty, but this feels different. It felt more personal.

“Why?” you ask. “All of this? Risking all of this? For me?”

He’s quiet for a moment, turning his glass in his hands. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Because I've been going through the motions for years. Doing what I’m supposed to do, saying what I’m supposed to say, being who I’m supposed to be. And then you walked into my elevator, and for the first time in longer than I can even remember, I felt something different.”

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. “Suguru…”

“I’m not saying this, I don’t want to put you on the spot.” He continues. “I’m saying it because you deserve to know. You deserve to understand this—what you mean to me.”

The bar music swells around you, and you’re acutely aware of other conversations happening in the bar, but the clink of glasses, the low murmur of voices. Normal people having normal conversations, not sitting here trying to decide whether to risk their careers for something that might not even last.

“What I mean to you,” you repeat slowly.

“Everything,” he says simply. “You mean everything. It’s not even about what we do in the elevator or in my office, it’s about what this is.” He finally manages to explain.

The words are heavy with implication. You want to say something equally meaningful, equally honest, but the words won’t come. Instead, you reach across the table and take his hand.

His fingers intertwine with yours immediately, and you’re struck by how natural it feels. How right.

“I’m scared,” you admit quietly.

“I know.”

“I worked so hard to get where I am. The thought of losing it–”

“I know,” he says again. “But what if we don’t lose it? What if we figure out a way to make this work?”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll try anyway. We can talk to HR, see what options we have. Maybe one of us transfers to a different department. Maybe we can find a way to make it work within the current structure.”

“And if we can’t?”

His thumb traces across your knuckles, the gesture achingly routine and familiar. “Then we figure it out.”

The word hits you like a revelation. We. not just stolen moments in elevators and late nights in his office, but actually together. Building something real that could actually, realistically last.

“You’re asking me to choose,” you say. “The job or you.”

“I’m asking you to choose yourself. Whatever that looks like.”

You drain the rest of your drink, feeling the burn all the way down. “This is insane.”

“Probably.”

“We could both end up unemployed.”

“We could.”

“We could ruin everything we’ve worked for.”

“We could,” he agrees. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both quirk up a smile and manage to stifle out a laugh that could potentially leave both of you jobless.

The optimism in his voice should be irritating, but instead it’s oddly comforting. He’s sure. Like maybe, for once, you don’t have to have all the answers figured out in advance.

“I need to think about this,” you say finally.

“Of course.” He signals for the check. “But while you’re thinking, remember something.”

“What?”

"You're not the same person who walked into my elevator that first morning.”

The observation catches you off guard.

“Because you’re here. Because you’re considering this at all. The woman I met that first day would have already made her decision - the safe one, the logical one. But you’re still here, still thinking about it.”

Outside the bar, the city is alive with evening energy. People coming home from work, couples meeting for dinner, tourists taking photos of the skyline. Normal people living their day to day lives, and for a moment, you envy them for their simplicity.

“I can call you a cab to take you home?” Suguru asks.

You almost say yes, but something stops you. “I need to walk. Clear my head.”

He nods, understanding.

The kiss he gives you is soft, almost tentative. Like he’s trying to memorize the feel of your lips just in case it’s the last time he’ll ever get to it.

The walk home takes you forty fucking minutes. For a second there you wished you could have said yes to the cab. You both left your cars in the building, being intoxicated and all. By the time you reach your apartment building, you’ve made your decision.

You text him as soon as you’re inside. Come over. We need to talk.

He responds immediately, On my way.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find Suguru standing in your hallway, still in his work clothes but somehow more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him.

“Hi,” he says simply.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let him in, and suddenly your apartment feels too small.

He’s looking around, taking in the details. Your art on the walls, the throw blanket draped over your couch, the stack of novels on the coffee table.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say.

“And?”

“You’re right. About how I’m not the same person that walked into your elevator.”

Something shifts in his expression. “Yeah?

“Yeah.” You reach up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “And that this better last longer than any and I mean any of your relationships.”

The smile spreads across his face is radiant. “Are you sure?” The implication to his question is gleaming.

“No,” you admit. “But I'm sure about this. And maybe that’s enough.”

He kisses you then, and it’s different from all the others. Softer, more deliberate, less about hunger and more about choice. About commitment to what you both have.

Suguru kicked the front door shut behind him, sweeping you up into his arms and carrying you towards the couch. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to reveal your tights and the smooth expanse of your legs. Suguru groaned at the feel and sight of you, so soft and pliant in his embrace.

He tumbled you down onto the plush cushions, settling between your spread legs. You could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing against your core, separated only by the fabric of his slacks. You rolled your hips, relishing the desperate friction.

“Fuck, I want you,” Suguru growled, hands roaming greedily over your curves. He pushed your skirt down and slid them past your legs, exposing your skin and your underwear.

Unable to resist, he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses to the newly revealed flesh, tongue dipping into your navel.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him against you as you arched your back.

“All yours.” You breathed, desire burning hot and bright under your skin.

With a low grunt, Suguru reached to unbutton your shirt. The fabric fell away, revealing the peaks of your chest to his gaze. He palmed your tits before reaching behind you to unhook your bra.

“God,” he rasped, ducking his head to capture one nipple into his mouth. He suckled greedily, teeth grazing the sensitive bud as his hand continued to worship your breast. You mewled and writhed beneath him, pleasure sparking through your body.

Suguru’s fingers crept up higher, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties to brush against your slick pussy. You were already so wet, arousal coating his fingers as he slid them through your slick folds. He circled your clit with slow strokes, teasing you until you were breathing heavily.

“Please,” you whimpered, hips rolling against his hand.

Suguru didn’t hesitate. He tugged your panties down your legs, tossing them carelessly onto the floor.

You feel Suguru’s strong hands grip your thighs, pushing them further apart as he settles between your legs. The cool air of your apartment kisses your most intimate places, making you shiver in anticipation. You look down at him, heart racing as you watch him gaze appreciatively at your exposed sex, glistening and ready.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Suguru chuckles, voice heavy with lust.

Unable to resist you any longer, he leans in and presses a hot kiss to your clit. You gasp, back arching off the couch cushions as pleasure sparks through you at the first touch of his lips. He groans against your flesh, the vibrations making your toes curl.

He starts to explore your slick folds with his tongue, licking long and slow from your entrance up to your clit.

Your fingers dangle in his hair, gripping the strand and holding him against you as he feasts on your sex. Suguru’s tongue circles your clit, flicking and teasing until you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Oh god, yes—“ you pant, hips rolling against his face. “Don’t stop. Suguru please don’t stop—“

Until he does.

You could feel a mix of frustration and confusion as he stops what he’s doing. He pulls back to look up at you with a smirk. Your body is aching, desperate for a release. The sudden halt leaves you annoyed. Unsatisfied.

“What are you doing?” You pant. Furrowing your brows as you grab a pillow and make attempts to throw it at his face. He stands back up, catching the pillow as he chuckles.

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple.

You watch him with bated breath as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest inch by inch. He struts it off, letting it fall on the floor and leaving him in just his tailored slacks that hug his hips perfectly.

“Suguru, please...” you groan, sprawling your legs wider in clear invitation. Your pussy is throbbing, aching, you wanted it more than you ever have.

He smirks at your plea, fingers toying with his belt buckle. “Please what?” He teases, voice a low rasp. “Tell me what you need.”

You know he’s enjoying this, drawing out your frustration for his own amusement. But you’re too far gone to care. “I need you.” You admit, breathlessly.

Suguru’s eyes darken with lust at your confidence. He swiftly unbuckles his belt and shoves his slacks and boxers down his hips. His cock springs free, you lick your lips at the sight, remembering how it felt stretching you open for the first time.

He settles back between your thighs, the head of his cock judging against your dripping core. You both groan at the contact, your body already aching. Suguru grips your hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching you before pulling back out.

“Stop teasing,” you hiss, trying to rock your hips down to take him deeper. But he holds you in place, controlling your every movement. He chuckles again, taking in your sight before finally thrusting forward, claiming you to the hilt in one smooth glide.

He starts to move, hips rolling in a sensual rhythm as he fucks you deeply.

Your hands roam over his back, nails raking down the defined muscles as you hold on for dear life. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your increasingly loud moans and grunts of pleasure.

Suguru leans down to capture one of your bouncing breasts in his mouth, suckling the nipple greedily as he drives into you faster and harder.

“Yes, just like that,” you pant, head thrown back. You wrap your legs around his waist.

Suguru complies with a low growl, the force of his thrust making the couch shake beneath you. Your orgasm builds fast, pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core as he takes you. You know you won’t last much longer, not with the way he’s fucking you.

The tension in your heat snaps as your orgasm crashes over you. You scream his name, voice breaking on a ragged moan as your pussy clamps down and clenches around him. You could feel him grip your waist tighter from the feeling, “Fuck, don’t do that.” He lets out a breathy chuckle, your body convulses beneath him, back arching off the couch as pleasure blurs your vision.

Suguru snarls, hips jerking from the feeling. He grinds against you, prolonging your high as he chases his own. “My god,” he whispers, “—feel so good, baby.” fingers digging from your waist to your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You can feel his cock throbbing and pulsing inside of you, growing even harder as he teeters on the edge. Your hands resting beside your head as you watch him reach his climax.

With one final, brutal thrust, Suguru fills himself inside you and comes with a guttural groan. His cum releasing deep inside of you. You moan in acknowledgement, aftershocks wracking your body as you milk him for every last drop.

Finally, he collapses against you, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both chase yourselves back to reality.

Afterward, you lie tangled together in your couch, the city lights filtering through your curtains. Suguru’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, and for the first time in weeks, your mind feels strangely and comfortingly quiet.

