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❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
the taste reminds me (i hate what love's turned out to be) ft. satoru gojo !
🪽 જ⁀➴ life was on loop before you met satoru, all strength and lopsided smiles and well-placed passion. it kills you to admit you'll be what ruins him.
pairing / satoru gojo x fem!reader
contents / light fluff , angst , hurt and NO comfort , mdni 18+ , mentions of past sexual partners , short sex scene but it's barely descriptive , reader is bad at love , sorry guys i just love gojo angst it fuels me , if i cant be happy nobody can , ( 3.5k / unedited )
authors note / something short and heart wrenching before i finish the rafe cameron longfics haunting my drafts
i recommend listening to. . . golden age by ethel cain . . .whilst reading for the best experience.
masterlist / navigation
IT LINGERS.
Simmering under your skin and boiling as it travels slowly through your bloodstream. Sticking to you like sweat and trailing down your body like unfamiliar fingertips.
You aren't sure what it is, if maybe you're imagining it. You think you see it when you look in the mirror, in the deep bags that sit under your once lively eyes and the chewing scars on your plump lips.
Sometimes it shows up when it shouldn't, like when you're at the mercy of a man you don't know for the night. You've never acted on it, the deep hunger rooted inside your stomach. It blossoms like thorned roses, then dies all the same.
It's blooming right now, somewhere in your core, as you stare into the kind caramel eyes of a man you don't care to get to know. You don't listen to him as he speaks, waiting for the moment he finally asks if he can take you back to his place. You always agree, your thoughts controlled by a never-ending hope that you might untie the tight knot in your throat. You think tonight you won't swallow it, whatever it is.
You let your mouth water as you taste the man, lips locked unfamiliarly. He's ingested the same amount of alcohol as you, but you’re drunk on something that doesn't compare to any fine wine or strong vodka. You break, planting kisses on his throat as he begins undressing you. You breathe into his pulse, breath fanning over his skin as you find yourself hoping that one day your heart might finally beat in unpracticed synchrony with another. You go back against your internal assumption, swallowing the knot with a gulp before unraveling the man before you.
You feast on his pleasure, eating it up and letting it bring you to your high. The cycle repeats every time. The empty feeling in your gut stays longer than it must, echoing between the enclosure of your ribcage as you waste meaningful kisses on undeserving men, always all knowing of the outcome.
It becomes habitual until you meet Satoru. You're not at a bar or a club, not drunk or high or searching for something to take your mind off itself. You are just you, and he is just him. This is the first time you think that might be enough.
It’s late, nearing two in the morning, and your late-night cravings have gotten the best of you. The only store you knew for sure would be open was a twenty-minute drive. You're suddenly glad you took it.
You hear him coming down the aisle, but you don't pay attention long enough to know he's right next to you, frightening you a bit when he bumps into you. You're both reaching for the same large case of Diet Dr. Pepper, hands equally outstretched as you touch the cardboard case. You pull back in sync when the realization hits you, and you're the first to mutter out an apology.
“‘m sorry, I didn't see you coming.” You say tiredly, eyes trailing up to find a frighteningly beautiful pair of blue ones. They widen ever so slightly when they lock with yours.
His words come out in a stammer, velvety and low, “No worries. I should’ve been watchin’ where I was going.” He sighs out. You breathe it in. Time seems to stop, and the world suddenly moves in slow motion.
You stare unabashedly. He's disheveled, only a bit. A pair of prescription glasses lay comfortably on the bridge of his nose, framing his beautifully tired eyes. Unruly tufts of platinum hair sit unbothered on his head, a simple white T-shirt that has the smallest faded red stain on it, not that you were looking hard enough to notice, and a low-hanging pair of navy blue sweats. His feet are covered by fluffy pink socks and black slides. There's not an ounce of thought put into his appearance. He's different. He smells familiar, like nostalgia and musk-riden vanilla and expensive chocolate without moderation. He looks like he tastes good enough for you to keep and touches soft enough to convince you to.
Icy blue eyes, cold enough to shake your spine with a soft chill, stare at you intently. He breathes you in and lets your scent stick to him like a thirsty tick on a bloodhound. Time seems to stop as his eyes trail over you, scanning your exhausted face with a kind of appreciation you look like you've never felt before.
You're spent. Tired, but not the kind that makes you want to sleep. The kind that sits idly in your bones. Your hair looks like it fought itself into the thick bun you have it tied in, each uncaring stray hair framing your face imperfectly enough that it looks perfect. Your long-sleeved shirt is two sizes too big, the sleeves nearly sliding past your wrists if not for the thick folds on them. Your baggy sweatpants are held up only by the tight knot you have in the drawstring, and they barely pool at your feet enough to cover your bunny slippers. You smell faintly of designer perfume and honey. You look like you might ruin his life. Satoru thinks he would like that.
Your eyes stay linked for yet another passing moment. Then two. Three. They break before four. The world seems to tilt back into the right place on its axis when your gaze leaves his.
He finishes his advance for the twenty-four pack of Dr. Pepper, and, when he picks it up, it suddenly doesn't look that large anymore. He puts the case in your shopping cart, and you scan him once more before letting out a sweet, “Thanks, stranger.”
He puts a case of his own into his cart before pausing, the word stranger tickling his brain uncomfortably. Stranger? That just won't work.
“Satoru Gojo.” He says suddenly, running a long-fingered hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit of his. You swallow your gasp.
“You?” He questions breathily, “What's your name?”
You tell it to him, listening closely as he repeats it to himself under his breath, tasting it on his tongue.
“Nice to meet you, Satoru.” You tilt your head ever so slightly, enough that he wouldn't notice the movement if he weren't so close. Satoru blinks back the urge to jump your bones right there.
You both decide, unbeknownst to one another just how mutual the thought is, that while this interaction could just be nothing at all, it's everything you needed and maybe a little more.
Satoru asks for your number when the two of you walk out of the store. You give it to him.
The painful buzzing under your sternum stops in its tracks for the first time, satiated, and it doesn't return.
Days with Satoru blended into weeks, then months, like compatible hues. Time passes more slowly with him, giving you the ability to wrap the small moments around you like a hug.
For the first time in his life, Satoru feels normal. No pressure to be the strongest or stupid curses and sorcery or higher-ups barking orders in his ears when he looks at you. Just you, and just him. A separate life from his work. He likes it better that way.
You quickly learn that Satoru, though the most extroverted and passionate man you’ve ever met, hates crowds. He doesn’t tell you why, just mentions it in passing. You keep it in mind every time you’re about to ask him to go out, biting your tongue and swallowing your request. It doesn’t take long before he recognizes the hesitation in your eyes.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice soft and tone low enough that you realize he knows something is up.
Your eyes find his from your spot on his couch, unblinking and unseeing. “Nothing, jus’ thinking.” You mutter, averting your gaze.
Satoru scoffs, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” You ask consciously.
He pulls a face, catching your attention, “Act like nothing is bothering you.”
You purse your lips, shoulders tensing at the subtle callout.
“I want to go on a date.” You admit it simply.
Sartorus brows cinch together like twine, “Okay? Go on a date then.” He shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch and staring down at you. Your own stare finds his.
“With you. But you don’t like crowded spaces, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You reply in a curt stammer, causing your words to come out jumbled together and giving away your nervousness.
He laughs quietly, the kind of chuckle that makes your heart beat out of your chest and face heat up. It fades into a smile on his pink lips, and you watch as he tucks his head into his chest and lets his gaze find the floor momentarily.
When he levels his head again and his cerulean eyes find yours, his words come out in a sweet drawl, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me. We can do whatever you want.” Satoru says in response, leaning down and softly cupping your cheeks before planting an affectionate kiss on your forehead.
You learn that day that there aren’t very many things Satoru wouldn’t do for you.
Satoru learns fast that you like the way his hands feel, no complaints about callouses from hard work or tiny scars that give his once soft palms texture. You like his voice, too. He thinks it's partly because that means you don’t have to use yours. You like the way he nerds out about childish things and gives you compliments full of unrecognizable endearment.
His rants started in small amounts, each time catching you by surprise. The first time, it freaked you out a bit. Not because you care that he’s an all-knowing nerd trapped in an attractive man's body, but because of how interested he was in something so little. It made you like him a little more, you think, realizing the way he puts all of his effort into everything he does and never regrets it.
It was your second date, a simple day out that you planned after he told you he didn’t have to work. Make a long drive downtown, buy some sweets at the same store you met at, spend a little time at the nearby flea market, then have a small picnic.
It doesn’t take long for you to find a particular stall that interests you, and your interlinked hands part messily as you begin to sift through trinkets. Satoru pouts for a moment before finding his own thing to be interested in at the same stall.
“Oh my gosh,” You hear him light up from his spot next to you, and you glance over to see what piqued his interest. A small figurine, about the same size as a Coke can, sits flat in his hand.
You don’t fight the smile that appears on your lips at the childlike excitement in his eyes.
“What do you have there?” You ask, grinning.
The second the question leaves your lips, he breaks. “Okay, so basically it's from this show, best show in the world by the way, that I watched when I was in high school…” He trails on about it even after he buys the figurine, still speaking even as he hands the vendor a crisp twenty-dollar bill to pay for both of your items, only pausing to tell the old woman to ‘keep the change’.
Satoru learns that day that the silence you give him as he rambles speaks volumes, and you’re all he really needs.
You’re not quite dating, but you haven’t let yourself be available for anyone since you collided worlds with him. He has no idea, but to you, that might be the biggest step forward that you’ve ever taken. Satoru never let himself be romantic with anybody before you, but he welcomes the change.
You told him about the you before him, about how you gave your body away hoping that you might find a way to silence the unquenchable thirst for love that constantly dries up in your throat and plagues you like illness. He told you about his line of work, why he gets called in so often while you’re together, and then is gone for a week before you get to see him again. Why he sometimes looks extra exhausted, and why it always feels like there's a sentence lingering on the tip of his tongue.
You give each other the truth, and in return, there is a sense of understanding that links the two of you like glue.
You give him a version of yourself that you never gave anybody enough time to see, and in return, he gives you his whole being.
Satoru falls in love with you all over again during your first time together.
Soft, untarnished hands shakily trail over his sullied skin, each unfamiliarly emotional touch fueling you. For you, it's your first time all over again. Except this time, you let yourself be raw and overwhelmed, and Satoru drinks it up like expensive wine.
His bare, muscular back is against the expensive wooden headboard attached to his bed, leaning into it so hard that it might snap under his weight. He helped you sink slowly and steadily onto him five minutes ago, and all you’ve done is grind into him a bit since then. He gives you a break, already having warmed you up twice with his fingers, then shortly after with his tongue. His name has imprinted itself in your mind in that time, and you’ve let your skin melt into his. Your huffs of breath are slowly becoming one.
Satoru plants slow, deliberate kisses down your neck. He pauses on your pulse, and for a passing moment, it feels like your heart is in his hands.
“Okay, Satoru,” you mutter quietly, unknowingly interrupting his moment. You let your fingers grasp the messy strands of white hair on his head and pull softly to amplify the permission in your words.
His hands tightly grab your hips as a low hum leaves his throat, and in one fluid motion, he flips you to your back. You gasp in surprise when your head softly hits his pillows.
Satorus lips smash into yours after the first slow thrust of his hips, keeping a steady pace as your lips move in sloppy unison.
A wet stream of tears begins pooling down your cheeks out of nowhere, salty and unrelenting. Satoru stops immediately.
He's wiping them profusely, and you're not even aware of what's happening. You feel like you're craving in on yourself, everything you ever knew about intimacy suddenly feeling like a sick lie. Hard, fast, unfeeling, and what you're used to is nothing in comparison to this. It hits you like a hard slap why.
His words barely reach you due to the static in your ears as you cry, but eventually he gets through. “Baby, what's wrong?” Satoru asks, worry etching his features, “Did I do something? Tell me if I did something.” His words leave his swollen lips in rushed stammers.
Satoru is pulling out when you finally speak, “It’s okay, Satoru. I'm okay.” You say, hands leaving their tangled spot in his hair to cup his distressed face.
He pauses and his eyes search yours. “Did I do something wrong?” He asks, brows punching together worriedly.
You shake your head, “No, ‘toru,” you breathe out, “I'm just so happy.”
Saying it out loud feels like admitting that you like Satoru more than a little, and that scares you more than you thought it would. Your words lift a weight he hadn't even realized was there off his chest. He blinks, and suddenly his eyes are glassy and he's crying, too.
“I love you."
You're gone the next morning.
Your phone is littered with missed calls you purposely ignored and unread texts from him, words you wish he'd stop repeating filling your screen.
toru ❥: whered u go? the bed is extra empty:(
toru ❥: when u come back ill make breakfast for us 8:24 AM
toru ❥: did you get lost on the way back to my place or something? 8:56 AM
toru ❥: is this some kind of joke? 9:03 AM
toru ❥: answer your phone please 9:05 AM
toru ❥: is this because i said i love you?
toru ❥: if it is come back to me and we can talk about it.
toru ❥: i love you, i mean it. 9:08 AM
More flood in by the minute, but only one catches your eye.
toru ❥: ill be over in 10 9:17 AM
You should've known he meant ten seconds, because you don't give yourself any time to wipe your tears or prepare before he's bursting through your bedroom door and cupping your face the same way he did when told you he loves you and searching for something. Anything. A reason, maybe.
Your hands wrap around his wrists as he scans your face. Worry is painting his features, and when he finally realizes that there's nothing wrong with you aside from the tears pouring out of your eyes, he lets go. Your hands stay on his wrists. He let's them.
You're trembling as you spit apologies like venom. Satorus is confused, upset, and hurt all at the same time.
"What happened?" He asks as his brows pinch together. The second you open your mouth to speak, he realizes he can't stay upset at you long.
You sigh, "I just- Satoru, I can't. I've never done this before and you're too good for me and-"
Satorus hands find your hips, cutting you off, "Slow down, baby," He orders softly, pulling you into his chest for a hug.
His head rests on top of yours, and you hate that you melt into him.
You hate that Satoru has become constant. Hate that he never argues and always understands. That he makes you feel beautiful and loved and appreciated and says endearing things that shoot you right in the heart. You hate that, yes, you love him too.
And most of all, you hate that that's the one thing in the world you can't let happen. Because you got so used to existing without being loved, finding comfort in the buzz and solace in the hunger.
You stiffen in his hold, and he lets you go in response.
Satoru sees it in your eyes, in the way you avoid his gaze like the plague and clench your fists out of frustration. He knows he's about to lose you. Lose all the progress he's made. All the progress you've made. "Was it me?" He questions, face blank as he parts from you.
You stare at him for what feels like eons before you reply.
"No. No, it's me." Your voice shakes and your breaths become shorter and shorter as you swallow down the urge to cry more.
He scoffs, and suddenly hurt is turning into anger, "Don't give me that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit. If you were going to pull this shit you should have dropped it on me before I said I love you." Satoru curses, teeth clenching and brows furrowing. You once told Satoru that when he's upset it shows all over him, and a part of him hopes that you can see it and it hurts you.
You exhale sharply, "And I love you too! I just can't." Your gaze meets his.
"Why not?" He asks angrily, letting it flare in your face.
Your face contorts uncomfortably, "Because I've never been used to anything else." You reply, chewing on your bottom lip.
"Are you fucking serious? You're going to throw this- us -away because you're not used to it?" He asks, tone mean and voice raw.
You purse your lips, silence thickening between you and filling the air. "I love you, and I'm sorry that I do." You finally say, clenching your eyes shut.
"If that's all you have to say for yourself, then whatever we are? It's fucking done." Satoru replies venomously. Your eyes shoot open, and he's already gone.
The static in your ears is so loud that it feels like your head might burst.
You step back inside the bubble wrap and enclose yourself until you can't breath, because that's what you're used to.
In the midst of it all, the gnawing feeling in your stomach returned just as easily as it left, and it's already dug itself into a bottomless pit.
You never satiated it, never gave it satisfaction. Just silenced it enough to have your moment.
Synopsis. Choso Kamo: Itadori Yuji’s older brother, drummer to the Löded Diper, that touch-starved punk-rocker that’s been absolutely obsessed with you. You: nothing less than queen bee on campus, leader of The Plastics, about to show that loser that he totally can’t sIeep sit with you! …Maybe.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!popular!reader, punk!Choso, Regina George x Rodrick Heffley AU, college AU, Itadori family shenanigans, wingmanning, Mean Girls references (like a lot), slight crackfic, he’s SO down bad for you, píning, parties, pússydrúnk Choso, face-sítting, oraI (fem rec.), first times (him), fíngering, spítting chokíng, Choso with piercings, D piercings, ROUGH S, he goes FÉRAL, making it fit, síze k, manhandIing, matíng presses, creampíes, slight cúmplay, confessions, getting together, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.0k
A/N. Hehehe am I late…
Choso sighs, “Isn’t she amazing…?”
“She just looked at you and giggled? She just whispered about it to her friends and now they’re all staring? She’s walking away without even looking back?”
“I know- she’s more than amazing.”
Yuji looks at his older brother. Then he looks at you. He looks at his older brother. Then he looks at you- and the next time he’s setting his sights on the dark-haired man, Yuji sort of feels like slamming his face into his bowl of mushy peas.
He squints at your disappearing back, “Right…” If this is what the college experience was about then put this college at the bottom of his safety schools.
But listen! It’s not like he’d ever speak bad about his big brother - this was his cool, calm, collected brother after all (at least he was supposed to be). And so Yuji’s pushing the bulk of his skepticism aside, and turning back to Choso.
“So when are you gonna ask her out, bubba?”
“A-ask her out—?!”
Choso Kamo’s voice cracks on the mere words, at the mere notion—and Yuji can only ogle him in utter bewilderment. Oh…my god…?
Alright so not calm or cool or collected.
Fuck, he was so far gone that it almost looked painful.
He’s never seen his big brother’s eyes shine like that before - whether in excitement (at the delusion) or in panic (at the reality) he couldn’t quite tell. He’s never seen his big brother’s face burst into a blush so strong that it makes him wince. He’s never seen his big brother turn his toned frame away and start muttering - more to himself than anything.
“Why would you even suggest that? Why would you want me to- heheh…ask her out? Why did you know that’s been my biggest dream since freshman year? Why did you think that I could ever possibly manage to-” And then he’s gasping in realization.
And in a split-second - so fast that the poor pink-haired boy could never have seen it coming - Choso’s whirling around to grab him from either side of his shoulders. “Unless- unless you saw something between us that I didn’t!” He exclaims, shaking Yuji with every word. “Unless you believe that I actually have a chance and you want me to go for it before it’s too late?!”
Yuji’s jaw drops, “I uh…huh?”
“But of course!” Choso was on a roll now, jostling the boy back and forth even harder. “In dad’s nighttime k-dramas the two romantic leads never really know when they like each other—but of course!” People in the cafeteria were starting to stare now. “I’m the male lead and you saw something in her eyes that made you want me to confess! Before either I get hit by a truck and get amnesia or she gets married off to some faraway 6’7 CEO-”
“CEO? What the f-”
“So what was it you saw?” Abruptly stopping his shaking now, Choso leans in with widened eyes. He probes at his younger brother with eager questions, “What was it you saw in her eyes? Hidden longing? Desire? Betrayal? Lu-”
“M-maybe?” God, he was feeling dizzy now and those peas weren’t helping…“Webster’s Dictionary did say that betrayal could be a synonym for disgust. I think.”
To which Choso pauses - still with that same insanely hopeful expression stiff on his face. And Yuji thinks that he might just’ve have broken him when-
“Oh, it’s no use—” He almost thinks he prefers the ramblings of a madman, rather than the dramatic way that Choso’s throwing himself over his space on the cafeteria table. Head in his hands. Shoulders shaking with a sigh.
The metal trays they’d been provided with rattle ever-so-slightly at his ministrations, and Yuji has to be the one to nudge them to the side. Mouthing out apologies to the students around them that throw them dirty looks—honestly, this was supposed to be his tour of his older brother’s college campus before he attended. He was supposed to be the one being taken care of during this pivotal time of his life.
Which (to Choso’s credit) had been what ended up happening for most of the day: through all those labs and lecture halls and facilities he’d been led to by him, through all those professors that Choso made him speak about his future major with, through most of lunch where his brother kept on insisting that he take more until…you came along.
Almost as if thinking of the very same thing (you), Choso’s sniffling even louder. And Yuji’s gingerly patting at the AC/DC t-shirt on his back, “There there…it’ll be alright, bubba. Wait- if you’re the male lead then who am I?”
Choso sputters out, “I don’t know? Homosexual supporting cast? I don’t know anything-” Pathetically bemoaning, “I can’t even do anything-”
Yuji insists gingerly, “I’m sure if you just asked her-”
“No you don’t get it, Yuji.” He finally raises his head from his hands, silver lip ring twinklin’ in the light. His older brother brings a ringed hand up to twist at it - in just the way he did whenever he got nervous about something. “She’s part of The Plastics- the leader, actually. And those other two? Utahime and Shoko.”
It seems that you and your duo of friends had been stopped by a few more of your acquaintances just outside the cafeteria. And as you laughed and talked amongst yourselves, Yuji and Choso leaned over in their seats to catch more glimpses of you.
He points subtly at the brown-haired girl with eyebags and a…scalpel close by you. “Ieri Shoko’s one of the smartest girls you will ever meet. Eso sat next to her in Anatomy 101 last semester, and he said she cheated so well that the professor changed their marking scheme.” Then as Choso moves the tip of his digit, so do Yuji’s eyes onto another girl with a scar across her face and an arm thrown over your shoulder. “That one with the traditional dress? That’s Iori Utahime, she’s totally rich because her dad invented the Toaster Strudel. Utahime knows everybody’s business, everything about everyone- that’s why her hair is so big…it’s full of secrets.”
Yuji stifles a giggle, “And ah- the one you’re obsessed with?”
“Shhhh- not so loud!” As if he hadn’t just been causing a scene earlier. Choso just has to take one look at you before he’s repeating your name in the most dreamy manner, “-perfection takes human form in her.”
“Perfection?”
“Don’t be fooled. Because she may seem like your typical selfless, smart, gorgeous sweetheart but in reality…she’s so much more than that.” Choso sighs, “How do I even begin to describe her?”
“I don’t get it, we have popular kids in our high school too?” Yuji asks. Hell, if they were counting like that then he wasn’t doing too bad socially himself.
But Choso’s fervently shaking his head. In an instant, he’s getting up and dragging Yuji away from his mushy peas. Ignoring his whines- “Come with me.”
They all said your name.
“She’s flawless.”
“She has two Fendi purses and a silver Lexus.”
“I hear her hair’s insured for ten thousand dollars.”
“I hear she does car commercials in Shibuya.”
“One time, she met Jacob Elordi on a plane. And he told her she was pretty.”
“One time she punched me in the face. I liked it.”
And by the end of his (second) tour around campus (and his first tour around the gossip mill), Itadori Yuji could…somewhat understand where his older brother was coming from. In addition to being liked so much, you were somewhat…scary.
He feels himself shiver involuntarily as you pass him by, not seeing the two tall boys hidden beneath a large oak tree on campus. Watching you. Though, Shoko does- and glints her scalpel threateningly at them until they duck back behind the scraggly trunk.
“But still-” Yuji hisses at Choso, crouched against the flares of green grass. “-I don’t see why you can’t at least give it one try to ask her out? I thought you weren’t scared of anything, bubba.”
“And then there’s that problem-” Handsome face suddenly hardening, Choso checks whether the coast is clear for Shoko and her scalpel before gesturing at his younger brother to follow. Popping their heads from the side of the oak trunk once more, he’s pointing an index at the other man you’d walked up to.
The tip of his finger - all chipped with black nail polish - honed in like an arrow at the silver haired man. Yuji watched as he grabbed you to his side with a guffaw, where you wrinkled your nose at the way he crinkled your blouse- but let him do as he pleased anyway. “That two-toned, two-inch bastard- Naoya Zenin.”
“From the Zenin Corporations?” Yuji gawked.
“The Zenin Corporations, and he goes ‘round acting like it too.” Choso grumbles, lightly thumping his fist against the tree. “His family’s old old money, but word is they’re gonna be charged with embezzlement soon, heh. He started dating her at the start of freshman year- no idea how that happened, some say he bribed her with a GMC Hummer and they’ve been on and off ever since.”
“Wild.” The pink-haired boy whistles- inadvertently catching the attention of you. Turning away boredly from a lecture on Naoya’s latest business ventures to catch the two tufts of hair peaking through the oak trunk. You have to stifle a laugh as they duck out of sight with matching yelps.
“Something amusing about wining and dining the CEO of the World Bank, honey?” Naoya leers out, and you know he doesn’t mean that pet name he uses.
“Nothing amusing at all, actually.” You’re plastering a painful plastic smile, and he doesn’t catch the snipe. You’re angling your head to try and catch a glimpse ‘round the trunk, at those doey brown eyes that caught yours. “Tell me all about your ah- glorious old money again.”
“Why most certainly.”
You’re rolling your eyes, and you don’t catch the way that Shoko threatens her scalpel in the direction of the oak once more.
Yuji - who’d been craning upwards to take another look - hastily sits back down on the ground with a thump. “Bubba, we’ve got to do something about her though. The Itadori men don’t just sit around doing nothing in a time of crises-”
“Do what though?” Choso puts his face in his hands, long chestnut hair falling around his face. Obscuring his pout from view, though one could hear it. “It’s hopeless-”
“No.”
Choso looks up in surprise.
At Yuji’s determined face, that smile. Brighter than the sun.
He pulls a handheld camera from Choso’s backpack and takes a picture of them both, you in the background. Blissfully unaware. “I’ve got a plan.”
.
.
.
PHASE ONE OF WIMP: Everybody needs to know.
“There are four phases, the first is-” Yuji whispers, face pressed against the cold library shelf. Textbooks the size of his head. Names of authors that blurred into one. A wall of words that he’d shuffled aside to spy on the other side of it, “-we first have to get the word out about our WIMP.”
“WIMP?” Choso hisses back in confusion. He was standing right beside his younger brother, stooped down to look through their little crack.
A nearly-empty table.
A column of books.
A certain purple-haired girl rarely seen without leaving your side.
“Yeah?” Itadori answers, “Wingmanning Itadori’s Mythical Party- or WIMP for short.”
Choso can only look at him in pure aghast.
“Anyways, going back to our WIMP-”
“Yuji, stop trying to make WIMP happen. It’s not going to happen.”
“About our party then.” To which the pink-haired boy waves off easily, “Don’t sweat it- dad is out on some bonding trip with Uncle Kuna and grandpa, so they won’t be back until tomorrow so we have the house alllll to ourselves.”
It was true that their home actually sat on the outskirts of campus, right alongside the other dorms and residential buildings for the students. It was actually one of the reasons that Choso had chosen this particular university in the first place, because of its proximity (and it led him to you so, good thinking on his part, hm?) And so he still resided there with his family, but as for throwing a party…“Yuji, parties really aren’t a big deal in college. I don’t know if it’s even a good-”
“Do you wanna do this or not?” He pulls away to give Choso a deadpan look, the sharp edges of the books embedding vertical lines on his face.
The other man stammers, “W-well…”
“Let me rephrase-” Yuji says, “-do you want her in your house-”
“Yes.”
“And there you go.”
Choso sputters, face flushing at the fact that he’d been caught out so easily. He scratches behind his neck and looks anywhere but into his brother’s mischievous eyes, “W-well! You’ve clearly been spending too much time with Sukuna…and what about the fact that we have a house and apparently the word- but still no actual- party-”
“Semantics, semantics.” And to Choso Kamo’s complete and utter horror- he’s pulling out his camera to take a picture of their stakeout. He’s starting to push off the bookshelf and walk away.
Reaching out a hand, “Wait- wait, Yuji!”
Right up to the corner of the shelf, he grins. “First we’ve got to get the word out.”
And before Choso can do anything about it, Yuji’s pranced right up to the long student desk. Making a few of them look up at his sudden, yellow-hoodied intrusion- he’s clapping a hand over his forehead and bemoaning. “Oh, woe is me! Woe is me!” Choso’s clapping a hand over his forehead, too, though for a much different reason. He thinks he’s having an aneurysm. “Oh, I seem to have gotten myself a little lost…”
Trailing off, he peeks at Utahime out of the corner of his eye - and finds her completely unphased.
It was as if she didn’t even hear his display, and flicked casually through a glossy athletics magazine that’d been stuffed between the pages of her textbook.
Choso watches as he starts up again, slightly louder this time- “My poor, innocent high school self- all alone in this big, bad campus. All abandoned. If only I had a good samaritan to guide me back…” He peeks at Utahime again and she doesn’t even flinch—and what the- was that a textbook on children’s education she was reading?!
“Oh, how I wish a future teacher—” Yuji lets the words ring in the air, shooing away another student that’d come over to help him. “-could maybe get some practical work in and help me…a poor, poor high school student who doesn’t know of the big world…”
Utahime looks up at him—this was his chance!
And Yuji’s brightening up- before he registers she was looking right past him and at the clock that’d been ticking away on the wall behind him. The two brothers come to the realization at the same time and they bite back groans.
Goddammit! “How I wish I had someone to help me lest they wanted me to miss my brother’s party- tonight. Yes, a party tonight. A partyyyyy—” Emphasizing his words; his initial idea had been to strike up a conversation with Utahime as she (with her heart of gold) helped his poor lost self, and to naturally weave in the idea of the party and perhaps invite her and her friends as a thank you.
But now, Utahime (with her heart of thorns) was pleasantly ignoring him to pack her bag and leave.
Though, he was catching the attention of almost everyone else in this part of the library. Wondering just who the kid was and why the hell he couldn’t shut up—“He doesn’t even go here!”
Yuji sighs, “Free beer.”
“Oh, are you lost?” Utahime asks with a warm smile.
“What the-” Choso squawks, but ultimately gnaws down on the inside of his cheek to shut himself up before she hears. He watches Utahime get up from her seat and sling her back over her shoulder, leading an allegedly lost Itadori Yuji out of the library (the exit was two shelves away but she didn’t seem to question it).
From here, he can hear snatches of their fading conversation - Utahime inquiring about this party, Yuji responding in kind. He rattles off their address that she makes him text her, along with an invite extended to her friends. She says she has two best friends who would just love to come. “You’re Choso’s brother, aren’t you? I saw you two in the cafeteria today, yeah, my friend would tooootally love to come- just don’t tell her boyfriend.”
Yuji tilts his head in slight confusion.
Choso notices that his brother also greatly exaggerates about the beer (which, obviously, the high-schooler wouldn’t be able to drink) and some DJ they’re flying in, but he doesn’t quite have it in himself to feel anything but cautious excitement right now.
You.
You, you, you.
Yuji throws a thumbs up behind his back.
Pulling out his camera and starting to coax Utahime into a selfie picture or two.
Choso’s lifting off of the shelf with a chuckle - he can’t believe it worked. He can’t believe it actually worked! In both shock and slight relief, he’s taking a few steps back—now that he thinks about it, how did it even work-
Before he’s crashing into someone.
“Oh, fuck- I’m so sor-”
“You’re alright, baby.”
That voice.
Choso whirls around so fast that he feels the world tilt. Choso whirls around so fast that he feels his tall figure sway. That he’s chasing the sound of your voice- and he doesn’t even care if he looks a fool doing it.
Though he’s sure it shows, if the way you’re giggling at his action is anything to go by.
Slightly fluttering your lashes, “Something the matter?” You ask, with a smile.
“N-no…”
“Mhm.” And then you lean in—so close that he could kiss you.
One of your hands reaches past him, almost caging him against the book shelf. And Choso’s plastering his back against their hair columns- face burning, hands pressing to his toned sides, pink lips quivering with greed. His eyes dip down to those lips of yours that just kept on getting closer…“Wh-what you are-”
“I got what I need.” In the corner of his peripheral vision, he sees you lift off a hefty textbook from the shelf. Past his figure.
Where your hand had actually been reaching - and Choso feels his heart drop down to his stomach when you neatly distance yourself with the book. That very same slightly-dangerous smile still on your face, “As for you, have fun with your…” Your eyes drift to the gap between two books he’d created, a peephole. Narrowing, though your smile only widens. “-spying. Bye now!”
“W-wait-” Choso’s voice only comes out once you’d left, “Wait I wasn’t-”
.
.
.
PHASE TWO OF WIMP: Break her up with her boyfriend—yeah yeah, Choso’s bored!
Nobody in the lecture hall seemed to question why a high-schooler was sitting and swinging his feet happily amongst them. Nobody in the lecture hall seemed to question why there was a sudden flurry of texts and whispers more prominent than usual, either.
A palpable excitement in the air.
And Choso doesn’t think that Professor Yaga was paid enough to notice nor care.
It seems that telling Utahime first about the party was the smart move. Because before Choso had even stepped foot outside the library (moving on autopilot after that lil’ encounter from you), the news had trickled down from her and to almost the entire department. He was immediately being thrown looks left and right- hell, even a clap on his shoulder by some frat dude he didn’t know congratulating him on ‘finally throwing a rager’.
He didn’t say he was throwing a rager…nor that he was inviting them…but alright…
Even now, a few of the students around him would nudge each other and not-so-subtly point. Giving him a few glances. Dropping each other the pin of his address. Whispering about how ‘that quiet punk’ kid was throwing a party. Which honestly would’ve been completely tolerable had it not been for the fact that he was drawing attention from the row before him. Think that’s not too bad? Think again-
Choso takes just one glance at the row below—and feels his heart jump to his throat as he recognizes the beautiful back of your head.
He’s spent so many long hours studying it, you couldn’t fault him for immediately knowing…
But it didn’t matter if he knew or not.
It didn’t matter how close he was.
It was you, along with a few of your friends that’d managed to register to the class in time (though, it’s not like you were lacking for willing volunteers). Along with your boyfriend beside you.
Choso’s only able to look from behind.
Always an invisible wall between you two, invisible galaxies in every inch. Even that conversation he had with you in the library had ended in misunderstandings and distance. Oh…his heart ached, he hung his head low.
Your worlds would simply never cross—
“Haibara Yu, an invite for you.”
“Ah! Why thank you, Itadori-kun.”
“Anytime, my dude.” Yuji replies, eyes glimmering with stars.
Choso snaps his head to Yuji in utter astonishment as he leans down and prods the man with the bowl cut in front of him - one of your closest friends, Haibara. And here Itadori Yuji was - speaking to him as if it was absolutely nothing—doesn’t he know that you! Were! Right! There! The pink-haired boy seated next to him hands Haibara an impromptu invitation (really, a scrap of paper ripped off of…Choso’s lyrics book with their address written down).
Chuckling at the cutely childish action, Haibara fist bumps Yuji. “I’ll be there, and say thank you to your brother for me.”
“Oh- he’s right here.” Yuji stabs a thumb to the seat beside him, which Choso looked as if he was trying to sink into. And when Haibara gives him a friendly smile and wave, Choso can only reciprocate with a jerky nod of his own.
And then Choso’s attention gets caught by the way that Yuji reaches deep into his hoodie pocket. Pulling out several more crumpled scraps of paper- how the hell did he have so many? And what the hell was Choso supposed to write songs on now?!
He places his head in his hands and grumbles, “Yuji…”
But Yuji simply continues, “Nanami Kento two for you-” His brother was now throwing the invitations at their unsuspecting recipients, the blond man catches it with a disgruntled scoff. “Ijichi Kiyotaka—four for you Ijichi Kiyotaka, you go Ijichi Kiyotaka!” A bespectacled man catches it with a yelp that catches Yaga’s attention (and his disregard). And then Choso’s heart catches in his throat as Yuji sing-songs out your name, gently handing you your own scrap of paper.
His scrap of written-over…lyrical…paper.
The scrap of paper that Choso had written songs about you on-
“Aw, you wrote my name on it and everything?” You’re cooing at the boy, beginning to unfold the invitation. It was a palimpsest of words, and your eyes go down the slightly-blurred lines of faint writing beneath Yuji’s blocky letters. It was cursive, slanted, with a sweetly messy impression so that you couldn’t make out half the words on it. Just your name. Over and over. “That’s so sweet! Um, you wrote my name…like…a lot-”
“No!”
Before you can read any further, the pierced man behind you reaches over and snatches the paper out of your hands. In a split-second, he has it crumpled up and stuffed deeeep into his bag where no mortal soul would see it ever again.
What follows next might be the most awkward few seconds of silence in his entire life.
Yuji looks at him. Yaga looks at him. Your friends look at him. You look at him-
“Um, why are you so obsessed with me?”
And he can’t even say anything in response because it’s fucking true—!
Yuji takes a picture of the scene.
It’s only Naoya who - seeming to not have noticed a single thing amiss - raises his index in the air and punctuates it with his annoying, grating voice. “Um-”
“And none for Naoya Zenin, bye!” Yuji stuffs the rest of the scraps inside his hoodie.
“Excuuuuuuse me-”
Choso blocks out the tirade of threats that Naoya then proceeds to spit their way, his black-tipped hair flying askew in all angles as he starts arguing with the younger boy. The previous tension between you and Choso left unsettled (not good tension, certainly, no matter what Yuji may think), you’re resigning yourself to lean back in your seat and let Naoya throw his arm over your. Jostled by him. Sighing at the fact that you were jostled by him. “Naoya, let it go-”
And oh—it makes Choso fucking angry to see you still with this asswipe.
But fuck—does it almost make him smile seeing that look on your face.
Only getting more bored with every word falling from Naoya’s lips. Only barely putting up with him. A fleck of angry spittle falls from your (hopefully soon-to-be-ex) boyfriend’s mouth, and you’re meeting Choso’s eyes in the middle as you follow it.
Both of you grimace in disgust.
Next to him, Yuji nudges at his ribs- a victory for Phase Two! He almost wants to laugh.
Yaga drones, “Mister Kamo, would you mind letting the class hear your thoughts on the subject of Caesar and Brutus at hand?” It seems he’d gotten enough of the ruckus in the back rows.
Choso stands, clearing his throat. “What’s so great about Caesar? Hm? Brutus is just as cute as Caesar. Brutus is just as smart as Caesar. People totally like Brutus just as much as they like Caesar. And when did it become okay for one person to try and claim everything, huh? Because that’s not what Rome is about.” He looks straight at Naoya, “We should totally just stab Caesar!”
.
.
.
PHASE THREE OF WIMP: Ask her (to the party, if not out)!
“Bubba-”
“No-”
“C’mon bubba-”
“No-”
Yuji’s throwing his hands up in defeat, letting Choso’s own fall from his grasp. His wrists were all red n’ raw from all the pulling- even after the younger of the two brothers had seemingly given up on bodily draaagging Choso halfway down the campus gardens.
Right to you.
And honestly, Choso should be thankful that his brother’s such a fervent advocate for him getting his shit together and actually talking to the girl of his dreams.
But you’re just meters away, so beautifully oblivious.
And he can’t help but feel his knees weaken—“B-but what am I even going to say to her-”
“For starters, you can apologize for the way you snatched her invitation out of her hand.” Yuji’s saying - so very practically that it almost hurt. Was this really the same kid who’d run after him crying when he first left for college? “And then you can invite her to the WIMP-”
“I said stop trying to-”
“I got it, I got it!” Yuji puffs out his cheeks in a pout, “Man, you really know how to squirm your way out of important conversations- but you won’t be squirming your way out of this!”
Before he knows it, Choso’s being rounded by his younger brother- who then slams both palms against the others shoulders and starts shoving him in your direction. You were talking to someone, with your back turned to him and your air one of complete ease.
And here two Itadori brothers came to shatter it.
“You- won’t- be- getting out of this one, bubba-” Yuji forces out between pushes, and with every time Choso struggled against it, his throws only got even harder. “Talk- to- her-”
“And- and say what-”
“I don’t know- I’ve never asked anyone out before?”
“Fuck!”
With a final profane exclamation, Choso’s shoved right at your footsteps- and you’re turning around at the commotion. Raising your brows at the man that was bent so low before you, that he could practically look up your skirt if he wanted to.
You take a step back, “Um…”
“F-fuck-” He seemed to be saying that a lot today, and he stands upright instantly. Rubbing at the back of his flushed neck, Choso tries looking anywhere but in your eyes—where the fuck did Yuji disappear to?! “Anyways um…nice weather we’re having, huh?”
“Right…” You look up, there was a rain cloud formulating above you. There was a 30% chance that it’s already raining.
Your company - some business major by the name of Mei Mei, he believes, throws her single long braid over her shoulder - “Ooo la la~ Guess I should leave you two alone then, hm?” Waving just the tips of her fingers at you, “Toodles~!”
“Buh-byeee, again- I love your hair!” You’re calling out with the sweetest smile.
“Thank you~!”
And only once Mei Mei was well and fully not in earshot do you turn back to Choso and deadpan, “That is the ugliest fucking hairstyle I’ve ever seen.”
He hides a laugh behind his fist, “I-it certainly is eccentric…” Well, he’d be lying if he said he never secretly thought the same.
You tilt your head, his contagious smile making your own lips slightly quirk. In this dimming light, you could see the dimples by the corners of his lips- “And so? I don’t suppose you’re here to hear my tastes in hairstyles, are you?”
“I-I wouldn’t mind.” He coughs underneath his breath, self-consciously thinking to his own cutesy space-buns. He’s seen you staring at them a few times before…at least his imagination liked to think you did. He’s almost glad he wore them down today, “But ah- but no, you’re right. First of all, I came to apologize.”
Before you can say anything else, he’s bowing before you.
Sharp and sincere.
He couldn’t see the expression on your face like this- and so Choso scrunches his eyes and spits out the words. “I apologize for how rude I was during the lecture earlier, it- it’s completely my fault and I shouldn’t have snatched the invitation out of your hands. It was just…”
“Personal?” You ask, and he’s whipping his head up to catch your warm smile. “I get it. Your secret’s safe with me.” Before thinking about it a little more, “And Utahime…and Shoko. Maybe Ijichi-”
His pinkish mouth gapes, “A-and the…”
“My name?” Teasingly, you pretend to think. “I didn’t see a thing. My name? What name?”
Beside himself, he begins to laugh- “And I uh- there’s also…” He’s only slightly leaning up from his bow now, fists clenching upon either side as if tries not to lose his nerve. And Choso might just have- had it not been for the flailing body of his brother.
Just a little distance away, Yuji dances about and gestures at Choso to keep talking. Shaping out hearts with his arms. Mouthing a little ‘go on’. Puckering his lips and making kissy faces—
You notice the way his gaze strays past you and start to turn-
But Choso’s grabbing your hand in a panic- stopping you from moving- making you turn around in slight surprise. “I uh!” And he feels…he feels so much. The heat of your hand thrumming in his own. The zaps of electricity as your eyes meet his. The adoration at just how beautiful you were in this light. Somehow, some way, the shy man manages out. “I wanted to…to invite you personally to the WI- I mean, the party.”
He winces, waiting for your rejection.
Only-
“I’d love to!”
In the distance Yuji’s camera runs out of battery with how many times he’s flashing away pictures.
Choso’s on cloud nine all the way back home, he doesn’t think his feet even touch the pavement. Yuji gives him a good, hard smack on the back in congratulations as they get on Choso’s bike—“Wow, maybe you’re not a hopeless case after all, bubba!”
Choso rides a little faster that day.
.
.
.
PHASE FOUR OF WIMP: DON’T BE A WIMP!
It honestly hadn’t taken them too long to turn Itadori Jin’s home into the habitat of a college party. It was already big enough, and it had a pool out in the back and a rooftop to climb. All they needed to add were a few key components: booze, beats, onion rings.
Most of it was ordered with their uncle’s credit card…
He’d asked his Löded Diper members to join him for a gig later in the night. And Yuji had begged his friends to help them with the decorating and set-up on account that they could join the (alcohol-free, to them) party afterwards.
Meanwhile Choso had paced their living room so many times that he thinks his footsteps were seared into the carpet - some excuse of a cool big brother he was. He’d damn near twisted off his lip piercing with the way he’d been nervously toying with it- it’d taken Yuji and Nobara dragging him off to get a bit more dolled-up for him to stop.
And so here he was.
Dressed in his best ripped jeans, chains glinting, biceps flexing through his short sleeves, nails painted and re-painted.
He throws his silky bangs out of his eyes and watches as the students trickle in- he didn’t even know half the people that dapped him up before treading inside the Itadori family home. And through each smile and greeting, Choso’s eyes flickered over the blur of faces for only one.
Yours.
The slosh of beer. The splash of ping-pong balls inside cups.
It was nearing midnight and Choso still couldn’t find you. Fuck, he almost considers letting the party rage on and leaving to find you himself-
“Bubba!” Yuji calls out over the thumping bass, and the dark-haired man is whipping around to find his brother surfing over the sea of people. “Bubba- bubba!” Hand cupped over his mouth to let his voice project, the other gripping his camera. “I saw Utahime and Shoko by the food table, no sign of her though.”
“Yuji-” Choso’s yanking on his brother’s arm, tugging his brother to him. His eyes probe down in concern, “What do you mean no sign of her? You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Yuji nods, “I asked them, too- they said she’d be coming separately but still no sign of her.”
“I hope she’s okay…” Choso worries on his lip ring, he looks over the perspired heads of party-goers. The party was in full swing by midnight, and it showed no sign of stopping. He’s sure he saw at least one antique vase smashed, and one drunk couple making out in Sukuna’s room…“Maybe I should go check on her?”
Yuji tilts his head in confusion, “How?”
“I’ll just wait by the door maybe…”
“All night?”
“All morning if I have to.”
Waving off his concerns, he tells his brother to order some more food and leaves for the front door.
Ignoring the calls of his name and the compliments. Trying to squeeze past the slightest gaps between bodies, “Excuse me-” He’s whispering, wincing as he forces his way through them. “Excuse me- coming through. Excuse me.” Seeing the widely gaped door as a few more people shove themselves inside the party, the door starts to close. “Wait wait don’t close, I just want to get to-”
You.
A hand stops the front door from closing, and he’s instantly putting a name to face. A name to body. A name to each fingertip by fingertip.
The party hushes just a little when you enter. The music slows. The chatter dies down. The eyes of everyone present snaps to you- holy shit, it was you. It was really, really you.
Dressed in your prettiest slip dress. Hugging every inch of you so perfectly in the way he wanted to. Your eyes shimmering with a bit of glitter on the edges. Your lips resembling a candy he couldn’t wait to suck on right now. Immediately, it’s as if his world was bending to your will, your intrusion - as it always did.
Holding the door open, “Oh!” You’re clearly startled to come face-to-face with Choso Kamo so soon - and especially so close. Your eyes widen as they flit up his sculptured body, that t-shirt that clung to him attractively. “Ditching your own party so soon?”
“I was about to until you came along.”
Fuck—why did he say that?
In the distance, he can hear three irritating (strangely familiar) squeals. And he’s bringing a hand up to fiddle with his lip piercing, apology on his tongue when-
“Well, then I sure am glad I came along.” You’re smiling in that way that feels like you’re analyzing every inch of him, “This party wouldn’t have been much fun without you, Cho.” You push his shoulder with yours, and he thinks he might just melt.
He thinks he does.
There’s a flash of a camera that jolts him into action once more.
“Can I uh- get you uh—a beer? Or something?” Grimacing at his own choked-up hosting, he ushers you in and closes the door. Your shoulder brushes against his, and he thinks he might just cream his pants. “Or a shot? Ah- onion rings?”
“I think I’m good on the alcohol…for now.” You hum, and there’s something in your tone that he can’t quite pinpoint. The party parts ways for you, and he’s leading you inside.
Choso raises a brow, curious. “How come for now?”
“Ah- because I know if I want to drink I’ll drink until I drop out of anger.” You huff, looking up at him meaningfully. You’d reached the dance floor by now- or at least, the living room that had found itself being turned into a dance floor. The music was much louder here, and you beckon Choso in close to whisper in his ear—your breath brushing his sensitive earlobes. “Break-ups tend to do that to you.”
Choso shivers at the proximity, before registering what you’d just said. “Wait- break-up-”
“It was a long time coming anyway.” You’re sighing, a slight smile on your face. “And this time it’s done for good- don’t worry, it’s not like I’m upset or anything…” Huffing out contemplatively, “Well, maybe a little- but not over him, rather the time I wasted.”
“I-I see…” Choso swallows, his throat was parched as if he’d just run a marathon. He clenches his fists, and then he wipes those sweaty palms down his sides—before bringing them up to hold yours. In just a little, his band would be playing (he’d been holding them off for you), but until then…
You look up at him in slight surprise, slight warmth.
“Then…” He tugs you down to the dance floor, “-shall we dance?”
.
.
.
“Fuh-fuck…” Choso can’t help but let his slick tongue flop out- as if he wanted to surge his head between those pretty legs of yours, as if he wanted to chase that sweetly honeyed cunt you’d plopped right on top of him.
It didn’t take long after dancing together - so close, you’re sure the rumor mill was working overtime by now - and listening to Choso’s rock set before you’d all but dragged him upstairs. Blindly, he’s the one that’d led your impatient self to his bedroom and locked the door.
And you’d barely had the time to admire those rock posters along his walls, his practice drum kit, before he’d laid you out on his jet-black sheets.
Before you’d flipped him over and set your thighs upon either side of his pretty, pretty face.
With your hips hoverin’ over Choso’s face, you’re letting your mouth upturn into a smirk as his gluttonous tongue lavishes out. The ridges of his tastebuds already watery with how badly he wanted you, he’s groaning from underneath. “S-sit on my face.”
“What was that?” You’re leaning in with your ear cupped, pretending not to hear. Not close enough for him to actually get what he wants, but enough to have him lunging forwards with a whine. “The music’s really loud, Cho.”
“Sit on my- face.” Such a pretty hot blush spreads all over his cheeks, as if Choso couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth. With both hands gripped upon both your thighs, he’s pulling you in. “Please sit on my face, ngh- what do I hafta do to have you fuck my mouth properly?”
“How about you beg-”
“Please—”
“Call me ma’am?”
Tears start twinkling at the edge of Choso’s eyes at how badly he wanted you, how ravenous he was. “Please…” Mumbling out in such a pouty way, his lip ring glimmers. “Please, ma’am.”
You shiver, zaps of arousal running down your spine and straight to your core- you couldn’t believe that it was so damn easy to get him to bend to your will like this. And Choso’s noticing your slight shakes with a whine of concern, batting up his lashes-
“Something the matter, baby?”
“Oh, nothing—” You hum, and the bed creaks as you inch just a lil’ forward. “It’s just, you’re already so tempting as is- just one question, have you ever done this before?”
You didn’t know it was even possible for his furious flush to grow even stronger, “N-no…”
“Mmm, thought so.”
To which his brown brows furrow in a plea- “But I promise I’ll be so good for you- mmpf!”
Immediately shutting him up with the front of your pussy- your bloated lips end up glued against his mouth. His greedy maw. His agape cavern. His lip piercing was cold against your outer cunt. His tongue sticks directly out to swipe at your sultry pussy, and you watch in real time as Choso’s doe-like eyes widen, entire body jolting as if he’d just been struck by a million volts of electricity.
And he takes one lick, he takes one slurp.
That’s all it takes for Choso Kamo to get fucking addicted.
“O-oh my god…” Slurring out right between your pussylips, you’re being dragged forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll atop him. Nudged right until the tip of his straight nosebridge ends up shoved between your folds, “Mmm, oh my god-” He breathes out—that’s until he realizes that he has to remove himself from your pussy to actually breathe.
And it’s with great pain that and multiple seconds that Choso actually unlatches himself from your cunt to intake a few gasps. Before plunging straight back in with a wet sluuuuurp—“Oh my god- are all pussies this sweet- or is it just yours, ngh! I think it’s just yours, baby…”
Oh, it’s going to be really fun to control him to your lecherous whims.
“I didn’t realize you’d be a fuckin’...oh, fuck.” You’re throwing your head back with a slight yelp. Because without any warning, Choso’s smearing aside your folds with his nose to find your sensitive nub.
Instantly letting his mouth fall open, he’s latching at your clit and drag-drag-draaaagging. And especially with his frigid lip ring, it’s making you feel sensations you didn’t even know were possible. “Mmm, and then there’s this clit of yours—fuck!” As if that wasn’t enough, he’s reaching up a hand to hold your pussylips wiiiide open. Sucklin’ away even deeper, “Just the gift that keeps on givin’, baby, mmm- this pussy is just such a treat. I think I could have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner-”
He just starts babbling - so drunk on your pussy already that the only thing you can do is grab onto a lock of Choso’s dark hair and pull him off. “Ch-Choso, oh my god.” Wait- did you think you could control him?
He’s blinking his long lashes at you blearily, lips all glossed with your sweetened slick. “What were you saying again?”
“Munch.” You’re spitting out, almost accusing- and a drivel of your spit dangles out of your mouth, ready for Choso to open his mouth and let it splatter onto his mouth. You’re looking down at the display and letting out a shiver, “I didn’t think you’d be such a munch, Choso- you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“P-pussy…” He’s prattling out, hypnotized. Before shaking his head out of that daze, slightly giggling. “I mean- positive.”
Your peripherals widen in disbelief—did he seriously just mix that word up with your pussy? “You can’t be serious…” Deciding to take things into your own hands, you’re tightening your fist ‘round his sweat-drenched bangs a bit more. “Unless you want to- hah, suffocate then you might wanna take it slow, baby.”
“B-but…”
“But what, Cho—?” And oh, he could see that mean glint in your eyes as you tugged his head to the side and made him groan. The sudden movement made Choso’s lips break off with a dampened mwah! and the poor boy is reaching upwards with a few pleas.
“Please-” This eyeliner smearing ‘round the edges as he all but cries at the very thought of your pussy being taken away from him. “Please- no! Don’t take her away from me m’begging- you can take it slow, you can take it slow.” Choso shakes his head fervently, “You can take it slow just…”
And you catch his dilated pupils darting somewhere towards the edge of his bedside cabinet, curiosity growing. “Just what, hm?”
“I just want to have one condition of my own.”
You let him trail off of your pussy- and it takes him a few more open-mouthed kisses before he can even bear to remove himself from your cunt. Without delay, he reaches to open up the drawer beside him. “What are you…”
And you can only watch - slack-jawed and speechless - as Choso fits a silver orb of a tongue piercing right in the middle of his tastebuds.
Right smack-dab in the middle.
You take back what you thought about control.
And you’re barely allowed the time to register just how attractive he looks this way, before Choso’s back plastering his flattened muscle over your pussy. “S-slow, I said, Cho. Slow.”
“Sorry, baby, sorry.” Brows knitting together, he tries to concentrate. “Slow…m’gonna take it…slow.”
You’re gyrating your hips backwards in such a sensual pace - it was almost agonizing the round-a-bout way you’d move your hips back against his face. Keeping him wrapped around your lil’ pinkie, “Mmm, yeah- just like that, Choso.”
Holding onto his scalp, your channel constricts at the way he just kept on cracking out tiny whimpers every time you tugged a bit too harshly at him.
Humming, “Just like thaaaaat-” Feeling his overeager mouth surge faster upwards at the compliment, “Ah ah- slow down, baby. Mmm, just like that.”
Because at least this tempo let you keep your wits about you.
Somewhat…
But then something happens.
But then he’s sensing your deviating hips angle themselves- he’s sensing you crave the cold drag of his piercing. And Choso Kamo just can’t stop his body being sent into a state of frenzy—where it doesn’t matter how much you’re holding yourself back, he’s pulling you in, he’s squelching his tongue upwards, he’s kissing away. “This—” Lapping and lapping up the crevice of your cunt with his lengthy tongue. “Does it feel good on your pussy, baby? Please- please tell me you can feel it.”
“I can feel it.” Breathily, you have to fight to keep your tone under control as he slips n’ slides his textured tastebuds all over your outer pussy. Alternating between those ravenous kisses and lil’ tugs on your clit. “F-feels so cold on my clit- hah.” Fuck slow, he was going wild.
“Good.” And you swear you can feel Choso’s smile spreading across your folds, oh-so-sensitive with his sheer friction. The longer he was kissin’ away at your cunt, the more honest he got. “I got it just for you, y’know?”
And no matter how tightly you’re trying to grab onto his sweaty scalp, Choso was just so feral with his movements. Uncontrollable. You try to haul him backwards to slow him down, but he was only manhandling you further onto his face. “Wh-what do you mean you got it just for me?”
“Exactly what I said, baby—” He’s batting his teary lashes, “That I was thinkin’ of you when I- ngh, got it. That all I could fucking think of when I got my tongue pierced was havin’ your sweet pussy on me like this, and my piercing rubbin’ up against you like- that-”
Lurching on top of him when he stretches your tight hole out with just the crown edge of his tongue. Choso’s circular piercing knocks up against the sides of your walls and leaves you feeling mad, “Oh my god—” Saliva splattering down your front.
Then Choso’s feeling the way you clench, feeling the way your entrance quivers around nothing.
And it was just such a shame to leave your pretty cunt waiting, wasn’t it? So like the good boy he was, he’s slipping an inch of his wet muscle inside and making you gasp at the stretch. His orbed piercing marking his pathway perfectly, “Shit! At least give a girl a warning-”
“M’sorry, baby.” Choso whines, “Y-you won’t take my pretty pussy away from me for that, will you?”
“Well…” At least dragging out your answer let you see him all hopeless and needy like this. But honestly, looking at him - all starry-eyed, blushing-cheeked, half his face slicked in your sap - how could you ever say no to him?
Shit, he might just have you drunk on his tongue.
And your body starts to quake with tiny shivers, with both your hands woven into his hair for stability. You feel the desperate slashes of his tongue increase, and realize that he wasn’t edging any closer to your hole without your permission. How cute…“Nope- but s’gonna be on my terms, baby- oh.”
No sooner are the words panted out of your mouth that Choso’s mazing his prolonged tastebuds straight through your entrance.
A direct pap! to the gooey roof of your cunt- and you gasp at the contact, slightly pulling back. Before Choso holds one side of your hips and makes you sit properly down on his face to slash and slash and slash at your innards. Fucking you with his mouth like such an animal- “Y-yes, anything you say…”
“Fuck- fuck- then-” You’re tugging back with his hair, almost simply to watch the way that Choso’s chasing your cunt afterwards.
“T-tell me m’doing a good job, baby- tell me-”
Hiccuping out, “You’d be a much better boy f’me if you were a little more in control.” His lip piercing was practically glued to your outer cunt, and Choso simply couldn’t decide between sucking on your slit and spreadin’ open your hole with his very lips.
Maddened.
You’re struggling to even think beyond the primal stretch at your hole, and as you tug on Choso’s hair yet another time- he’s moving back in with a growl. “C-can you even think, baby?” Asking, whining through the great dollops of saliva clogging up your throat. He shakes his head and you continue, “Do you even know what you’re doing? Can you even breathe?”
“How can I?”
Drippin’ straight down his pointed chin, droplets of your slick wobble across his skin as he mumbles. “Like I said- m’taking it sloooow—” Stroking your glistening walls multiple times a second, his tongue piercing zig-zagging rapid lines. “M’taking it- hah, just the pace you want it.” His brown eyes glinting with something that looked almost predatory. “M’giving you m-mercy.”
“F-fuck…” A breathless gasp leaves you, eyes widening at the sinful epiphany you’d just come across. “I really…can’t control you.”
Shoving himself a few inches deeper inside your wet pussy, “But she certainly can.”
And then it’s not just Choso’s tongue that’s muddlin’ up your mind (and your cunt), but his fingers decide to join in on the fun, too.
Not only were they unfairly long, but they were so flexible.
Curving juuust the right way to make those chunky metal rings on his fingers dig against your softened walls, “J-just can’t control myself when it comes to this pussy, baby.” He’s whining out between your slick-sheened thighs, splatter after splatter of syrup letting out of you. Choso thrusts his digits in until they’re knuckle-deep, and his skin ‘round that area stings bright red. “Just drives me…wild. Just makes me wanna make her mine and- fuck, fuck everyone that th-thinks otherwise.”
“Oh, please—” Throwing your head back, your thighs start to shiver - and you’re not quite sure whether that’s because of the exertion or the sheer amount of pleasure he was pumping into you. “Please, you’re just so close-”
“No, you’re just so close.” He’s giggling out, taking a lavish lick inside your hole. “I can taste it on her.”
“You- you can…” You breathe out in disbelief.
He locks his lips ‘round your clit now, permanently back to sucking on that cute nub. Drawing out the most adorable whines from your mouth, Choso’s swervin’ his ringed fingers inside of you. Looooog zig-zags, “I can.” Poking his textured tips into any crevice he can find, any orifice. “You’re startin’ to taste so much sweeter, baby- fuh-feels like you’re gonna cum on my tongue.”
Bucking, “I am I am- ngh, I’m so fucking close.”
“Mmmm—just need to hit that p-pretty lil’ g-spot, don’t I?” At that surprised look you’re throwing down at him, “What? Just because m’a virgin doesn’t mean that I’m- ngh, unknowledgeable. I read up on it y’know…”
“And what exactly did you read up on it, Choso?” You can’t help but ask.
“That I need to find that spot and you’ll feel—” The circle of his tongue piercing draaaags so lecherously, right on time with one of his silver rings inside of you. The cold material makes your pupils swirl inside the whites of your eyes, and you almost don’t hear his next words. “-like c-cumming on my face-”
Jostled up by him-
“Please tell me where it is, baby.” He begs, words nearly drowned out by the squelches! of him hammerin’ two fingers away inside of you. “Please- please I want you to cum on my face. I promise I’ll be good…after, just let me know where-”
“Fuh-fuuuuck, Choso.” You’re bawling out, that fire starting out at the pit of your stomach. “You’re just too much- think m’gonna cum soon n’- hck! my g-spot should be…”
He moves, fingers twitching excitedly inside of you.
“-right- up.”
And he’s probin’ into your sweetest spot perfectly—just perfectly.
The roughened knobs of his fingers stick against your bundle of nerves, and you’re feeling a sudden surge of pleasure that makes you see pure white- before you’re throwing your head back and announcing your high. “C-cumming-” You gurgle out, “Oh my god- m’cumming, Choso.”
“H-heh…all on my tongue.” The dark-haired man declares smugly - just as he’d expected, you’d toppled over the edge. He told you he could taste it. “More, baby- more. Ride your orgasm out on my tongue, will you?”
“Doing so…”
Fucking you with his hands.
Not only were you gripping Choso’s long locks in two places and using him to bounce your hips backwards, but he was elongating your high with not two- not three- but four ringed fingers bullied between your tender pussylips.
Just plain mean. The sheer stretch of it was just incredible, and he was openin’ you up like never before.
Eating you out like never before.
You’re feeling wet tears roll down your cheeks at the feeling of his tastebuds rolling over your throbbing clit—slurp-slurp-slurp! Precisely whenever it felt like a peak of your bliss was coming onwards, and that only left you more gone on his tongue. “Feels good like this, doesn’t it, baby?” With a sloppy noise, he then continues to suck on your clit. “Mmmm- not bad for a first timer.”
“P-perhaps.” You didn’t even know what else to say. You’re shivering throughout your entire body when he slobbers his tongue over from your clit to start pricking n’ prodding at your hole. “Shit- y’know my high’s almost over, right, Choso?”
“I know.”
And yet he still doesn’t stop.
Not until you’re left fucked utterly dumb on his mouth, not until he’s letting you ride through your entire orgasm and then some, not until he has you in actual tears of overstimulation-
“P-please-” You couldn’t believe how you sounded at this point - you. Queen Bee. Things always went your way- but now you were at Choso’s complete and utter mercy. “Give your mouth a little rest, Cho-”
He seethes, as if offended. “I don’t even need to breathe when I have your pussy on me, you think I’d stop because m’jaws fuckin’ tired, baby?”
Blubbering, “Maybe not- but hck! if you slow down now then I’ll have more stamina for ah- something else…” For him? You’d have stamina regardless, but the lil’ warning worked in getting Choso to unglue his pierced lips from your pussy with a final mwah!
And it was the loudest, most sinful noise you’ve heard in your entire life.
Enough to get you to shake with arousal, and for Choso to use his strong arms n’ seat you down on his lap. With your legs straddling his slender waist now, he’s sitting up.
Staring down at you through heavy half-lidded eyes, “You were saying…?”
“I was saying.”
He just looked too sexy like this.
Long hair all rumpled with you running your fingers through them. His eyes faintly misty and sex-crazed. More than half his face was gleaming with your syrupy slick. Lips puffy. Eyeliner smeared. Rings all stained with a few layers of your sap that he licks right off- all while looking straight into your dilated pupils.
Your cunt throbs.
Eager to get him back for this, you’re tearing off Choso’s t-shirt of some punk-rock band. And beneath—oh, were you pleasantly surprised.
You’d somewhat expected Choso to be one of those types that were silently muscular, silently toned, silently so strong.
Your eyes greedily followed the curves and dips of his sculpted front, and realize that he was blushed all the way down to his prominent pecs. You reach out and touch the spattering of star-like freckles across them, and then so on forth to his…nipple piercings.
Your thumb snags on the glinting bar that pierced his left pec- and he hisses.
“Oh my-” You’re cooing, “S’this for me, too?”
“Y-yes.”
You push him down flatly onto the bed, making his pillows puff up with the pressure. Your hands then sensually caress the ladder-like ridges of his abs - all smoooooth and rippling at your touch.
Down, down, dooooown to ultimately end up buried in his slightly unruly happy trail. “It’s always the quiet ones, huh?” His breath hitches once you start fiddling with his jeans, tugging—pulling. “Who would’ve thought that cute lil’ Choso Kamo, always so quiet and shy, would be like this.” Your mouth waters as his pants start loosening, “That he’d be so, so…”
Big.
There was no other adjective for it.
Choso Kamo was simply so big - just the prettiest rose-red at his tip, all engorged that it was as if every ounce of blood in his body had ended up at his cock instead. A few puffy veins. Just the barest curls of brown at his base. His erection stood looooong and upright, dribblin’ out a few lines of precum at the intensity of your stare.
And there- right in the middle of his shaft was a circular piercing that sat snugly underneath a particularly prominent vein. Winking up at you like it couldn’t wait to feel you.
And even from here, you could tell that Choso was already the type to be so sensitive-
“D-don’t-” To your surprise, his right hand snakes down and ends up at your throat. Gently holding you back from getting any nearer to his raging hot cock.
You’re mentally counting about ten of his inches- maybe eleven?! And you look up at him in slight confusion.
He clears his throat, “I mean- it’s just that I know what you’re thinking. But the thing is, if you put your lips on me now then m’just gonna…cum…instantly.”
Your brows raise damn near to your hairline, “What if I want that then?”
“I’ll beg you not to.”
“Beg.”
“Please, ma’am- fuck-” You’ve just made that punk-rock boy beg—and not only that, whilst he was midway through his pleading, you’d made him throw his head back with the cutest whine.
How?
Simply swervin’ your hips over his aching hot length, and whilst Choso had been talking- you’d just runnnnn your glossy pussylips down the thickness of his length. Simply sandwiched between your folds, he’d felt so thick and solid against your entrance.
Throb-throb-throbbing away.
It’d only left you…ravenous for more-
“Need you to fuck me now, Cho.” You lean in to tell him, your breath scorching against his face. And Choso had the urge to lean up and lick those dried tears off your cheeks. “Want you inside me so fucking bad-”
“Fuh-fuck- don’t talk like that.” He’s urgently saying, head snapping downwards.
And you’re following his gaze just to find that Choso’s bawling divot had started pouring out bead after bead of gooey white sap at your words. Simply your words. He was almost on the verge of cumming at your words.
And oh- how he both loves and hates that mischievous smile that spreads across your pretty face. “But it’s just the truth, Cho.” Batting your lashes up at him, “I just really want you inside-”
“Please-”
“Always wanted you inside-”
“I w-won’t go easy-”
“Always dreamt of you inside- oh, fuck.”
It’s the last thing your nasty mouth can get out before Choso’s grabbing onto either side of your shoulders and shoving his thick, aching cock inside of you.
Just a single inch, perhaps not even that.
Just the slightest intrusion.
And it’s so sexy that you almost wished you recorded the way he’s letting his toned chest heave with a gasp, the way he’s flushing all the way down to his roots, the way that Choso’s entire body seems to zap with sultry lightning—a mere pause.
You could almost feel the question that hangs in the air - so this is what you feel like?
Before then he’s shoving and shoving.
Like he’s gone absolutely wild- “Fuck-” Choso spits between his honed teeth, “Fuck- hold still.” Grabbing onto you anywhere, everywhere—just anything that would keep you there while he tried to fuck his cock inside you until your sweetened sap is overspilling. “Hold still, hold still, hold—” You weren’t even prepared to accommodate him, and yet you can feel an inch or so more of his thickness funnel inside. “—still.”
“Oh my- oh my god!” You’re thrashing at the sudden pressure being put on your lower half, but Choso’s keeping his hold firm. He’s pinning you down. He’s not letting you move a single inch. He’s not even giving you a mere warning before reeling his puffy inches back-
Your eyes snap open, and you’re just about to ask whether he was pulling back.
-before Choso’s snapping his hips to yours and only tunneling that globular tip of his even deeper. “Hold still.” He spits down a splat! accurately onto your cunt, “You- you just need to hold still.”
It was like a mantra. You’re shivering at the tone of his voice.
There was a certain roughness to his words, a certain primal want in them that you’ve never heard from Choso before. Or anyone, ever, really.
It made your heard damn near beat out of your chest, and your fingers tremor as you reach up to him. Gliding away the sweaty bangs that obscure Choso’s gaze, “What did you say now, baby?”
“I said-” And you can only gasp as he lunges his hips back a few more inches, barely even letting your cunt constrict around nothing before he’s pushing in with a deep thwack! It’s enough to make your body lurch at the sudden intrusion- to which Choso’s tightening his grip on you until he was white-knuckled. “-hold. Still.”
But how could you possibly hold still when you were stuffed in so tight that you barely felt like you could even breathe. Could barely even keep it together. Could barely do anything but arch your back and-
“Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you to hold still?”
Your jaw drops, turning your head down to look at him—weren’t you supposed to be the mean one out of you two? “You did, but-”
“Then hold—” Clearly feeling that he needed to up the ante, both his hands detach from your sides. You could already feel the steam wafting out from where his touch had once been, and those very same rude palms waste no time ending up…laced on top of your crowned scalp. “-fucking-” Using the leverage to push you down onto his drilling hips, “-still.”
He finally looks up at you then - finally.
And what you see shakes you to your very core.
Because Choso Kamo’s pupils were dilated until it looked almost animalistic, in a way you didn’t even know was possible for a human. He looked crazed. He looked hungry. He looked as if he was on the verge of devouring you whole right then and there.
And then he’s fucking you like it, too.
Rough, rapid half-thrusts just to fit inside.
Fuck—Choso’s throbbing circumference was just too fucking big to bottom out immediately. But he’s sloppily dragging down your channel until he was just about halfway inside, with the knob of his silver piercing tickling your entrance.
With a gruff groan, he swipes that frigid metal ‘round your hole as if claiming you. The shy man hisses at the resistance of your cunt before holding you down and pushing- “Hold still before I fucking c-cum.”
“Oh-” You’re gasping, “So that’s why-”
“Fuck- actually, don’t even speak.” And you’re quickly understanding why when even the mere sound of your whiny voice leaves Choso’s bludgeoning tip twitching.
Hard and fast.
Desperate and needy.
Like he was trying to claim even the slightest ounce of space inside you, Choso bucks his hips and lets his dewy eyes flutter shut. Mouth falling agape, “Shut up and take it. D-don’t test me, baby.” With the hand plastered on top of your scalp, he’s ramming you right back down to meet his hips. “Not unless you want me to cum i-inside right this very second.”
“But what if I do?”
“Fuck…fucking- shut—” Shutting you up by a ringed thumb pushed into your mouth, it was just so easy for him to reach down from your crown. Preventing you from talking back, preventing you from running, preventing you from doing any fucking thing but taking his thickly massive cock.
Ignoring those words of yours that were definitely riling him up, Choso instead focuses on letting his blushin’ tip scrape at your g-spot.
It leaves you absolutely incoherent, squealing ‘round the intrusion of his thumb. “Please-” You’re somehow managing out, “Please I- hck! love it like that- would love it even more if you would cum in-”
“Fucking- I can’t even—” And he just sounds so agonized as he drills up into you like a madman - Choso’s oversensitive cock wasn’t even ready to, didn’t even think he could handle it. And yet he’s doing so to prevent you from yammering on with those filthy words of yours. Choso’s crying out. “Is that you or her talking- you or her—stop talkin’ outta your pussy, baby, s’gonna drive me w-wild.”
Blinking away your tears, the edge of his thumb had slipped out of your mouth by now. Drawing a splattering smear of saliva, “And here I thought you said you were g-going to let me have my way-”
“Did I say that?” As he pauses to think, you could see the brief glimmer of human recognition spark in Choso’s deep irises. “Can’t remember, heh.”
“You little-”
You’re cut off by your own surprised yelp, because in absolutely no time- Choso has your positions flipped over. It was you that had your back against the mattress now, being pushed further and further in the direction of the headboard any time he moved.
And Choso was just lurking above you, was just pinning you down with his mere muscular weight.
He didn’t even have to try to halt your restless hips in their pursuit, and throws your legs over his shoulders easily to fuck you in the meanest mating press possible.
Your ass against his thighs, his forehead bending down to press against yours.
This angle was just perfect.
In absolutely no time, his rounded cockhead was bludgeoning against every sweet orifice on your walls. Before he’s ultimately slide-slide-sliiiiding down to dig his circular girth against your cervix- with a great thud! that sets your teeth on edge.
His pale hips slam into yours again and again and again- “H-hold still.” Just about the only thing that he could get out now, right between those clenched canines of his. It was more on autopilot than anything, because you weren’t moving a single inch- and yet Choso was already so gone on your cunt that he couldn’t stop babbling. “Didn’t I tell you to stop moving- oh, this sweet pussy…she’s just being so filthy f’me.”
“And you’re just being so pussydrunk, Cho.” You’re somehow giggling out, though he’s slowly fucking that laughter out with a rough few slams at your deepest depths.
Not slowing down until you couldn’t help but feel his bruisin’ tip even after he’s pulled out, just to sink all the way back in again. “Hold- fucking- still—”
“I am.”
“Wh-what do you even mean?” Sounding genuinely confused, genuinely so dazed. You’re sure that if you squeezed your soft, velvety walls this very second then Choso would completely forget the last few seconds of your conversation.
Almost to test it - you do.
And you watch as the dark-haired man immediately drops his head to the crook of your neck, clammy skin-against-skin. You watch as he shivers, you watch as he only raises his face to stare at you with bleary eyes. “Wh-what were we talking about again, baby…?” And even more so- you’re raising both your hands up to toy with the glinting silver of Choso’s nipple piercings, rolling your fingers over his rosy buds. And you watch as an even more dopey expression overcomes his features, “We were nght—talking?”
Even his syllables were slurring together. You had to bite back a giggle, “Just talking about how much I wanted you to fill me- ngh- up.” You’re tugging and teasing his cute nipples, he lets off the prettiest short gasps any time you’re pressing down on the pierced nubs of his nipples like a button. “You can cum inside right now if you wanted, Cho.”
“R-right…” And his eyes grow just a bit clearer, he’s nodding as if he remembered exactly what you meant. Scouring one hand off your head and down the middle of your core, “Right- was talking about how I wanted to fill this ngh- cute womb up like craaaaazy- weren’t we?”
“Yes- fuck yes.” You’re moaning as his speed suddenly grows even faster.
“And we were talking about how m’gonna cum any second now?” He presses down on the top of your stomach as he pounds past your geysering orifice, creating the perfect pressure that makes the both of you whimper. “And how m’gonna be the one to cuh-cum first?”
“Yes- yes-”
“Because m’so patheeeeetic on this pussy, aren’t I?” An almost crazed tone in his voice, something that sends zaps of electricity thrumming through your every vein. “I’d die for her- I’d ngh- do anything for her.”
You throw your head back, body arching against his glissading abs. “You…are…oh.” And you didn’t know who was more shattered at this point - you or—
“But you’re not pathetic for wanting this touch-starved loser virgin to fill your cunt up with my cum?”
You.
It was absolutely you.
At least, it was you in this very moment.
Because somewhere in the middle of his vulgar strokes, Choso had somewhat regained his senses. At least enough to make you end up with heart-eyes on his cock, your cunt slobberin’ out any time he’s pulling his hips back.
A great splosh! of sap pathetically spilling out from between your legs leaves him crinkling his nose with a shy chuckle. “Cute.” Before you know it, his hands lift off of your scalp to wrap one at your throat. The other drifts down somewhere between your legs…“You- ngh, reeeeally want me to fill this pretty pussy up, baby?”
And you can’t help but become so-very-honest on his rovering cock, knockin’ against your every sweet spot and aching to knock you up! “Yes-” You blurt through tears, “Yes, I really- ngh, really want you to.”
“Sh-shit, you don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of you saying that.”
You might have been opening your drooling mouth to respond with something, but Choso’s cutting you off by slithering his slender index and thumb between your pussylips and pinching your cute clit. You’re moaning loud enough that you’re sure the party downstairs must have heard- “J-just like that-” Letting your limp limbs twitch with the crackles of pleasure. “Just inside, baby.”
“Mhmmm- inside inside- inside.” Choso’s grunting out after each ravenous roll of his thumb atop your nub. He’s hitting your pelvis a few more times with his, making the slamming of skin echo out into the room. “But you better cum f’me first, baby.”
Your eyes snap wide open, “Why me first-” Speeding up, your g-spot was practically getting bruised by this point.
“Can’t you indulge this loser a little and let me make you cummmm again-” He coos, fingers so fast on your clit that they look like nothing but a blur. “S’all I’ve ever wanted ever since I first- ngh, saw you, y’know? To give this pussy a gooood proper fuckin’ that I knew she wasn’t getting- I might’ve been a virgin but I could learn.”
“And you’d be the- hah, one to do that?”
He’s slamming his globular length into your so hard that your tastebuds sizzle, and you swear you can taste his salty pre at your throat. Choso’s starin’ you deeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you maddeningly, deeply into your eyes whilst he says. “Baby, I already am.”
As he finishes his filthy sentence, Choso purposefully shortens some of his furious thrusts. Because he didn’t even want to wait for the recoil of your spongy womb before he’s pumping in one more, because he wanted to assault your poor throbbing g-spot with his orb piercing. Rubbing and rubbing—
Until you’re finally crashing into your second high of the night.
Such an incredible sensation that you can’t decide which one was better - both of them were the two best in your entire life, however.
“Hold still-” Choso unplasters his hand from your neck, which then moves down to grip at your waist. To keep your waist pinned down to the creaky mattress, “Hold still while I fuh-fuck you like you deserve.” And above all - to let the fat, drivellin’ tip of his cock glide down your g-spot and alllll the way to your womb with absolutely no problem. Again and again. Every peak upon peak being draaaaagged out—“Hold still while- ngh, oh…fuck, I can barely even speak because of her.”
It takes over your body in waves - first your toes that curl, then your thighs that just won’t stop twitching, your heaving chest your muddled mind.
And then finally that mouth of yours that keeps on begging- “Now- now your turn.” Stubbornly, you lock your ankles around the back of Choso’s neck. Not even halfway through your own orgasm before you’re begging for his, “Gonna hold still- so you h-have to do it inside, m’kay, Cho?”
He’s staring at you with such dazed eyes, “Y-yes, ma’am.”
Because you always did get what you wanted.
And the tingles of your high have just barely begun to peter out, before they’re being replaced by the sheer sultry warmth of Choso’s ivory syrup.
The volume.
The way he was flooding you up with only a few vicious strokes.
It oozes out like a never-ending fountain by his strawberry divot, ending up emptied allllll the way near the back of your womb. “Y-yes—” You whine. You pinch Choso’s nipple and he spurts out just a few more pearly beads of cum, “Right there, Cho, want it all deep inside.”
“F-fuck—ngh—” Red-hot. Splashing. Entire body bowing into yours, sweat breaking out across his skin. He scrunches his eyes shut and lets the powerful bliss overtake him, “Oh my god it just feels so- hck! S’even better than I imagined cumming inside you- oh.”
You follow the line of his bleary sight- only to find that Choso was staring where you both were connected.
Your swollen folds. The ring of white ‘round his base.
The fatness of his thumb hovers right down to smear away that cute gloss of white, slurp! “Except in my, mmm, dreams, it was more like—” Though it was for no use, because Choso’s free hand only presses down on your stomach anyway. Until his creamy white cum oozes out of you in slick layers, “-this.”
You’re gaping at the mess he’s made, “And you were telling me to h-hold on-”
“I still am.”
Body moved around by him like a ragdoll, he’s using the hand on your stomach to pin you down. Shoving every solid inch of his cock back and forth—Choso thud-thud-thuds at the goopy wetness of your womb with each of his wads.
Fucking each one inside you.
Webbing up your insides until your toes curl-
His second hand tilts open your jaw and spits- before kissing you, tongue piercing and all. “Wanna take my virginity a second time?”
.
.
.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
“Rise and shine—! The sun is shining! The grass is green! Your father is back from his trip-”
Now, Choso Kamo will say that he isn’t exactly sure what it is that woke him up that morning. Perhaps it was his father’s usual morning call, as one of those people that were much too happy in the early hours. Perhaps it was the warmth at this side, the way he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who it is. Perhaps it’s the way he presses a soft morning kiss on the side of your neck, how it all felt like a dream.
Perhaps it’s the girlish scream.
Two of them. One from his father and one from him.
Sitting up in alarm, Choso’s dragging his blanket further up your partially-covered bodies. Trying (quite futilely) to perhaps cover the nail marks down his back and shoulders, the hickies all over your body, the way both your mouths were still swollen.
Face heating up at Itadori Jin’s wide, gawking eyes from the doorway, “D-dad!” And you start to stir at Choso’s yelp, “Dad, get out-”
“R-right away!”
BANG!
As the thunderous sound of the door closing, you’re lurching up in his bed. Now fully awake, you pull the sheets to your chest. Words nothing but a whisper- sore with all the overuse from last night, “Tell me what I think just happened didn’t just happen…”
Choso opens his mouth to answer (maybe lie and forget this ever happened)-
Before there’s a rapid knock and the door swings wide open once more.
Jin’s pinkish hair makes an appearance, and he keeps his eyes trained shamefully on the floor. Choso starts to protest. You yelp- “Breakfast is downstairs and I’ve made enough for everyone so please stay, okay bye!” He announces over your two voices, and promptly slams the door shut once again.
And you’re left in the silent wake of it—floor rumbling with the vibrations of the door, loud enough that you think you could hear your two thumping heartbeats. Oh my god….
Choso’s the one to break the silence - he kisses you chastely on the lips. “I uh- first day as a couple is going smoothly?”
Sitting up in alarm, Choso’s dragging his blanket further up your partially-clothed bodies. At some point in the night you’d gotten up to make yourselves somewhat presentable and help Yuji clean up after the party. And at some point in the night you’d also kept getting handsy in his room…
It doesn’t take you too long to throw on whatever t-shirt and pyjama pants that Choso hands your way, before admiring just how cute you looked in his clothes…alright maybe it did take long before the two of you were finally ready to make an appearance downstairs. But only because he kept insisting on kisses!
The kitchen quietens down at your entrance, and you’re setting sights on a man that must be no other than Choso’s grandpa- right along with another, younger, one who was the spitting image of Jin. Just slightly rougher around the edges. Tattoos. Piercings- ah, you understood where Choso must’ve gotten his style influenced from.
You’re at their round breakfast table, with his uncle (Sukuna, you hear) on your right, and Choso on your left. The dark-haired man reaches over and runs a hand down your thigh soothingly once conversation starts back up-
“How do you like your eggs, my dear?” Jin asks you, and when you answer he instantly gets to work - waving off your urgent requests to help. “No no- sit, sit! You’re the guest! I always have told Cho here to treat his guests- not that he ever brought anyone over, you’re the first!”
“Certainly- treated her well-” Sukuna coughs out the words only to get elbowed by Wasuke and flicked with egg by Jin. Batting away the concoction, he looks at you by way of explanation. “I’m not a regular uncle, I’m a cool uncle.”
Jin starts up another batch for you, “But anyways- I know we’re just getting to know each other now, my dear, but I do want to thank you for taking care of him.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” You meet Choso’s eyes, and he blushes.
“Awwwww—” Jin, who’d been there to witness the entire thing, starts to flutter about in excitement. He didn’t even care that the eggs were starting to burn- “You two are just dears! Oh, is it too late to show you the baby photographs- tell me it’s not too late!”
Not sure what to say, “I uh…”
“Oh, it’s alright- I’ll just show you the middle school pictures for today and we can save the baby pictures for…also today.” Without waiting for your response, Jin’s disappearing somewhere into the living. Spatula and all. “Yuji, where’s your camera again, my dear?”
Yuji, who’d been shooting smug looks at you two ever since you’d entered calls out- “Should be uh- on the couch?”
And for a second, there’s a moment of peace.
Only for a second, however, you have to remember that this is the Itadori household that you’re in.
And Itadori Jin’s voice thunders from outside the kitchen—“Choso Kamo. Itadori Yuji. Get to the TV room this- instant!” A shiver goes down your own spine despite not being called out, and you wondered just what made the sweet man sound this way.
As a group, everyone in the kitchen rushes along with the boys.
Only to find Jin standing with the camera, plugged into the television, and its screen displaying—
Choso pouring a mountain of shots on their very kitchen table.
Jin deadpans, “Choso…can you explain to me what you are doing in this photo?”
Choso squints at the screen, “That’s not me.”
“That’s not you?”
“…Nope.”
“Okay.” Jin replies easily, “How about these?”
Shuffling through the pictures on the camera - and you have to hold in a nervous laugh at the shots upon shots of shots, of Choso’s band playing at the party last night, of all the rambunctious students dancing, of a few smashed vases that was likely no one but Jin’s - and then, finally, he’s stopping on one.
One of you and Choso—dancing.
So close.
Your foreheads pressed together
Smiles only for one another.
In the peripherals of the shot, you could see people starting to whisper and hoot at the two of you, you could see your own friends squealing excitedly at the fact that it’d finally happened. But there seemed to be a strange world of your own there that no one else could quite penetrate. Choso’s eyes were just sparkling.
He giggles, “Heheh, that’s me…”
A/N. Oh this was so funnnn- thought of Yuji as Greg and was like WAIT-
love can touch us one time
and last for a lifetime
and never let go 'til we're gone .
featuring . jack!lando , rose!reader, titanic au , apocalypse au , strangers to lovers , lovesick lando , reader has ptsd , self indulgent doriane pin + rookie driver mentions , swearing , mild kissing , nods to @spiderbeam's kimi's guide to surviving the apocalypse , no use of y/n , whirlwind romance , soulmates , major character death , tragic ending .
word count . 15.4k
author’s note . she is finally here! an absolutely mammoth to write, holy cow. five times longer than my second longest fic... and I still think it feels rushed lol. i'm happy with how it turned out, but I could spend hours and hours nitpicking and perfecting, so i'll have to settle haha!! this has actually become such a huge part of my life, im sure the titanic sound track will be in my spotify wrapped. cannot recommend listening to the playlist enough, especially if its just the tracks from the movie. as always, let me know thoughts and feelings! Xx
moodboard ꨄ︎ playlist ꨄ︎ series masterlist ꨄ︎ my masterlist
Days 1 through 381: a dry season. Rain has not fallen for over a year; most water sources, including lakes and rivers, have dried up. Access to fresh water is not guaranteed. The sun has become a deadly beacon of light; most days are consumed by a dry heat, nights frigid enough to freeze the Sahara.
A plague, first brought on by the drought conditions, soon combined with a deadly infection from the melted glaciers, has swept across the globe – originating in North America and quickly seeping to the other continents, it infects around three in seven people. