rinshoe

[rinshoe]

ᡣ𐭩 WITH NO ONE TO SHARE THE MEMORY OF FROST

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you can't keep going on like this. it's been six months since you took over as boss of the port mafia—six months since you killed mori—and nothing is adding up. you don't understand why you did what you did, and everyone always hits you with the same reasoning: it was for the betterment of the port mafia. you can't accept it, and you need answers, but you can hardly breathe with all of the enemies circling yokohama. you allow yourself one night of freedom. you shouldn't have.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: LETS GOOOOOOOOOO YAYYAYAYAYAYYYYYY INSTALLMENT ONE POSTED AT LAST. PLSSSSS CIVZAI NATION, I HOPE YOU GUYS DIDN'T LEAVE ME </333333 i hope you guys enjoy the first part MWAH MWAH <333 civzai fridays will be every other friday from here on out! so next one is coming the 27th. reblogs and comments always appreciated!!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia boss!reader, civilian!dazai, mentions of alcoholism, temporary amnesia, dazai is mentally unstable, so is reader, both of them are struggling LOL, grieving (reader), a bit of suicide ideation (that's a given from dazai, a little bit from reader too tho), as always: reader is part of the mafia, expect mafia behavior from her, she is not a good person.

SEE: THE LAND IS INHOSPITABLE (BUT ARE WE?) SERIES MASTERLIST

Red was once your favorite color.

Every Monday morning, you would start the week off with a fresh set of red roses in the vase on your desk, courtesy of Mori. He sent it with a note, usually asking you to do something for him or bemoaning the fact that you ignored another invite to brunch. You hardly ever read the notes he would send along with them, and sometimes you would toss the flowers too if he pissed you off enough the week before, but you never could help the small smile that curled to your lips when you first walked into your office and saw them every morning without fail.

Every Tuesday at three in the afternoon, you would meet Elise for teatime. She would shoo Mori out of his own office and dart around the room trying to finish setting everything up before you got there, not knowing you were already leaning against the door watching her scramble. Her red dress fluffed out around her as she panicked to get the cookies presentable, and she would screech when she saw you standing there watching her, slamming the door in your face until she was ready to let you in.

Every Wednesday, you would go down to the ports to ensure that all the week’s shipments arrived without any trouble. You would come back to your office late in the night to write up the report for Mori to review in the morning, and you would always find a drawing waiting for you. Usually just of you and Elise, but sometimes she would add in Mori or Chuuya or Kouyou, or all three—she always drew you in a red dress because she wanted you to wear one to match her, but you always said no, and she added little hearts along the border of the paper. You think she must’ve spent hours making sure that they were all even. Unlike Mori's notes, you kept every drawing from Elise in the top right drawer of your desk.

Every Thursday, Mori would send one of his direct subordinates down to your office as a messenger to invite you to dinner with him on Friday. You hardly ever looked up at the man, always too busy with your own work, only barely catching sight of the red tie he wore around his neck before you told him to get the hell out of your office.

Every Friday, in spite of your complaints, you would meet Mori for dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Naka-ku. You arrived five minutes late, just to keep him sweating, but his expression always lit up at the sight of you entering the private room. He never sat down until you did, so when you entered the room, he would be standing next to his seat with his hands behind his back, red scarf hanging around his neck and a ribbon of a matching color tied around yours—the only time you ever used to wear the gift he gave you back when you were a child. 

You never realized how much comfort a color brought you until you were deprived of the very things that you associated it with. Now, Elise’s dress haunts you around every corner, and you see Mori’s reflection in the mirror every time you dare to look into one—their blood stains your hands no matter how hard you scrub it away. The very color that once brought you solace is now the cause of your heartache.

Your throat swells as your hand closes around one of the wilted petals lying on the desk you’ve long abandoned, looking down at the drawing on the wood surface that must’ve been left months before. You haven’t been back to your office since taking over Mori’s, and you regret coming down here as soon as you step into the suffocating place where time seems to have come to a halt.

It’s been six months, but you’ve hardly had the chance to even mourn. You don’t even know if you have the right to mourn. This is on you, isn’t it? Your decision, your coup—not only were you the one to make the plans, you were the one to look him in the eyes and pull the trigger… and for what?

You let out a shaky breath as the withered petals crumble in your hand, letting them fall back onto the cool wood. You sigh and turn your back to them, leaning against your old desk, head hanging down. A mistake because your gaze immediately lands on the scarf that you pulled off Mori’s corpse. You swear you can still see the blood dripping off of its ends, pooling on the ground below you.

Luckily, the sound of someone opening the door to your office draws your attention away. Your gaze lifts until it lands on Chuuya, whose hands are shoved in his pocket as he looks over you quickly, a concerned expression clear on his face.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around alone,” he murmurs. “Why didn’t you tell Klaus or Akutagawa where you were going? Me?” 

You exhale deeply, shaking your head as you look away, gaze settling on the skyline of the city and the rising sun in the distance. The night is over, and any peace you might’ve had is gone with it. You miss when night raids and compromised weapons shipments were the biggest stress you had. Now, you had to deal with them, and you had to spend every waking second in heated discussions with the government, trying to dissuade them from sending in the Hunting Dogs to Yokohama.

They want someone to blame for the conflict with the Guild that rocked the city and the video that was released of you half a year ago, and they can’t get you now that you’re the only thing holding the East’s criminal underworld together unless they want an incident to put the Dragon’s Head to shame. They want Klaus if they can’t have you—they haven’t said it explicitly, but you know it’s true—and you’re not giving him over, so you’re desperately trying to brace yourself for a potential conflict with the military police. 

“I’ve hardly had a moment alone since I took over, Chuuya,” you reply after a second. “I’ve had someone with me every hour of the day. I’m in our main headquarters, I can afford to step away for fifteen minutes.”

“You’ve had six assassination attempts on you within the past two weeks. Three in this building,” Chuuya counters coolly. “You’re trying to risk everything we did just for fifteen minutes alone.”

You inhale deeply, jaw ticking at Chuuya’s comment. You know that he’s right—a few moments alone is not worth the potential risk that comes along with it. You don’t have an offensive ability or really any way of defending yourself if you’re ambushed while alone, but there’s only so much you can take of people hovering around you every second of the day. If it’s not Klaus, it’s Akutagawa. If it’s not Akutagawa, it’s Chuuya. If it’s not Chuuya, it’s Iceman and Albatross. If it’s not Iceman and Albatross, it’s Atsushi and Kyouka. You can sneak away sometimes, usually when it’s the Flags assigned to you, but those moments are far and few between, certainly not enough to rid you of the suffocation you feel on a daily basis.

“Give me a break,” you say quietly in response, the fight draining out of you. “Please.”

Chuuya falters at the frailty in your voice, shoulders slumping as he makes his way over to you. His eyes are heavy with emotion as they scan over you, and your lashes flutter when he reaches out to cradle the side of your face—the leather of his glove is achingly familiar against your skin. You can’t help the way you instinctively lean into his touch.

He lets out a long breath before stepping closer to you, pulling you to his chest. You’re boss of the Port Mafia now, and you can’t afford to show any weakness unless you want people to take advantage of it, but you’re in the privacy of your old office with your most trusted friend, so you allow yourself to sink into his arms, face dropping to rest in the crook of his neck. His hand slides to the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist. 

You can’t remember the last time someone held you like this. You want to savor it, but you don’t let yourself. With Chuuya’s body flush against yours as he comforts you, you can feel his heartbeat, though he’s become adept at lying to you with a straight face over the past half a year, his heart won’t lie.

“It’s been six months, and I still can’t understand why,” you say quietly, eyes sliding open, but you keep your head resting on his shoulder as you feel him tense.

“Why?” Chuuya prompts you to explain, trying to keep his voice light and conversational, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up.

“Why I killed Mori,” you say, gaze trained on Chuuya’s neck as he visibly swallows.

“It was for the—”

“For the betterment of the Port Mafia,” you finish before he can. “That’s what everyone tells me, and that’s why I remember doing it.”

“Then, what’s the problem?” Chuuya asks instead of confirming that it’s because that’s what happened—a mistake. “Hm?”

“You know something that I don’t, Chuuya.” You finally voice the suspicions that have been plaguing you for months. Chuuya’s heart rate spikes, and it’s all the confirmation you need. “I see. And you’re not concerned that I’ll order you to tell me what you know?”

“Don’t,” Chuuya says tightly. “I won’t forgive you for that.”

You exhale deeply. Having gotten what you need, you pull away from Chuuya, evading his gaze when you catch the hurt expression that crosses his face when he realizes you only indulged in his comfort to get information from him. You look down at your desk, fingers brushing the note Mori left for you with the now-withered roses six months ago. You haven’t opened it yet, and you don’t plan to, but you let your fingers trace the cursive hime on the front of the envelope. 

“At least tell me if I did the right thing,” you whisper, voice hoarser than you intended for it to be. “Please, Chuuya.”

“I wouldn’t have supported you if you didn’t,” Chuuya tells you after a few agonizing seconds of silence. “Cao Xueqin just landed in Tokyo. Mishima is hosting him until we get there. Are you ready?”

It’s his way of telling you to drop the subject—you can’t be centered on the past when there are threats at your doorstep just waiting for the first opportunity to strike—but it’s hard for you to move forward when you don’t even understand your own motives for killing your-

For killing Mori.

It’s for the betterment of the Port Mafia, but everything Mori has ever done has been for the betterment of the Port Mafia. Something just isn’t right about the reasoning—even if he did make questionable decisions concerning the Yakuza syndicates and outright bad ones against the Guild, it wasn’t enough to justify your eagerness to displace him as boss. Your ‘driving motive’ was the hand he supposedly played in your arrest half a year ago, conspiring with Ace to use you as a scapegoat to get the government off the Mafia’s ass but…

Your hand flattens against the note he left for you, eyes lingering on the roses he made sure to replace every week without fail.

He would never do that to you. You know in your heart that there’s something else going on, but you don’t know what, and you don’t know why you’re unaware of it. It’s hard for you to focus when you feel like you’re not understanding something so fundamental. 

You need to know why. You need to know why you really killed him, you need to know why you don’t know, and you need to know why Chuuya knows but won’t tell you. 

But first, you have to deal with Cao Xueqin.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Yeah, let’s go. Hopefully, this shit doesn’t take all day.”

From the way Chuuya grimaces, you have a feeling that it absolutely will.

------

Dazai doesn’t think about you anymore.

He doesn’t think about you when he wakes up in an empty bed every morning, and he pretends he doesn’t instinctively reach out for someone who is not next to him. He doesn’t think about you when he passes by a bookstore and sees the book he almost decided not to publish in the wake of your betrayal, and he pretends he doesn’t wonder whether or not there’s a bookstore close to the Port Mafia base, and if you’ve maybe seen it in passing. He doesn’t think about you while walking home after a day of lounging around the detective agency near Motomachi Shopping Street, passing by the ports to get to his apartment, and he pretends he doesn’t whip around when he thinks he sees a familiar figure shadowed by the setting sun.

He doesn’t think about you anymore. 

He really doesn’t.

Dazai takes in a deep breath as he adjusts his shoulder bag, attributing the way his eyes suddenly sting with tears to the midday sun shining directly into them. He shouldn’t be thinking about you, at least, but for some reason, you’ve already crossed his mind twice today, and it’s making him sick to his stomach. He knows it’s because he’s hungover, and whenever he’s hungover, he’s more prone to accidentally letting his thoughts run astray, but he wishes he would stop.

A part of him wishes that he could forget like you have. You took the easy way out by erasing your memories of him and going on with your life; he doesn’t haunt you the way you haunt his every waking second. You have it easy, and you don’t even know it. You don’t wake up with his name caught between your teeth like he does with yours. You don’t see him in the gaps between people’s faces on the street or hear his laughter in the wind like him. You don’t flinch when someone says the words forgot or abandoned, because those words mean nothing to you.

But for Dazai, it’s different. You’re in everything. He should hate you for wiping your memories clean of him, but he doesn’t. He envies you. He wishes that it were him. He told you once that he’d rather die than forget, and he thinks that maybe it still stands, because he can’t imagine a life without the memories of you, but sometimes… Sometimes, he thinks it might be easier. Sometimes, he wishes that it could be him who forgot, and you who was suffering being haunted by the ghost of him.

He’s moved on, he reminds himself like there isn’t still a gaping hole in his chest that he’s been trying to drink and fuck away for over half a year now. Nothing does the trick no matter how hard he tries to act like it does—taking someone else back to his bed is only bearable when he’s drunk enough to pretend it’s you, but it’s a double-edged sword in that once he’s drunk enough to start thinking about you, he can’t stop, and it always floods over into the next morning.

At least he’ll be at the Agency soon—he’s only a block away now, and then he can waste the day bothering them and trying to find some new inspiration for the new idea he had for a book. He hasn’t been able to get a single word down on paper despite making every effort. He’s resorted to filling up a journal with depressing poetry, hoping that if he rage writes and grief writes all of his emotions away, he’ll be able to move on and actually get to working on the new novel.

He isn’t exactly sure how he ended up with the Armed Detective Agency; he’s not complaining because he thinks the past six months would’ve been much darker without them in his life, but he does wonder why they took him in the way they did. He knows it has something to do with Yosano’s relationship with you and Ranpo supporting her, but he was surprised the rest were so quick to accept it.

“Hellooooo,” he sings as he enters the cafe beneath the Agency. 

The cafe manager immediately turns his attention to Dazai, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Dazai-kun, do you want a coffee before you head upstairs?”

“No, thank you, Uzumaki-san,” Dazai replies. “I’m going to head up. I’ll be down in an hour or two to try to sway your lovely wife astray.”

He tosses the cafe manager a wide smile, but the older man only rolls his eyes with an exasperated smile. “You’re going to end up being whipped across the head with another wet towel, Dazai-kun.”

“Worth,” Dazai calls over his shoulder before disappearing up the stairs to the fourth floor.

Dazai pretends he’s not almost out of breath by the time he gets up there, flinging open the door dramatically with a “Guess whooo!” only to pause when he doesn’t immediately get a response. His brows furrow as he makes his way deeper into the office, snooping around a bit until he hears some noise from what sounds like the first conference room.

Dazai isn’t technically a detective, and he probably should just lounge in the waiting area until someone comes out who he can annoy, but they’ve let him get away with enough that he can’t help the curiosity getting the best of him. He creeps around the corner and sees the whole group of them sitting around a table in the conference room, looking at something projected on the screen.

Dazai only barely registers the way Yosano’s expression shifts as soon as she notices him, rising to her feet. In the back of his mind, Dazai knows he should scamper back into the waiting room and pretend he wasn’t snooping, but he finds himself freezing at the sight of the image on the projector, mouth going dry and blood running cold. 

“Dazai,” he hears Yosano say distantly, but he can’t even draw his attention away from the screen. “I texted you, I said you probably shouldn’t come in today, I-”

“My phone was dead,” Dazai replies, but his voice sounds far away, even to his own ears. “What is… Why…”

Why are you on the projector? 

It’s a faraway, grainy image of you, but it’s you—Dazai would recognize you anywhere, and he feels like he’s been punched. He’s over this, over you, he tries to convince himself of it over and over again, but he just can’t draw his eyes away. He hasn’t seen you since that last day at the safe house, and the sight of you again after all of this time is ripping open all of the wounds that for months, he pretended were healed.

You look different now—he expected it, of course, it’s been over half a year, but nothing could’ve prepared him for actually seeing you again. He almost finds it hard to breathe, lungs clogged and body tense. It looks like CCTV footage from the ports, you’re standing with Nakahara Chuuya and your subordinate, Klaus, and Dazai has never seen you so tired before.

Even back at the beach house when he cornered you into admitting what was happening and why you were being so cagey, it’s nothing compared to this. Even with the image being as grainy as it is, he can see the lifeless expression on your face, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help the worry that bubbles in his chest. He should feel gleeful that you look as miserable as you do, at the idea that maybe you’re even half as miserable as he’s been without you, but he only feels concerned. And guilty. He feels guilty for accusing you of taking the easy way out when this clearly has not been easy for you.

Then, he pushes the thought away instantly. This was your choice. Dazai didn’t get a choice. There’s no reason he should be concerned, and there’s especially no reason for him to be feeling guilty.

“We got a request from the government regarding the Port Mafia.” It’s the President, Fukuzawa, who speaks up, and the surprise of it is enough to finally draw Dazai’s gaze off the screen.

“Sir, should we be—”

“It’s fine,” Ranpo interrupts, green eyes visible as he gazes at Dazai curiously before shooting a pointed look at Fukuzawa, waiting for him to continue. Dazai found that they don’t really question Ranpo much at all, so he’s not surprised when Kunikida backs down, even if he does still look perplexed as to why they’re telling Dazai the details of their new case. 

“The government was suspicious that there was a transition of power happening with how quiet they’ve been the past few months,” Fukuzawa explains, and Dazai swallows thickly, knowing exactly what power transition must have happened. “There’s been an uptick in activity the past month that they can’t handle on their own. This image was captured at one of the ports in Naka-ku four nights ago during a raid by the military police on a warehouse suspected of being owned by the Port Mafia. They were ready for it; twenty-nine officers were killed in the conflict that broke out, another eighteen still in critical condition. These three were at the center of it.”

“The one on the left is Nakahara Chuuya, a confirmed executive of the Port Mafia and one of the strongest ability users in the world. He’s been at the top of the nation’s most wanted list for years,” Fukuzawa continues, and Dazai has a feeling he knows that he doesn’t need to explain this, considering Dazai’s former relationship with a Port Mafia executive, but he supposes it’s better to keep up appearances. He wouldn’t be in the best spot if his connection with the Port Mafia became public knowledge—the less people who know all the details, the better. Even in this room, only the detectives are aware of Dazai’s past with you. “The young boy in the red is supposedly the new boss’s personal bodyguard—nineteen-year-old Klaus Mann, a wanted terrorist throughout Europe and Asia. Three years ago, he was added to the list of the Seventeen Worldly Evils at number nine after massacring several military units in Eastern Russia. Four hundred and thirty-six soldiers were killed in the rampage.”

Though Dazai thinks he should be more stuck on the fact that the stupid teenager that screeched at the sight of plastic skeletons in your apartment and looked like a kicked dog whenever you scolded him is on the list of the Seventeen Worldly Evils alongside some of the most villainous individuals Dazai’s ever had the misfortune of learning about, he’s more stuck on something else.

New boss.

His gaze drifts back up to your image on the screen, but this time, his eyes linger on the red scarf draped around your neck—the one he vividly remembers Mori wearing that day. Dazai knew that this was your plan, but it’s different hearing that you succeeded. It’s different knowing that you’re actually the Port Mafia boss now.

Does that mean that you killed Mori?

 If he weren’t so devastated over how things turned out for the two of you, he would almost be impressed that you were capable of following through with a plan like yours in the midst of the chaos and confusion of your memory being altered. But he is devastated, and angry, and resentful, so his jaw only tightens in frustration.

“New boss?” Dazai whispers, voice faint. He ignores the grimace that crosses Yosano’s face at his question to keep his eyes trained on you. He feels bitter again—angry—you could have succeeded with him at your side. You didn’t have to stoop to this; you didn’t have to—

“The woman in the middle is suspected to be the new boss of the Port Mafia,” Fukuzawa answers, and Dazai’s gaze averts to the ground immediately. “Under the new regime, the Port Mafia has expanded rapidly, and it’s left the framework holding this city together unbalanced. There’s no longer a functioning government check on the Port Mafia, which leaves them open to acting out of their jurisdiction.”

Dazai swallows as Fukuzawa clicks onto the next slide, gaze focusing on a vaguely familiar smiling face.

“The new mayor of the city,” Fukuzawa explains, although Dazai is fairly certain that’s not where he knows him from. “Walter Lippmann.”

“The actor?” Tanizaki asks doubtfully, brows knit together.

“And suspected Port Mafia affiliate,” Fukuzawa agrees, clicking onto the next slide, which shows that same man sitting with you and another familiar face. That’s right—he was one of the ones he met that day at the safe house, so is the other man sitting with you in the picture.

You don’t look quite as lifeless in this image—it’s less grainy than the CCTV from the warehouses—but you certainly don’t look happy. The smile on your face is convincing, but Dazai can tell that it doesn’t reach your eyes. He’s seen your real one often enough to know that.

“So what does the government want us to do?” Kunikida asks, straightening in his seat to frown at Fukuzawa. “If they can’t do anything, what makes them think we can?”

“They’re using us to knock the Port Mafia down a peg, obviously,” Ranpo says, unwrapping a lollipop and sticking it in his mouth, leaning back in his seat carelessly. “We’re not bound by the same rules as they are. They want us to either get proof to have Lippmann removed from office, or they want the kid, Klaus, so they can do something to prove to the rest of the world that the Port Mafia is still under control.”

Dazai suddenly doesn’t want any part of this. His stomach churns, and his eyes are a bit unfocused as he directs his attention to the wall. He wasn’t prepared to hear about you today—he hasn’t spoken about what happened to anyone, even Yosano, who Dazai is pretty sure has a good idea of what happened, considering her past with you. He’s tried so hard to pretend that you don’t exist, and he just wasn’t prepared to have reality tossed in his face like this.

Shit. 

He needs fresh air desperately; the room feels too stuffy, the air too stale, what little is getting to his lungs is not enough, and it’s making his head feel light.

“Are you okay?” He hears Yosano ask, but her voice sounds so far away. He wants to snap at her—does it look like I’m okay?—but no words leave his parted lips. “Dazai, you—”

“I need to step out. Ah, too much crab last night. Yosano-sensei, you're so right, I need to change my diet. Don't mind me,” he finally pushes out, voice wavering in spite of his attempts to joke around as he quickly comes back the way he came, only getting to the main room before he has to lean on one of the detective’s desks, hand pressed to his mouth as he tries to hold back heaves. He hears someone follow him, but he doesn’t bother to look until he feels them touch his shoulder—he knows it’s Yosano, but he still jerks away. “Don’t touch me.”

So embarrassing, Dazai thinks, desperately trying to get a hold of himself. He’s been careful to keep a light demeanor around the detectives. He doesn’t want to be too off-putting and push away the only people he has left, but he can’t help the way his body physically reacts to the image of you after all of this time, and he certainly can’t help the way his whole mind feels like it’s collapsing at the reminder of your betrayal after he’s tried to shove it away for so long.

He hates you, he thinks desperately, but even as the thought crosses his head, he knows it’s not true. He doesn’t think he could ever hate you, but he’s so… so angry. He’s so angry and resentful, and he’s hardly allowed himself to really come to terms with the fact that you forcibly removed him from your life by wiping all of your memories of him when you knew he needed you and when he told you that he would rather risk being with you than alone again.

Dazai usually has a silver tongue, but he can’t even put into words the pain that he’s been suffering every day knowing that you’re out there living your life unaware of his existence when six months ago you would look at him like he’s the only thing that mattered in the world, when you treated him like he was something worth risking everything for. He’s woken up drenched in sweat from nightmares where he would run into you again, and your gaze would flit over him like he’s not even there, like he’s no one. 

“Dazai, what… happened between the two of you?” Yosano asks after a moment, voice quiet. “I don’t… I still don’t understand-”

“Nothing, I'm fine. I told you, it's just the crab," Dazai replies, trying to keep his voice light and giving her a smile that he knows doesn't reach his eyes. She frowns at him, but he looks away, doing his best to pull himself together before he can embarrass himself even more. “I should go.”

“Dazai…” Yosano starts to say, but Dazai ignores her, fixing his shoulder bag and starting to make his way out of the Agency. He only stops when he hears Ranpo call his name.

“We could use your insight,” the detective says flippantly. “You know more about the Port Mafia than any of us. If we don’t succeed in at least one of these requests, the government plans on sending in the Hunting Dogs to deal with them, and if they do that… Well, let’s just say there’s a good chance Miss Coup D’etat ends up being their first target. They don’t want to target her, because as much as she’s been pushing boundaries with the government, the threat of her and the new Port Mafia is keeping a lot of foreign organizations out of Japan, but they will go right for her throat if they can’t get her in line somehow.”

Dazai stiffens at his words, an unsure feeling spreading through his chest at Ranpo’s words. Instead of agreeing, he gives the other man a dirty look.

“Ah, Ranpo-san, you really know how to make a man feel wanted,” Dazai sighs airly, ignoring the sting in his chest. “I wondered why you kept me around so long. This was why, huh?” 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Ranpo says irritably, “I’m the greatest detective this world has ever seen—I don’t need you for anything. I don’t need anyone for anything.”

Dazai presses his lips together and is about to walk away, but freezes when Ranpo’s eyes open to focus on him. He thinks he’s seen the man open his eyes no more than a handful of times in the months he’s spent hanging around the Agency, and two of them were today alone.

“But no,” Ranpo continues, more serious now. “I didn’t agree with you hanging around here because we might need you in the future. I agreed because you looked lonely and like you needed someone.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. He shakes his head and turns to leave as he repeats more hoarsely, “I should go.”

“Think about what I said,” Ranpo calls after him.

Dazai has absolutely zero intention of doing that, but he does intend on getting shit-faced drunk to forget about everything that’s happened today.

------

You think this meeting would be far more bearable if you were drunk. 

For ten hours, you’ve been sitting across from Cao Xueqin, and you’ve made no progress since you first arrived. In fact, you think you might’ve taken steps backward, if anything, because you’re becoming increasingly more frustrated with how the man seemingly has a billion different ways to phrase the same request, and he’s becoming increasingly more frustrated with how you seemingly have a billion different ways to say no.

Having the Sun and Steel merge into the Port Mafia as a subsidiary branch meant that you were also acquiring oversight of their narcotics trade. It was the only condition Mishima had to the merger—he didn’t want to lose everything he built, and you could sympathize with that—and although you were displeased by the prospect of involving the Port Mafia with narcotics, the benefits outweighed the risks. 

Now, you’re faced with the consequences because, of course, Mishima didn’t tell you that he’s been in constant conflict with the Red Chamber over the shipping routes in the East Asia Sea. He was still dealing with the aftermath of a fight that broke out between the two organizations at sea when he agreed to the merger and didn’t find it prudent to warn you of it before you arrived in Tokyo to a displeased mafia boss who has lived by the eye for an eye principle his entire life.

Eighteen deaths, including one executive, for the Red Chamber, only nine for the Sun and Steel, no executives; and Cao Xueqin has the nerve to come to Port Mafia territory and demand the lives of nine members, including one of your executives, in recompense. You had half a mind to have Chuuya kill him the moment he made his demand, but it would only cause more issues in the long run—the Red Chamber is like a hydra, kill one head, and two more take its place. If you’re going to go to war with them, you need to salt the foundations their organization is built on, or you’ll never be rid of them.

And you can’t afford to do that right now because you still have the government on your ass and the threat of the Hunting Dogs hanging over your shoulders.

What a mess, you think irritably, cool gaze drawing back over to Mishima, who has the decency to be shameful as he looks away. You have a feeling that he did this on purpose—that this is why he was so amenable to merging with the Port Mafia. You’d expected more pushback from him than you got; you should’ve questioned it more than you did. The only reason they would jump to accepting this was if they needed the Port Mafia’s protection, but you’d been so overwhelmed with the coup that you took your blessings when you could.

Of course, they weren’t actually blessings. Nothing is ever that easy for you.

“Maybe we should come back to this another day,” you finally say, putting your cigarette out on the table. God, you don’t even want to know how many you’ve gone through today. It comes out like a request, but it isn’t really because as soon as the words leave your lips, you’re rising to your feet. “How long will you be in Tokyo?”

Cao Xueqin smiles thinly as he replies, “Until this is settled.”

“Lovely,” you say, careful not to let the distaste show up on your face. “Perhaps it would be more efficient if you were staying at a hotel in Yokohama—that way, we don’t have to travel to and from Tokyo just for negotiations.”

Cao Xueqin would have come to Yokohama to begin with if he had wanted to stay in the city. He doesn’t because it’s the heart of Port Mafia territory, and you know this, but you want to remind him that he has no right to make any demands of the Port Mafia when he’s too wary of it to even step foot in its city. 

His smile tightens, clearly understanding the point you’re trying to make, and he answers tensely, “It’s easier for us to remain in Tokyo.”

“I’m sure,” you reply, amusement audible in your tone. “I’ll contact you when I get to Tokyo tomorrow. Have a good night.”

You don’t wait for a response—usually, you would wait for the other party to leave in order to keep up appearances, but there’s no point in hiding your annoyance. Everyone in the room knows that neither you nor Cao Xueqin is pleased with how the day turned out, so there is no point in pretending, and you just want to get home. You need a drink desperately.

Chuuya trails behind you as you leave. Mishima is the one who comes to walk next to you, an awkward expression on his face. When his lips part to say something, you raise your hand to silence him.

“We’ll speak another time,” you say tightly. “Have a good night, Yukio.”

Mishima sighs, gaze lowering. “Have a good night,” he echoes quietly. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Another time,” you repeat, stressing the words this time as you give him a flinty look from the corner of your eye. Hearing his bullshit apologies right now would only serve to piss you off more. If he were truly sorry, he never would’ve hidden this from you to begin with. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Mishima replies, coming to a stop at the top of the steps while the three of you continue down to where Albatross is waiting in the car.

Before you get in the car, you turn to look at Chuuya. “Can you…”

You don’t have to finish what you’re asking for him to know what you’re going to say, which you’re grateful for because you never know who’s listening. But you don’t want Cao Xueqin freely roaming around Port Mafia territory, so you need him to go make sure one of Verlaine’s special ops units is in the area and can tail him while he’s in the city. 

“Yup,” he agrees, reaching out to squeeze your bicep before turning his attention to Albatross. “Get her back safe.”

Albatross waves his hand to dismiss him, rolling his eyes, and Chuuya scowls at him before casting you one last long look and taking off.

“Get her back safe,” Albatross mocks in a pitched voice once you sit in the passenger seat next to him. “The fuck else am I gonna do?”

You let out a huff of laughter, smiling down at your lap. Your fingers thrum against your leg as an idea comes to mind now that Chuuya is gone. You give Albatross a curious look from the corner of your eye as he pulls off the side of the street to start driving back to Yokohama. You give him a sweet smile that only makes him suspicious.

“I want to stop at a bar when we get back to the city,” you finally say firmly.

Albatross has the nerve to laugh in your face—the only person who hasn’t started treating you differently now that you’re boss. “Oh, I get it now—the warning wasn’t because of me, it was because of you. No fuckin’ way.”

Your brows furrow as you turn in your seat to face him. “I’m the boss,” you remind him. “I want to stop on the way back.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Albatross says in response, giving you a pointed look before looking back at the road. “I’m the one behind the wheel. We’re not stopping at a goddamn bar. Drink in your office.”

You let out a frustrated puff of air as you look away. “I want one normal night, Albatross, please-”

“Sure,” he agrees too easily, so you know something else is coming. “Let me go get the Black Lizards set up around whatever bar you’re trying to stop at. We’ll make it a whole operation.”

You shake your head as you let out another sigh. “Forget it,” you murmur. “Let’s just get back to the base.”

Albatross groans. “Come on, doll. Don’t hit me with that.”

“Hit you with what?” you ask bitterly. “I dropped it, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Albatross rolls his eyes, but his lips flatten as he stares out at the road, a conflicted expression on his face. “Why do you want to go to a bar so bad?”

“I need a break from headquarters for the night,” you say quietly. You don’t know how to tell him that you’re haunted by the face of the very man you killed; that you can’t even look in a mirror without seeing him, that being in his office and sitting at his desk makes you sick to your stomach, that wearing his scarf feels like the weight of the world around your shoulders. So, instead, you just say, “It’s suffocating.”

But Albatross is Albatross, so he knows exactly what you mean. He always does. You want to hate the sympathetic look he casts your way, but you relax when he reaches out to squeeze your hand. Your fingers tighten around his instead of pulling away.

“I’ll call Iceman. He’ll meet us there, and we’ll wait outside, yeah?” Albatross finally compromises, turning his head to look at you. “No bringing anyone back to HQ otherwise Chuuya will find out. You find someone you wanna fuck, then we’ll bring you to one of our hotels and tell him tomorrow what you just told me. Deal?” 

“You’re so crude,” you complain, but you already feel a weight lifted off your chest at the realization that you won’t have to spend tonight spooked by shadows that take the form of achingly familiar figures. “... Thanks, Albatross.”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand again and letting your joined hands rest in your lap. After a few moments, he turns his head to look at you and says, “Just don’t fuckin’ tell Chuuya.”

You laugh. “As if I would.”

------

Dazai doesn’t know how he finds himself back at the bar he met you, of all places.

He hadn’t even realized where he was walking until he was standing outside with his hand around the doorknob. By that point, he was so desperate to numb all of the emotions that had been wreaking havoc on his chest and mind all day that he just gave up and went in, acknowledging that it probably wasn’t the best idea but too frustrated to care. 

He regrets it now, though—he feels like he’s suffocating sitting in the same exact seat he was in when you first walked through the doors the night the two of you met. His fingers are tracing the same etch in the wood underneath the bartop that he was fiddling with when he was rambling to you, and his gaze is trained on the top-shelf whiskey that you were drinking that night; it doesn’t even seem like it's been touched since then. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised—most people coming to this bar can’t afford that type of liquor anyway.

It’s almost dusk, and Dazai is still on his third drink—he went back to his apartment before heading to the bar, and he ended up lying in his futon staring up at the ceiling for hours until his thoughts became too unbearable to deal with without alcohol. He’s only just now starting to feel the buzz, and it’s just not enough; every thought that crosses his mind is centered around you. Memories of his time with you that you no longer have, questions about what you might be doing, fantasies of how things might be if you’d actually listened to him instead of going through with your shitty plan.

Dazai’s throat spasms as he takes another long swig of his drink—the burn in his throat isn’t enough to take away from the pain that shoots through his chest. He misses you. He misses you so badly that it physically hurts, and he wants to hate you for what you did, but he can't even bring himself to do that. He’s angry, and he’s hurt, but most of all, he’s frustrated.

Frustrated that you took away his choice.

Frustrated that you wouldn’t listen to him.

Frustrated that you erased all of your memories of him.

Frustrated that you left him alone when he asked—no—when he begged you not to. 

It’s all so unfair, and he knows life has never been fair. Dazai, of all people, knows that, but you were always fair to him. Maybe he’d gotten too used to it, but the most unfair part of all of this is that he can’t even bring himself to hate you. He wants to, he’s tried to, but the closest he’s gotten is the burning resentment he feels for you on nights like these.

Every time he remembers you’re out there living your life without knowing he even exists after all of the months you spent with him, it makes him sick with anger and distress. He can feel the bile rising in his throat and the acidic burn on his tongue because how is it possible that you can just not know him when you used to look at him like he was your entire world? 

Nobody had ever looked at him the way you did before, nobody ever treated him the way you did, nobody ever loved him the way you did, and nobody ever will again because you chose to go and completely cut him out of your life. The only person who ever loved him so unconditionally no longer even knows he exists.

He misses the door to the bar opening when he takes another long gulp of his whiskey, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes and the tremor in his fingers. He should find someone to distract himself with—that’s the only thing that sometimes works when he gets like this. If he leaves himself alone all night, plagued with thoughts of you, he’ll end up drinking himself to a bridge that he can never bring himself to jump over and end up sleeping on a bench in some shady park too close to the ports.

He’s about to turn around to seek someone out—he doesn’t care who, but he’d prefer if they had some similar features to you, that way, when he gets drunk enough, he can trick his brain into thinking it’s actually you—when his traitorous brain conjures up another horror:

How many people have you been with since you wiped your memories of him?

Dazai freezes in his seat as he stares down at the amber liquid sloshing in his glass—he’d slammed it a bit too hard on the bartop when the question crossed his mind, and he can vaguely see the bartender giving him a dirty look from the opposite side of the bar. Dazai has been with quite a lot of people since you left him, and he’s had the memory of you as a major deterrence, be it because some nights he gets too sick at the thought of anyone but you touching him or that the person he sought out realizes he’s a bit too fucked in the head and makes an excuse to leave, but you…

You don’t even have the memory of him as a deterrence, and Dazai knows better than anyone how sought after you were. It was the root cause of many of his insecurities when the two of you were together; he remembers the event he attended before the two of you were official, how people were drawn to you, put off by the fact that you were dancing with him. People would jump at the opportunity to be with you and—

Dazai feels sick, swiveling around in his seat a bit too quickly because he’s desperate for a reprieve from his own mind. He doesn’t even care who anymore. The first person who looks at him will do as long as they can take his mind off you. He just can’t deal with being stuck with his own thoughts as company anymore, and he…

Huh?

His gaze settles on a figure standing just a few feet away from him, and Dazai thinks that his mind must be playing tricks on him—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time in the past six months. He blinks twice, trying to clear his vision, and his brows furrow slowly in confusion when the figure doesn’t immediately disappear. His mouth goes dry, and his throat spasms as he tries and fails to swallow a sudden rock lodged in it. 

There’s no way-

“Hey,” a voice that’s unmistakably yours says easily, an inquisitive lilt to your tone as you look over him with achingly familiar eyes. “Have we… met before?”

[rinshoe]

hes so breedable WHAT who said that

[rinshoe]

୨୧﹕fem!reader, cheating on ur bf with megumi

megumi’s on your bed.

not sprawled. not eager. just… there. back against the wall, legs spread wide, one knee pulled up lazy. hoodie sleeves shoved to the elbows, jaw resting in his hand, the way someone might pose when they’re waiting for a train.

or pretending not to notice the way you’re crawling toward him, underwear already on the floor, your tank top sliding off one shoulder.

“you’re insane,” he says flat, eyes flicking up to meet yours. calm. cold. but there’s heat under it. that burn. you can see it—low in his stomach, tension in the muscle above his jaw, the twitch in his fingers when you straddle his lap.

“he doesn’t fuck me right,” you whisper, rocking against the bulge in his sweats. “you don’t even touch me and i get off harder.”

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t move.

and he doesn’t stop you.

you grind against him slowly, bare pussy dragging along the soft fabric, soaking through it in seconds. you swear you feel him twitch—just once—but he doesn’t react. doesn’t moan. doesn’t breathe heavier.

he’s watching you like he’s not involved. like he’s not the reason you’re already panting, already leaking.

you whimper. “say something.”

he shrugs. “you’re gonna do it anyway.”

that fucking bastard. you glare, frustrated, and slide your hand between you, tugging down the waistband of his sweats to free his cock. he’s already rock hard, thick and pulsing, tip wet and angry red.

“so you do care,” you murmur, licking your palm and wrapping your fingers around him.

still nothing. no change in expression. but his cock twitches when you slide down, letting your slick, desperate pussy hover just above the head.

“you think i won’t?” you taunt. “you think i won’t fuck you right now, with my boyfriend in the kitchen?”

he tilts his head, gaze sharp. “you think i care if he hears?”

and fuck. that’s it. that’s the thing that breaks you.

you sink down onto his cock, slow and smooth, biting your lip to keep the cry inside—but he’s so big, so deep, and the stretch hits something devastating. you moan into your palm, hips grinding down to take him to the hilt.

he exhales. once. slow. controlled.

“you’re wet enough to slide right in,” he says, voice low and unbothered. “slutted yourself up before i even touched you.”

you ride him. desperate now. wet and breathy and furious that he still won’t touch you. won’t help. won’t thrust up or kiss you or even blink like he’s invested.

but his cock is so fucking perfect, filling you just right, dragging along that spot inside that makes you twitch and claw at his shoulders.

you start to fall apart.

and then—his hands grab your waist. out of nowhere. tight.

“i said you could fuck yourself on it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “i didn’t say i wouldn’t use you once you did.”

then he slams you down.

and the bed creaks.

and you scream his name like you don’t have a boyfriend downstairs.

[rinshoe]

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: six months have passed since you took over as boss of the port mafia, but nothing makes sense. you seek answers that nobody seems to have or is willing to give you, but one chance encounter at a bar with a strange author leads to everything unravelling. (fem!reader, port mafia boss!reader, civilian!dazai, romance & angst, (temporary) amnesia, wc: tba)

AUTHOR’S NOTES: WAHHHHHHH GUYS IT ONLY TOOK A YEAR FHISJDJDJD BUT ITS FINALLY HERE i hope civzai nation is still alive otherwise i’ll CRY HAHAHAH did u guys wait for me please say yes </333 you guys know the drill: pls comment on this post if you wanna be on the taglist! first chapter next friday, and after that, every other friday! reblogs super appreciated!!

01: WITH NO ONE TO SHARE THE MEMORY OF FROST

02: A DEAL YOU CAN MAKE ON A MIDNIGHT WALK ALONE

03: I HAVE HOPE (SHE’S BLIND WITH NO NAME)

04: OH, HOW THE DARK AWAITS US

05: JUDGMENT BY THE HOUNDS

06: MEMORIES SNOW, MEMORIES MELT

07: LOVE IS LIKE A STAR (IT’S TRAVELLED VERY FAR)

08: I AM TAKEN, THE NIGHT HAS ME

09: THE WRATH OF THE DEVIL WAS GIVEN BY GOD

10: YOU BELIEVE ME LIKE A GOD, I BETRAY YOU LIKE A MAN

11: YOU BELIEVE ME LIKE A GOD, I DESTROY YOU LIKE I AM

12: CAN WE STAY AWHILE AND LISTEN TO HEAVEN?

[rinshoe]

You were just standing there next to him, minding your own business and clinging to his arm while he tries to pick between two different brands of instant ramen like it was a life-or-death decision—when suddenly, they appeared.

A small group of girls, giggling too loudly with each other and having absolutely no shame as if they weren’t in a public space. They stepped way too close and crowded Choso, brushing his arm, and leaning into his space.

“Hey, you’re really tall—do you model?”

“Your eyelashes are so long, that’s not fair!”

“Aww, Is that your little sister?” one of them snorted as she looked you up and down, not even bothering to lower her voice.

Choso blinked confusedly, lips parting slightly but no words came out, totally frozen in place. He wasn’t used to this. Flirting? With strangers? In public? His brain short-circuited. He clutched the ramen in his hand like it might save him.

You just raised your eyebrows, trying not to laugh at his reaction. You could feel the heat and nervousness radiating off of him—your poor shy boyfriend, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Then he just snapped.

His hand suddenly slid around your jaw and grabbed it—squishing your cheeks together and tilting your face up to meet his and before you could even gasp, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t a soft kiss or a polite peck.

No, this was messy and heated—teeth clashing together, spit and tongues tangling, his lips moving desperately and hungrily against yours while his other big hand found your waist and yanked you flushed against him like he was staking a claim.

You squeaked into his mouth with wide eyes, completely shocked—your fingers gripping his shirt for balance because fuck he was holding you so tightly.

One of the girls stammered something like “oh!” and another let out a nervous laugh, but Choso didn’t stop. He kissed you like he forgot where you were, like he didn’t care that you were standing in the middle of the aisle right between chips and cup noodles with wide-eyed strangers watching.

When he finally broke the kiss, your lips were shiny, your eyes dazed and your breath came out in tiny pants.

He turned to the girls—flushed pink and slightly panting with a hardened cock and muttered, “She’s my girlfriend”.

Silence.

Then, with the confidence of a man who just devoured his girl in front of God and everyone, he decided to grab both of the ramen packs he was having problems deciding from and mumbled, “Let’s go, baby,” tugging you away with a death grip on your hand.

(You didn’t stop smiling the entire walk to the register).

[rinshoe]

military!rafe marries a one-night stand, knocks her up, and obsesses over her polaroids overseas.

a/n: inspired by this anon

you were supposed to be a one-night stand. a quick fuck after too many shots, just another girl hanging around the base like a pretty little souvenir waiting to be claimed. you wore lip gloss and a crop top and called him “sir” just to tease. he fucked you in a twin-sized bed with a ripped sheet and a case of beer on the floor.

he meant to forget about you. really, he did.

but then you made him breakfast the next morning. and when you bent over in those tiny shorts, humming some pop song while his dog tags swung between your tits, he looked at you and said, “we should get married.”

you blinked, mascara smudged. “what?”

“deadass.” he leaned back in the cheap kitchen chair, beer in hand, bare chest on full display. “barracks suck. married marines get paid more. get better housing. you want benefits, right?”

you should’ve said no. should’ve laughed. but then he called you sweetheart and said he’d pay for your nails and suddenly, you were standing in front of a government official in a sundress and flip flops, signing your name next to his.

he knocked you up within a month. didn’t even mean to, but he didn’t pull out either.

“look at you,” he murmured, palm flat on your stomach, cock still buried inside you. “gonna get all swollen for me, huh?”

he deploys two weeks later. leaves behind a house full of laundry and the memory of his teeth on your neck. but he takes a shoebox with him—stuffed full of polaroids he won’t show anyone else. you in lace pink nightgowns with nothing underneath. you in the passenger seat of his truck with your thighs spread and a lollipop in your mouth. you in his bed, all flushed and fucked-out, grinning like the devil.

his squad knows when he’s thinking about you. knows when he disappears into the tent with headphones and a locked jaw. they make jokes, but nobody pushes it.

“you miss your little wife?” someone asks, smirking.

rafe just shrugs. “miss that mouth.”

and when he finally calls, scratchy and low from some godforsaken corner of the world, the first thing he asks is:

“you wearing my shirt, babydoll?”

[rinshoe]

──── BEFORE YOU NOTICED ────

a series made by © cameronsbabydoll

you stopped humming in the kitchen weeks ago.

stopped opening the windows.

stopped eating with him.

he didn’t notice.

you wake up aching, bones hollowed out, skin cold no matter how many silk blankets wrap around you. you brush your hair. you make his coffee. you smile when he leaves.

you’ve always been the quiet kind of wife. soft-spoken. gentle. waiting.

so when your body begins to fail you, you do it in silence too. you take your pills in the guest bathroom. you cough into towels. you write letters he’ll read one day with shaking hands and too-late love.

you never wanted him to love you because you were dying.

you just wanted him to love you before you were gone.

but he was busy. he was tired. he was building an empire.

and you, well you were just dying in the house he built for you.

CHAPTERS — ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

coming soon!

[rinshoe]

♡ bitchy!pogue!reader brings a friend to tanneyhill..

warnings: sex work, threesome (m + f + f), face sitting, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little but of wlw

a/n: i’m really nervous about posting this fic in particular because it’s my first time writing smut with another woman so please give me some grace!

“how the fuck did you even discover this place?!” topper ran his hands through his hair, his jaw falling slack as his eyes danced around the room full of pretty girls prancing around in trashy lingerie and heels. ‘pink sugar’ was by far the most attended to strip joint on the cut— and it showed. as soon as any patron walked in, they were immediately hit with a whirlwind of cheap perfume, body glitter, and sparkly lipgloss. it was every man’s wet dream come true.. including rafe’s.

“life on figure eight gets stale after a while, bro. sometimes you just gotta expand a little bit, y’know?” topper nodded even though the words that rafe just said went in one ear and right out the other. the two of them took a seat in front of the main stage, a waitress wasting no time in getting their drink orders taken up to the front. while rafe had been here a handful of times, topper was like a kid in a candy store as he sat in awe.

meanwhile, you were getting ready in the locker room, both you and your best friend sticking rhinestones around each other’s eyes as you two waited to be called out by the dj for your turn to perform. “it better be a full house tonight.. i already have my eyes on these shoes, and there’s no way in hell i’m not getting them.” you cursed under your breath, running a pink comb through your hair to make sure everything looked perfect.

just as you adjusted the garter straps of your stockings, you heard your name being announced to the crowd outside. “good luck out there!” your bestie called out behind you, a giggle leaving your lips as you waved. even though you were more than familiar with the atmosphere already, you couldn’t help the thumping of your heart everytime you walked out from behind the curtains and felt the burning stares from the hungry men in the audience against your skin.

you smiled sweetly, the lights dimming just in time for you to lock eyes with two guys in the front. one looked laid back, his gaze raking down your figure as he drank from his glass, and the other looked like he couldn’t believe you were real. you knew right away he was a first timer by the way he leaned forward in his seat. pretending no one else was in the room, you started dancing, the floor already being littered with various dollar bills.

you tuned out the whistles and the hollering and focused on only the music, your set going by faster than you thought. with only one more song left on your list of requests, you stepped down from the stage, your hips swaying as you walked over to the two men you saw when you first came out. snaking your hands down the chest of the one with a buzz cut, you kneeled between his thighs before feeling him over his lap, his jaw clenching as he watched you intently.

rafe knew as soon as you looked up at him with something a little more than just lust in your eyes, he was going to have to take you away from here, your glossy lips shining underneath the neon lighting of the club. originally coming out to pre-game for the rager rafe was throwing tonight at tanneyhill, he figured he’d get the party going early with you looking so fucking pretty between his legs. he didn’t get to dwell on the sight for too long before you left him alone just as the song ended.

flashing him a wink, rafe watched you disappear backstage, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. blinking out of his trance, rafe told topper he would be right back with more drinks before making his way over to the bar. “excuse me,” rafe motioned the bartender over, “do you know how i can talk to the girl that was just on stage?” he asked. “y/n? she usually comes out and converses with the crowd when she’s done with a set, she’ll be out here soon.”

quickly ordering three rounds of shots, rafe made his way back over to his seat only to see you and a friend of yours already over there laughing at something topper was saying. “—oh, here he is now..” topper laughed nervously, taking the tray of shots out of rafe’s hands as you two shared a look. “you talking about me?” his voice alone gave you butterflies, his tall form making you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“don’t worry he didn’t say anything bad..” kitty, your best friend, teased. rafe looked over at her, his eyes wandering down her own sexy get-up. fixing his gaze back on you, rafe leaned down to whisper in your ear. “do you do personal parties?” he all but groaned once he smelled your sugary sweet skin, the sound shooting straight down to your panties. “personal parties?” you repeated, “it’s gonna cost you.” rafe scoffed, not worried about the money.

“give me a number.” he placed a gentle hand on the small of your back, pulling you close. you and kitty side glanced one another, a smile gracing your lips as your nails snaked around the buckle of his belt. “what kind of party?” you asked, making sure you were aware of what you were getting yourself into before agreeing to anything. “i’m throwing a house party tonight on figure eight, all of my friends are big spenders.. just putting that out there.”

you thought it over for a moment, a small part of you feeling intimidated since you weren’t familar with figure eight, nor did you know anyone that lived on that side of the island. “ten thousand, and i get to bring my friend over here.” you nodded towards kitty who was already sitting in topper’s lap. “perfect. do you need a second to get your things? i can take both of you straight over there.” you hummed at his words, silently signaling kitty to meet you in the back.

she excused herself from topper, both of you walking closely with each other to the locker rooms. “so what are we doing?” she was quick to touch up her makeup, changing out of her dancing shoes and into some platform heels. “that guy out there is willing to give me ten thousand to go to a party he’s having on figure eight, but if you come with me we’ll split it, plus he said his friends were ‘big spenders’, so that’s five thousand each excluding tips.”

without having to say another word, kitty was immediately on board, both of you squealing excitedly before grabbing your purses from your lockers. following the guys out of the club, you allowed rafe to open the passenger door for you, topper and kitty filing in the back before rafe started up his truck. he put on his music loud enough for you to feel the bass in your chest, a mix of excitement and anticipation swirling in your tummy.

you didn’t know what you were expecting to pull up to, but a mansion as huge as rafe’s definitely wasn’t on your list of possibilities. there was cars already filling the streets, people lining the gates of the house as rafe parked in the driveway, his arms wrapping around your waist as he helped you get down from the truck. you and kitty waited for him to start letting people in before leading both of you through the front door, topper following closely behind.

“i just need you two to cater towards my people, alright? these guys don’t know what a good time really looks like and i want y’all to be the ones to show them, ‘sound good?” just as he was going to send you and kitty off to the living room, you stopped him. “we need to get paid before we do anything.” rafe glanced between you and your bestie and nodded. “of course, why don’t you two follow me upstairs and we can get that out of the way?”

doing as you were told, you and kitty both looked around the house as he lead both of you to the master bedroom. “it’s in here.” he welcomed you two in, doing a quick sweep of the hallway before locking the door behind him. taking a seat on the huge bed, you and kitty watched as rafe took a metal briefcase out of his closet and entered a pin for it to unlock. looking up, rafe admired both of you as kitty ran her fingers through your hair, a smile adorning your lips as she did so.

both of you were so unremarkably gorgeous, it was hard for him to count money as you two giggled with each other. while fixing one of the rhinestones on kitty’s face, she was staring at the body glitter on your cleavage, running a finger over the sparkly dust. “are you trying to cop a feel?” you teased, moving your hand to rest on her thigh. rafe’s jaw clenched at the sight. “maybe..” kitty laughed, both of you leaning into each other as your hands wandered further up underneath her skirt.

rafe cleared his throat, both of you snapping out of whatever this was. “this is the money right here,” he held up the stacks of cash for you two to see, “however, both of you seemed to have piqued my interest..” glancing at each other confusingly, you and kitty waited for rafe to explain. walking over to the chair that sat in the corner of the room, he took a seat. “take each other’s clothes off.” at this, you felt your heart starting to beat in your ears.

sharing a look, you and kitty had the same nervous expression written all over your faces. “for ten more grand, can you beautiful ladies let me watch?” you had to refrain from letting your jaw drop to the floor, your stomach flipping at the new offer. kitty scooted closer to you, her hand shielding her mouth as she whispered in your ear. “what do you think?” blinking, you stole a glance at the full brief case that sat on the hardwood desk against the wall.

“i think he can do better than ten thousand dollars..” you whispered back, your faces just mere inches away from each other’s. “make it fifteen.” you looked over at rafe, shrugging off your coat to reveal your outfit from earlier. “how about twenty?” kitty swore you could hear her heart beating out of her chest. “tell him it’s a deal.” she whispered, getting up from her spot on his bed. “we’ll do it.” with his cock already stirring in his pants, he leaned back in his seat as you and kitty pressed a soft kiss to each other’s lips.

stepping out of your heels, you snaked your fingers behind kitty’s top, her hands resting on the globes of your ass as you untied the strings to her sequined bra. you and kitty have been best friends for as long as you can remember, you two literally started dancing at pink sugar together, there was nothing that you two hadn’t seen of each other already. “are you okay?” she spoke low so rafe couldn’t hear. humming softly, you kissed her again, allowing her to slip off the lace material of your underwear.

rafe swallowed thickly, his eyes traveling over your naked figure. despite there being two of you, he found himself zeroed in on only yourself, your stare holding his as kitty kissed down your neck. “should we include him?” you whispered against her skin, running your palms down her side. “you like him, don’t you?” she giggled. you blinked slowly, refraining from smiling as you hummed quietly. “go get him.” rafe shifted his weight in his chair as you walked over, carefully straddling his lap.

“me and kitty want to share you..” you ran your hands over his chest before undoing the buttons of his shirt, the sight of his toned stomach encouraging you to do away with his belt next. rafe watched you as you palmed him through his pants, his tongue poking out to run over his bottom lip. taking his hand in yours, you helped him stand up on his feet before getting him out of his clothes and leading him to where you and kitty were.

laying him down, rafe looked at the two of you as each of you kneeled on either sides of him. “tell us what you want us to do.” kitty stroked his inner thigh while you took his cock in your hand, a strangled groan rumbling from his chest at your touch. his chest rose and fell while he took a moment to think. “i want kitty on my face and you on my cock.” he looked at you with hooded eyes, your head moving in kitty’s direction. “whatever you want, handsome.”

you and your best friend held hands as if to hold onto each other for leverage, her mouth falling open as rafe skillfully circled her entrance with his tongue, her hips moving smoothly so the tip of his nose was nudging her clit with every stroke. you on the other hand, could barely keep up with his thrusts as he stuffed you full, your moans bouncing off of his bedroom walls. “fuck, he feels so good.” you whimpered, nearly doubling over as he started thrusting from underneath you even harder.

kitty’s head hung low in defeat as she rode rafe’s face, her thighs trembling around his head as he licked and sucked at her soaked cunt. you clenched around him, squeezing him tightly as he groaned in response. kitty was speechless at the whole ordeal, her eyes rolling far back into her head as rafe held onto her thighs so she couldn’t get away from him. “oh, god—!” kitty gasped, her chest rising and falling as rafe pushed her over the edge, her hands dropping from yours in order to dig her nails into his skin.

rafe cursed when he felt the stinging sensation, your hips still moving as he loosened his grip on kitty’s thighs. he kept up his ministrations until your best friend got off of him with a squeal, overstimulation setting in as she laid next to him still going through the aftershocks of her orgasm. rafe licked his lips clean, wasting no time in sitting up against his headboard, his hands grabbing onto the globes of your ass so he could bounce you on top of him.

you buried your face in his chest, the scent of his cologne only adding to your cock drunk state. “you’re so fucking tight, holy shit—” he tugged on your earlobe with his teeth, your clit meeting his pubic bone as kitty took a seat behind you, her hands coming around to cup your tits as she moved your hair to one side of your shoulders to expose your neck. holding your head up, you shuddered when you felt her lips on your skin, her teeth nipping the sensitive flesh there.

you were a mess by the time rafe’s hips started bucking, kitty’s lips finding yours as you came with a cry, his moans echoing in your ears as he pulled you against his chest. you clenched around him as he came inside of you, his cum painting your insides as he panted. letting out a sigh, rafe thumbed your chin, both of you sharing a heated kiss before kitty got up and helped you slide off of him. “you okay?” she asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “yes, are you?” kitty nodded, both of you slipping back on your clothes.

rafe watched as you two cleaned yourselves up, his hand motioning towards the money. “it’s all there..” he trailed off, “kitty you think i can get a word alone with y/n here?” grabbing her stack, she nodded before going into the bathroom, leaving you and rafe alone together. “i want you to come back tomorrow, ‘spend the weekend with me.” you bit your lip, glancing over at the bathroom door. “i don’t know if kitty will be busy—”

“no, just you,” he cut you off, “i want you by yourself.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[rinshoe]

to you, someday - gojo satoru (series masterlist)

His question for you was unprompted. "If you could tell your past self anything, what do you think you'd say?" You slow your pace until your steps falter into a full-on stop. A few spaces in front of you, Satoru seems to have noticed your absence at his side and turns around to catch your curious gaze. Behind him, the late afternoon sun etches his hair a light, pale yellow. You watch Satoru happily slurp away at the cold refresher you had bought for yourself moments prior before he wrestled it out of your unexpecting hands. You feign the act of thought as purse your lips, biting back the sardonic smile twitching into place on your face. "I probably would tell her to stay the hell away from that rich new kid with weird blue eyes in Ms. Ayase's grade 3 class. Maybe then he wouldn't follow her around so much." And it's that comment which makes Satoru laugh, warm and bright.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

synopsis: Time makes the heart grow fonder... you think. From your early childhood years to navigating life as adults, there are key moments that Gojo Satoru holds near and dear. There are so many things he wants and hopes to say to you, someday. But for now, through the telling of important dates, log entries, and memorabilia that he keeps will suffice.

content: afab reader, 18+ so mdni, modern au/canon divergence, childhood friends, friends (who bicker quite a lot) to lovers, slow-ish burn, domestic fluff, pining, small angst if you squint sorry, eventual smut → resolved sexual tension, #MMC BEING SO IN 🤍 WITH FMC IT'S PATHETIC /pos.

word count: ??? ... will be updated as i post!

CHAPTERS —

✰ ENTRY #1 - i know you better (now)

✰ ENTRY #2 - TBA

✰ ENTRY #3 - TBA

✰ ENTRY#4 - TBA

gojo's birthday is next month and i've been oh so very irregular with writing. so i wanted to do something special, a series (my very first and last lmao)! let's all celebrate!!!

i plan to release these chapters all before/by dec 7th... praying to God.

[rinshoe]

BLOW ME (ONE LAST KISS)

𓉸 fwb!satoru gojo x f!reader

𓉸 kinktober smut oneshot

❝ it's been two years since you last saw satoru. showing up at his door in the dead of night wasn't on your list of things to do today, but when things don't work out with your boyfriend, you find yourself back at your old best friend and fuck buddy's door. ❞

𓉸 warnings ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. fwb to strangers to lovers type thing. pwp. fluff. hurt/comfort. gojo's a lovable idiot. sub!gojo. whiny!gojo. pet names (baby, sweetheart, pookie, darling, pretty girl, pretty, love). slight spitting. slight overstim. oral (m! and f! receiving). praise. handjob. unprotected. creampie. p in v. fairly soft n sweet.

𓉸 words ; 10.8k.

𓉸 a/n ; this turned out so much longer than i expected but i had a lot of fun writing the story so i hope you enjoy!

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

Bleary-eyed with exhaustion, Gojo’s barely able to keep himself upright as a knock at the door urges him out of bed at three in the morning. He yawns tiredly as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and shuffles down the hall to his front door.

He wouldn’t say he’s shocked to see you standing at his door, it’s not the first time you’ve made your way over unannounced. No, the shocking part of this encounter is that he hasn’t heard a peep from you since two years ago when you ended your ‘benefits’ agreement with him after getting a boyfriend.

He scratches his bare chest, looking you up and down. Your hair is a mess, mascara streaks are smudged on your cheeks in a lazy effort to cover up the evidence of your tears and the little fuzzy kitty cat shorts and matching shirt you’re wearing tell him everything he needs to know.

But why come to him?

“You broke up.” It’s not a question, he doesn’t need you to answer. The proof is written across your face.

“Something like that.” Your voice is raspy, throat raw from the sobs that wracked your body earlier, though now you just seem exhausted.

But why come to him, not your close friends?

Silently, Satoru’s eyes raise to your car. All of your belongings are clearly stuffed in the back seat from what he can tell. You’re shuffling from foot to foot, standing a small distance away from him.

“So are you here to fuck?”

It’s blunt, but it’s the truth of the agreement you once had. Though Gojo’s somewhat bitter tone is a reminder that you had forgotten about the ‘friends’ portion of that agreement somewhere along the way.

You hesitate, jaw opening and closing once, twice, three times as you search for an explanation but in truth you aren’t sure why you’re here. The thought tears you apart inside and you bring your arms up around your torso, shrinking in on yourself. That can’t be all that’s left of what was once your closest friendship.

But after all these years, maybe it is.

“No, I’m not,” you whisper softly, avoiding his gaze. “I… I should go.”

Even in his bitterness, your ex friend doesn’t have it in him to let you drive off to god knows where in the middle of the night alone when you’re clearly upset and came to him for help. With a tired sigh, his hand grabs your wrist and he tugs you inside.

You let out a surprised gasp as he easily pulls you into his house, shutting the door behind you. He takes a step back, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he waits for an explanation that never comes as you grapple with your own thoughts. His mind drifts back to the last time he saw you, a bitter taste bubbling in his throat at the thought.

He remembers the way you excitedly told him you had a date. He’d smiled, turning to face you on the couch, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t think you noticed, too caught up in your own excitement.

You had told him the benefits needed to end. It didn’t matter to him, he was never in this for the benefits.

In truth, he figured you would come back to him with the realization you had feelings for him. You were always so enthusiastic around him, you were the one always pushing the boundaries you had established. Satoru never minded, but the longer the agreement went on, he was sure you would come to the same realization he had.

He was so sure you would reciprocate the feelings he was so afraid to voice out of fear of losing his closest friend. After all, he had really only agreed to your whole ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement because he thought it would give him the opportunity to get closer to you.

The cocky asshole that he is, Gojo Satoru thought that his dick game was so good you would fall for him.

Then you went on a second date with the guy, gushing to Gojo about him with a movie playing in the background and he realized just how wrong he was.

He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so colossally and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know if he even could fix it.

It was on the fourth date that your new guy made it official and you texted Satoru right away.

He feigned happiness. He would be what you needed him to be.

But the recoil of his complicated relationship with you hit him fast and hard.

It started with a decrease in time spent with you, which he could live with. Then, it was a decrease in excited texts. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, when his time had once been completely occupied by you and only you. Regardless of the benefits of your friendship, that was never what mattered to him.

You were like the sun to him. You shone brighter than anyone he had ever met, your smile as radiant as it was beautiful. Burned into his mind like a polaroid, cherished, even in the two years since he’s seen you.

There was no argument that ended everything, no big explosion or blow up of emotions that caused something so dear to both of you to fizzle out suddenly. It all came from a place of not knowing what to do after the benefits ended.

It wasn’t like sex was the only thing you did with one another. In fact, most of your time spent together was watching movies, playing games, or just gossiping and chatting. When the sex ended, however, something lingered.

It was that lingering feeling that shattered what remained of the bond you shared. Between longing looks from Satoru while out on a bubble tea run, and lingering physical attraction to him that left you uncertain, it was too much for you.

Just like that, you slowly stopped responding. You can’t blame Satoru for the fact that he stopped trying to reach out either, if you were in his place you’re certain you would have been embarrassed by the amount of unread messages he’d sent.

Now, you’re ashamed for letting your greatest ally, your biggest cheerleader and your most eager movie buddy slip through the cracks so easily. So blinded by new, young, love that you never stopped to see what was already in front of you.

Although the loss of your closest friend was gradual, fizzling away until there was nothing left, it changed you irreparably. The changes were small at first, they came in the form of little things that would bring your mood down as you reached for your phone to excitedly text him only to falter. With time, the uncertainty and lingering sorrow became a constant numbness and you were so caught up in your own world you couldn’t identify what caused it. You couldn’t make out the little hole in your heart in the shape of Satoru. With time, the hole grew until it was so immense that it resulted in a fight with your boyfriend.

A long fight in which he had insisted that although he cared for you, he had come to terms long ago with the fact that you didn’t feel the same way that he did anymore. The most gut wrenching part was that he was right, but you couldn’t accept that he was right for so long, because you couldn’t accept that you had feelings for someone you hadn’t seen in two years.

Now, standing in front of him, you’re at a complete and utter loss for words. All this time without a word and to think that he’d still let you in. No, he’d pulled you in. After two years of silence, two years of doing him so painfully dirty, he was still here. For you.

“Why are you here?” He asks again when the silence grows so loud he thinks he might be going crazy.

“Can we sit down?” You ask him quietly, feeling guilt wash over you as your eyes trail his washboard abs, as though you have any right to admire just how good he looks.

He steps aside, letting you walk into his living room. It looks almost the same as the day you were last here, probably yapping about your date like a damn fool. The only real difference is that the photo that once sat on a shelf in the corner of the room of the two of you at an aquarium was gone. A pang of sadness courses through you at the realization that he’s probably let you go.

You’re too late. You fucked up.

Gingerly, you take a seat on the soft couch, squirreling your way as far into the corner as you can. You feel small in his presence, unable to read him as you once could. You’re not familiar with the painfully neutral expression he wears, masking what lies beneath. The hint of bitterness to top it all off only adds to the taste of bile in your mouth.

“I owe you a lot of things, Satoru,” you begin. You’d run over what you planned on saying for an hour in the car before gathering the courage to walk to his door, yet the words died in your throat as soon as you took in the sight of him.

He sits opposite you, the distance between the both of you like a rope pulled taut. All you want to do is pull him towards you, but you fear the rope might snap if you do, frayed at the ends. You swallow hard, chancing a glance at those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. It will never be enough. You left him behind, and no apology will ever do him justice. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper again, choking on your words as tears burn in your eyes.

Satoru lets out a long breath. He never stopped hoping, praying, you would come back, but now that he has you here, something holds him back. Fear, maybe. Dejection, assuredly.

He doesn’t want to be your second choice.

As a tear trails down your cheek whilst you try your best to stay strong before him, the grip that fear has on him becomes frail, crumbling at the sight of his best friend, his movie buddy, his girl, crying.

“C’mere,” he sighs, sliding across the couch as he closes the distance between you. You cling to him like a lifeline as you sob against his bare chest. His skin is soft and warm, just as you remember it, tainted by your salty tears.

It takes him a moment, but his arms do eventually snake around your waist, pulling you into him.

“You deserved so much better back then,” you hiccup, a sound that has Satoru shutting his eyes as your pain crackles in the air around him, charged. “You deserve better now, I shouldn’t be here, I-” You panic suddenly, pressing open palms against his chest to push yourself away but his arms don’t relent. In fact, he rests his chin softly atop your head as he tucks you back against his chest in an effort to soothe you.

He still doesn’t say a word, but the silence and his insistence on holding you tightly serves as your encouragement to talk. That’s all Satoru wants, it’s all he needs. He needs to understand what happened. He wants to know why you’re here after two years of radio silence.

And do you ever talk. The words spill from you, messy and unorganized thoughts falling from your lips like a waterfall.

“You tried so hard to get through to me, and I was such an asshole. I kept trying to- to-” you stammer over your words as you catch your breath between sobs, “-to tell myself my attraction to you was just physical, but then I cut you off anyway and that wasn’t fair. I just don’t think I ever realized-” again, a sob wracks your body, “-that I had feelings for you, I wasn’t willing to admit it because that was my number one rule between us and then I ruined everything anyway, so what does it matter?”

You sniffle, the tips of your fingers gripping at his skin.

“I was so stupid, and everything was so much worse without you. I wanted to text you to tell you little things but anytime I stared at your contact, it scared me how long it had been and how awful I felt and now- now-” you swallow hard, “-now I’m here in front of you and I don’t know what I’m even saying. I- I-” you stammer, your breathing picking up as the words fall from your lips before you have a chance to think twice about them. “-I think I’m in love with you.”

Satoru stiffens beside you, his arms rigid with the revelation. It takes a moment to sink in, before his chin lifts from your head and he pulls back to see your expression. Your cheeks are puffy, eyes red, pupils blown. You look exhausted, and somewhat shocked, as if you’ve just realized this yourself.

His eyes have the sea held within them as turmoil flows through them. Wave after wave, each crashing ashore as he wrestles with his own thoughts.

He whispers your name in a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He should have told you two years ago, before everything became so complicated. “I can’t be your second choice,” he sighs, rejecting you, although his arms don’t leave the tight grip he holds on you.

Of course he never stopped loving you. He got together with others afterwards, had the odd fling here or there, but it was never enough. It never filled the hole in his heart that you’d carved to fit you and only you.

Yet you didn’t fit within that hole either now, he feared. His heart had been hollowed out for someone that didn’t exist anymore.

“We broke up,” you tell him, as though he doesn’t already know. He just stares at you, so you continue. “He told me something changed after we started dating. Like a part of me died and he was never sure why,” you sigh, staring blankly at Satoru’s chest. “He said his feelings weren’t being returned, and he was right.”

Satoru’s grip on you tightens. It’s miniscule, but you feel the way he pulls you just the tiniest bit closer.

“I just couldn’t admit it to myself. It felt wrong because of all the rules,” you try to explain, but it’s all a pathetic attempt at what you’re trying to get to. “You were never my second choice, Toru.” The nickname sets his heart racing beneath your palm. “You’ve always been it for me. I was just too caught up in those stupid rules to see that.”

Pain lingers in the back of his mind, but something new seems to fill his chest. Like you’ve found the hole in his heart that he was so sure could never fit you again, and you’re molding it to fit you as you are now. Healing him in your own way.

“I’m not a rebound,” he blurts out. He can’t let you in so easily, not when you could snap him in two like you had once before. Yet beneath the walls he’s trying to uphold, he’s so painfully vulnerable, an open book for you to see. Behind your tear-filled eyes, he knows you recognize this.

“Never,” you agree, the tips of your fingers tightening against him. “Promise, pookie.”

The nickname he’d used to tease you all those years ago feels foreign from your lips, you’d always hated when he called you it, yet he can’t help the way it makes his lips quirk up. He chuckles, unable to resist the laughter bubbling in his chest.

Such a stupid nickname.

You laugh along with him, sniffling as the lighter air between the both of you settles comfortably.

“Four years and three months, by the way,” Satoru’s fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt as he holds you to him. The curious tilt of your head that’s oh so cute to him is enough for him to continue. “That’s when I fell for you.”

Your eyes widen at the realization you’ve both just confessed. Your heart races in your chest, battering at your bones like a caged animal. “Four years and three months…? What…?” You trail off, brow furrowed.

“We went bowling with Ieiri and Nanami. You and I versus the two of them.”

“I remember.”

“They were beating us until the last frame. You bowled a strike and ran back to hug me.”

The memory feels fresh in your mind as you recall how silly Satoru looked in those oversized bowling shoes. You’d all looked like clowns, but Satoru had playfully dressed the part too in an ugly over-patterned button-up, always the butt of all jokes as long as it meant making everyone smile.

In reality, it was always to make you smile. He never cared about the scoffs and playful banter from the rest of the group. He wanted nothing more than to hear your pretty laugh.

“That’s it?” You ask, mouth agape. You and Satoru have so many similar memories from many years prior, so why that one?

“Dunno. There was just something so endearing about you running into my arms over bowling. You looked so gorgeous.” Satoru pauses for a moment as he grins to himself, reliving the memory. “You were smiling like winning bowling was our greatest achievement, wearing those stupid bowling shoes and you had on ugly socks specifically for the occasion-”

“They were cute,” you pout. “They had snails on them.”

Satoru snickers. “The snails looked high, sweetheart.”

“No they didn’t!” You whine, although you can’t deny the heat in your cheeks as he relaxes with you, observing you with the fondness of someone who never lost sight of you, even when all seemed hopeless.

“Their eyes were literally red.”

“Nooooo,” you whine, jutting out your lower lip. Gojo’s eyes flicker down to your lip, returning to your eyes. “It was just a design choice,” you insist.

“A design choice that made them look high,” he snorts, rolling his eyes.

You laugh through the remnants of your sobs, running a hand over your face in an effort to wipe away what’s left of your tears. To your surprise, Satoru’s hand closes over yours, moving your hand away from your face as he softly wipes your tears away.

“You asked me why I was here,” you state as Satoru watches the movement of his thumb beneath your tearline, wiping the liquid from your lashes. “I think I’m here because it’s the only place that feels right.”

His face softens, and what’s left of his bitterness sputters away like a candle burning out. It leaves warmth in its wake that spreads through Satoru’s body. Although he thinks the pain will take time to heal, it’s not like the hole that you left when you shut him out, one that hollowed his very soul. Time will heal his wounds, he just hopes that this time around, you’ll let him in. Although you’ve both confessed, he knows you well and he can feel the way you’ve carefully barricaded your heart.

For now, he just hopes you can get some rest as he takes note of the heavy dark circles beneath your eyes.

His hands grip your waist, long thumbs settling beneath your breasts, brushing their undersides. You have no bra on, you’re in pajamas that Satoru’s seen a thousand times before. It’s clockwork, the way he shifts you until you’re settled comfortably on his lap while he leans back.

“Movie night?”

You nod, eyes widening hopefully, a familiar sparkle shining within them that warms Satoru’s heart.

He hates to see you cry. It brings him more pain than he could possibly have imagined, even after two years of bitter silence.

He uses his foot to pull the remote on the coffee table towards him without needing to move you off his lap, leaning you both forward before resting back. Your head rests comfortably on his bare chest, his arm circling your waist like it belongs there.

There’s no question of what you’ll be watching as he turns on your favorite Studio Ghibli movie. Not a single memory of you has been lost to him, each one fresh in his mind as though you never left.

He sets the remote down, reclining back on the couch with his feet up on the table. Your knees lean over his thighs, hands resting comfortably on his muscular arms that hold you flush to his skin. Settling comfortably, you do your best to focus on the movie and keep your thoughts from spiraling, although it isn’t so easy.

“I’m sorry, Toru.”

Satoru’s white lashes flutter as he hears your voice amid his near-slumber halfway through the movie. He blinks a few times to wake himself up, inhaling as he looks down at you. Your head still rests on his chest, eyes looking up expectantly at him.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs blearily.

“No, it’s not. It never will be. I’m not asking you to tell me what I did was okay,” you insist. Satoru observes you quietly. You’ve matured over the last two years in ways he’s never considered. “You don’t have to forgive me right now, but I’d like a chance to earn your forgiveness.”

In truth, Satoru thinks you might have had his forgiveness since the moment he saw you standing at the door. The depths of his pain are already long forgotten as his sorrows wash away to leave space for blossoms taking root in his veins.

He’s not one for caution. Satoru has always been the type of man to dive headfirst into something without a second thought, that’s how the two of you ended up in this situation anyways. A joking suggestion on his part taken entirely too seriously to land him the official ‘fuck buddy’ status.

This time, as he dives headfirst into your request, it’s not a joke or a dare or anything of the sort that he’s so used to.

You’re taking this seriously. You’re taking him seriously. Taking into account his feelings of being a second choice, a rebound, and you’ll spend a lifetime showing him he never was to begin with if you have to.

He shoots you a tired smile, head flopping to the side in a lazy fashion. His white hair falls over his eyes, obstructing your view of his gorgeous cerulean irises. “Consider your wish granted,” he agrees.

You return his smile, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, unaware that you’ve soothed him almost instantly to an easy sleep as his gentle snores fill the air.

Despite the events of the long night and the early morning light beginning to peek through the windows as dawn approaches, you settle into an easy sleep in his arms.

When you awaken the following morning, the two of you have somehow shifted to be on the couch horizontally. You’re tucked between the back of the couch and Satoru’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around your middle. His breath fans the crown of your head, his grip on you almost suffocating, he's holding you so tightly.

You don’t dare wake him, not after the night he had. Settling back comfortably against his chest, you rest your eyes as you wait for him to stir. It isn’t too much longer before you feel his muscles begin to twitch and the pace of his breathing increases. After a few minutes, his eyes flutter open and he takes in his surroundings, but more importantly, the gorgeous girl in his arms.

It’s a dream he’s had so many times that it can’t be real, can it?

“Ow! Did you just pinch me, Toru?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles groggily in a voice so incredibly sexy you can’t believe you didn’t notice your feelings sooner. “Had to make sure you were real.”

He shifts, moving to pepper kisses over your hair. Your giggles are musical as he showers you in affection, but when he pulls back, he catches a glimpse of… something that he can’t place.

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?”

Your worries are forgotten momentarily with each pet name he uses, but you find your words soon enough. “I guess I just feel guilty,” you admit with a shrug and Satoru sees it again. He sees the walls you’ve built reflected in your eyes, shadowed with guilt.

“Eh? Nothing to feel guilty about,” he grins, but the look you shoot him in return tells him you’re not in the mood for him to take this so lightheartedly.

“I’m serious. I missed two years of your life.”

Satoru’s thumb rubs circles beneath the fabric of your pajama shirt with one hand, bringing the other up to rub his eyes. He’s not sure he’s awake enough for this conversation. Certainly not in a serious capacity.

“It’s not that long,” he shrugs, moving his free arm beneath his head as he shifts on the couch to lay on his back with you tucked into his side. He stares up at the ceiling. “I mean, you owe me a lot of movie and game nights, but that just means I get to make you pay,” he smirks, prodding your side.

It’s not the serious response you’re hoping for, but it does wonders to quell the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You better go easy on me though, you’re not a cheap date.”

He pouts playfully, lip jutting out as he prods your side beneath your ribs. You squeal in surprise at his finger jabbing into your side and in an effort to escape the ticklish sensation, proceed to shove him off the couch.

With a thump and a soft ‘oof’, he lands on his side on the (thankfully) carpeted floor.

“Sorry, Toru!” You squeak, peering down at him.

He rubs his shoulder with a wry smile. “Geez babe, I thought you were trying to make things up to me,” he grumbles as he pushes himself up off the floor.

You flash him an apologetic smile, taking a moment to admire him as he stands at his full height before you. He’s always been handsome, but even in the couple of years since you’ve seen him, he’s filled out and bulked up further. There’s a faint hint of barely visible white stubble growing along his chin and his hair is a breadth longer than you remember and falls in a more intentional manner over his head rather than its usual disheveled style.

He’s breathtaking, and you wonder how you were ever so foolish to begin with.

Unfortunately, he’s also just as frustrating as the day you last saw him.

“See something you like? You know, if you really wanna make it up to me-”

You cut him off by getting to your feet and shoving a hand against his stupidly pretty face, shutting him up with the action as he reels backwards. Catching his balance, he chuckles and trails after you as you walk into his kitchen just as you had so many times before.

Aside from a few new magnets on the fridge and a new set of dishcloths, it’s just as you remember it. Something about the knowledge that even in two years, things haven’t changed so dramatically that you’ve missed everything helps to keep you from feeling guilty.

“You know, I was gonna say if you wanted to make it up to me you could make me breakfast,” he grins cheekily as he leans into your personal space.

“No you weren’t.”

“I thought about it,” he shrugs as you catch him in the act of lying. You can’t resist the way your lips quirk up into a smile. He’s still so Satoru and his presence comforts you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

Opening the fridge, you take a look at what he’s got available, or more like the complete and utter lack of food in his fridge.

“Have you always lived like this?” You ask as you move to his pantry, which is somehow equally empty apart from a jar of peanut butter sitting beside some protein powder and a sickening amount of sweets.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He whines as he stares over your shoulder at what looks like a perfectly full pantry to him. It has mochi and chocolate and-

“What do you even have for breakfast usually?”

He purses his lips, staring up at the ceiling. His hair falls back over his ears as he does so, his skin so perfect you’re almost jealous at just how blessed he is with good looks. “Dunno. Mochi and some eggs?”

You recoil at the thought of mochi and eggs as a meal, nose wrinkling. “What happened to pancakes or omelets? We used to make them all the time.”

Something akin to sadness flashes in his eyes and you turn your full attention to him. “You weren’t there,” he says simply, his voice lowered, his tone unusually vulnerable. “I only really made them because you wanted them.” He doesn’t say it with the intent of making you feel guilty, but your shoulders fall to your sides as your chest coils with the emotion.

“Right.”

“Hey,” he raises his hand to cup your cheek and pull your attention away from your feet. “That’s behind us, yeah?”

Your eyes flit between his, the way they seem to hold galaxies within them. His face is so close to yours that his breath fans your face and your heart speeds up as you glance at his lips-

Like a gentle reminder of your wrongdoing, guilt churns in your chest and you stumble backwards out of his grip. Although he’s already forgiven you and given you another chance with him, you can’t help the way your heart stutters around him and your walls heighten out of fear of fucking things up again.

Yet your behavior only serves to confuse Satoru, who had been so sure you were about to kiss him and his heart is still hammering in his chest as you nearly trip over a flat of outdated soup cans, which is wild because how do soup cans even get outdated?

Before you can crash into the shelves behind you, Satoru reaches out to wrap a strong hand around your forearm and tugs you from the pantry.

“Um-” you clear your throat, trying to divert his attention away from your sudden meekness. “Can we order something?”

Satoru observes you for a moment, his expression unreadable before his usual grin finds his face. “Sure, pretty. You want your usual?”

Your eyes widen slightly, the guilt burrowing itself deeper into your chest as you realize just how many pieces of you remained tightly wound within his life all these years. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He saunters off to his bedroom to grab his phone and place an order, your eyes trailing after him until he’s out of sight. With a sigh, you bring a hand up to clutch at the shirt hanging over your chest with a photo of a little cartoon kitty on it. Your heart hammers against your hand and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve such kindness from him when you had left him behind so easily.

Well, no, that’s a lie. It hadn’t been easy. It left a hole so deep within you that it tore you from a two year relationship and brought you here to Satoru’s door in the middle of the night in pieces. It was selfish, really, to ask him to help put you back together, and seeing how eager he is to have you back in his life does little to quell the growing feeling of wrongfulness.

With a deep breath, you try to remind yourself of the fact that he’s giving you another chance and you need to use this opportunity to prove yourself rather than shut him out again. Letting the breath out through pursed lips, you pad slowly from the kitchen to the living room, looking around the familiar room in daylight.

The TV is newer than you remember and there are a couple of mostly dead plants that you wonder if he’s ever watered that are new to you. A couple of empty mugs sit atop a table to the side of the couch and there are some new movies and games stacked in the bookshelves at the side of the room.

Before you even realize you’re moving, you stand in front of the shelves. Sitting on one of the lower shelves beneath a thick layer of dust is a small bowl you recognize all too well.

Satoru hadn’t been too keen on the idea of taking a pottery class with you, but he couldn’t resist your doe-eyed pleading. He always was weak for you, and so you had learned how to make bowls together. He had beamed at you upon completing his bowl, showing it to you with such childlike glee that it had warmed your heart.

Taking the bowl delicately into your hands, you flip it and feel your heart clench as you see the familiar initials carved into the bottom. Yours, alongside Satoru’s, with a heart. How had it never occurred to you?

How horribly clueless had you been?

You set the bowl down as your gaze trails the rest of the shelves. There’s a small collection of rocks from each of your beach trips, a strange tradition you had shared after finding a fossil lodged into a flat stone you’d been intending to skip across the water.

Finally, you stare at the empty spot where a framed photo of the two of you once sat. Although the photo was gone, you would never forget the day. You had visited the aquarium together with Suguru and Shoko very shortly after becoming friends with benefits. Suguru had noted that the two of you seemed particularly close, but you’d brushed off his words.

He was right, though. It solidified your friendship. It was the beginning of something beautiful and you regretted ever letting it turn ugly. Blinking, you bring a hand up to your face to wipe away the beginnings of tears when you catch a glimpse of something laying on the top shelf where the frame was just barely in view.

Reaching out, you pick it up and your jaw practically drops, your heart gripped with so many emotions you don’t know where to begin. Relief, longing, fear, uncertainty, guilt, and most importantly, love. Satoru never let go of you.

There, in your hands, is a photo of Satoru grinning with an arm around your shoulders as you peer up at the whale shark behind you, wide-eyed with awe at the beautiful creature. The photo never moved, he’d just laid it down when it became too painful to look at.

“Alright, I ordered all of our favorites and some new things I wanted to try-” Satoru comes around the corner from his room, phone in hand, peering into the kitchen before he finds you in the living room. “They had something called a Croffle, I just had to- are you crying?”

Satoru’s hand falls to his side as he hears you sniffle. You straighten, refusing to face him as you attempt to compose yourself.

He takes a step towards you, setting a large hand on your shoulder as he peers down at your hands. “Oh, pretty girl. C’mere,” he coos, pulling the frame from your fingers with one hand as he wraps the other around you. He sets the photo back in its place on the shelf, upright now, before his full attention is on you.

He sways you softly from side to side, soothing his hand up and down your back as he tucks your head beneath his chin. Your cries are silent, the only sign of your sobs being the way your body shakes and the warm tears that wet his bare chest. He stands with you like that, swaying you gently from side to side and humming gentle “it’s okay”s into the crown of your head for a couple of minutes.

With a sniffle, you pull back and wipe the remnants of your tears, keeping your head down in an attempt to prevent him from seeing your puffy features. “Sorry, I- I don’t know what came over me,” you croak with a half-hearted laugh.

Satoru is silent for a moment as he quietly observes you. “You know,” he starts, “if you keep shutting me out, you’re not gonna be able to make things up to me.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” you retort stubbornly, peeking up at him.

He dramatically swings his head back to stare at the ceiling. “You show up at my door at- what-? Three in the morning? To try to fix things- which is working, by the way- and now you shut me out?” He asks, reeling back and crouching until he reaches your eye level. You can’t escape those stupidly gorgeous eyes of his now, taking in a deep breath as you attempt to compose yourself.

You pull your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you consider what he said. You’d be foolish not to take his words into consideration given that he’s right, you are here to fix things, and the fact that he said it’s working sparks hope you haven’t felt in a long time within you. Yet, you’ve upheld your walls for so long that it’s difficult to let him in. Years of rules between the both of you, no kissing, no cuddling outside of aftercare, no PDA, they all still lived within you, even if you wanted to break them down. Sure, the rules were broken often, but not without reminding yourself why they were there later.

Then there were the walls you built to protect the Gojo-shaped hole in your heart. The hole that you couldn’t identify the shape of until now. With Satoru standing alongside you attempting to crawl his way into that hole and fill it, it scares you. Having what you didn’t know you needed for two whole years, if not more, is a terrifying thought.

You glance up at him, patiently waiting on your response as you consider his words while his thumbs rub soothing circles into your upper arms.

With your attention now on him, Satoru takes the opportunity to slide one hand down to your waist, taking a small step towards you until you’re flush to him. You hold your breath at the contact, giving him a wide-eyed stare. His words replay over and over in your mind as his other hand slides up your neck to rest on your cheek. He deftly tilts your chin up as his eyes bore into yours.

“Let me in, sweetheart,” he whispers, his face so close that your entire body feels as though it’s on fire and you can’t help the way your eyes flicker to his lips, so soft and close.

The air between you is charged, tension crackling in the air as the world seems to pause just for you. Your heart beats erratically and you fear it may escape its cage if it pounds any harder.

Satoru swallows hard as his thumb runs across your lower lip. Your breathing speeds up, as though it’s racing with your heart as you cling desperately to his chest like a deer in the headlights. His heart races beneath your fingertips, the only sign that he’s anywhere near as flustered as you are.

“Can I break rule number one?” He whispers, his voice low and sexy in a way that you’ve heard so many times but it’s charged with something new. Something more tender than you’re used to.

You glance between his eyes and his lips, letting out a shaky breath as you throw caution to the wind and slide your hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him the remaining distance down to your lips. Time stands still as his lips softly capture yours, moving slowly as he pours every ounce of adoration into the kiss. As though he fears he may never have the chance to kiss you again, he puts everything he has into it.

It takes only a faint brush of his finger along your chin to tilt your head up to give him better access as his tongue crests your lips. You’re pliant against him, your lips parting for him as he breaks down your walls. His tongue takes over your mouth, his minty taste flooding your senses as his fingers grip your waist almost bruisingly with how tight he holds you.

He hesitates as he pulls back, both of your eyes fluttering open to take in the sights before you as you catch your breath. Satoru’s cheeks are red, white lashes fluttering as he blinks quickly.

“Why did you never say anything?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“You had so many rules. You’d scold me for just putting a hand on your shoulder in public, what was I supposed to do?” He examines the way your expression returns to guilt, pressing a quick peck to your lips once more in an attempt to pull you away from the walls he’s trying to break down. Your eyes shine once again and he lets out a breath of relief. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.”

He kisses you softly again. “Stop apologizing. Just be with me here and now, we can figure everything out, yeah?”

As you nod, there’s a knock at the door and Satoru grins.

“Now come try this Croffle thing I got.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” You tilt your head as you trail after him to the door.

“Croissant Waffle.”

“Right. Of course,” you shrug playfully, heading back to the living room where Satoru sets the delivery bag on the coffee table. The two of you had always had a habit of eating anywhere but the kitchen table and it seemed that wasn’t about to change now.

As he pulls out your favorite order of pancakes alongside his own, you shoot him a lopsided smile at the fact that he remembered every single little detail of your order, right down to the specifics of no whipped cream as it was too sweet. He always insisted it was perfectly sweet, but maybe that’s just because of how saccharine Satoru himself is.

“Okay, I got a sweet and a savory one,” he beams, holding up what you can only assume is the Croffles. They seem to be just croissant shaped waffles, though you assume the dough is likely flaky.

“There’s no world where you eat the savory one, so just give me that one,” you chide with a roll of your eyes.

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I’m an adult, you know. I can eat it.”

“Satoru Gojo,” you get his attention and his back straightens as though he’s in trouble with you. “Look me dead in the eye and tell me you would eat your pancakes and a savory Croffle.”

The way he avoids your gaze tells you everything you need to know and you burst into laughter, followed shortly after by his own. You snatch the savory Croffle from his hands as the two of you share your favorite breakfast once again. It doesn’t surprise either of you to find the Croffle is also delicious and you may need to change your orders. Then again, everything from this restaurant is delicious.

“I missed this,” Satoru hums as he adjusts the way he’s sitting on the floor, leaning on his elbow over the short coffee table.

“Me too,” you hum, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you set your breakfast down to stare at it.

“Ah-!” Gojo blurts out a noise and just as you look up at him, he’s tackling you to the floor, pressing short and chaste kisses to your lips followed by your nose, your cheeks, your chin, and your forehead. He peppers them across your face as you squirm beneath him, laughing as he refuses to relent.

“Toru! Toru, stop!” You whine through giggles, pushing against his chest.

“Nope! Not until you stop trying to shut me out,” he insists, his hair draping around your face like a curtain as he holds himself just above you, pressing more chaste kisses to your face and lips. In an effort to stop his relentless attack, you pull him down and deepen one of his kisses. He hums contentedly into your lips, letting you lead.

You move slowly at first, cherishing the gentle feeling of his soft lips, but the way he treats you as though you’re porcelain causes something to coil in your stomach and you greedily pull him down harder, deepening the kiss as his lips part. Your tongue explores his mouth, the taste of sugar and syrup fresh on his lips but it’s the way he whines that sets your stomach on fire with need.

You part from him, the evidence of your lust now wet in your panties as you stare at him with blown pupils. He recognizes the look on your face and tugs you to your feet in one fluid motion. Like every other time you’ve done this dance, you figure you’ll end up in his arms, making out as he stumbles to his bedroom and tosses you on the bed, but to your surprise, he instead scoops you into his arms bridal style.

You yelp in surprise, snaking your arms around his neck as you cling to him. “Toru?” You question as you peer curiously up at him. He shoots you a genuine smile, filled with glee.

“Lemme treat you like a princess for once,” he grins. Your face softens and you bury your face into his chest. Who would have thought your eager fuck buddy would be such a romantic sweetheart?

He sets you gently on his bed before sitting beside you, the bed sinking beneath his weight. To your delight, he pulls you into his lap so that you’re straddling him. Leaning back towards him, you capture his lips in an eager but passionate kiss and it seems the dissolving of your rules has changed the way it feels being with him.

Where once you kept kissing always off the table, the addition of it changed the entire tone of being in his bedroom. Where once you would eagerly fuck like rabbits, using the act purely as a way to relieve stress and have some fun, now it feels like a union of years’ worth of emotions. The way Satoru holds you as though he’s afraid the moment is fleeting, the way he puts his soul into the kiss just as you do, it’s a moment you know will play in your mind like a movie years into the future.

Satoru moans needily into your mouth as you let your hands roam, exploring the peaks and valleys of his abs. He’s grown bulkier since you last saw him, clearly continuing to work out. When your eyes flicker open as you catch your breath, his eyes are locked on you with a look of wonder that’s entirely too sweet given just how badly you want to see him between your thighs.

You set your hands on his collarbones, pressing him down onto his bed. You’ve had sex more times than you can possibly count, but everything about this still feels new. Satoru has always been fairly dominant, but the man looking up at you now is needy with lust and willing to relinquish all control to you. He’s looking at you like you hold the sun up in the sky and he wants to worship you for it. His gaze holds such adoration that you could melt into him.

You grind against the growing bulge in his sweatpants as you lean down and hungrily capture his lips, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth. He whines into your lips, sliding his large palms along the length of your curves. He tugs your pajama shirt over your head, breaking the kiss only to toss it aside before he pulls you back to him.

Parting from the kiss to catch your breath, you trail the tips of your fingers down his broad chest, past his chiseled abdomen, until your featherlight touch reaches the waist of his sweatpants. His cock noticeably jumps beneath you and oh how Satoru yearns to submit wholly to you, to be yours and let you do anything you wish to him.

Satoru’s pupils are blown with desire, his jaw slightly ajar as he stares at the swell of your breasts, admiring the way you look on top of him, so pretty. You smirk at his reaction to a simple drag of your fingers along his skin, wondering what else you can elicit from him now that you have him laid out beneath you.

Now that you’ve tested the waters, you cup Gojo’s face gently as you press a kiss to his lips before sitting up on your knees to shimmy out of your shorts and panties. Satoru thinks he may actually be seeing stars when your fingers card through his hair and you sit on his face. You sharply inhale when he moans at the taste of your pussy, at being used by you and the way his lips vibrate from the guttural noise sends white hot lust straight to your core.

“Shit, Toru-” you breathe out, throwing your head back as he laps at your entrance, pressing chaste kisses to your clit that have you whimpering as you rock your hips forward with need. The additional pressure you place on him that restricts his breathing subtly sends him into a haze of pure lust as he tightens his grip on your thighs and plunges his tongue between your folds.

As you pant and fist his hair harder, Satoru’s tongue delves deeper until he’s tongue-fucking you so well you’re seeing stars. “T-Toru- hah- don’t stop,” you pant, legs trembling as he eats you so expertly you’d think he’s a professional. With how many times he’s eaten you out, he may as well be. He still knows exactly what you like as he nudges your clit with his nose, sending sparks through your body like only he knows how to.

Grinding harder against his tongue, Satoru relishes in the sounds of your pleasured pants and moans mixing with the obscene squelching of his practiced tongue as your gummy walls pulse around him. He can tell you’re close by the way you grip him, the way you tug his hair and subtly restrict his breathing between your thighs in an effort to chase your high.

Your stomach tightens and twists as you hurtle closer to the edge and you lean forward, eyes locking with the definition of an angel beneath you. “Look at me, Toru,” you pant between pleasured mewls. One look from those lust-blown eyes sends you over the edge and you collapse forward as your body trembles and shakes.

With languid licks up your folds, Satoru draws out every last drop of your orgasm, eagerly drinking up every last bit until you weakly push his head back into the mattress out of overstimulation. His lips are parted as he pants weakly in an effort to catch his breath.

“Tastes so good,” Satoru moans from beneath you. You take the opportunity to push yourself back up and slide down his torso somewhat to look at him, shooting him a lopsided smile. He grins back at you, slick dripping down his chin.

“You’re still so good with your tongue,” you whisper in a sultry voice. He swallows hard, his abs noticeably tensing beneath your thighs as his cock jumps. All these years and you had absolutely no idea Satoru got off so much on praise. “Such a good boy,” you purr, testing just what sets him off.

Immediately, his fingers tighten bruisingly on your thighs and he whimpers. “Please, baby. I need you.”

Your lips curl into a devious smirk as you slide down his body until you’re on your knees at the base of the bed. Satoru sits with his legs thrown over the edge and a look of pure eager desire as he watches the way you slowly leave a trail of kisses up his thighs.

There’s a noticeable wet spot on his gray sweatpants from where his cock is steadily leaking with pre-cum and you tease the spot with a kitten lick and a glance up at him. Satoru whines, relieved when you tug his sweatpants down to the floor, his blue boxers following shortly after. His cock springs to attention, the tip swollen and leaking for you.

Just as he thinks you’ll bring him relief, you duck your head down to kiss a trail up his inner thighs once more. Satoru mewls, babbling out a needy “please- please, sweetheart, please,” as he attempts to direct your lips to his jerking cock.

The sound of his begging is intoxicating but you want to drag out the pleasure for you both. “Let me take care of you, Toru,” you hum, pulling away when he attempts to move his hand to your hair. He lets out a broken groan as his hand goes back to the bed, gripping the blankets beneath with enough force to turn his knuckles white. “Good boy,” you purr.

Satoru’s breath hitches, pre-cum leaking from his cock as it jumps again, aching for your touch. Sparing him of your teasing, you finally swirl your tongue over his swollen tip. He lets out a tortured groan, his abs contracting with the effort of not immediately cumming onto your lips, so needy for you that he’s not sure he can last.

“Sh- Shit,” he whispers, watching intently as you lick a stripe up his length so slowly that he mewls. The amount of time he’s spent fantasizing about this moment is shameful, really, and now that it’s here, he’s sent into a frenzy. His thighs are twitching, abdomen clenching with the effort of not blowing his load immediately.

“Tell me what you want, Toru,” you whisper, your breath ghosting warm over his leaky tip.

“Need you, baby, need your lips on me so bad, please pleasepleaseplease-” he babbles out, swallowing his broken moan when you teasingly kiss his tip, chasing after his desperate reactions. Pleased with his begging, you take his cock between your lips, sinking down slowly over him as you take him to the hilt.

His cock nestles into the back of your throat as you choke on his length. Bobbing your head as you set a slow pace, Satoru’s brain turns to mush as pleasure courses through his body. You take him so well and he’s already careening dangerously close to the edge of an orgasm, abs clenching as he throws his head back when your pace picks up. What sends him over the edge is the feeling of your little hum when you take him down to the hilt again.

His hand reaches out to hold you steady as a broken cry leaves his lips when his orgasm comes crashing over him suddenly, cock pulsing as he paints your throat with his arousal. You swallow it with a hum that makes his whole body jolt. He gently pulls your lips from his cock, leaning back on his hands as he comes down from his climax.

A chaste kiss left on his cock makes him shiver. Glassy eyes meet yours, pleasure swirling within the barely visible blues of them. “Such a tease,” he murmurs before pushing himself up the bed and flopping down on his back.

He smirks at you as you slide back on top of him, your wet cunt grinding over his hardened length. “So fuckin’ gorgeous,” he groans, warm hands coming to rest on your hips. Rocking your hips back and forth as you chase the friction you so desperately crave, Satoru throws his head back. “Fuuuuuck, pretty. So fuckin’ good.”

You lean down to kiss him, slowing your ministrations as you capture his lips in a heated kiss laced with your own desperation. His tongue eagerly explores your mouth again, the taste of him fresh on your lips. Every second of you on top of him sends him into a spiral of glossy-eyed pleasure that he hopes he can bask in for the rest of his life.

When you pull back suddenly, he whines, sitting up on his elbows to watch your movements as you slide down the bed with a predatory gaze. His lashes flutter as you intently watch his reaction while you spit on his swollen cock head. His jaw hangs slightly open and he groans when you use your thumb to spread the saliva down his shaft.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans unevenly between shallow breaths. His length jerks as you slowly pump your hand, so slowly it’s painful. “Baby, ne-need you,” he babbles, bucking his hips to chase the friction of your hand.

You grin, kissing his tip. “Yeah, Toru?” You purr, reveling in the way he turns to putty in your hand. “Think you’ve been a good boy for me?”

“Mhm. Wanna cum inside you,” he pants, raking his hands through your hair.

Your breath hitches as you crawl back up his body and position yourself over his twitching length. You don’t have the strength to tease him anymore, more for your own sake than his.

“Please,” he begs once more, leaking pre-cum as he waits to feel your walls squeeze him. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, this is entirely different. This is full of a new kind of desperation, full of a new kind of adoration as you grip Satoru’s shoulders tightly while sinking down on his cock slowly. Satoru’s long thickness makes you moan as you break past the first ring of resistance.

Your pussy is heaven for Satoru, a moment he’s dreamt of so long he has half a mind to pinch himself to make sure this isn’t the world’s most vivid wet dream, but he’s entirely too fucked out to manage a sane thought.

“So tight, love,” Satoru moans, his grip bruising on your hips. Every bone in his body begs him to fuck up into you, desperate to feel your gummy walls milk him. 

You hold still for a moment as you adjust to his length, whimpering at the feeling of his cock twitching within you. As the pain of the stretch turns to pleasure, you begin to rock your hips slowly, leaning back on his cock as it brushes your g spot and bliss floods your body.

Suddenly snapping, Satoru grips you tightly as he matches your rhythm and rocks his hips in tandem with yours. Every stroke of his cock within you pushes you both closer to the edge and as your nails rake his chest, you can hardly manage a coherent sentence.

“Toru- so big-” you moan, your pussy fluttering on his length as he needily whines along with your words.

“Shit, not gonna last long baby, I’m-” he watches your heavenly expression as you whimper and babble through your own words, both glassy-eyed and fucked out. He can tell you aren’t far behind him in spite of how teasing you’ve been all night, increasing the pace that he rolls his hips at until he feels your cunt pulse and your orgasm hits you like a wave.

You hunch over on him, your pace slowing to a halt. Your body trembles with the strength of your climax and your walls milk Satoru’s orgasm from him at the same time. “Fuck- nngh- feelsogood-!” He slows his rhythm as he works wave after wave of both climaxes out, chest panting from the overwhelming feeling of reaching such a high with you.

The sounds of your breaths fill the room as blood roars in your ears. After a moment of catching your breath, your eyes flutter open to find Satoru already staring up at you. His eyes are glazed in pleasure, but the look of pure adoration is what makes your heart flip. If your cheeks weren’t already flushed, you’re certain the look he’s giving you would have that effect.

“Toru?” You breathe, staring down at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers as his breathing begins to steady. You can’t help the grin that spreads over your features as you giggle at the man beneath you. Both of you so clearly spent in the afterglow of sex, and he’s being entirely too cute with his cock still nestled deep within you.

Sucking a breath through your teeth, you push yourself off of him, flopping down on the bed at his side as his slick drips from your folds and paints your thighs.

Comfortable silence settles between you both as you bask in the moment. Sparrows sing outside the window and the faint sound of distant traffic breaks through what’s otherwise a silent room. Your mind wanders to every moment in the past where Satoru shot you a longing gaze, where his words implied more than just friends. To each moment where you had brushed him off, assuming he was just pushing your buttons because that’s just how he is.

Now, each one of those moments held a different, new meaning. You turn your head to take in the sight of Satoru. He looks angelic in the morning light with his hair slightly disheveled, skin warmed by the sunlight peeking through the blinds.

“Where do we go from here?” You ask suddenly, pulling his attention to you.

Cerulean irises take in the sight of you just as you had done for him. It takes him a moment to reply, admiring your features and committing your face to memory as though he might lose you if he utters the wrong words. “As long as you’re by my side, I’ll go anywhere.”

“Satoru that’s… Cheesy and not what I meant,” you giggle. “But I’d love to start with a date. I know it won’t begin to make it up to you, but-”

“Sweetheart. Stop,” Satoru leans up on an elbow, kissing you so softly you would assume he thinks you’re glass. “I forgive you. I forgave you the moment I saw your pretty face last night.”

“Toru, please, let me make it up to you-”

“I forgive you. I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you. Okay? Stop worrying.” He peppers kisses over your face amid playful giggles as he speaks, eyes warm with mirth.

“Let me take you out, then. Just- Let me do something, at least,” you insist.

“Yeah, gonna plan something, baby?” Satoru smirks, pressing a kiss to your collar. You nod eagerly. “Sounds like a plan, then.”

Sitting up, Satoru shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. Quietly, you admire the musculature of his back and arms, smiling to yourself. You have to consider yourself lucky that you have this chance at all, grateful you didn’t miss your opportunity with the angelic man.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Satoru hums as he bounds to his feet. In spite of his own tiredness, there’s a pep in his step that makes you grin.

“Satoru?” You call after him before he can disappear, sitting up on the bed. He pokes his head back around the corner, giving you his full attention. “Since we’re doing everything out of order anyways, uh-” you hesitate for a moment, not because you doubt what you’re about to say, but because you don’t want to scare him off. “I love you.” Although it’s an admission you made last night as well, without the tension of the prior night it holds a new meaning.

His expression softens but his eyes seem to glow as he grins. Giddily, he quickly makes his way back to your side and kisses you with all the passion in the world. “I love you too, you gorgeous, wonderful, maybe a bit sticky girl.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Did you have to mention the sticky part?”

Bounding back over to the ensuite door, he hums affirmatively. “Yeah, if you keep calling me back and don’t let me clean you up.”

And with that, he disappears to grab a warm cloth as you stare with a smile at the place where he just stood. You sigh to yourself at how goofy Satoru has remained over the years, always the butt of the joke and the life of the party.

Now you think he just might be the light of your life too.

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

𓉸 a/n ; i don't know what happened this was meant to be like. 3k words of pure smut. but here we are so i hope you enjoyed! ♡ writing sub!gojo was a CHALLENGE for me it's not my usual thing so i hope i did it justice. as always likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated :))

𓉸 taglist ; currently open. please comment here or on the masterlist to be tagged in the rest of my kinktober work ♡ @tojis-ball-sack @rathreads @sukunadckrider @nxcxllxsevens @r0ckst4rjk

[rinshoe]

I FEEL THE RUSH ──── Gojo Satoru.

synopsis ────⋙ Instead of spending the very last summer vacation of your life like an average university student, you come back to your home town under unexpected and unfortunate circumstances; and silly misunderstandings lead to a blossoming summer romance.

pairing ────⋙ summer fling Gojo Satoru x reader

wc ────⋙ 15.2k (for a spontaneous silly fic i worte in 5 days idk how it got this long)

cw ────⋙ NSFW, MDNI, fluff, i mean some angst, mention of cheating, shitty ex, shitty friends, depressive episode, everyone here is rich af, teasing, banter, oral sex (f! receiving), car sex, flirting, lots of it, nothing else i wanna spoil lol, give it a read.

a/n: art by @/m0ryy , find the art here. the playlist that i used (very fun playlist ngl), also I'm tweaking the layout here and there as it just fits.

Summer is often dubbed the season of fruition, fulfillment, happiness, and new beginnings. Though for you, summer seems to be the season when you just never know what day it is. 

Days blend into each other, hours pass by, the sun never seems to set, and weeks seem to end way ahead of time. And your boyfriend, or now ex-boyfriend to be more accurate, finds it the perfect season to finally break up with you. After months of cheating on you behind your back with your own closest friend, it seems he finally found the nerve to get away with it.

After they were both done leaching off of you and betraying you, it was time to leave you behind. 

You wish you could say you were hurt. Broken and miserable. Well, you were miserable, not because of the recent circumstances. But rather than you being concerned about graduating, the dread of leaving behind the safety net of a tiring education system was daunting, to say the least. But at least it was there.

You don't really blame them for anything, but then you also do, though you knew when it started. When you found one of her socks in his room. Or when you smelled his perfume on her sheets. But you just never did anything; it sort of gave you leverage to not really input anything into these exhausting relationships without feeling like an asshole. A good excuse—that's all it was. 

Maybe your parents wouldn't understand these things so easily; maybe to them you are their heartbroken little girl. That is probably why they showed up at your apartment unannounced immediately the day after you told them about your breakup. 

And now you are in the backseat of your father's car, being driven back to the town you grew up in. Passing by the familiar ocean you always hated looking at whenever you had to drive back and forth. The vast, never-ending, salty mystery never made any sense to you. Probably why you never got around to learning how to swim.

“Are you alright there, sweetheart?” Your mother looked back from the passenger seat, only to hear you hum an unenthusiastic yes. 

“We're almost there. You know they renovated the club? You should come with us tomorrow. Everyone asks about you all the time.” Your father spoke without moving his eyes from the road.

“Sure. I will.” It didn't take much to appease your parents.

Simple-minded or privileged, whatever they were, you were probably worse. With all the comfort in this world, here you were, alone by choice. Left behind and soon forgotten. Which was never your intention; you just could not be what your parents, your ex boyfriend, and your friend's expectations wanted you to be. And therefore you are now taking steps backwards at a time in your life when you are to be sprinting forward.

Summer has always been the season most unkind to you, and you've never made it feel any less unappreciated. The animosity between you and the most beloved season cannot be that easily erased with a renovated country club, or the ocean, or some ice cream, or the wind that breezes by your windows at night, or twelve hours of sleep. 

But at the very least you can hope it does not burn you into the ground.

Every time you step back in your old room, a part of you wishes that your parents just threw everything out and made it into another sitting room or another gym. Then you see the posters of the band you and your high school friends once snuck out to see during your last senior year summer vacation, and it reminds you that maybe summer didn't hate you as bad as you thought.

Then the memories of the summer during your first year of college come back, how miserable it was. Locked in your small dorm, with your annoying roommate gone, yet her side of the room remained as headache-inducing as ever. Parents you could reach out to, as they were not even in the country, and you did not have it in you to ruin their vacation. High school friends who slowly drifted away and suddenly broke all relationships and the promises. All that was left was you and the miserable heat of the summer. 

Anything will always be better than that shitty dorm room, even the room you grew up in that haunts your dreams now.

Walking down the stairs, you found your parents enjoying the wind cutting through them on the patio. And as you passed the living room while looking out at them sitting by each other's side, without even looking where you were going, you realized that maybe you have not really forgotten what that sense of familiarity felt like being back home.

It hasn't even been half a day that you've been back in your childhood bedroom. It was already well past 12:00 AM, and you could still walk from your room to the kitchen with your eyes closed, half asleep. Even the sound of a car pulling up in your neighbor’s driveway, the teenagers giggling in a hushed voice, and someone's dog barking—everything felt comforting and just as it always sounded. It felt like home. 

It felt like you could finally open your windows, at the end of the day, and welcome the summer breeze as happily as your parents did. 

You wish you could say you spent your first few days back home more productively. Instead it was just a routine of waking up at either 4:00 AM or 4:00 PM. Making coffee, eating whatever could be easily grabbed, and then spending the rest of your day rotting away in bed.

This was summer. The summer that everyone longed for and idealized, for you it was days bending into each other. Until the urgency of the decreasing free days finally made you want to pick up your unfinished assignments and open those untouched documents.

“Alright, get ready!” Your father barged into your room unannounced with the amount of enthusiasm that made you kind of regret being back home.

“You have got to stop walking into my room like that.” You didn't bother to look up at him from your bed, keeping your eyes trained on the screen of your laptop. The poor thing has been running since last night without a break. All because you found some horrible show to occupy your brain for some hours and not let you think about anything. 

“Go get changed; we're going to the club!” With every step he took forward, the more you wanted your bed to swallow you whole.

“Why can't I just stay home—AND STOP OPENING MY WINDOWS, IT'S SO HOT OUT!” The sunlight suddenly poured in from your windows, and it felt like just from the looks of the shining rays of light, the heat outside could melt even when you were in the comfort of your nice and cold room, courtesy of the air conditioning. 

“DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME, YOUNG LADY! YOU'RE COMING WITH US!” 

And what is a poor little girl to do when her father is the one paying for her tuition fees and air conditioning bill? Certainly not going against what he asked for. She has to move her butt, take a shower, and change into a presentable sundress. To smile and nod at old neighbors she always found detestable.

You can only hope this white dress passes as presentable. Though there is nothing wrong with the dress, and sure, it is worn in, the cotton has softened significantly from when it was originally bought, which feels better on the skin than anything ever. The thin straps have become a little flimsy, and you genuinely believe the length has somehow shortened from above your knees to now where the hem lies on the middle of your thighs. But the pretty embroidery of flowers that ran all over the dress in a cream thread was what made this dress as captivating as it was.

The country club has never been a place you went with much enthusiasm. It was either about tagging your parents, running away from swimming lessons they forcibly signed you up for, sneaking into some empty room to take a nap, taking tennis lessons, or just simply sitting by the pool with your friends for lack of anything else better to do.

The worst part was always running into familiar faces, especially in such an exclusive place; everyone knew everyone. Especially when you're left by yourself at a table, like right now, sipping on some tea, only for just about any nasty neighbor to come up to you and make a few sarcastic comments.

“Oh my goodness! How have you been, honey? Look at you! It's like you're a fully grown adult now! But I still can't choose a pretty dress I see.” Oh, how you wish Mrs. Wilson would finally change for the better and stop running her mouth. And what is that even supposed to mean? You are a fully grown adult. Even though she will argue you're still the same petty kid from all those years ago. But you'd have to argue that you're a vengeful grown-up now. This is why you'll never see eye to eye with her.

“And you also look like you've aged a lot in these few years, Mrs. Wilson.” Her face soured just as quickly as it always did whenever she stopped to talk to you on the street back when you used to live here. 

“Your tongue is as sharp as ever, huh?” She smiled at you with the most faux politeness.

“Well, some things never change.” And you returned her smile with a similarly fake one.

Thankfully, your parents were done chatting with some of their friends. So you said your goodbyes to her with a tight smile and walked back to your parents. Not before you let out a little chuckle to yourself hearing her scoff behind your back.

“Oh, you met Mrs. Wilson, huh? I hope you were nice.” Your mother asked in a concerned voice, knowing your long, tumultuous history with her. 

Well, maybe you would've had a better relationship with her like the rest of your neighbors, who adore you! If only she didn't insult your fashion choices since you were a baby, and if her daughter didn't spend the entirety of high school trying to compete with you. Then maybe—actually never mind, you cannot be nice to a woman like her. 

“Yep, I was on my best behavior!” Your smile sure didn't say so, and your mother knew that too. At least your father understood your hatred for that woman. And thankfully he still does, given the fist bump he offered you. 

“You two are going to kill me one day. Anyway, we are going to the sauna. Do you want to come with us?” She sighed, tired of you and your father's dislike for the woman who happens to be a big source of your mother's neighborhood gossip.

“Sauna with you two and your friends? Absolutely not.” You'd rather sit in a scorching hot room full of old people who've seen you in your diaper, like any sane person.

“Alright, but the Getos wanted to meet you.” The Geto family lived right across from you. They happened to be your parents’ probably closest friends here. You and their son, Suguru, grew up together. You two have been childhood friends who always had a mutual respect for each other because of your mutual disdain for Mrs. Wilson and Summer. 

“I'll say hello to them after you guys are done or just drop by their place later.” You adored them the best out of all your neighbors. After all, they've been nothing but kind to you growing up. You've spent a lot more time in Suguru's front yard than your own. 

“Alright. We'll let you know when we are done.” You and your parents always had very different ideas about most situations.

“Huh? I can't just go home?” Where your parents wanted you to engage in some social and recreational activities, you wanted to go back to your bed.

“No. Either do something or come to the sauna with us.” At this point it felt like your mother just wanted you to be humiliated in the sauna more than anything.

“Sure, threatening your fully grown-up daughter is the best method of parenting.” The way you were sighing made you sound more like an angsty teenager than anything.

“If you were actually a grown-up adult, we wouldn't have to lecture you like this.” God forbid you get snarky and your mother lets you get away with it.

“Jeez, I'll find something to do.” No one can really argue with your mother, so guess you better find something interesting enough to do while your parents get cooked in the sauna.

“Don't cause any trouble, sweetie!” Your father said, loudly enough from behind you, that made you pick up your pace out of the dining hall. Twenty or seventy-two, they'll never stop embarrassing you on purpose.

“Not a kid, oh my god.” You speed-walked past the pool, full of teenagers and old people. Mumbling to yourself, like some sort of reassurance.

No one you know will ever call you childish or anything but mature. Except for your parents, they'd say you're still a kid. And maybe they are right; you don't really feel like an adult, nor do you feel like a kid. It's a weird limbo of being in your 20s, the supposedly best years of your life, just passing by in vain and emptiness.

The country club truly looked better than ever. The playground for the kids looked like it had been through some major improvement. The pool was now bigger; even the kids' pool was better than what you remember flapping around in. The path around the lake, by the garden, looked newly paved. And the golf course was just as vast but greener than ever.

But all of that did not meet the requisite of your interests. What interested you was beyond the pool, adjacent to the garden, and right before the golf course started. 

It was the tennis court where you spent the majority of your childhood, where you met Geto Suguru. And immediately decided you have to win everything where you face him off, because otherwise he will just tease you to death. You learned your lesson when you lost one friendly match to him the day you met, and that too only on the second day of your tennis journey. And suddenly the reserved new kid on the block was a smug little shit.

‘Maybe you never had to try hard enough, but you'll have to, if you want to win against me.’ Was what he said, if you remember correctly.

Since then you've been great friends. But it was either you tried not to compete against him or made sure to grind in secrecy to not give him even the smidge of a chance to tease you. 

You wish your friendship with Suguru stayed as it was when you guys were kids. Playing in his front yard, getting ice cream after school, going to the beach, and pulling pranks on Mrs. Wilson. You wish some things just never changed. But you can't really say you two are on unfriendly terms now or anything; you still get a text or call from him here and there, and you make sure to always text him back and call him if any opportunity arises. You've met up with him from time to time. And you often hear about him through your parents, and you're sure he also hears likewise. 

So it doesn't feel like you truly lost a friend to your shitty teenage hormones and the span of time. But you sure feel sorry for the both of you. Neither of you had a good time in highschool, it was very similar emotions you both were going through. But you two were dealing with them in your own unique and respectively different ways. Where he chose to completely shut himself away, you chose to try so hard to fit into places you never felt like you belonged. 

It was only after you came back home during Christmas after getting into college that you guys reconciled.

You are glad you met Suguru that day as a kid; otherwise, maybe you wouldn't have ever gone through with your tennis lessons. If only Suguru were there to race you to the pool, you'd have been a state-level swimmer by now. 

The tennis court was empty. In the heat of a summer afternoon, with the sun at its peak, it was obvious only a fool would be on a tennis court. Thankfully there wasn't another fool like you anywhere around.

And since the net was so nicely tied up, the equipment was there looking like it had just been cleaned, and you needed something to pass your time—why not take advantage of the situation? To check your rusty tennis skills and how well your new sunscreen worked. Whether or not you were about to come out looking like a sun-dried tomato depended on it. After all, summer will be here for a while, and so will you.

The neon green ball bounced off the ground and back into your palm easily, just as easily as it flew up in the air and then collided with your racket. It made a snappy sound as it spanned across the court. The ball went to hit the fence on the opposite side. You felt the sweat dripping down your temples, the ball rolled around on the ground, and you felt like something within you finally stirred up after a long while. 

The number of neon balls started to gather on the opposite side of the court, as well as around your feet, from a few missed serves. But it felt good to hear the sound of your heart beating with the sound of the ball hitting the racket.

But you can only serve a few bunches of balls in the air all by yourself without an opponent. So you tried to look for the ball-dispensing machine, which you never got around to figuring out, thanks to the always very helpful staff. But given the time, everyone must be busy serving or helping out for lunch. 

Yet you walked out of the court anyway to find someone to help you out with the machinery. And just behind the court, under a tree, just at the beginning of the golf course, you found a golf cart. To be more specific, you found a man leaning back in the driver's seat of the cart, with his hands behind his head, looking beat and exhausted.

He had a baseball cap covering his face, his white pearly hair was shining in the sun, and a single drop of sweat slowly streamed down his neck, along with his prominent veins, very cinematically. Even though you couldn't see his face, you could tell this guy was not from here; maybe he recently moved or something, or he was visiting for the summer and making some cash. Either way, you felt this intrigue bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you stared at his bulging biceps and the sheen of sweat at the end of his rolled-up sleeves around his shoulders. 

‘Get a grip, jeez.’ 

You had to warn yourself before walking up to him. Each step you took felt heavier than before; for some weird reason, now you are thinking twice about asking the hot golf cart driver for some help.

“Um, hey?” You finally reached beside the cart and leaned just close enough to his ears. And when your barely audible voice didn't get to him, you had to summon up the courage to speak up.

“Excuse me?” This time the guy jerked up in his seat. The baseball cap fell from his face to his lap, and one of his sleeves rolled down to cover up his bicep because of his sudden movements. 

“Yeah?” Now that you could get a clear look at him, you could feel the tightening knots in your stomach getting worse. Not only did his body look so much better up close, but his build also looked bigger than what you imagined from afar, and his face, oh boy. 

How to start? The root of his pearly hair was damp with sweat, coming off as a darker shade of something in between white and gray compared to the rest of his fluffy hair blowing in the hot summer winds. His eyes were squinted from the sudden change in lighting, but you could see the sunlight reflecting in his blue pupils. There was a layer of sweat accumulated above his upper lip, and you had to conjure up everything to not reach out and wipe it away.

“Hi, uh, I needed some help.” You pointed back at the tennis court behind you with your free hand, and the racket in your other hand came to cover the front of your legs, like some sort of shield from the unfamiliar worker’s eyes. Which made it no secret that they were raking up your body from toe to toe, probably wondering why the fuck you are playing tennis in this heat.

“Oh sure!” He quickly jumped off the cart, leaving the cart to wobble from the sudden movements and lack of weight. 

He took maybe three long strides, and he was already almost at the tennis court, while you were still standing with the empty cart, looking at the silhouette of his thick thighs in those basketball shorts. 

“You comin’?” He called out for you from the entrance of the court, flashing you a toothy grin, waiting for you to reach him there instead of entering the grounds all by himself. You quickly yelled a yes and ran up to him, giggling at your half-effort running. 

You walked into the court, choosing to blame the sudden rise in heat on the sun above your heads. He followed suit obediently, ending up in front of the ball dispenser. 

“So, could you help me start this thing? I don't know how to work this thing.” You explained to the man, hoping for some help.

“Alright. Let's see, did you try turning it on, or did it suddenly stop or something?” He crouched down on the ground to sit on his left knee on the ground. Looking around the machine and toying with the buttons at the side that you also pressed, you were also met with nothing. He inspected the machine further to find any other way to start it, even kicking it a few times.

“Yeah. This thing is definitely broken.” He gets up to now stand facing you, with his hands on his hips, defeated. 

You sighed, all disappointed, but then again it made sense why the tennis court was completely empty. He looked at your face for a bit, contemplating whether or not he should blurt out what he is thinking about offering.

“Uh, I could play against you instead!” He walked up to the rest of the equipment under the shade and picked up a racket and spun it in his hands. 

“Are you sure? I'm not interrupting you, right?” You were happy to hear his offer, but you also didn't want him to get scolded by his boss or something.

“Oh please, it's my pleasure!” Maybe this was part of the service. 

“Alright then, you serve.”

“Gladly.”

 You threw the ball across the net at him, and he caught it without any hesitation.

He slightly bent down to position for his serve as you walked up to your post and got in position as well. He made the ball touch the racket three times before jumping up in the air and served the ball like an experienced and in-practice player. The ball flew right by your head and hit the ground outside of the boundary.

“Surely you didn't call me here to lose to me, did’ya?” A smug smirk stretched on his lips. And it irked you. In a different way than Suguru, sure, you still wanted to beat his ass in the game, but it did more for you than just aggravate you. That tightening sensation in your abdomen was back. 

“No, I called you here to eat shit.” But god forbid you let yourself lose a match against some smug smart ass.

“Oh, ho ho, feisty, aren't we?” He chuckled at your shit talk. You sure didn't look like the type to shit-talk in that pretty white dress, with the wind flowing by you, asking him so politely to help with the ball dispenser.

He didn't get a time to register when you even served the ball; he was expecting another sharp reply. Instead he somehow managed to hit it back, and this time the ball stayed in the air for a while. Until you rushed forward and jumped up in the air and pushed the ball down with as much force as you could, one of his knees bent, and he slid forward to get the ball. Unfortunately, his focus went from the ball to you—the way your pretty white dress hugged you and how the skirt flipped up in the air when you made that jump, exposing more of your thighs and a glimpse of your also white panties and the little lace trim on them. This need started to brew within him, and he couldn't pinpoint what it exactly was; he is not some horny teenager, after all. And so the ball crossed the net and hit the ground, making his efforts useless. 

“Huh, so you're not just all talk.” 

“I am not the one running his tongue here.”

“Uh huh? We'll see who's left tongue-tied at the end then.”

“Yeah, you'd know more about that, since you're losing.” 

And with a chuckle from him, you were in your position, legs spread out, racket in between your legs, ready for whatever he's about to throw your way.

Let's say you were far from tongue-tied even though you just lost.

“No, you were clearly out of the boundary there.” You walked up to the net, ready to swing your racket at him.

“Alright, alright, don't make up things now like a sore loser.” His racket fell out of his hands and landed on the ground as he walked towards the middle of the court. Meeting you behind the net. 

“Sweets, please, you just could not keep up with me; it's ok to admit defeat.” That smile on his face, you wanted to smack it off, but not really.

“This one doesn't count!” You pulled the racket up to his face, not even cognizant of what you were doing at this point, blinded by the fury from your loss. “Alright, sure. Rematch then?” He grabbed the head of your racket and pulled you closer towards him; the net clung to your body, and you could feel his body against yours, with the barrier of the tennis court net between you two.

And you wish you had something to say. But you were finally tongue-tied.

“Satoru!” 

Both of your heads turned towards the source of the voice, ever so familiar to both of you. Thankfully the distant silhouette of Suguru walking up to the court finally had you push away from the stranger's body. This guy you've known for mere hours, apparently named Satoru, suddenly had you at your wit's end. And somehow you had thanked Geto Suguru for interrupting your game, a first for everything, truly.

As Suguru walked up to the both of you, his usual furrowed eyebrows shot up to see you standing there looking clueless, with a racket in your hands. And he rushed his step a little more to get to you.

“And what are you doing here, huh?” His hands reached out in a fist. Which you gladly bumped in acknowledgement, and he instantly pulled you in for a hug. With one arm around your shoulders and another on top of your head, patting it, like he always did.

“Should've told me you're visiting. I saw you like months ago; you weren't even here for Christmas last year.” Suguru kept blabbering with you in his embrace, finally letting you go when you tapped on his chest to let you go for some air.

“You have to lose this habit, Sugu.” You two pulled away with a smile on your faces, glad to be running into each other after a while. It has been just texts and calls for the last few months, since your degree absolutely fucked you over, and so did your boyfriend and your friend. 

“So what, you're here with your loser boyfriend?” Suguru placed an arm around your shoulders, and his smile started dimming down as he saw your genuine smile getting replaced with a tight, awkward one.

“Yeah, oh god, about that.” You explained to Suguru the whole situation with your ex-boyfriend and ex-friend, as his face started contorting in rage. 

All the while, Satoru stood behind you two, leaning on the net between the courts; your hushed voices were barely audible to his ears. But one thing was clear to him: his best friend and this pretty stranger he just met a few hours ago sure had a great bond. The sort of friendship where even when you don't talk for months, you can see each other and hug instantly and spill your guts without any hesitation. Somewhere he felt a little envious, or left out maybe, unsure what it exactly was. The fact that his best friend had someone besides him whom he relied on so heavily, or the fact that you were smiling at Suguru with such ease. But then again, he literally just met you, and he's already getting ahead of himself. He doesn't even know your name yet.

Once you were done calming down a very angry and cursing Suguru, offering to beat up your ex, you finally noticed Satoru leaning on the net. And your eyes lingered on his, staring into each other's eyes, with something dense between you two, beyond physical and comprehensive explanations.

Suguru finally realized Satoru's presence, the reason why he ended up here anyway. And walked up to him, who was still staring at you instead of shifting his focus to Suguru. You felt pinned to where you stood, incapable of any movements under his gaze.

“You dumbass, you said you were going to take a break for a few minutes, and you disappeared for hours!” Suguru smacked his forehead, and finally his focus shifted from you as he got busy pouting and rubbing his forehead. So you used this opportunity to walk up to the benches to grab your bag, take out the water bottle, and check your phone. But even then, Satoru's gaze discreetly followed you there while also trying to give Suguru his attention. 

“Oh, come on, it wasn't thaaaat long, and your parents left for the spa; why would I stay there and get my ass beaten up by you?” So there was another person beside you who would rather back out than go against Geto Suguru; it was somewhat comforting to know.

“Alright, sure. Anyway, how come you two are here? Together?” Suguru looked back at you and then again at Staoru.

“Oh, I was looking for a staff member, and he was just out there. Honestly I did not expect a golf cart driver to be much help to me anyway but—”

“Woah, wait, sweets, what do you mean?” 

He stood up straight and had to cut you off. Because something about what you were saying told him that there was a bit of a misunderstanding here.

“And I was going to say this earlier as well: should you be speaking to a club member like this?” You walked up to the both of them and stood beside Suguru, looking a little disappointed at Satoru.

“Huh?” Genuine confusion poured out of his voice.

“I mean, as an employee here, you should—”

“Wait, wait, wait. So you actually think I work here?” He pointed a finger at himself and looked at you with confusion and dejection. So you've fucked up the calculation here, it seems. 

“Oh, this is hilarious to me.” Suguru chimed in, hands folded over his chest, enjoying the mystery of Satoru's identity unfolding. Smirking to himself, enjoying his best friend's humiliation.

“I mean, you look like it. With the white polo and shorts and those sneakers with socks. In this weather, on top of it.” You tried to contain your smile while describing his outfit; it looked exactly like what some of the part-time, non-uniform-wearing employees wore to come off as more friendly.

“SEE! I told you, you look fucking stupid, Satoru!” Suguru’s voice shot up, and he pointed his index finger at Satoru in an accusatory tone. One you knew oh so well, the ‘Hah! I told you so!’ tone, and you felt bad for throwing Satoru in a situation you've hated being in in the past.

“I thought it was a good golf outfit, ok? I’M SORRY!” Satoru, in return, comically gestured at his attire to make a point for Suguru. If this whole exchange wasn't so funny, you'd have felt really bad for him.

“Yeah, and then you sucked at it on top of your horrible outfit. His father is so good at golf you'd think he'd be good as well.” Suguru looked at you, trying to put up a picture of Satoru's poor skills regarding anything golf.

“Shut up. Also, you have a lot to say for someone who made the same amount of holes as me.”

“That's because I am tired.”

“Excuses.”

Suddenly you were now a key witness for a whole crime that was about to take place; it felt like they were about to throw hands any moment. Fortunately, your phone, along with Suguru's phone, buzzed in your respective pockets. And even before checking, you both knew it was your parents. 

“They're done, so should we head inside?” Suguru placed the phone back in his pocket after checking the text. 

You nodded and gathered your bag to meet up with your parents and the Getos, along with the two men you ran into through a series of unexpected happenings. On the way, Suguru introduced you and Satoru to each other. You gave Satoru your name and a gist of how you grew up with Suguru. In return, you got to know that his full name was Gojo Satoru.

“I mean, I sort of know you already.” His side slightly bumped into yours as Suguru led you two into the building. You tilted your head in confusion, not sure where you even ran into someone this outstandingly gorgeous and then forgot about him. That's not possible; he doesn't have a forgettable face, even for someone like you who forgets people's names and faces really quickly. You were sure if you ever saw him, you wouldn't have forgotten him. If you ever walked past him on a busy street, even then you'd remember him.

“Well, Suguru talks about you sometimes, so it feels like I kind of know you already.” 

You didn't know what was the cause of the fluttering sensation in your chest, the fact that Suguru cares about you enough that you get brought up in his conversations, or the gorgeous smile that Satoru threw after what he said, or was it simply what he said? 

There have been plenty of times someone said they felt like they'd known you for a longer time than how long they actually knew you. And it always irked you to think someone you don't even know thinks they know you, presumably, well enough. Yet in this case you didn't feel that, maybe because he's Suguru's friend. But this wouldn't have been the first time you didn't like one of his friends, so that was not the case. 

Maybe he was just some strange exception.

On your way back home, at dinner, after dinner, during breakfast the next morning—all your brain was occupied with was nothing but Gojo Satoru. 

I mean, what choice did you have left when your parents wouldn't stop singing his praises? Truly simple they are. The whole story about how you thought he was a staff member was a hit. That, accompanied by some flirting with your mother and some bad dad jokes with your father, and now suddenly he is their favorite person ever.

If there was a tier list, surely it's Gojo Satoru, then Geto Suguru, only because he has broken a lot of your windows while playing catch as a kid, and lastly you. And you cannot argue with them. The man sure has his charms and knows how to use them. 

Now that you are just standing by your window, with no one to influence your opinions or thoughts, you cannot help but go back to thinking about that man. For once you wanted to open your windows during the day, in hopes of catching a glimpse of something. Or someone, but you were still too stubborn to admit that to yourself.

But you still were fortunate enough to find what you were exactly looking for. 

Satoru was in the Geto residence’s driveway, right across from your house, visibly clear from your windows. In a tank top that had a Sonic X logo in the middle, which was soaked in sweat and soap water. There were bubbles around his forehead, and his bangs were clumped up and wet. The sheen of the off-white car covered in soapy water reflected an angelic light and all the colors of the rainbow all over him. It was flashy and ridiculously expensive-looking, most probably imported from somewhere, flashier than most of your neighbor's cars, but it really suited him. 

There was nothing remarkable about what he was doing; he was washing his car. And yet, to you it was somehow the most fascinating thing you've seen since you came back home, or maybe in years. 

The shape of his muscles was making outlines in his tight-fitting, drenched top. That silly Sonic X logo somehow made him look cuter. And all it did was make your eyes drag upwards from there, towards the platinum chain sitting on his collarbones. It lay flat around the curve of his neck, and the taut muscles there, as he moved his arms back and forth to clean the car, the chain moved along with his movements. Bouncing off his skin to sit curved on his collarbones again and again.

His teeth grazed his bottom lip from time to time, but his eyebrows and eyes did not show any signs of frustration. How he was just standing in the sweltering sun, in a soggy tank top and shorts clinging to his body, soap all over him, hair semi-wet in that said water and sweat—it was beyond you. But you just could not look away from him.

But maybe the intensity of your eyes reached his skin better than the sun. He looked up from his car, right towards your house, and after a second, his eyes found your window. And also you, standing in the window, shocked to be found caught red-handed, not doing anything bad, but also nothing you were proud of. 

Satoru's unoccupied hand moved up to wave at you with a sweet smile. And you malfunctioned. Instead of waving back at him like a normal person would, you hid behind your curtains. With a heaving chest, you stood there until you felt the heat rising up your body, going down. When you peeked outside, still hiding behind your curtains, you saw him leaning down on the car, with his arms folded under him, head tilted and eyes still directed towards your windows. 

Now you certainly could not just come out and wave a hi back at him. So you did the sensible act of ducking down on the floor to crawl all the way to your door. You remained on the floor until you could shit your bedroom door behind you, and when you did so, your back went against it. For some support to get back up on your two feet, and even then it felt like it was impossible. 

Your heartbeat was racing, and your entire body was burning up in a blaze. 

Out of precaution, your windows remained shut for the rest of the day. And you kept your face buried in your pillows, trying to process the sudden influx of emotions that you were feeling. Unfamiliar and few feelings that people usually feel way earlier in their lives, and yet here you were, early in your twenties. It was not your fault you wasted the majority of your college life on some guy whom you only kept around because you were too scared. Too scared to be left behind and forgotten, you just did not want to be lonely. Even if that meant surrounding yourself with people you knew didn't give a shit about you. It somehow worked in high school, so naturally you thought it'd work out in university.

And now, slightly more mature and a little more comfortable with your own company, you found a strange guy who made you feel strange things. 

It was a strange day altogether. Since you offered to accompany your parents to the club without being pressured. Even they were caught off guard, but there was no way they were about to fumble this with snarky comments. They will save it to throw them at you later at dinner.

It was a pleasant Saturday; if you ignore everything that happened by your window, a perfect day to go out to brunch instead of your usual coffee and toast breakfast before bed rotting. And after the events that happened earlier, you needed to get out, feel the warm wind blowing right in your face, and maybe forget how embarrassing the whole exchange was, if you can even call it that. 

“Oh goodness, fancy running into you guys!” Your mother suddenly spoke out, looking towards the door behind you. 

A part of you was too busy and too delighted by the waffles in front of you to mind your mother's words. While the rest of you already knew who these people could possibly be. Even though you reassured yourself that the Geto family usually doesn't come here on Saturdays, you were still dreading the possibility. And here you were, stumped and with a mouth full of waffles, about to be embarrassed for the second time in a day in less than 12 hours. A new record! 

Chimes of good mornings came from behind you, first in Mr. and Mrs. Geto’s voices, then Suguru's voice, and lastly a very cheerful greeting by the one person you did not want to see today. Everyone was chatting as usual as they took a seat at your table. You also said your greetings to them, trying to not make eye contact with Satoru at all costs, even when you could feel his eyes on you as he sat down directly opposite to you. 

“What a rare sight to see Miss holed-up-in-her-room.” Mr. Geto jokes. 

“These days even vampires need some sun.” As stupid as the joke was, Mr. Geto came down with a boisterous laugh. He has always been an easy audience to please, or maybe it's his bias towards you.

“You two and your stupid jokes.” Suguru grumbled beside you, never a big fan of your and his father's sense of humor.

The table fell into an easy conversation. You caught up a bit more with the Getos, as you didn't get to see them after lunch the other day. And your parents seemed more fascinated by Satoru. Honestly, it was surprising to see your parents having this much interest in an individual your age, other than Geto Suguru. What was weirder was how well Satoru just got along with them, talking about whatever nonsense that is the stock market and business. You presume that his family is some big-shit conglomerate, surely. He found common ground with your mother about his fascination for art, even going as far as naming her art pieces that are his favorites. What a strange, strange man. 

You have had an array of people around you over the years—friends from school, college, and some neighborhood friends—and none of them ever got along with your parents this well, except for Geto Suguru. They couldn't stand your high school friends, they warned you about your college friends, and they never warmed up to your boyfriend. You never officially introduced him, just that they unfortunately visited at a time he was also dropping by. Maybe you were wrong; maybe even they picked up on how miserable you have been regardless of a shitty boyfriend or not, given how much they visited in the last 6 months.

And now that you are back here, at this noisy table, this feels alright. It felt like home, and it felt safe, around people you care about. With the addition of a man who just aroused weird feelings within you, weird and incomprehensible. But it was also just a summer; it'll pass, it'll be gone in mere weeks. 

It was just a normal and nice Saturday brunch until you felt something creeping up on your legs. It didn't feel like an insect or something; it was distinctly the shape of someone's toes. And the only possible answer to who it might be was sitting right across from you. His face was turned towards your father, with his eyes occasionally drifting to the corners to take unnoticeable glances at you. The way one of his hands was placed on top of the table and his other was perched on top of the back of his chair—no one could suspect anything unusual about him or what he was doing right under this table.

“You ok?” Suguru asked, seeing how suddenly you froze up, occasionally twitching in your seat. His toes were trying to map out the plain field, which was your legs. They tangled themselves in the strap of your sandals, which wrapped around your ankle, pulling on them tentatively and snapping them right back lightly, but the sensation could only be described as so good. 

“Yeah. Just tired.” Suguru didn't look like he bought your excuse, but he was never someone to get involved in your business if you didn't want him to, so he went back to the book he was reading. And who honestly does that at a busy table like this? Anyway,

As Satoru's foot glided upwards, from your shin to the side of your knees and right between where your legs crossed. To prevent any further invasion of his foot. Yet you could still feel his toes scraping against the skin over the front of your thighs. Trying to dip between the gap where your thighs pressed together. And it didn't really try to probe in between them, just going up and down there, teasing you, barely giving anything, with hints of everything lying thick in the air. 

And it was frustrating to sit there and take it all and to not let your legs open up themselves willingly. What was more frustrating was just when your legs were about to fall apart and open up, after trembling on their own, pressed together, to aid the feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach, he swiftly pulled away his foot. 

All while talking to your parents like the most ideal man out there. Like he is not trying to get in between their daughter's legs. The audacity of this man really amazed you, looking at the smile on his face, it's impossible even for the gods to realize what a sinister man he is. And honestly, these are the people you always have made sure to stay away from; cunning and charming was not something you were equipped to deal with. 

But that scheming smile and those side glances across from you, boy, were fun. 

“What is wrong with you?” You managed to corner Satoru before heading home. Making up some dumb excuse about leaving behind your hat (which you didn't even wear) to catch him before he could get to the men's restroom. Let the others wait for the two of you, thinking you were busy doing your own thing, while here you were trying to interrogate Gojo Satoru.

“I would like to think everything is perfectly fine with me.” He simply smiled at you, with either of his hands on his hips.

“No, I know you are fine—I mean—that you are—you know that is not what I am talking about!” It was all utterly cringe-worthy, the way it slipped past your lips, making you wish to bury yourself.

“Yeah? Maybe I am more interested in talking about how fine you think I am.” He walked a step closer to you, making you take a step backwards.

“Don't twist my words.” You dig your index finger into his chest, somehow his hard yet supple chest. You take the step forward that you backed away from, but he did not budge from where he was standing.

“Why would I? I’m not the one playing games here now, am I?” Satoru's head tilted to the right, and his face dipped slightly downwards to look you properly in the eyes. And when you had no answers to give, was it that you were lost about what he was exactly asking or lost in his eyes? It cannot be said for sure which it was.

“So why did you ignore me this morning?” At first you were dumbfounded about what he was even talking about, then the embarrassing moment you had by your windows came crashing down on you.

“I—I don't know. What do you mean?” You did your best to look him in the eyes while also trying to lie through your teeth.

“I mean, when you were checking me out this morning and when I waved at you, you just ignored me!” His eyebrows frowned a bit, and his lips jutted in a pout. If you were not digging a mental hole to bury yourself out of embarrassment, then you'd have rather shamelessly just admired how adorable he looked. 

“It's just that, I was—” “You were…?” 

“I was looking at the car you were washing! Yeah! It didn't look like, uh, what the Getos drive, so... yeah.” You've made bad excuses before and lied like a pro even, yet in this moment you felt like a criminal trying to get away from being convicted. 

“Uh huh? You liked my car then?” Satoru narrowed his eyes at you, and his hands, which remained on his hips this entire time, added to what his eyes were saying—liar. But you nodded a yes with a tight smile, and suddenly instead of interrogating him, you were the one being interrogated.

“What color was it?”

“Huh?”

“My car. What color was it?”

For the love of everything, you could not remember what the hell the color of his car was! Sure, he could've asked you what the color of his shorts was, or the logo on his tank top, that mole under his left eye, or the dip between his collarbones, or perhaps the exact hex code for the color of his eyes—but he had to go and ask you about that stupid-ass car. 

You knew you were fucked, and he knew he had you cornered. For that one step you took forward a few seconds ago, you now had to take two steps back, while he took three steps forward. Your whole charade was up, and your petty crush on your childhood friend's best friend was about to be aired out, and you were about to be embarrassed into the ground. You were sure this is it, but thank God for Geto Suguru, for once in your life, maybe. Your true angel in disguise!

“Oi! What’s taking you two so long?” Suguru asked while walking towards you two through the hallway, at the end of which you were being interrogated by Gojo Satoru.

“Oh! Satoru got lost, so I was helping him! It’s fine now. Let's go!” You enthusiastically said while walking towards Suguru in a hurry. Because if you spent another second around Satoru, you'd lose your mind. 

You pushed Suguru’s back to make him walk away from the hallway, because another second here and he would start interrogating as well. So you pushed a reluctant and suspicious Suguru from behind, leaving a disappointed Satoru to follow your two’s lead outside. And mumbled to himself while looking at your back—

liar.

Since then, you did your best to avert the topic of conversation whenever Satoru tried to bring up your wandering eyes. Being in his close proximity was hard, especially when Suguru was not there. So you made sure he was always there when you were getting involved with Satoru. And yet there were always these moments that made you remember why you sometimes just cannot stand Suguru and his audacity.

“Y’wanna go to Lewis’ party this Saturday?” Suguru casually raised the question while still looking at his phone. Ignoring whatever silly flirting you and Satoru were doing, mostly him looking at you with heart eyes and you getting red like a beet at his little comments here and there. The horrible summer sun was already in the middle of the sky, and the tennis court itself felt like a frying pan. 

So here you three were, drenched in sweat and clad in shorts and loose shirts, sitting under the apricot tree near the tennis court, pressed between the two men. The same tree under which you found Satoru, made assumptions in your head, and dubbed him as a hot new cart driver.

“He still does those?” You looked at Suguru while ignoring Satoru’s finger poking your cheek from your other side. 

“Yeah, he still does, every summer. The dedication of that guy.” Suguru scoffed to himself and finally put his phone down to look at you after quickly throwing Satoru a side eye. 

“Who is this guy?” Satoru’s head suddenly was right beside yours; his body was basically leaning into yours.

“Just some guy we went to school with; he throws these big parties every summer. He can be pretty douchey, though.” Suguru paused a second to think to himself before looking between you two and continuing with a smirk. 

“Yeah, and this hotshot here dated him in high school.” Suguru’s hand landed on top of your head, slightly shaking it and patting it. And your own hands went to his wrist to shove it off you with a scoff.

“Oh please, it was like 5 months or less.” You rolled your eyes while leaning away from Suguru's hands; they can mess anyone up easily. “And it was nothing. Just some stupid summer fling.” 

You looked over at Satoru briefly to gauge his reaction while simultaneously trying to ignore Suguru's teasing. It was honestly never the best idea to date the local party thrower; it meant everyone was up in your business. It was rough after the breakup, because not only did random people come up to you asking questions and being rude, but Lewis chased you around for another two weeks persistently. Thankfully he never had the best attention span. 

You looked at Satoru with eyes that said, ‘please do not think I have bad taste!’ 

It was a lot to ask of Satoru when he did not even know the guy, and you did not know why you felt like you had to justify anything. After all, aren't you two just friends through a mutual connection? It did not feel right to watch Satoru stare at you and Suguru with a blank face while Suguru teased you about some stupid high school ex. But it also didn't feel right for Satoru to feel this bubbling jealousy within him, hearing about your old relationship with this guy you might potentially see tonight, whom you've known longer than you've known him.

“No, I get it. Sounds like a fun guy, huh?” Satoru's tone from earlier flattened just a notch. Not really noticeable to most people, but you and Suguru knew. You've known Satoru for barely a week and a half, and you've come to notice little changes in his voice almost the same way Suguru can notice them. The difference is, you use them as a cue to change topics to something that'll lift his spirits, while Suguru doubles down on things.

“Oh, the most fun guy ever! He threw gummy bears in his pool and timed himself on how fast he could fish out as many of them using just his mouth.” Suguru’s back went against the tree bark in a fit of laughter with a thud, remembering exactly what finally gave you the ick to break up with him. A mouthful of pool water and half-chewed gummies. 

“Yeah, I am going to sit this one out. You guys have fun.” You rolled your eyes at Suguru, who was still laughing like a maniac, and stood up while dusting off your skirt.

“Huh, why? ‘ Cause he might try to smooch you with a mouth full of gummies and pool water again?” And Suguru was back to laughing like it could be a threat to his lungs.

Without any more words, because there were none to defend yourself for dating a frat guy and expecting an intellectual and respectable relationship out of it. You walked away after waving Satoru a goodbye and ignoring Suguru, who was by that point on the grass, tired from giving himself a one-man comedy show.

“She was looking forward to going out this weekend. Do you think she'll be ok?” Satoru asked Suguru while his eyes were trained on you walking on the grass. 

“Yeah. She will be fine.” Suguru knew you better than him, so Satoru should barely doubt his words, but he couldn't help but needlessly worry when you didn't even look much bothered about the party other than the fact that Suguru just outed your dating history. 

“If she's not, you can always check on her.” Suguru stood up and, similarly to you, dusted his shorts before extending an arm towards him. 

Satoru did not say anything more to that, just grabbed onto his hand and stood back up on his feet. There was a silent understanding in the air that Suguru knew whatever Satoru was feeling. Suguru’s hand went up to his shoulder and placed itself there with a sharp slap. Satoru looked to his right and saw Suguru's eyes sharp and unforgiving, not his usual sly, half-smiling, kind eyes. 

“If you do anything stupid or hurt her, it's on sight.” Satoru let out a wheezing laugh and placed his own hand on Suguru's shoulder while looking him in the eye. 

“You got it.”

That's all they needed to speak on this. Any more, and Suguru would punch him square in the jaw unprovoked. It was not that Suguru was expecting him to sweep you off your feet or anything, and he knew Satoru was far from some prince charming. But he respects you two and trusts you, and despite his lifelong protective urges towards you, you were now a grown adult who was more than capable of making her own decisions, and he wanted to respect that. As long as Satoru didn't do anything stupid. Like that recent ex of yours, because when you go back on campus after the vacation, you might hear a thing or two about his fucked-up face or a neck collar. 

Not that it had anything to do with Suguru, surely.

In the blink of your eyes, almost three weeks have gone by since you came back here. And two weeks since you met Gojo Satoru. 

It was already Saturday night, and you were rotting in your bed as usual, trying to forget about the party that you truly had no will to go to. But somehow you could not help but let your mind wander there. Wondering how many people showed up, whether Suguru and Satoru were having a good time, and if Satoru found someone other than Suguru to talk to there. Which you assume he definitely did; he practically befriended everyone on your street, he is a favorite of the retired people at the country club, and he just blended right in with everyone.

It was one of those few summers you will be looking back at with a fond smile. All the parties you three crashed, all the nights you snuck away to the beach in Satoru’s off-white Maserati, all that weed you three burnt away in your room, the day when Suguru was cleaning up the garage and found the little inflatable pool in which you two used to play. It was hilarious for everyone to see three fully grown kids smooshed up in a little kids’ pool, splashing water at each other. 

You have come to love the little watermelon plant that spontaneously shot up from the ground in your backyard, exactly where you three were shooting watermelon seeds with your mouths to see who could get the furthest. You got the flimsy little plant a support stake and made sure to water it every day because you did not want it to wither away in this summer heat. 

Speaking of the summer heat, it seemed as though the weather started getting hotter from last night. When usually things cooled down after the sun set, everything your skin touched was sweating if the air conditioner was not on. And given the occasion tonight, you figured it was best to spend the entire Saturday at home. In the comfort of your bedroom, behind locked windows and doors, with the only source of light and noise being your laptop. 

That was until the wind outside your windows started picking up. It made you feel some relief that it was not going to be a streak of horrible hot days. 

The wind swung by your windows, making swishing noises and rattling the glass doors to your balcony. It made you want to shift your focus from the mind-numbing show playing on your screen to whatever that was going on outside. The swinging trees, sharp wind, dark red hued clouds in the night sky, Satoru trying to climb over your balcony railing, spark of lightning and faint sound of thunder-

Oh, wait, let's backtrack. Did you just see that correctly? Was Gojo Satoru trying to climb into your balcony? Because who else could be in that baby blue cotton shirt and bouncy tuft of white hair? 

You rushed out of your bed, in your short shorts and tank top, probably as old as the eye bags that started to form under your eyes when you got into university. But you could not bother about that, or the crumbs of chips all over your top, and your unkempt and unbrushed hair. You just needed to get to Satoru in time before his wobbling body fell from your balcony and broke some bones in his body. 

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” You grabbed onto his hand and pulled him towards you, then helped him jump over your balcony railings. 

“Climbing your tower, Rapunzel. Even though your hair looks more like a bird's nest than a rope.” He flashed you the whole set of his teeth at the end of his joke. Teasing you, trying to elicit a response out of you, as always.

“I will throw you off my balcony.” You deadpanned in return, ready to push him off, with your hands on his chest, pushing him ever so lightly to not actually make him lose his balance on the edge. He flew to catch yours and held onto them as he erupted into giggles, and the wind blew by his hair, getting it all over his eyes and face. And yet he still looked effortlessly gorgeous, as if that's exactly how it was supposed to look.

“Ok, ok, I just came here ‘cause I got bored at that party; the gummy bear guy lost his edge. It was just people pretentiously gathering around the pool and going, ‘Oh! Are you studying there? I am going here!’ and Suguru fled with some girl, so here I am.” Satoru sat down on the floor of your balcony, with his back against the railing. And pulled you down to sit right in front of him, facing him, with hands still held in his. 

“Also just missed ‘ya.” He said it with such ease and nonchalance, like it was the most obvious answer. It was just a simple little line that crossed more lines between you two than anything, boundaries that must exist in a friendship. All just gradually blurring out of existence. 

“Y’wanna go to the pool?” He says to break your train of thought to get rid of the questions and silence in the air. 

“You were just complaining about people gathering around a pool.”

“So? It was more of a critique of the crowd than the pool; the poor pool has seen some things—leave it alone!”

At this point your hands, which were in his grip, were forgotten. It was like the most natural thing. It feels as natural as pushing your glasses up on your head and forgetting about them.

“Ok, ok, but you want to swim in our pool in this weather? Also, I don't know when my parents last got it cleaned.” Since you came back, you've never once used that thing, and you were never exactly there to see when your parents’ pool boy came around to clean it. 

“Not your pool, silly!” He bounced your hands with his, making a ripple of movement in your entire upper body. “Then?” “I meant the one at the club.”

You just blinked and watched him. With a smile on his face, he did not look one bit hesitant about his suggestion. And honestly, his idea made you want to rather check out how clean or not your pool is instead of trespassing on the property where your family was a regular.

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that without turning on alarms?” 

“I know the security code.” Your narrowed eyes did not look convinced with his answer. 

“How even—” “I play billiards with the general manager.” It did make sense for a social butterfly like Satoru himself to befriend the most terrifying guy in the entire club. The general manager was quite the grump; he was a nice old man. He helped you out of the pool once when you almost drowned because you wanted to join your then high school friends instead of being upfront about not knowing how to swim. The general manager later, when you seemed stable enough, scolded you while drying off your hair with a towel.

“That old man who is always annoyed at every living, breathing thing?”

“Yep. He said, I remind him of his late husband!” Which wasn't far off the mark; the general manager’s husband recently passed away from what you heard from our parents, leaving him to be more annoyed at everything. And Satoru had a similar, blasé positive energy radiating off of him. 

“So you seduced him!?” You jokingly said before pulling your hands out of his and moving to sit beside him, similar to him, with your back to the railing, knees under your chin, and thighs close to your chest.

“Nope. The only person I am trying to seduce is you.” Satoru’s head tilted to the side, and he kept looking at you. Recently, since he caught you checking him out while he was washing his car, his words and actions towards you have gotten bolder.

“Well….you should try harder.” You tried to lighten the tension in the air, which was now at least two or three degrees colder and felt suffocatingly hot, until he spoke up, still staring right into your eyes, with a faint trace of a smile on his lips, “I will.”

There was nothing more left to say after what he said, nothing, not even a joke to retaliate against the frustrating tension hanging heavy between you, making it impossible for you to breathe normally around Satoru.

“So! You're coming with me, or should I kidnap you?” You wish you could say no, but there was no refusing Gojo Satoru; that much you've learned about him clearly in these last couple of weeks.

As you looked out of the glass of the front window, exactly where the headlights of Satoru's car fell, on the side gate of the country club, only accessible by the employees. And yet here you were, getting dragged out of the soft leather seat of the car to sneak through that door with Satoru. Follow his steps closely from behind as he leads you to the pool by dragging you by your hand.

Without any word, Satoru let go of your hand once you two stepped on the paved concrete around the pool. Going straight to strip down to his boxers, his back muscles flexed with each step he took towards the pool. And some of the cold water in the pool splashed on you as he dived inside.

“You comin’ or what?” Satoru then intentionally splashed some water your way, absolutely drenched in the chloride-smelling water. 

“This is as far as I go.” You walked up to the edge of the pool and sat down with your legs in the water. It made you flinch at first, surprising you how quickly the water cooled down since the sun set. The water started to feel nicer around your skin as you watched Satoru do several laps in the water. 

He looked magnificent. One second he was at one end of the pool, and in the blink of an eye he was on the other side. It was easy to lose sight of him; he used the water to his advantage like a pro, which made you wonder if he did swimming back in school. How else was he able to hold his breath underwater so long that it had you worried enough to not notice his silhouette coming up to your legs and dragging you in the water?

“What are you—” You would have slapped his hands instantly off of your thighs if you knew what he was actually up to when they slithered up on them. Instead you were now in the cold chloride water, in Gojo Satoru's arms, trying to grab onto his shoulder and locking your legs around his waist.

It took you a few good minutes to acclimate yourself. With the cold water, and the feeling of drenched shorts and shirt, and especially the feeling that came from being in his arms. You could feel his body radiating heat even in the cold water and the vibrations that rumbled in his chest from laughing at the state of you, a clueless cat thrown off-guard in water.

“You, you're so dead.” His laughs only became deeper at your threats, and his arms tightened around your waist.

“Oh, c’mon, a little water never did anyone harm.” Satoru finally stopped laughing and just smiled at you; his gaze could not remain just on your eyes—they wavered. His pretty blue eyes scaled your face as if he were an archaeologist who just found a new artifact. 

And under the scrutiny of his eyes, you could not continue the banter. It was agonizing to have the little 3-inch gap between you two; it felt more like 3 miles. So you couldn't help but close that distance. Satoru had similar ideas, as he met you halfway through. 

His lips were everything and more that you ever imagined and dreamed of. 

They were soft, and they tasted faintly of those fruit candies he always crunched on: oranges, strawberries, lemons, and pineapples. And overall he oddly tasted of summer. Like the embodiment of everything you ever wanted from an ideal summer. As his lips slotted themselves with yours with more assurance after the first few pecks to measure the boundaries he could step on, you could feel the giddy tingles back in your stomach, shivers that prickled the back of your nape and ran down your spine, when his tongue pushed against yours. 

The hand that crept from your waist to your ass and pushed you up in his arms, your arms tightened around his neck, and one of your own hands went up his nape to his hair, the ends of which were now drenched in the pool water. And you wondered how you've been living without this, without kissing him silly the very day you met him, light tan and sweat covering his body, and just a cap to shield his eyes from the glaring sun. 

“Hey! Is someone there!?” 

You pushed away from him in a snap when the voice reached your ears. You had to push Satoru away by his shoulders to stop him from chasing your lips from the lack of their warmth on his. 

When the guard blew on his whistle, that's when his eyebrows shot up. You placed your index finger on his lips as you saw them part so his voice wouldn't confirm the security guard's suspicions. And he nodded his head once to let you know he won't. 

In a swift few seconds, Satoru swam to the edge of the pool, with you now in both of his arms, like a princess he needed to cradle close to his heart to keep her safe—you found it silly. The platform in the pool on which he was standing was barely five and a half feet deeper than the surface of the water. It was absolutely possible for you to walk to the edge by yourself, but you liked being in his arms. Even if the wiser thing to do in this situation would've been to separately make a run for it. 

Once you two were out of the pool, he grabbed onto your hand in one hand, took both of your shoes in another, and his clothes under his armpit, and then made a run for it. You both ran barefoot on the concrete and crushed the dewy grass under your feet.

“HEY! YOU TWO! STOP RIGHT THERE!” The guard tried to shine his flashlight on you two.

“Don't turn around.” Satoru said while dragging you two towards the main entrance, avoiding the pebble path, and instead running across the prohibited grass fields. 

It was the most invigorating rush you've felt in years. 

Satoru did not stop his car until he was far enough from the country club. He parked his car by the riverbank, turned off his engine, and finally lay back in his seat with an exasperated sigh. You two sat staring ahead towards the river, then towards your sides, when your eyes landed on each other, and neither of you could hold back your laughter. 

It was the most natural thing to be here with him, in your drenched clothes, him in his boxers, in his expensive-ass car, laughing like you two did not just commit a crime, one moment; and in the next moment you're on his lap and kissing him hungrily. 

It was so good. 

There was something about the cramped space, especially how his car was built; there was even less space compared to other cars—something that you usually get annoyed at, especially when you end up in the excuse of a backseat because of Suguru and his stupid long legs, but this time around you did not mind it. 

You did not mind when his hands roamed up your back, hot and dry, a clear contrast to your wet and soggy clothes. It felt like everything had slowed down, from the cars on the road down to the gravity, and it was just you and him, against each other, lips slotted together like two perfect pieces of a puzzle, tongues exploring every little crevice in your mouths, and hands all over one another. You could feel his cock growing under you in his soggy boxers, incentivizing you to move your hips in a slow rhythm. He wasn't even sure anymore if it was wet from the water or just his precum. You could not take your hands off his shoulders nor out of his hair, and he could not take his hands off your ass and hips. It was addictive, and in the humidity of the summer night, it was more than enough to drive you crazy. 

Desperate to feel more of him, more of his skin, you tried to take off your t-shirt while still kissing him, reluctant to take your lips off of his, even just for a second.

“Wait, sweets-wait.” He spoke in between your lips and pushed himself away from you. Without any explanation, he opened the doors on his side and went out of the car and pulled you out as well.

He haphazardly opened his back backdoor, pushed his front seat forward to make more room for the two of you, and lightly pushed on your lower back to make you get inside. Which you did, and finally took off everything on your upper body, then laid down on the seat and held yourself by your elbows, waiting for him to get in as well. 

“Get in here.” You asked him, as you moved forward, to pull him inside the car by his neck, and your lips were back on each other. Your hands traced the shape of his cock over his boxers, and you tried to take off his boxers and slip your hands inside.

“Uh-uh, you first, sweets.” You didn't really understand what he meant by that; you just stared at his pretty smile and trusted whatever he wanted to do. But you couldn't have guessed what he did next. His right hand grabbed the back of your knees, and his other hand was on the seat for support. With flawless movements, your back was flat against his car seat, and he was in between your legs. 

He started from your temples, soft lingering kisses on your eyes, the tip of your nose, a peck on your lips, and on your jaw. Then he went on to suck and bite all around your neck, with every intention to leave marks visible to anyone who tried to stare at you longer than ten seconds, which was generous in his opinion. 

“I've been itching to get my hands on these pretty things.” His hands got a hold of your tits, squeezing them, fingers teasing one nipple while the other felt salient attention from his mouth. As his mouth swirled around your areolas, and his teeth bit down and pulled on your nipples while maintaining clear eye contact with you, you could feel the wetness between your legs dripping down your slit.

“Ugh—Satoru, ah, fuck.” You didn't really have anything to add, other than the moans and grunts that left your mouth. And his hands remained on your hips, rubbing up and down in soothing movements, as his lips continued to kiss downward once he had his fill of teasing your tits and was satisfied with the amount of marks he left behind on each mound and the valley in between them. A true scenic masterpiece in his opinion. 

He stopped right above the waistband of your shorts before pulling them down with careful and calculated movements until you lay bare before his eyes. “Hah. No panties, huh?” He placed his mouth above your pelvic bone, right before your clit, and you could feel his mouth stretching into that very familiar devious smile on your skin. 

“Sato—” 

Your words remained in your mouth, and instead you let out a sharp yelp as his tongue took a long strip of lick from under your navel down to your clit. It was an awkward position to be stuck in, half bent, back almost hitting the ceiling of his car, one knee on the floor of his car, between his legs, and his foot was pressed against the door. But nothing bothered him more than the lack of your taste on his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You kept on chanting as your hands went to get a tight grip in your hair, almost pulling out a patch of white pearly hair, as his tongue continued to swirl around your clit. And the hands around your hips moved down to your thighs as they tightened around his head, holding a deathly grip around them but doing nothing to loosen them, probably digging his nails deep enough to leave marks and broken skin. 

“Oh, I've fucking dreamed of dying between these pretty things. Fuck. Do your worst, baby.” 

You wish you were the one wrecking him, even if he insisted he was the one blissed right out of his mind, between your legs, tongue teasing your pussy lips. One look at your face and anyone could tell who was absolutely fucked here. There was nothing imploring about how he dove right in like a starved man at your mercy. His teeth pulled your lips open to lick a long and anguished strip down from your clit to your now twitching hole. And in went his tongue.

Burning hotter than the summer sun, you were a puddle on his lips, like a melting popsicle. 

“Sht—shit, shit. Ugh, ah, AH!” 

Each one of your moans was returned with the vibration of his own grunts and moans, which ran through your core, making it worse for you to hold onto any semblance of sanity that remained intact. And it was hard to do that when his left hand was kneading your abdomen, and his thumb was rubbing away on your clit, and his right hand was digging into your thighs, pulling them up on his shoulder, all the while his lips sucked away every drop of arousal your cunt dripped, and his tongue poked around your walls.

“Please, Satoru, just—just please, want—no, need you inside.” You took one of your hands from where it was in his hair, which was now almost dry, and placed it on top of his hand on your abdomen. And without even moving his face, his fingers intertwined with yours and held onto them for his dear life as he finished giving you the first of the many orgasms for tonight. 

“FUCK, Sat— AH, ah.” And you had nothing more than broken moans and words stuck in your throat to let out. 

It was only when he was done lapping up everything with nimble licks that his hand let go of yours, which was shaking and almost numb. “Not just yet, sweets; gotta stretch you out properly.” 

And the fingers that were just tangled with yours were now inside you. You were simply so out of it that you didn't even realize when his tongue got replaced with his finger, one at first, slowly mapping out the shape and ridges of your walls from within. Then two more to stretch you out well enough to accommodate him. 

“There!” Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your head went back as his fingers found that one spot that almost drove you right over the edge in mere seconds. 

“Here?” His head tilted as he pulled his fingers halfway out, teasing you even in this state, and saying things like he was the pitiful one in this equation. What a liar. 

“Satoru, for fuck's sake!” Your hands flew to cover your eyes as your back arched off of the car seat; if it weren't for his right hand and shoulder holding you down, you would've probably fallen off.

“You surely know how to ask nicely for what you y’want.” You could see him smiling like a little shit between your legs when you took your hands off your eyes and instead dug your nails into his expensive car seat. Not like he minded.

“Will you just let me cum, Satoru?” Your tone was faux sweet, wavering at the mercy of his fingers turning inside of you.

“I need you to beg properly, baby.” 

Satoru’s instructions came out as a matter-of-fact; his smile disappeared and left behind the piercing cerulean eyes, boring into your soul.  

“Pleas—please, please, Satoru, let me cum.” Never in your life have you ever begged for anything like this; this was a first, and you could not be more glad that it was Gojo Satoru in between your legs, eliciting these embarrassing sides of you, instead of someone else. 

And his smile returned to his face, and his fingers went right to work. It took him no more than two minutes to have you come undone on his fingers for the second time since you two ended up in his car. And there was nothing but exasperated breathing in the air, which Satoru assumed was probably more humid than the air outside, when he saw the windows fogged up. It made him chuckle to himself, thinking how cliché this was. But given the state he has gotten you in, he can't waste any more time before you pass out from just two orgasms. So he sat up and got rid of his underwear, finally feeling less suffocated.

“Don't have any condoms, sweets.” Satoru caressed the side of your face, making sure you didn't already pass out. He had no intention of pressuring you into anything; one word and he is cleaning you up, getting you some water, and driving you home to tuck you in your bed and cuddle you to sleep. 

“Don't fucking care…… on birth control.” He chuckled at your scrambling and slurred words before he maneuvered you so that one of your legs was on his shoulder and the other was over his thigh, around his waist. He rubbed the head of his cock in your folds, getting whatever leftover juices that he could not lick clean all over his cock. 

“WILL YOU JUST GET INSIDE?” You could not just tolerate any more of his teasing, so you had to take things into your own hands. Literally, as you moved one hand between the both of you and pushed his tip inside you, that was enough to have you flat on your back, unable to initiate anything else. Satoru also leaned forward from the sudden sensation of your slippery warm walls. 

“Ah, fuck, don't rush it, sweets.” His whimpering was not helping you any more than the burning stretch you felt from just his tip. And he could tell from how your mouth fell open and the nails that dug into his seats harder than before. So he gave the both of you a second to adjust. It was no easy job to acclimate to the heat that you offered; it was dizzying, but he welcomed this heat over the burning sun. 

“I’m goin’ in.” It was only after you gave him a late nod that he pushed the rest of him inside of you. And both of your yelps and grunts remained in the car. But surely if someone passed by, either one of your moans was enough to make them figure out the obvious. 

Once he was inside, you assumed the never-ending dizziness that you felt around him, the rush of accidental touches, and heavy breaths—it'll all come to an end. Unfortunately, nothing really stopped; instead, there was something worse, something hotter and more imprudent between you two now. Each thrust of his hips and the kisses that he placed on your legs: everything was incinerating. And you wanted it all; it didn't matter if it was forever or a week, you needed this summer to never end. 

“Ah—so good, sweets, so good to me.” Satoru kept on placing kisses around your shin, your ankle, and your knees, even leaning slightly down to bite down on your thighs. While his other hand pushed down on your abdomen, you felt his cock going in and out of you, and it was all so surreal—the warmth of your walls, your drooling mouth, the whimpers that left your throat, and those glazed eyes that refused to look away from him. And he didn't want this moment to ever end; he didn't want to pretend like every passing touch of your skin didn't burn him alive, that he could live on from here on forward without having you in his grasp.

“I, I’m coming, ‘toru.” 

“Fuck, sweets—come with me. Please.” 

He dropped your leg on the seat and pulled you on his lap, even while he still remained buried within you. In those last few minutes, he didn't move his hips with the same fervor as before; you two just grinned at each other, chasing your highs, the rush of having each other all to yourselves. With his face buried in your neck, kissing everywhere, down from the column of your neck to your jaw and finally to your lips, his arms around you tightened. And your nails dug into his shoulders as your tongues tangled with one another again, and this time you could taste the remnants of yourself in his mouth. As you both broke away from the kiss, with a single string of aliga connecting you two, all it took was one look for the both of you to come simultaneously. 

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, sweets.”

“I know—I know, Satoru.” 

And you two came together, holding onto each other for your dear lives, kissing one another into some other worldly ecstasy. You could feel his cum shooting up and pooling inside of you, and he could feel you twitching in his arms, your walls tightening, getting warmer with his cum dripping down and slipping out between you two. It took a while for you to come down from the high, and yet neither of you was willing to let go.

“Are you ok, sweets?” He asked while placing feather-light kisses on your shoulders while nudging your head slightly that remained steady on his shoulder. 

“Mmhmm.” You did not have anything in you to utter a single comprehensible sentence. And Satoru knew that well enough to not push you any more; he chuckled to himself and let himself enjoy your company like this for a little longer. And he told himself a few minutes more, and then he'll properly clean you up and take you home.

While you drifted away into sleep, with a matching smile on your face, you told yourself how different this summer has been. And how, despite the disgusting heat and humidity, you never wanted this summer to end. To have one another in your arms, with reciprocity, and with the same rush that made your head silly that day you met—it was so good. 

And you wanted the best out of this summer.

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources. pictures from Pinterest, art by @/m0ryy

lmao ik i have two big wips in the works rn but lol when i saw moryy's art my mind just suddenly flooded with this plot and i was already singing rush by Troye Sivan in my head for the last few days lol ok and i have like 4 exams tmr bye i gotta cry and study.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @teddytoru @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @soupicidesquad @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi @emochosoluvr

[rinshoe]

nerd armin hc's! art by musapylsa on tt/twt

cw for implied public sex, lots of biting, + tongue piercing, somnophilia(nsfw)

-

the type of guy to wait when your classes are over. he would loiter in the hallways , the jocks and popular kids brushing past him as he fixes his glasses, holding science books to his chest as he fiddled with his phone - checking your schedule.

he's a creeper, a stalker. as far as you were concerned, you always saw him hangout with his two friends, eren, mikasa and some other folks, jean..sasha?...connor? wait no, connie!

you would sometimes catch him staring way too long, eyes always on you and when you finally notice, he would blink and fix his glasses, a knuckle raising to arrange it on his face.

he would "accidentally" drop something on the ground if he was ever randomly beside you, and he knows how nice of a person you are, so you pick up whatever he dropped and he just smiles inwardly, checking you out from the back with zero to no shame.

the type to literally take pictures of you secretly and masturbate the fuck out of them the moment he's home.

"o...ohh...ahnn.." his hand fists his cock aggressively, throwing his head back as he whimpers, thighs shaking as he finally comes down, cum dribbling down his fingers.

-

another thing about him is he owns porn magazines, he stashes them away under his bed and fantasizes all the girls on the pages are you.

he would full on hump the covers, his pillow just to imagine some type of body underneath his, squeezing and moaning like a dog in heat, his brain can only think of one thing and that's you.

other times when he's not ejaculating, he talks about you to his other online friends when he games.

"they're so...h-hot..like.." he says in the microphone, grinning ear to ear as he talks about you in excruciating detail.

the guys on the other side would either cheer him on or snicker at his desperation, "woah..dude, did you like, jack off to them or something??" typical. they wouldn't get it.

"s-something like that." armin bites his lip, finishing the game and logging off.

obsessive crush behavior

this man is always on his phone/laptop so for sure he's got some online stalking habits you're not aware of at all.

he analyzes all of your old posts, every story and event you've been to, and even have them memorized in case you ever talked to him.

+ he's probably the type to over intercept basic kindness as 'romantic interest', "they smiled at me! they must want me!"

-

random stuff he does

• compliments you in an awkward, creepy sort of way, "hey....y-your collarbones are pretty.." then he'd mentally face palm thinking about how miserably bad he is at flirting.

• stares at you wayyy too long for any normal person, a hand on his chin as his eyes hyper-analyze your movements, then panics when he gets caught.

• brings up painfully niche hyperfixations and info dump people about it, (comics, anime, gaming) and they would have NO clue what he would be talking about LMFAOO

• does that nervous push glasses thing, how? uses his middle finger to nudge the bridge of his glasses up. he's particularly nervous when you finally speak to him or is around him suddenly.

if you're in a relationship

he's actually ecstatic, finally having you all to himself, that means he could do whatever he wanted right?

he's willing to share and do everything with you, from sharing his clothes, to showering, sleeping in the same bed. all of it.

the type to just touch you all over. hugs and cuddles you, kisses your neck and bites the same spot he touched with his mouth.

only for you to have tons of red bruises littering your skin the next day.

• doesn't let you go until you really beg him to let you go.

"i won't even be that long... seriously." you say, waiting for a response , only for your boyfriend to glare at you albeit a little pouty.

"...f...fuck. you can't just leave me here, i want your attention too."

he nervously plays with the ends of his sleeves, drawing the cloth over his knuckles and fiddling with it.

sometimes you couldn't help but feel bad, even though there was nothing to feel bad about.

"...fine. i'll stay.. okay?" you nod defeated, reaching out for him to hug his head to your tummy.

he immediately reciprocates, pressing his face into your torso and inhaling deep.

-

sometimes in public, he would drag you to a small spot where he swears no one goes to, and just grinds his body over yours, just to get some friction.

making out with you is his favorite activity, besides fucking the shit outta you at home.

he grinds and grabs your everything, hands all over your ass, squeezing as he bites the inner corner of your neck, sucking the skin until he's satisfied with the new colour.

you feel the cool metal of his piercing lave over your hot skin and you whine for him to stick it in you already.

• WOULD make you suck him off under the seat of his desktop space WHILE gaming.

he's so nasty he doesn't even hide it, "hey?! can i get an assist? cmon!" someone online yells into the microphone , he's pretty skilled with using the keyboard with only one hand, so he easily guides your head with his fingers rooted into your scalp and helps bob your mouth just right until he feels his cock twitch, eventually cumming inside and you have to swallow it.

he tries so hard to hide his little huffs of satisfaction, wryly grinning as he sees your cum painted face under the seat.

-

has this 'habit' he's never told you about.

whenever you would sleep before him in your shared bed , he would climb over you and just go to town. removing each layer of your clothes, and leaves you vulnerable in your underwear, spreads your legs open and makes you cum in your sleep.

you involuntary shiver when you feel his tongue lave over your hole, his fingers playing over where you're most sensitive and coat his tongue in your juices.

'how are you not waking up?' a few sleeping pills dumped into your drink earlier must've did the trick. he wouldn't tell you though, or you'll probably, seriously hate him.

and that was the last thing he wanted. besides..he's got you all to himself now!

-

+ note this fanart literally revived the aot fandom idc i had to write something. link to the art! link 2

[rinshoe]

hey bbygirl wacha goin tonight 😜😜😜

[rinshoe]

I need my fav writers on this again whew chile.🫦

Tag me when you’ve done it cs I need tht.🧘🏾‍♀️

He can get some of this chocolate 😣👀

[rinshoe]

brat | track one

360

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

content: smut, fluff, smau / exhibitionism (concealed in a public setting), fingering, drug/alcohol use, ambiguous relationship status / a little scene-setting before we get into it next chapter :)

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST 18+ please <3

Variety — YEAR OF THE BRAT: SUGURU GETO AND YN HAVE THE INDUSTRY IN A HEADLOCK (AND THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT IT)

Vulture — INSIDE THE CULT OF YN AND GETO: WHY EVERYONE’S COPYING THE CHAOS

The Cut — THE ART OF BEING WATCHED: THE ROLLOUT THAT TOOK OVER YOUR TIMELINE

[ seven days, 14 hours to drop ]

you’re chewing gum when you walk in.

the meeting room is glass-walled, over-lit, aggressively air-conditioned. it smells like money and emails. a brand director is mid-slide, gesturing at a screen filled with words like reach and multi-platform ecosystem. someone else chimes in about vertical integration.

suguru trails two steps behind you with half a croissant in his hand, headphones slung around his neck. he doesn’t say a word—just drops into the chair beside yours and opens his laptop as if the room isn’t full of people.

you don’t take your sunglasses off. their fault for lighting the place like an interrogation chamber.

“the aim is cultural virality,” someone says. “we’re thinking cross-brand utility meets niche rebellion.”

you blink slowly. blow a bubble. pop it.

“is there a slide where you tell us what the fuck that means?”

suguru doesn’t look up, but he does smirk beside you—the silent, crooked kind he gives you when he thinks you’re being mean on purpose. (you are.)

a younger exec tries to pivot. “no, like—we just want to elevate your image without diluting the—”

“please don’t say authenticity.” you cross your legs. “i’ll have to light myself on fire.”

[ six days, 12 hours to drop ]

@/cultyn (instagram post) 📸 : your silhouette behind a sheer curtain with silver tinsel, suguru’s tattooed hand pulling the curtain aside. 💬 : countdown in bio. don’t be late ⏳

@/cultgeto (instagram post) 📸 : same as yours. 💬 : it begins 🔄 360 video friday

[ four days, 22 hours to drop ]

you feel it before you name it—that warm, sparkling edge of visibility. the music’s perfect. the lights are forgiving. everyone’s looking, seeing exactly what you want them to.

but the only eyes that matter are fixed on you from a corner—suguru, legs spread and an arm slung over the back of the couch like the section belongs to him. (it does.)

he waits.

you let it build. air-kiss people you barely remember. twirl a girl’s hair between your fingers, whispering something that makes her giggle. lean into camera flashes, catching light in your earrings, your clothes, your teeth.

and when you’re satisfied, you cross the floor, hips swinging like a threat, and slot yourself between his knees. he leans back and gives you that look—somewhere between dare and devotion.

“having fun?” he asks, amused.

you straddle his thigh without answering. your skirt rides higher, his eyes drop lower. instead of stopping you, he grabs his jacket from the seat and drapes it over your bare shoulders—possession dressed as modesty.

“so fucking spoiled,” he mutters, more observation than complaint. like he’s proud. like he made you this way on purpose.

you roll your hips once. then again, slower, dirtier. a palm settles on your ass to guide you, not stop you. his show now, not yours. every grind hits harder as you fall into the rhythm he sets.

he takes your drink, downs it in one swallow, sets the glass aside. you watch his throat work before that same hand trails condensation up your thigh and under your skirt.

you’re slick through your panties.

“you’re such a fucking handful,” he says with a smirk, planting kisses from your cheek to your jaw. his voice is hot in your ear, close enough to catch between beats. “you know that?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “wanted you to touch me.”

his smirk deepens when you slide your knees wider on the seat for him. he shifts your panties aside and sinks two fingers in.

your mouth drops open as he sets a pace. you arch into him automatically, grinding harder, already after something without permission. his palm presses over your clit with every thrust. it’s sloppy—shallow breath, parted lips, heavy eyelids.

you try to keep the rhythm, to stay composed, but his fingers work in time with the music, eyes pinned to your face. he kisses you when he catches it—the split second where it stops being teasing and starts being need.

“breathe.”

your hips stutter, the warning landing between your lungs and your legs.

“you’re gonna cum too fast.”

you nod, or shake your head—you don’t know. you ignore him like you always do, desperate now, chasing it like you’re not surrounded by strangers. if anyone’s watching, suguru’s already made sure they can’t see anyway.

“you wanna be fucked on this couch in front of everyone?” he asks, voice dropping to something fond and a little mean. “or are you gonna behave?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hitching as his cologne fills your senses. you’re right on the edge—

“i know, baby.” he murmurs it like a spell, dragging his thumb up your clit. “i know. make a mess if you need to.”

you cum on his hand like it was his idea. like you didn’t start the whole thing in the first place.

he keeps you there, fingers still inside, letting you come apart in pieces on top of him. your hips twitch and you whimper into his throat, melting against him. he lets you ride it out. lets your slick flood over his fingers and down his hand, then pulls out slowly. tucks your panties back into place too carefully for what just happened.

then he brings one finger to his mouth, licking it clean. he offers the other to you, and you take it like you always do—lips parted, tongue out, wrapping around him slow in the way you know drives him insane. you suck, humming low in your throat like a thank you.

you start to lift your head, suddenly aware of where you are and the fact that the song’s changed twice, but a hand finds the back of your neck, grounding you as he kisses your temple.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.”

so you exhale and let yourself sink into him fully. your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist, jacket still warm over your shoulders. the music keeps playing and the lights keep shifting, but for a few more seconds, you stay where you are.

[ four hours to drop ]

you’re twenty-five minutes late and only partially dressed when you go live.

you rarely do interviews separately. don’t take meetings separately either, unless you’re trying to scare someone. livestreams are the same—it’s him or nothing.

suguru stands behind you, black shirt half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up. he’s halfway through lacing your corset, rings flashing as he works the ribbon like he’s tying a gift.

“i told you to start getting ready two hours ago,” he mutters, eyes on his hands.

“you did,” you agree with a nod, squinting at the phone propped against the hotel mirror. the chat scrolls too fast to follow, but you catch a few:

SUGURU HANDS WATCHERS STAND UP he’s doing it wrong but like… sexy?? she’s so calm i would be screaming and crying and biting

“chat says you’re doing it wrong.”

“chat can’t get you out of a corset with one hand,” he deadpans, not even looking up.

you seal the joint in your hands with a slow press of your tongue, dragging it across the paper like you know he’s watching. (he is. he always is.)

he finishes with a final tug, knotting the ribbon tight and smoothing the laces like he’s proud of himself. his fingers trail down your spine in a lazy line as he kisses your bare shoulder once, soft and thoughtless.

the lighter clicks. you inhale, exhale. watch him in the mirror as he disappears from the frame to rifle through the jewelry you’d dumped onto the counter earlier.

he returns with earrings, necklaces, and bangles in hand.

“stay still.”

his fingers are cool where they skim your neck. he hooks the earrings in slow, fastens your necklace, slips each bracelet on one by one and brings your hand to his lips when he’s done.

you pass him the joint.

“we were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago and it’s thirty minutes away,” he says, exhaling smoke.

“mm,” you reply, dabbing on lip gloss. “better hurry up and pick my shoes then.”

i’ve never wanted to be a joint so bad in my whole life HE PICKS HER JEWELRY?????? is this foreplay or a grwm

[ 30 minutes to drop ]

the diesel party is still going by the time you leave. your heels click loudly against the sidewalk. suguru’s hand rests low at your back, half-steering. he smells like weed and your favorite cologne.

someone with a press badge calls your name—matte lipstick, eyes wide like she can’t believe you’re real. she catches you just before the car with a mic, a cameraman, and a hopeful smile.

“just a second—can we get a quick word? you both look—” she hesitates, trying to find the right language. “—unreal.”

suguru stops halfway behind you, not moving his hand from your waist.

“so,” she starts, practically vibrating. “what made you two want to show up together for tonight’s diesel launch?”

“we love a party,” you reply, smiling.

she laughs like it’s charming. follows up with something about your sound, the visuals you’ve been putting out recently. you let suguru answer that one—you’re busy watching the lights bounce off the gloss you left on his cheekbone.

“okay, last one. you probably get this all the time, but—are you two… together?”

suguru grins. “we’re the same person.”

you don’t miss a beat. “worse.”

the interviewer laughs, flustered and delighted. “right. okay. thank you—”

but you’re already sliding into the backseat.

the car door shuts and the world cuts out. no bass, no flashing lights. just dark leather and air conditioning and exhaustion behind your eyes.

you exhale once, sharp, and start leaning forward to unbuckle your shoes.

suguru stops you. “let me.” like it’s obvious.

he pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, slipping the heels off like you’re breakable. his thumb circles your ankle, slow and grounding. your breathing evens out.

outside, cameras flash against the windows, but the tint’s too dark for them to get anything real.

it echoes in your head. are you two together?

“you didn’t say no,” you say softly, eyes closed.

he keeps rubbing. “you didn’t either.”

when you look at him, he’s smiling at you, eyes soft like he’s listening for something unspoken.

you settle deeper into the seat, one hand resting over his.

neither of you has said it.

but he always shows up. always looks at you like you’re the only person in the world speaking his language.

and you do the same.

you’re each other’s. just not in a way you can put in writing.

[ three minutes post-drop ]

the 360 video drops at midnight. it’s trending by 12:03.

the internet does what it always does.

@/bratchive: every brand strategist watching this with tears in their eyes

@/getogirl: brat / tamer dynamic so loud you can hear the leash drag

@/forynonly: legacy is UNDEBATEDDDDD icon behavior

you don’t check your phone, but you feel it—the shift, the buzz, the spin of it all. the world catching up to something you’ve already lived through.

[rinshoe]

a/n : pregnancy, children mention, suggestive, could be seen as a little side headcanon to this talk post

everyone assumes clan head satoru (who never left his clan to be a student at jujutsu tech) leads a boring intimate life. he has always been reserved ever since he was a child — stoic, sharp, and straight forward. he is a man of little words, adding to the impression that he is emotionally and physically distant. possibly cold towards everyone — even you.

but then, people start to notice something strange which contradicts the idea altogether.

you, his wife, are always pregnant.

it is quite bizarre. satoru has never once shown an ounce of affection towards you in public. not a fleeting touch, not even a single glance that lasts too long. and yet, you’ve been married for less than five years, and somehow — you’ve already given him multiple children.

the notion is amusing to many, especially the servants. whispers begin to spread amongst them as it does; that behind closed doors, the composed clan head they all know must be anything but cold… given that he clearly can’t seem to keep his hands off of his wife.

[rinshoe]

hoping to see some nerdmin fics after that popular armin fanart with the tongue piercing 😖😖😖stop omg i need him