“So what happens now?” you ask, your voice soft in the darkness.

“I guess we'll wait till Friday,” he says. “Whatever HR thinks, whatever consequences there are, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”

You nod, but you can see the worry in his eyes. It’s the same worry that’s been eating at you all day, the fear that choosing this means sacrificing everything else.

“When did you become such a romantic?”

“About five months ago, when you stumbled into my elevator.”

You laugh, remembering that first morning. How nervous you’d been, how uptight you were, and how intimidating he’d seemed. “I didn’t stumble.”

“You absolutely stumbled. It was adorable.”

“I was late and I panicked.” You lifted your head up to glance at him before lightly hitting his chest.

“You were perfect.”

The sincerity in his voice makes you duck your head, suddenly bashful. Even after everything that’s happened between you, moments like this still catch you off guard.

As you drift off to sleep in his arms, you think about Friday’s meeting. About HR policies and workplace relationships and all the ways this could go terribly wrong. But for the first time in days, the fear doesn’t overwhelm you.

Because you’re not facing it alone anymore. Whatever happens, happens.

-

When you wake up the next morning, Suguru’s still there, arm around you, his breathing soft and even. Sunlight streams through your windows, painting everything in a warm light. You watch him sleep for a moment, memorizing the peaceful expression on his face.

In a few hours, you’ll both have to return to the office, to the whispers and knowing looks and the weight of Friday’s impending meeting. But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, you're exactly where you’re supposed to be.

You think about calling in sick, spending the day in bed with him, pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. But you know you can’t.

Suguru stirs as you’re getting ready for work, his eyes opening slowly.

“Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning.” You lean down to kiss him, and he pulls you back into the bed for a moment, making you laugh.

“We should probably talk about logistics,” you say when you finally extract yourself from his arms. “How we handle today, tomorrow, the meeting on Friday.”

“Right. Logistics.” he sits up, running a hand through his hair. “We should probably get there separately today. No need to give the gossip mill more shit to talk about.”

You nod, agreeing. “And during the meeting?”

“We tell the truth. That we’re obviously two consenting adults who’ve developed feelings for each other. We’re committed to maintaining professionalism at work, but we’re not willing to end our personal relationship.”

“And if they say that’s not acceptable?”

“Then we ask what our options are. Transfer, different reporting structure, whatever they need to make it work.”

You hum, watching him get up as he puts on his clothes from yesterday. Suguru gives you a quick peck on the lips before kissing your temple again. You smile, patting his chest as he steps out of your door.

“See you at work,” you say.

“See you at work.”

As you close the door, you realize that everything really has changed. You don’t just fuck your boss on the regular, you want him, not just his scent being displayed and obvious on your thighs, or at least once broken office chair one every two weeks. It’s Suguru. His whole being that leaves you desperate and wanting.

[leviitome]

Strangers masterlist

pairing: husband!suguru x f!reader

synopsis: the love between you two died long ago. no, neither of you acknowledge it, you hardly acknowledge each other. in between the busy schedules and blinding lights of upscale events is an unspoken rule— to pretend.

genre/warnings: dying love, angst, smut, marriage, emotional distance, mutual hurt, miscarriages/infertility, happy ending, ceo!suguru

strangers playlist

w/c: 15k

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[leviitome]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Swimmer!Suguru Geto was a very quiet and reserved man. He kept to himself, and kept his friend group small. He went to parties, entertained a very small number of woman who were lucky enough to get even five minutes of his time, but that life got too much sometimes.

When school was too much, Satoru’s voice too loud, or the blaring party playlists too grating, he slipped away to the only place that made sense—the university’s local pool, finding solitude in the sound of swishing water and the sharp yet familiar smell of chlorine.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto, being the captain of the swim team, had premium access to the pool so he could swim and practice whenever he pleased.

So to say he was surprised when he saw you swimming in the pool after closing hours was an understatement.

"Oh, the door was unlocked so I just thought-" you pause, looking around nervously while simultaneously trying to keep your neck above the water.

"I'll l just- I'll just go..." you trail before awkwardly making your way toward the edge of the pool.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto didn't know what to do except watch you swim towards him. Your wet baby hairs were in your face, your eyes bloodshot from the pool water. He had to admit, you were cute—too cute for your own good. It made your pathetic attempt to sneak away mildly endearing.

Suguru couldn't help but smirk as he watched you.

Your nerves were everywhere, as you were slightly insanely embarrassed by getting caught after hours in the pool by the smoking hot swim captain.

You weren’t sure if it was nerves or if you were simply the biggest klutz alive, but as you were halfway across the 5ft end of the pool, your foot slipped. Not a slight slip, no, you fully slipped and submerged under water.

You could swim—you think—but your jitteriness caused you to panic and the next thing you knew you started halfway drowning.

Panic bubbled in your chest, water filling your mouth and nostrils, hands flailing everywhere and your mind going absolutely blank.

This was it, you thought. This is how you die. Drowing in front of the hot swim captain who you didn't even know the name of.

Goodbye world, goodbye hot unnamed swim captain, and a very special goodbye to your dignity.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto chuckled for a moment as you "drowned" (your head was well above the water) before diving to save you. He felt bad for laughing, but the way your arms were flapping, splashing water to and fro, it was comical.

You reminded him of a little mouse.

With effortless precision, Swimmer!Suguru Geto cut through the water, barely making a splash as he reached for you and pulled you to the pools edge.

He holds you in his arms for a moment, chest to chest and your faces mere inches away. Your eyes were blown wide from the shock, but as you came to your senses, relief flooded you.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto looks down at you, his purple eyes soft, almost amused, as he brushes your wet hair from your face.

"Y'okay?" He whispers gently.

"Y-yeah," you say hoarsely, coughing slightly from the water in your throat.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto feels his heart pound in his chest. He hopes you don't feel it, prays you don't notice. The way you look at him—all doe-eyed, and breathless, and innocent like you didn't just break into the pool and start drowning.

You would have been dead if it wasn't for him.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto who effortlessly lifts you up and sets you down on the edge of the pool, positioning himself in front of your knees.

"Didn't think I'd be playing lifeguard today," he chuckles, leaning an arm next to your leg, causing you to verrrrry lowkey drool over his bulging muscles.

"Yeahh sorry for my...inconvenience," you nervously chuckle.

"Nah, you're good. You get a free pass 'cause you're cute," Suguru winks and thank god your face is red from all the pool water that went up your nose so he couldn't tell that you were blushing.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto who climbs out of the pool, his muscles flexing, droplets of water dripping down, down his abs and into the waistband of his jammers, making you wonder what's beneath them, though they left little to the imagination with how tight they were.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto who smirks at your oogling, but says nothing, opting to hold his hand out for you to grab while you stand up.

"Gotta make sure you don't slip again," he smirks at you, earning him a light slap on the arm.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto who walks with you towards the womans locker room as slowly as possible so he didn't have to depart with you just yet, though he claimed it was so you didn't fall and crack you head open.

In all honesty, Suguru enjoyed your company even though you've only just met under...unexpected circumstances, he liked the sound of your voice and the feeling of your skin on his. And not just in a sexual way, despite his few totally oblivious attempts to seduce you.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto internally pouts when you've both arrived to the entrance of the locker room.

"Well uh...I better go shower," you say hesitantly, the longing feeling of not wanting to depart with him also affecting you.

"Okay," he says, his face unreadable aside from his soft smile.

"Okay..."

"Don't drown."

"Uh- I won't," you laugh.

"Y'sure?" He raises a skeptical brow.

"Mhm," you nod, giggling.

"M'kay."

Swimmer!Suguru Geto who steps closer to you, tracing a finger along your jaw and lifting your chin.

"Bye, pretty girl," he whispers before walking away, leaving you baffled.

He walked away, giggling in his head like a schoolgirl, reminiscing your previous interaction. The way you blushed and giggled and clinged onto him as he swam you to safety. You were so cute, just like a little mouse.

But unfortunately, when Swimmer!Suguru Geto was halfway to his dorm did it dawn on him that he never asked for your name. He smirked to himself.

Perfect excuse to see you again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: why do I hate the word "jammers" sm 😭 like I would say speedo but I js cant imagine him wearing that 😭 anyway srry for the kinda long wait ;-;

Series Masterlist

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[leviitome]

“i haven’t been kissed in six months.” you mutter, flopping dramatically onto gojo’s couch and fake a cry. your best friend, satoru gojo blinks at you from his spot on the opposite end of the couch, his long legs kicked up on the coffee table, one hand holding a half-eaten bag of chips, the other flipping through tv channels.

“that’s a tragedy,” he says, grinning. “a crime, even. someone could to go to jail for that.”

“yeah, well, welcome to my dating life. one tragic disappointment after another.” you sigh. it’s not like your always searching for a relationship, but god, 6 months!???

he tilts his head, that pretty face of his breaking into something evil and borderline mischievous. “maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places.” you roll your eyes and look at him through the corner of your eye. he chuckes. “satoru, don’t start. i already know what you’re gonna say.”

he raises a brow and places his hands on his chest, mock offended. “me? i’m innocent. i haven’t said a thing.” you snort out a laugh,“you’re practically thinking it. no, i’m not downloading tinder again. i’d rather die.”

satoru chuckles, that low, deep and amused sound that always makes your stomach flutter just a little, though you never admit that part. he’s been your best friend since you guys were five. he knows every dumb story, every secret, every time you’ve cried over someone who didn’t deserve it.

and still, he looks at you like you hung the moon. “okay, so no tinder,” he says. “no bad dick. no make out sessions. what do you want then?” you bury your face into a throw pillow and mumble, “i don’t know. something. someone.” he turns his face, his piercing blue eyes analyzing your face and he hums, soft and lazy. “you know,” he says slowly, “we could just kiss.”

you freeze. “satoru.”

“what?” he says, all innocence, as if he’s not offering to casually kiss you like it’s just another thursday evening. “who says we can’t kiss as friends?”

you sit up, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “uh, society? normal social boundaries?” he shrugs. “never cared much for those. you bite your lip. “you’re not serious.” his grin widens, lazy and dangerous. “deadly. come on, you’re hot, i’m hot. we’re both suffering. it’s just a kiss. for science.”

“for science?”

he nods, all playful charm. “yeah. a friendly experiment. no feelings. no expectations. just you and me. and our mouths.” you try to glare at him, but your lips are twitching. “this is the dumbest idea ever.”

“so that’s a yes?”

you hesitate, your heart’s pounding. it’s just a kiss, you tell yourself. it’s just gojo. you’ve known him forever. he’s always been touchy, flirty, a menace with a heart of gold. he’s held your hand when you were scared, carried you on his back when you twisted your ankle in college, made you laugh when you thought you’d never smile again. maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. you sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you glance back at him. “fine. one kiss. one.” his smile turns devilish. “scout’s honor.”

he shifts closer, your heart beats in anticipation, and suddenly he’s right there, in your space. his knees brush yours, his fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you sure?” he murmurs, and there’s a flicker of something softer in his voice, something that doesn’t feel quite so casual anymore. you nod, “yeah. i’m sure.”

his hand cups your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw, and then he leans in, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, but you don’t, you meet him halfway.

his lips are warm, soft, and good and feel way better than they should be. he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he knows your mouth, like he wants to know more. it’s not a hesitant kiss. it’s deep, teasing, with just a little edge of cockiness that makes your toes curl and your stomach churn. his other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly you’re not even thinking. your hands are in his hair, tugging a little, and he groans into your mouth, low and hungry. you gasp at the sound, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips.

your body reacts before your brain does. you’re flush against him, heart racing, hands trembling slightly as the kiss deepens. you pull back eventually, both of you a little breathless, your lips tingling, your skin hot. “…jesus,” you whisper.

gojo’s staring at you, eyes half-lidded and glowing with something unreadable. then he smirks. “see?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “doesn’t hurt to kiss your friends”

heyyyyy 🥸🥸 a bitch is back hehehehe, i love bestfriend!gojo he’s so hot 🤸🏽‍♀️🤸🏽‍♀️🤸🏽‍♀️

[leviitome]

how they shut you up (ノ_<。) !

satoru gojo has a tendency to stuff his blindfold in your mouth when you’re becoming too whiney. all you can taste is the crisp, starch fabric of the dry cleaned bandage, laced with something undeniably him. this is only, of course, when the two of you are in public and can’t get caught. he’ll whisper things like “want everyone to know how good you sound when i’m fucking you?” yet, the guy himself can barely hold his babbles and mutters to himself about how you’ve been teasing him all day and he’s been waiting.

suguru geto this is only done with consent, of course, but he wraps his veiny, calloused hand around your neck and squeezes just hard enough for you to get the slightest bit dizzy. you can barely hear a word from him, other than moans mixed with “she’s fuckin’ gripping me,” while he pounds into you, sometimes even struggling to mask his own groans. as he gets closer and closer to his peak, his grip turns like a vice and your eyes start rolling into your skull, legs trembling as he continuously fucks you through orgasm after orgasm.

toji fushiguro he can be pretty mocking in bed, so he likes to hear how you choke on your heady moans of his name by ramming himself into your g spot over and over again. all while he does so, he sports a sadistic snarl, basking in your cock drunk state. “right there?” he sarcastically quizzes, his tip nudging just where it feels good, cocking his head with a pout as you stutter over your words. “or right here, doll?”

choso kamo this pretty boy can barely hold his own whimpers back when he’s plowing into you, so the best he can do is plant his lips against yours and pray that you both suck the life from one another to stay quiet. a shy flush covers his cheek whenever a whine escapes his lips as you practically milk him. teeth bumping and saliva swapping and babbles of “you’re always so good for me” and accidental confessions like “i think i’m in love with you.”

kento nanami he can be incredibly strict in bed, to say the least. rules of how many whines leave your lips result in how many spanks you’ll recieve right after he shoots his ribbon of seed into you. when you start getting too loud, he’ll say “i think you just want a pretty red handprint on your ass.” intense eye contact is held as he stuffs and splits you, his mouth curving into a scowl as he smashes into your womb, keeping every count of your punishment for later.

ryomen sukuna the guy is a monster. four arms gripping and tearing and reaching for anything and he somehow expects you to stay quiet. his favorite technique, however, is to put you in a headlock with one of his biceps while his other hand covers yours with a mouth on it, managing to make you dizzy from the pressure on your throat and the way the tongue on his hand explores the caverns of your mouth with no remorse. through grunts and huffs, he likes to call you a “brat” and sometimes his “cock sleeve” or “fuck toy” when he’s feeling extra mean, but when is he not?

[leviitome]

You’ve been with Satoru for almost a year now—laughing at his dumb anime references, dodging his wandering hands because fuck he’s just so overwhelmingly clingy, and letting yourself fall into the stupid, soft little rhythms of loving someone who should’ve been your enemy.

And that’s the problem.

Because the whole reason you were ever supposed to get close to him was to kill him.

It’s not like you hadn’t tried before. Sneaking poison in his tea—he spat it out and made you drink it instead, pretending it was some flirty trust game. A cursed blade under the bed, slipped under his ribs during sex—he moaned louder and flipped you over, praising how “kinky” you were getting like it was a joke. He just…never. Dies.

And now you’re sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, guilt scraping your stomach raw because tonight is supposed to be it.

He’s so warm and soft under you, stupidly shirtless like always, skin golden and freckled from the early summer sun. That dumb blindfold is pushed up into his hair, white lashes low over his eyes so blue that you still can’t believe they’re actually real.

You can feel the edge of the cursed dagger against your thigh under your dress. All you have to do is reach.

“You okay, sweets?” he murmurs, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your lower back. “You’re all tense”.

You look at him—at the little beauty mark under his eye, at the way he’s already fondly smiling at you, like he knows.

“…Yeah. Just thinking”.

“About murdering me again?”

You freeze.

He hums, nuzzling his face into your cheek, his warm breathe giving you goosebumps. “Don’t pout. You get all cute and tragic before every attempt”.

“So you knew?”

“Course I knew”. He laughs boyishly like he’s tired of it but loving it anyway. “Why do you think I’ve been letting you get close? I wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch feelings”.

Your face burns. “I haven’t—!”

“Oh no?” His hand drops low, palm spreading over the curve of your ass, squeezing just hard enough to make you twitch. “Then what was that little speech last night? About how I’m the only one who makes you feel safe?”

“I was drunk”.

“No no, you said it while sober”.

You scowl. “Oh my gosh, you’re so insufferable”.

“And you’re a very bad assassin, angel”.

“Stop calling me that”.

“No,” he says, sweet and final. Then he leans up, brushing his mouth over yours like you’re not seconds from killing him—like you couldn’t, even if you tried. “Do it, then. C’mon”.

You blink. “What?”

He nudges his nose along your jaw. “Go on. Try again. Right now”.

Your fingers tremble where they curl around the handle under your dress. And he knows—he wants you to do it. But not because he’s challenging you.

Because he wants to see what you’ll choose.

And you hate it—hate that your heart clenches instead of your grip. Hate that your thighs press tighter around his hips instead of shoving off him. Hate that it’s already decided, and it’s not him dying tonight.

“…You’re a bastard,” you whisper as the dagger slips from your grip and lands on the floor with a loud, dramatic clatter.

He grins as his lips brushes your ear.

“Mmhm. But I’m your bastard now, huh?”

[leviitome]

sleeping with satoru gojo is impossible.

you're not referring to cuddling or whatnot, but rather actually sleeping with him. trying to catch some z's with satoru by your side.

you just can't do it.

since he's so tall, he takes up most of the bed, as well as the covers. you'd go to sleep with a blanket wrapped around you and wake up with even the sheets gone from your side of the bed.

how did he manage to do that? you don't know, but either way, it was really annoying—especially during the winter.

you've made attempts to try and steal your blankets back, or at least get your sheets, but satoru would never budge. because of that, you'd be left to shiver the whole night.

and satoru would wake up with the audacity to ask you why you were shivering.

it's not just that, though. satoru also kicks in his sleep—which leads to you being kicked off the bed and getting hurt.

"baby, why are you on the floor?" satoru questioned as he looked down at you from the edge of the bed, and you stared up at him with a glare as your body remained entangled with the blankets that were wrapped around you before you had been kicked off of the bed. "shut the fuck up."

of course, he apologizes profusely in the morning once you gripe about the pain, and he tries to make it up to you by buying stuff.

he once bought a little divider in hopes that it would protect him from kicking you.

but he woke up to the sight of the divider completely demolished and his arm wrapped around you.

that's another thing—satoru can be insanely clingy during the night.

it's always the nights when he's not stealing your covers or beating you up that he decides it's the perfect time to practically choke you by clinging on to you.

if he was hugging your side, it wouldn't be as bad, but this man will literally crawl on top of you in his sleep. you will be hot and it will be hard to breathe.

why don't you just shove him off? because one, it's extremely hard to do so, and two, once you do successfully manage to push him off, he'll just go right back to his spot.

oddly enough, that's not the worst of it.

he sleepwalks and sleep talks.

you'd wake up to him being gone from the bed, and when you get up to look for him, you'd usually find him in the same two places.

either the kitchen with the fridge wide open as he eats the treats he had been saving—to which he'd ask him the morning if you ate them with the saddest look on his face since he doesn't want to accept that he sleepwalks—or, you'd find him on the floor of the hallway for some reason.

now, the sleepwalking doesn't really bother you because it's never harmed anyone, but the sleeptalking definitely does.

it affects you physically, mentally, and spiritually.

does he say anything scary? not that you were aware of, but you would rather hear him say something scary than wake up to him singing my chemical romance again or fall for you.

what makes it even worse is that he sings it in the same tone that the artists do.

"because tonight will be the night that i will fall for you..." "toru." you whispered. "over again..." "satoru." you whispered once again, but your voice got sterner. "don't make me change my mind—" his singing was cut off as you slapped your hand across his mouth, and his eyes shot open as he tiredly stared at you in confusion. words were muffled against your hand, but you didn't care to try and figure out what he was saying. "i don't care if megumi is going through a phase, tell him to stop playing my chemical romance around you." you couldn't see satoru's expression very well since it was dark, but you heard him muffle a 'yes ma'am' against your hand before you finally removed it from his mouth.

comments & reblogs are appreciated !!

[leviitome]

3 - Just Like That | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

Wordcount: 2.1k

EDITED | ONGOING

cw: 18+, oral (f receiving), praising, eager Geto, assertive Geto, I don’t know why these should be in the cw. He’s just very determined to please you. #gist

Minors DNI.

Well you had to believe it sooner or later. 

Suguru helped you, his hands steadying you as you climbed onto his desk, you’re in his office, finally settling in on a different, more foreign location. It’s been a couple weeks since that first and second encounter, and every single time since then has been the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

His office has become a more familiar territory now, you know exactly how the leather of his chair sounds when he pushes it back to make room for you, exactly what time he’s available for you, you know it all too well. The late evening routines have become almost ritualistic: most floors empty out by seven, security patrol doesn’t sweep until nine, and somewhere in between, you both find yourselves here, either in his office or in his elevator. 

He could see the heat in your eyes, the desire that matches his own, and he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned in to nuzzle your neck whilst you settle down on his desk, his hands found your thighs, carefully moving your tights and moving your pencil skirt aside. 

In the dim lighting, his expression is intense. Two weeks of this and you’re still not used to the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail and curve of your body. You feel heat rising to your stomach as you watch him kneel down, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. 

He could smell your arousal, the musk filling his nostrils making his cock throb eagerly underneath the confines of his pants. You could only whimper in response, heart racing in anticipation coiled tightly within you. You watched, transfixed, as Suguru leaned in and pressed a single kiss to your inner thigh. His lips were soft and his movements were calculated, and the sensation made you shiver and your thighs clench instinctively. 

He worked his way up, placing kisses along the sensitive skin. Your voice hitched as his breath ghosted over your aching sex, the anticipation almost too much to handle. Just as you thought you might scream at him from the need and the teasing, Suguru’s tongue parted your folds in one long, slow lick. 

“Oh god…” You gasped, back arching off the table as pleasure speared right through you. He could only groan in response, the vibrations heightening the sensation. He licked you again, and then again, lapping at you like a man starved. His tongue circled your clit, flicking and teasing the bundle of nerves until you were writhing helplessly against him. 

He gripped your hips, holding you steady as he feasted on you. Your legs shaking and instinctively closing. He sucked your clit into his mouth, worrying the tender bud with his tongue repeatedly, wanting to hear you moan without restraints. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping the long strands and holding him against you as he ate you out with a single-minded focus. You loved it, the attention was all on you, the pleasure was all for you. 

Every shift has been just waiting anticipatingly for this kind of moment, every exhaustion leaving your body, frustration, anger, he made sure that was gone by the time you went home. Every single time.

He could feel you growing wetter, could taste you flooding his mouth as he delved deeper and deeper into your soaked core. Suguru thrusted his finger inside of you, fucking you with the slick muscle as he savored every last bit of you. At this point, you were panting and moaning, not a single care in the world if anyone heard you, your pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core as he worked towards your peak. 

“That’s it, baby,” He murmured in between breaths. 

He could feel you trembling on the edge of the table, your thighs trembling against his ears as he pleasured you. He could sense you were close, your breath coming in sharp, desperate pants. Determined to make you come undone, he redoubled his efforts, sucking your clit faster as he thrust two fingers deep inside of you. 

“Suguru!” You cried out, voice breaking on a moan as your orgasm crashed over you. You clamped down around his fingers, rippling and ripping as waves of ecstasy washed through you. Suguru groaned against your flesh, fingers pumping in time with the rhythmic clenching of your pussy as he helped you right out your high. 

He gentled his touch as the aftershocks began to subside, releasing your sensitive clit and slowly withdrawing his fingers from your heat. You collapsed back against the table, chest heaving and skin flushed. Suguru crawled up to you, taking in your disheveled appearance with a smirk. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your collarbone before straightening up. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, voice still rough. There was amusement in his tone, but something else too, something that suggested this was becoming more complicated than either of you had planned. 

You sat up slowly, “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“Is it?” he questions, helping you get settled on your feet before slipping your tights back up and your skirt back down. He straightened you gently, his hands careful and soft to the touch. “I spent half of today’s board meeting thinking about doing exactly that.” 

“Only half?” you teased, accepting his actions with a small smile. “I’m disappointed.” 

He chuckled, adjusting his tie even though it was perfectly straight. “The other half I was thinking about bending you over the conference table.” 

“Suguru.” the way you said his name was half-scolding, half-impressed. 

“You asked.” He leaned against the edge of his desk, the twitch on his lips forming into a full on grin. “Besides, turnabout’s fair play. You’ve been distracting me for weeks.” 

“I haven’t been doing anything,” you protested, though you both knew that answer wasn’t entirely true. 

“Right. That little thing you do with your pen during meetings is purely innocent.” 

You looked at him blankly. “What thing?” 

“You tap it against your lips when you’re thinking. Every time you do it I lose track of whatever Satoru’s droning on about.” 

The admission surprised you. “I had no idea you even noticed me in those meetings.” 

“I notice you every time.” The words came out more serious than he’d probably intended, and there was a moment of quiet between you both. 

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. Every time you two speak, it feels warm. Natural even. 

“We should probably head out.” you speak softly. Glancing toward the darkened windows of his office. “Security will be making their rounds soon.” 

Suguru nodded, but made no immediate move toward the door. Instead, he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek before making its way down to your chin. 

You caught his hand before he could pull it away, intertwining your fingers with his. The gesture was simple, innocent even, but it felt more intimate than anything that had happened on his desk. 

“Come on.” 

The walk to the elevator was different. Usually, you both maintained a careful distance in the hallways, professional masks firmly in place. But the building was empty now, safe from the distant hum of cleaning crews on the lower floors. Suguru kept your hand in his, his thumb tracing assuring circles across your knuckles. 

He never lets go of your hand, not even in the elevator, not even in the lobby, not even when you’re about to part ways with him to go home. You follow him anyway, confused, as he leads you to his car. A sleek black sedan parked in his reserved parking spot. 

“Wait,” you stopped in your tracks. “My car! I can’t just leave it here.” 

Suguru turned to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “Sure you can, am I not going to take you home?” his tone was matter-of-fact, like the answer should be obvious. Your reaction was blank, it was almost comedic. He’s never done this. Sure he would walk you out, linger a little longer just to talk to you, pay more attention to what you have to say, whether during meetings or elsewhere, but he never, at least bluntly, offered to take you home. Until now. 

“But–” 

“Your car will be fine here for one night. Security patrols the garage.” He tugged your hand gently, pulling you towards his vehicle as he opened the passenger door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” 

“Suguru, that’s not–” 

“Not what?” he stopped, hovering over and leaning on the car roof after you stepped inside. “Not necessary?” his eyes held that familiar intensity. “I want to see you first thing in the morning instead of waiting until we happen to run into each other in the same elevator.” 

The directness made your heart skip, “You’re just going to decide this for me?” 

He nodded, closing the passenger door shut and walking over to the other side of the car. He slammed the door shut and started the ignition. 

You’re still not over it, “Just like that?” you teased, quirking a brow. 

“Just like that.” 

-

You were waiting by your apartments lobby doors when his car pulled up, the coffee in hand worsening the nerves you feel in your stomach. You push it down and ignore it. This felt different, it felt real and it felt risky. Getting in his car in broad daylight, arriving at work together, it was going by too fast.

“Morning.” Suguru coos as you slide into the passenger seat. His voice was softer, rather than his usual professional facade when he’s at work. 

“Morning.” You say, shifting in your seat. “You know people are going to notice us arriving together, right?” 

“Let them notice.” His response was blunt. “We’re colleagues having coffee. Nothing unusual about that.” 

But you both knew it wasn’t that simple. These past few weeks have been too good, the way he’d treat you so good after a long day at work, the way that everything about Suguru has been more than casual unsettles you but it doesn’t make you step back. You wanted more of it than you like to admit. 

The building felt different in the morning light. It felt more exposed. Suguru parked in his usual spot, and you could see your car exactly where you’d left it the night before. 

“Ready?” he asked, and you weren’t sure if he meant for the day or for whatever people might think. You nod anyway. 

The main lobby was silent, both of you unconsciously falling back into professional mode. But when the doors opened on the main floor, you felt it immediately–the weight of ten other eyes. 

Sarah from HR did a double-take when she saw you both step in together. Someone from legal actually stopped mid-conversation to stare. You could practically feel the office gossip mill starting to churn. 

He greets everyone a good morning regardless. 

You made it to the elevator bank for the upper floors before you heard the whispers commence. 

“This early? Really?” 

“No kidding.” 

Suguru’s jaw tightened almost instinctively as elevator 4 opened. You step in this time. Watching the doors close before you can utter a word. 

“That went well,” you said dryly. Looking everywhere but him. 

“It’s fine.” but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “People talk. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Doesn’t it?” you looked at him now. “This is your reputation, Suguru. Your career.” 

“And what about yours?” The elevator stopped at your floor first, but you didn’t move to get out. 

The question hung between you, loaded with implication. What about your career? The smart thing would be to stop it, that you shouldn’t be doing this anymore, but can’t, you don’t know why. 

He steps towards you, grabbing your jaw as he leaned in to place a long, lingering kiss. It’s grown into a habit, you don’t even know if people saw. But you kissed him back regardless.

“Just like that?” You ask him again.

“Just like that.”

You give him one last look before finally stepping out. 

“We’ll figure it out.” He manages to reassure you before the elevator doors close. 

As you walk to your office, you realize that everything has just changed. There was no going back anymore, no more stolen moments and pretending this was just physical. People could see it in your tone, the way you act, the way you speak, the way you’d look at each other during meetings. The whole building knows. Everyone knows. It’s gone that far. And somehow, that made it more real than everything that has happened since the first time you stepped inside his elevator. 

[leviitome]

"Satoru."

"Mm."

"Get off me."

"No." Your boyfriend mumbled against your stomach, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

You weren't sure how you got here, standing in the middle of the kitchen with only Satoru's shirt on, the man himself on his knees in front of you with his face shoved into your stomach- Mumbling declaration after declaration about his love for you and how perfect you are, all the while nuzzling into your warmth like a cat.

You tried to move- again, Only to no avail, not even budging an inch as Satoru's scarily firm grip kept you in one place.

"Satoru, I haven't even showered yet," You sighed. "And I look like shit." It was true really, you were fresh out of bed after a night of getting your world rocked by the man on his knees in front of you. Your hair was a mess, you were covered in bruises and hickeys with a mix of various fluids sticking to your skin.

Satoru promised to clean you up after round whatever-the-fuck but you were pretty sure that the man had collapsed on top of you after making you see the pearly gates for 15 seconds, kissed your forehead and said goodnight.

Which brings you here.

"Satoruuuuu-" You shoved his face away from your stomach, earning you a pout from him.

"Oh c'mon, let me love you!!" He complained, whining loudly as he nuzzled your stomach. Satoru couldn't help himself when it came to you really, you just looked so adorable walking around his kitchen, in his shirt, as his lover. The cuteness aggression he got from you was surreal.

"You've loved me a lot last night already, give it a rest!!" You tried to wiggle your way out of his death grip, which only led to him tightening his hold around your legs.

"A lot is not enough!"

"At least let me shower first-"

"Only if I can join you"

"Oh my god, fine." You relented, letting your arms go limp at your sides as Satoru beamed from below you. "Really?"

"Yes, really." In a second, you were raised up into the air as Satoru cheered in victory. He held you by the waist- And thank god for the high ceilings because you felt way too high up in the air.

You huffed in defeat as you were carried back to your shared bedroom, hopefully straight to the bath without any detours.

A.N. Listen. Gojo has been chewing at my brain recently.

[leviitome]

Please share some love on my Gojo post!!

⨳ — Backseat of the Reception

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

EDITED | COMPLETED

Wordcount: 2.28k

cw: 18+ only, smut, grinding, fingering, praising, drinking, drunk sex, a little praising, public (technically hidden) sex, riding, quickie, etc.

Minors DNI.

The reception had thinned into soft laughters, you and Gojo’s mutual friends celebrating their marriage gleefully as they spewed their way into the dancefloor. You smile, face obvious in a drunken stupor as you step outside. And there he was, his tie draped around his neck like he couldn’t be bothered, eyes glassy from too much champaign.

"Promise me you'll at least try to have fun tonight," the bride, your friend pleaded, tugging your wrist like she's worried you'll fade into thin air if she lets go. Her lipstick is a little smudged at the corners, her veil pinned lopsided from being kissed too hard and far too many times. "And don't leave and ghost me before we get to the dessert, I swear-"

You smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach your eyes, fading ingenuity. "I won't. Go have fun."

She disappears into the swirl of white petals and ecstatic laughter, the music thumping beneath your heels as you watch her vanish into the dance floor. She looks radiant, she's happy, blissed out and whole.

You haven't felt whole in a while. Not that you wanna make it about you. But you needed what she had, not out of jealousy, but of a pure and longing and very much needed connection.

The server strides over to your table with glasses of champaign, and they multiply on your table like rabbits. Everyone's having a good time. You can't even remember how many glasses you've had - enough to feel extremely warm, but not on the brink of vomiting. You felt floaty, but not quite liberated from your thoughts. People drift around you, faces glowing with sweat and wine. You catch glimpses of friends you used to be close with. Now, they're all just strangers wearing the same black-and-cream palette. All of them dancing in that golden, hazy joy weddings supposedly carry.

You laugh when someone proposes a toast. They're obviously drunk, they're having fun, and they almost break their hip trying to balance themselves. You clap when they raise their glass, you clap when the bride and groom kiss, but you've never once let go of your clutch. You check on it constantly, wondering when is the right time to step outside and take out the box of cigarettes you've been parched on for hours.

Eventually, you slip outside, leaving your half-eaten slice of cake behind.

The air outside is colder than you expected, it was sharp, but it was relieving considering how stuffy the venue was. You grab the pack of cigarettes and dig out your lighter, leaning against the railing overlooking the city. Your dress rides up a little as the breeze quickens, one strap slipping off your shoulder. You're buzzed, warm but cold, and aching somewhere beneath your ribs.

You flick the lighter once. It clicks. Another flick. Again. The wind keeps stealing the flame.

You sigh and press the cigarettes to your lips anyway, determined to get at least one smoke before heading back inside.

"You still smoke when you're sad?"

His voice slips past the darkness like it was meant to.

You don't turn to face him, at least not right away. You knew he was there. No one else sounds like that. No one else resonated with your brain and your heart more.

Gojo Satoru.

When you do face him, he's already standing next to you. Tall and loose-limbed in a tux he doesn't bother to keep neat. His white hair tousling in the wind, his collar and tie loose and undone, the top few buttons of his dress shirt opened, I get why he is what he looks like. Weddings can be exhausting, and it can also get emotionally draining.

Champagne glitters in the glass dangling between his two careless and scrawny fingers.

You arch a brow. "Still sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"

He reaches a hand out and plucks the cigarette straight from your mouth, and without blinking, tosses it over the railing and into the water it goes.

"Yeah, I've really stayed on brand."

You stare at him, mouth open and brows furrowed.

"Gojo-"

"Satoru," He corrects, grinning hazily. "We're outside the formal part of the wedding. let's not pretend we haven't made out before."

You exhale through your nose, folding your arms, trying to ignore the flush rising up your cheeks. "That was years ago."

"And yet you still keep kissing cancer sticks."

"And you still think you're the one and only guy in the world."

He only smirks.

The silence that follows isn't awkward, it's familiar. Charged. Heavy.

You haven't seen him in what feels like forever. Not since you took that job and moved to a different city. Not since he missed your birthday. Not since he sent a drunk text at 3 in the morning and you never replied.

He sips his champagne and lets his shoulders brush yours like it's nothing. Like it always was.

"So," he utters eventually, "how's the job?"

You tell him. You're a journalist now. You live alone. You eat takeout. Sometimes you delete and redownload the same dating apps only to find no one that suits you. You don't say the last part.

You look away. "How about you?"

He shrugs. "Still standing. But I think I missed something more important something along the way."

You don't ask what. You're scared of the answer. You're scared it's the sam thing you missed, too. But both of you just never admit it.

When the breeze shrills once again and a shiver runs up your spine, he notices.

"Let's go somewhere warmer," he says, voice low.

You let him lead the way without asking where.

The reception is still going, muffled laughter and disco lights spinning through the very big glass windows. But you don't want to go back in, not just yet. Neither does he.

You follow him down the narrow path beside the venue, past the flower beds and the caterers and servers.

His car is unlocked. It smells faintly of cologne and those disgusting cinnamon gun packs he's addicted to. The leather seats are cold against your skin, but you curl into them anyway, hitching your dress up around your thighs and leaning back indignantly with a sigh.

Gojo slides in beside you in the back seat. He kicks his shoe off. Loosens his tie further. Then he leans back with his hands behind his head like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You ever think about how it could've gone?" he asks.

You don't answer right away. Not because you don't know, but because you both know. You both think about it, too often than not.

You glance sideways. He's watching you look out the window.

Your voice is barely there, "Yeah. I think about it."

He turns toward you, expression very clearly readable. His face yearning.

You don't move. He doesn't break the silence. He just watches you. No hint of teasing, no hint of cockiness. You feel a heat making it's way up to your chest, making your thighs press together without meaning to.

You glance at him now, fully meeting his eyes. Maybe you're drunk, maybe you just don't know whats wrong with you.

"I think about it too much," you admit, barely coaxing out a voice. You were incoherent, but he understood you.

He leans closer. Just a little. Enough that his knee brushes yours.

"Then stop thinking."

He kisses you. No warning. No hesitation. Just his palm on the crook of your neck pulling you closer.

Your breath hitches. It's not careful, it's not slow. Satoru isn't polite. It's him, all of him, pressed against your mouth like he's scared you'll leave and vanish if he doesn't take as much of you as he can.

Your hands slide into his hair, fingers curling against his scalp as you both deepens the kiss. He groans softly when your teeth catch his lower lip. He tastes like champagne.

The wedding festivities continued outside, but here, it was just the two of you and the lingering taste of champagne flowing freely in your mouths.

You don't remember moving, but now you're on his lap, straddling him in the backseat, your dress riding up around your hips, his hand already at your thighs, worshipping every inch of you.

"Look at you, looking so good tonight." he breathes, lips traveling his way down to the nape of your neck. "You always do. You kill me."

Your nails dig into his shoulders. His jacket off already, your chest pressed against his as he sucks a bruise into the soft skin beneath your ear. You arch into him as his calloused fingers brush up against your thigh, his hands, callused and warm as they find the edges of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "If you don't want this."

You shake your head.

"I don't want you to stop."

That's all he needed.

His fingers slide under the thin fabric, and your lips buck as he finds you already wet, already so eager to feel his touch. He curses in your ear lowly, mouth hot against your skin as he works open his fingers inside you slowly, expertly, like he memorized every single pattern of you.

Your breath comes in broken and whimpering gasps. The windows fog, the music from the reception a distant blur as a ring of pleasure instantly takes your ears.

He takes a hold of the straps on your shoulders, with a sharp tug, he pulled them down your shoulders, watching with hungry and rapt attention as the bodice of your gown began to slip. The swells of your breasts emerged inch by inch, until the dress pooled around your waist.

Satoru drank in every reveal, eyes darkening with yearning and hunger as he took in the sight of your bra cradling your chest. He unclasped the back of your bra and the garment fell open, allowing your breasts to spill open freely. He groaned, and reached out a hand to cup them.

He teased your nipples, rolling and pinching between his fingers until they tightened and perked underneath his touch. He scraped his teeth over your chest, before fully taking in one of your tits into his mouth, placing open mouthed kisses on each one of them, leaving you desperate and aching for more.

"Satoru..." you gasped, the pleasure sparking through you as he nestled his face in between your breasts.

"You're perfect," he whispers against your skin, you almost couldn't hear it.

His fingers dug deep into your ass as he gripped your hips, the heat of his cock pressing persistently against your core.

Arousal flooded both of you, unable to wait any longer, you rose up to your knees and positioned yourself above him. You could feel the swell of his tip nudging against you. With a single roll of your hips, you sank down onto him with one smooth motion.

"Shit," he murmured under his breath, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass hard enough to leave bruises. He stretched you and you could only whimper in response, walls fluttering and clenching around him.

You began to move, lifting yourself up until just his tip remained inside before going back down. You rode him, your drunken self losing every bit of shame and dignity in your body.

It doesn't matter if you left all those years ago, it wouldn't have made a difference. You wanted him back then, and you wanted him still.

Satoru groaned, his head thrown back in pleasure as you rode him over and over. The pleasure was overwhelming, your climax building with each roll of your hip.

Satoru felt you tightening around him, he knew you were close. "That's it," he urged, voice tight with rapture. "Ride me just like that. Fuck, that feels good."

You could only moan in response, too lost in the throes of your own pleasure and your increasing climax. Your movements came more quickly, your hips jerking and spasming as the pleasure finally made its way though your body.

With a sharp moan, you came undone. Your orgasm ripping through you and reverberating throughout your entire form. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, and Satoru followed.

With one final thrust, Satoru buried himself deep inside you. His cock jerking and pulsing as he came. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as he followed the rhythm of your body.

Before you could climb your way off from him he sits you back down so you're still sitting on his lap straddling him.

He buries his face in your hair.

"Say you missed me." he murmurs.

"I missed you." you say, and he kisses you like that's all he ever wanted from this night.

But you don't leave the reception, not yet.

Not when your dress is wrinkled and your thighs are sore and in the brink of cramping. Satoru is still looking at you, your forehead rests against his, breaths still uneven.

Eventually, the thump of bass from the reception finally makes its way back up to your brain. You realize that the wedding isn't over. Almost. You'd slip away long enough to go by unnoticed.

"We should get back." your voice hoarse.

Satoru hums low in his throat, leaning back as you climb off of his lap. He's quick to zip himself up, fixing the buttons of his shirt before reaching for his jacket and draping it over your restrapped shoulders.

You both climb out of the car door, you didn't notice how stuffy it got until the fresh breeze enveloped your face.

As you both step back into the venue, you felt okay. More than okay. As if he read your mind as soon as you stepped out into the balcony.

The music thumps beneath you again. Someone clinks their glass as everyone gets on the dance floor.

"Stick with me," he says, leaning down to make sure you hear him.

"I'm not done dancing with you yet."

And you believe him.

[leviitome]

best friend! satoru who pinches you in public then blames it on someone who wasn't even close enough to have been able to do it. (he tried to trip you at first, but you caught him sticking his leg out and called him out.)

best friend! satoru who insists that your hangouts only take place at your house. he doesn't care if your house is big or small, he'd rather your house over his since yours feels more like a home.

best friend! satoru who, somehow, always manages to convince you to get fast food when you guys hang out.

best friend! satoru who loves baking with you. though, it's mostly you doing all of the baking while he opts to throw flour at you and lick the spoon once you're done mixing the batter.

best friend! satoru who's never had a girlfriend. well, okay, maybe he had one girlfriend during freshman year of highschool, but it only lasted a month. you still ask him why he refuses to go out with anyone despite the girls and boys who throw themselves at him. he shrugs it off.

best friend! satoru who is really really affectionate with you. he plays it off as a: “oh, no, it's not weird, we're just super close like that!”, type of thing. you've gotten used to it; him holding your hand in public, kissing your forehead, cuddling you 24/7, hugging you every time he sees you in the school hallways, ect.

best friend! satoru who doesn't deny it when people ask if you're a couple. and when you scold him later on, ranting about how now everyone is gonna get the ‘wrong idea’, he just smirks and says: “you never know.”, before walking away, leaving you totally dumbfounded.

best friend! satoru who, behind your back, never shuts up about you. it's comical how everyone but you knows how totally head-over-heals he is for his best friend.

best friend! satoru who hates all of your exes and crushes. every time you even mention having even the tiniest hint of romantic feelings for anyone, he loses his mind. he always has something to say, whether it be about their appearance or personality, he's never short of insults when it comes to your romantic partners. but of course you play it off with a simple: “oh, he's just being overprotective! all best friends are.”. oh, you. clueless you.

best friend! satoru who decides one random tuesday morning in the middle of january that he's gotta man up and confess to you.. but how?

best friend! satoru who decides since valentine's day is coming up, he'll confess then! i mean, that's what the whole holiday is for, no?

best friend! satoru who didn't take into consideration how long it'd be till valentine's day and what could happen in that time- till you get a boyfriend.

best friend! satoru whose heart is crushed. he hates how seriously this is affecting him, and he hates even more how perfect your boyfriend is. kento nanami. of course you'd fall for him, he's a total gentleman, a personification of the perfect man.

best friend! satoru whose heart is even more crushed when you tell him he needs to take a few steps back. apparently, nanami said he's uncomfortable with how close you and satoru are, and you totally understand. so you tell him no more cuddling, no more sleepovers, no more 4am taco bell drives, no more forehead kisses, no more “what if” questions involving you two being in a romantic relationship.

best friend! satoru who you stop talking to as much, too occupied with your new life, leading to a falling out in your friendship.

exbest friend! satoru who figures he should throw out the love note he wrote and all the gifts he bought. but he just can't.

exbest friend! satoru who, even twenty years later, still can't rid of his feelings for you.

exbest friend! satoru who, while you're happily married to nanami, stays your clingy exbest friend; a distant, blurry memory that swims deep in the back of your mind, though you can't be bothered to give it or him a second thought. even now, as a grown man, he looks through all the things he was supposed to give you that valentine's day. he rereads the love letter like somehow that'll make everything go the way he wanted it to.

[leviitome]

all the other women in your gardening club were so incredibly jealous of you.

it had started off when you were showing them a photo of some fresh strawberries that you grew. the photo was of around 16 perfect looking, freshly washed strawberries placed on top of a cloth inside a basket... and the basket was being held by your husband, satoru.

it was a simple photo, satoru had a cute face, not looking at the camera but instead, was looking down at the fresh fruit, impatiently waiting to eat them.

your fellow club members gawked and smiled widely at your photo.

"wowh! what a beauty!"

"how perfect!"

you smiled in pride as your club members complimented the photo of your stawberries, unaware that they were staring only at satoru and his annoyingly handsome face.

the next instance was when you had shown them photos of your perfect, weedless garden.

"wowh! what weed killer do you use?" one of the older women exclaimed in shock.

"ohh ahah!" you smiled "i don't use any weed killers, we have a dog in the house and i'm afraid he might sniff the toxins, so i pick out the small ones by myself, and i ask my husband to get the bigger ones for me"

"ah... you're so lucky, [name].. my husband is far too chubby to easily pick out the large weeds..."

"your husband listens to you, just like that? i wish my husband would do that.. if i ever asked, he'd complain and whine like a baby"

the last was when your car broke down and had to stay in maintenance for a few days. satoru dropped you off to your gardening club that saturday.

when you walked in, all the ladies' heads snapped over to see satoru.

".. he's even more handsome in person.."

"he's sooo dreamy.."

"look at his biceps..."

you turned around, going on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. satoru placed his hand on your waist, leaning in to pull you into his hungry mouth. you pulled away, much to his dismay, satoru tried to pepper more kisses on your face, but you quietly told him to stop, causing him to pout.

"... and he's so inlove with her too..."

"what a loving man.."

"... i hope [name] knows how lucky she is."

those other ladies whispered among themselves before you gave satoru another kiss farewell before turning around and greeting your club members. satoru lingered around the doorway for another minute, watching you with a gentle smile before forcing himself to turn around and leave.

that alone made the ladies expel any thoughts of seducing him to cheat on you... it was too late. He was too deeply in love, and much to their dismay, they understood clearly why he was so obsessed with you.

— likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

[leviitome]

too late ♡ multiple jjk

cw: heavy angst no comfort, unrequited love, they snap at you only to realize what they've done after it's too late, gojo, geto, nanami

୨୧

GOJO SATORU

You weren’t trying to smother him.

You just missed him. You wanted to be around him. To be enough.

But Gojo was always drifting somewhere higher—farther. Brighter. Untouchable.

And you, in your desperate attempts to hold onto him, had only made yourself a burden.

It started small. unanswered texts, rescheduled plans, jokes that didn’t land the way they used to.

Then one night, it snapped.

You'd waited three hours for him to show up. You made dinner. You even lit a damn candle.

He walked in like he lived on a different planet. No apology, just a tired sigh and a look you couldn’t name.

“Where were you?” you asked, trying to sound casual, even as your throat tightened.

“Busy,” he replied. Short. Clipped.

“I just—could you have told me? I was worried.”

He looked at you then, really looked. And something in him cracked.

“God, can you stop?” he snapped. “You’re always worrying. Always texting. Always needing something. It’s exhausting.”

Your heart plummeted.

“I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to be glued to you 24/7.”

Silence.

Heavy, awful silence.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I didn’t realize I was being—”

“Clingy?” he cut in, shrugging. “Annoying? Yeah. You should be sorry.”

That was the last straw.

You didn’t cry. You just nodded. Quietly, you cleaned up the dinner you made for two and left.

And then you stopped.

No more texts. No more waiting. No more soft smiles and gentle reassurances.

You gave him the space he asked for.

You weren’t cold. Just… distant. Detached. You still said hello. Still smiled politely. But that spark—your warmth, your constant affection—it was gone.

At first, he was relieved.

Then he noticed how you didn’t linger anymore. How you laughed more with other people. How someone else started walking you home.

He’d call your name, and you’d pause—but never turn around fast enough.

One day, he saw someone touch your hand, and you let them.

It hit him like a curse.

You weren’t his anymore.

You had been. You gave him everything—your time, your care, your love—and he crushed it like it was nothing.

Now you were gone in the way that really mattered.

Emotionally. Romantically. Soul-deep gone.

He went home to an empty apartment, sat in the silence he once begged for, and suddenly hated the quiet. Hated the space.

He picked up his phone a hundred times. Typed a thousand messages. Never sent a single one.

Because he knew...

He asked for this.

And you listened.

GETO SUGURU

It wasn’t always like this.

He used to hold you like you were precious. Kiss your forehead like he was grateful you existed.

But that was before.

Before the silence between you became louder than any curse. Before the kindness in his eyes dulled into detachment. Before your love became something he resented.

You don’t even know when it changed.

You just remember the day you reached for his hand and he flinched.

“You don’t have to check on me every five minutes,” he muttered one night, voice low but sharp.

“I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“I was,” he said, not looking at you. “Until you started hovering like I’m some broken thing that needs fixing.”

You felt your chest tighten.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You never do,” he cut you off. “But you’re always there. Always watching. Always needing to be let in. It’s too much.”

His words knocked the breath out of you.

You stared at him—this man you loved, this man you stayed with even as the world started to hate him—searching for something soft in his expression.

There was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

So you pulled back.

You stopped fussing. Stopped checking in. Stopped calling him late at night just to hear his voice.

You let him be. Just like he asked.

And for a while, he didn’t notice.

Until the day he realized the apartment was too quiet. That his phone hadn’t lit up in days. That no one waited up for him anymore. No one texted him “are you safe?” or “did you eat?”

It hit him when he walked past your room—your room, that you used to sleep in together—and the bed was perfectly made.

When he saw the chipped mug you always used sitting clean and untouched on the shelf.

When he reached out. finally. no one reached back.

You still answered his messages. Politely. Casually.

But you didn’t ask if he was okay anymore.

You didn’t call him Sugu anymore.

You didn’t love him loudly anymore.

You still loved him. Of course you did.

But you learned the hard way—he didn’t want it.

So you stopped offering it.

And by the time Geto realized what he'd thrown away—

You weren’t his anymore.

NANAMI KENTO

He never yelled at you.

He never called you clingy. Never said you were annoying. Never insulted your emotions.

But sometimes, silence wounds more than words ever could.

Nanami was kind. Always.

But kindness isn’t the same as closeness. And love, if only shown through quiet nods and tired sighs, begins to feel like obligation.

You used to sit beside him on the couch, your legs tucked under you, head on his shoulder, trying to start a conversation—about your day, about a show, about anything.

He would hum. Nod. Offer a soft “mm.” But the room always felt colder than his body.

“You okay?” you asked one night.

He looked up from his paperwork. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You hesitated. “You’ve been… distant.”

“I’ve been busy,” he said plainly. “Work’s been exhausting. You know that.”

“I know. I just… I feel like I’m losing you.”

He sighed through his nose, setting down his pen. “You’re not. You’re overthinking again.”

Again.

That word sank heavy in your chest.

You tried to smile. Tried to swallow it down. But it didn’t go away.

Because love wasn’t supposed to make you feel like a nuisance for needing it.

You stopped bringing up your feelings after that.

You stopped asking if he was okay, if you were okay, if he still wanted this.

You gave him space—not the kind he asked for, but the kind he made when he stopped looking at you like you were his.

He didn’t even realize you’d pulled away until one night, he reached for your hand—and you didn’t reach back.

You smiled, soft and sad.

“I don’t think you ever really loved me,” you said, not bitter—just tired. “I think you loved the quiet I gave you.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

And that was the last silence you were willing to bear.

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau

A/N: i was crying to sailor song. but anyways. we all need a bit of angst in our lives, right? (i think there is smth wrong with me for writing angst so i can cry)

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[leviitome]

2 — Mishaps | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

Wordcount: 2.8k

EDITED | ONGOING

cw: 18+, against the wall type beat, no condom, semi-public, teasing, etc.

Minors DNI.

Newly promoted and chronically late, you unknowingly take the last elevator available to only the highest-ranking executives and apparently, it's him. Suguru Geto. Who promises himself to give you, your exhausted, frustrated self, some type of relief every time you take his elevator.

You guess it’s just some sort of unspoken rule that no one else is allowed to be on the fourth elevator except for him. You don’t know why and you don’t know why you like that idea either. 

The thought lingers and follows you home, crawling under your skin as you reheat your dinner and pretend to pay attention to the television news in front of you. It lingers while you brush your teeth, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying to make sense of the flush that creeps up your neck every time you replay the way his mouth felt against your throat. 

You sleep terribly. Every time you close your eyes, you feel the weight of his hand on your waist, the low rumble of his voice reverberating against your ears sending shivers up your spine. You wake up three times, each time more frustrated than the last, you couldn’t believe you were losing sleep over this. Over him. You finally gave up after the third time, 5:47 a.m. and drag yourself into the shower. 

This morning, you’re early. Deliberately, the overcompensation-sorry-for-what-happened-yesterday-at-the-meeting early. 

You stand in front of the closet longer than needed, eyes darting to the same striped shirt slumped freely on the laundry basket. You finally settled on a black silk blouse. It’s form fitting, enough to accentuate your body in the best way, but also formal enough to not get you flagged or fired. You slip on your tights and a pencil skirt and you’re out the door by 6:30. 

The coffee shop down your apartment complex is nearly empty when you arrive, just you and a handful of other early risers clutching their cups with nothing but hollow soulless looks in their eyes. You order your usual and find yourself checking your watch obsessively. 

7:15, 7:18, 7:23..

You’re buying time, and you know it. 

The building lobby is quieter at this hour, your heels echoing differently against the marble. The elevator bank comes into view and your chest tightens involuntarily. All four elevators are waiting, doors shutting and opening. 

Elevator 4 sits empty on the far right. 

You stare at it for a moment longer than you should, remembering the way he’d stepped closer, the deliberate and calculated press of his body that had left you breathless and wanting more. Your fingers tighten around your bag. 

Then you turn left and step into elevator 2. 

The doors slide shut with a soft hiss, and you exhale for what feels like the first time all morning. The ride up is smooth, predictable, filled with the gentle hum of the machinery and the dings signifying each floor passed. There’s no dark hair falling loose around faces here, no low voices, no pair of eyes doing multiple once overs. 

Floor 63 approaches too quickly. 

You spend the morning throwing yourself into work with an intensity that borders on manic. You sent the draft from last night and follow through with emails, reports, client calls, anything to keep your mind occupied. But every time you hear the elevator ding somewhere down the hall, your attention averts. Every time you hear male voices in the corridor, your pulse quickens before you can stop it. 

It’s pathetic, really. 

Around 10:30, Sarah from HR stops by your office. She’s young, maybe twenty-five, with perfectly straightened hair and the kind of eager grin that suggests she hasn’t been here long enough to endure the long work hours and develop the appropriate level of corporate cynicism. 

“Settling in okay?” she asks, perching on the edge of the chair across from your desk, cautious not to touch anything. 

You nod, shuffling papers without so much as taking a glance at her. “Yeah, great up here. It’s quiet.” 

“Oh that’s good. Sometimes the transition to the upper floors can be… intense.” she leans forward, anticipating gossip. “Especially with all the executives around. They can be intimidating.” 

Something in her tone makes you look up. “Intimidating how?” 

Sarah glances toward your door, then back to you. “Well, take Suguru Geto, for example. Senior Exec, practically unheard of, but he’s here. I mean, the man has his own elevator.” 

Your coffee suddenly tastes bitter. “His own elevator?” 

“Elevator 4,” Sarah confirms, settling more comfortably. “I heard it’s been that way for years. It started as a joke – something about him feeling or being too important to wait with the rest of us, but now it’s just… accepted. Nobody else uses it unless they want to deal with him.” 

“Deal with him how?” 

Sarah’s breath stops for a second before continuing, like she’s said too much. “Oh, I don’t mean anything bad! He’s just… weird. Very focused and intense. Doesn’t really do small talk, you know? Most people find it easier to avoid him altogether.” 

You think he’s just being classist. 

He’s probably being classist.

“Why? Did you run into him or something?” 

The question hangs in the air, and you can feel her anticipation rising. You turn it down, “Just curious,” you manage. “New floor and all.” 

Sarah nods, but there’s something knowing in her expression that makes you uncomfortable. “Well, just a heads up – if you ever need to use that elevator for some reason, make sure you’re prepared for… an experience.” 

After she leaves, you can’t concentrate on anything. Experience, own elevator, a closeted classist. 

Lunch comes and goes. You eat a salad while scrolling through emails, but your mind keeps wandering. You find yourself wondering what other unspoken rules exist, it irks you enough, you’ve been here long enough to know everything in this place but you don’t. 

The afternoon crawls by, you attend another pointless meeting, you review contracts that blur together, and respond to messages like some robot. Every completed task is just another step closer to the end of the day, and the decision you know you’re going to make. 

Because somewhere in there, you know you want to see him again, somewhere through Sarah’s gossip and your own clouding thoughts. You know you want to, and you don’t care enough to fight back the urge. 

By 6:45, the floor has mostly emptied. The familiar quiet settles around you as you shut off your computer and grab your belongings. 

You slip on your heels, adjust your blazer, and walk toward the elevator bank. 

The corridor stretches ahead of you, polished and gleaming under the lights. Your reflection moves alongside you in the glass walls. Your heart pounds with anticipation. 

Elevators 1, 2, and 3, have been called to other floors. But elevator 4 waits, doors closed. 

You stop in front of it, your finger hovering over the down button as you finally press it. This is your moment of choice. You could still walk away, wait for another elevator. Pretend yesterday never happened. But you stayed and waited. 

The doors slide open not even thirty seconds later, and there he is. 

Suguru Geto leans in the back corner, but something about him is different tonight. His suit jacket was gone and draped over his shoulder, leaving him in the same white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, again. His tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone.

His eyes meet yours as you step inside, and there’s something there that wasn’t there before. Recognition. Satisfaction. 

“Back for more?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that makes your stomach flutter. 

You let the doors close behind you before you respond. “I work here,” you say, but this time there’s no coldness to it. Just a fact. 

“So you do.” he shifts slightly, angling his body toward you. “Though I noticed you avoided this elevator this morning.” 

Heat flashes through your face. “You noticed?” 

“I notice a lot of things.” his gaze drops to your mouth for just a moment. “Especially when they involve you making interesting choices.” 

The elevator stays still on the 63rd floor. 

“What kind of choices?” you ask, surprised by how steady and unnerving your voice sounds. 

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the space between you two shrinks. You don’t retreat, you hold your ground and meet his gaze entirely. 

“The kind that makes me wonder,” he murmurs, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, “if you’ve been thinking about yesterday as much as I have.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “And if I have?” 

His smile, slow and creeping. “Then I’d say we have a problem.” 

“What kind of problem?” 

“The kind where I’m trying very hard to maintain some semblance of professionalism,” he says, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the elevator railings near your waist. Trapping you. “And you’re making it very difficult.” 

“I don’t care,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “this is the last thing on my mind.” 

You lie. 

He sees right through it. 

Something in his expression shifts, surprise, hunger. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheekbones. 

“Careful,” he warns, no real threat. “You chose this elevator for a reason.” 

You don’t deny it. 

His thumb traces along your bottom lip, and you part them instinctively. The small action instantly made his lips twitch, suddenly the control he’s been maintaining cracks. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, and within seconds his mouth is on yours. 

The kiss is nothing like the teasing touches from yesterday. It’s hungry, desperate, months of stolen glances finally boiling over. His hand tangles in your hair while the other presses against the small of your back, closing the proximity between you two. 

Your hands find the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you kiss him back with equal fervor. 

He breaks away to trail his mouth down to your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. “Is this what you want?” he whispers between his kisses. “When you choose my elevator?” 

You nod in response, not wasting a breath. The admission makes him groan. 

His hand slides down to your hips, gripping tight as he presses you back against the wall. The cool metal is a stark contrast to the heat of his body and you arch into him. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says, but his mouth continues to paint suckles and kisses down your neck. “Tell me we shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you manage, but you let him continue anyway. 

He pulls back to look at you, eyes half-lidded. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about this? What you’ve done to me? Every time I see you, during those conferences, I don’t think about anything else." His voice is rough, “The moment I saw you on the elevator, my elevator, God.” he murmurs breathlessly. 

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you again, hungrier this time. His hands roam your body with increasing boldness - tracing the curve of your waist, skimming along the mounds of your breaths making you shiver with anticipation. 

The elevator is still stuck on floor 63, you don’t know who’s coming, but you don’t do anything. 

He takes in your pencil skirt and raises it above your hips, he admires the view of your tights sticking to your inner thighs. You’re already wet and aching. He pulls it down along with your underwear and stares for a moment. 

You looked away bashfully, he noticed your apprehension and placed a gentle kiss on your temple. 

“Beautiful.” 

With that, he hauls you up, holding you against the elevator wall, you’re sitting on nothing but a railing, trusting him that you won’t slip and fall on the floor. 

His hands roam all over you, unbuttoning your silk blouse, you helped him, your blouse showing a languid view of your chest as it heaved and fell. 

Your hand moved to his belt, your fingers unbuckling it, eyes locked into his. Geto’s breath hitches as his hands moved to his pants, pushing them down, revealing the bulging of his cock underneath his boxers. You both could feel each other's desire, he knew both of you should stop, that this could potentially ruin your reputations, but you couldn’t resist the temptation between you two. 

Geto’s hand moved from the silk blouse to your back, unhooking your bra in a quick motion. The garment popped open, leaving you bare to him. You gasped as his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing and massaging against your nipples. You could feel his tease, the intensity of the gaze as he stared at them with nothing but desire. 

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back as Suguru’s lips captured one of the buds. His hands moved to your hips, effortlessly lifting you up even more. You could feel him, hard and ready, as he positioned himself between your legs. 

“Geto,” you groaned. 

“Lose the formality,” he says between your chest. You’re taken aback, but you agree momentarily. 

His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them, pulling his boxers down right after. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body aching for more as he entered inside of you, filling you completely. The elevator hummed softly, you bet it won’t be long until the cleaning crew showed up, but that didn’t matter right now, neither of you noticed or even tried to care. 

Your bodies moved in sync, breaths mingling, emotions intertwining as you struggled to maintain control. The heat between you two was palpable, your bodies slick with sweat and heart pounding. 

Suguru’s hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he thrusts faster into you, body slamming against yours cravingly. 

Your quiet moans and whimpers filled the elevator, your body trembling as you reached your peak, your orgasm chasing, waiting to crash over you violently. You’ve been wanting this, for so long, you didn’t know how much your body yearned, so you let it. You let it happen. 

“Suguru–,” you fight back your moans, grabbing onto his shoulders for dear life. 

“Needed you,” he says in between breaths. “Needed this so bad you have no idea.” 

Everything felt overwhelming, the sound of skin to skin, the close proximity, it was pure and utter bliss. Your eyes go blurry from the immense pleasure. Suguru could see it, he could see how good he made you feel, how with each and every thrust you fight back a moan, biting your lip so that it wouldn’t escape. He didn’t like it, he wanted to hear you, he wondered how vocal you would be in bed with him, how you could curse and scream his name so loud without a care in the world. 

He doesn’t stop these thoughts, but thinks of ways to finally get you to fully, and loudly, express yourself without being restricted. 

With one continuous thrust you finally moan under his neck, your mind hazy as your pussy coaxes around him. Suguru followed soon after, his body shuddering, his release filling you completely. 

You remained like that for a moment, bodies entwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal. Suguru grabs a hold of your hand and nestles his face into it, planting a soft kiss before he drops you on your feet, gently. 

 You put the rest of your clothes back and onto your body, he does the same. The silence that follows is different from before, not charged with anticipation, but heavy with the weight of what just happened. 

You press on the elevator button to go to the ground floor. You clear your throat and smooth down your skirt, tuck your blouse back in properly, trying to erase the evidence of the encounter. 

The elevator dings softly a couple minutes later. Ground floor. 

Reality crashes back in waves. The lobby. Security cameras. Coworkers who might still be around. The reality waiting just beyond this elevator. 

The elevator door slides open, “I should go.” you say begrudgingly, but you don’t move. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he grabs a hold of your wrist, gently. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand and you wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. 

You both step out together, and the elevator doors close behind you. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. 

You nod, both of you commencing to go in opposite directions. 

He pauses, turning back mid-walk. “For what it’s worth,” almost yelling, you quickly turned around to place a finger on your mouth to shush him. 

He grins sheepishly, placing his hands beside his head to signal a surrender, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” he waves goodbye, before putting on his suit jacket and watching you get to your car. 

You couldn’t believe it. Heat is still rising through your cheeks as you think about it on your drive back. 

You just fucked your boss.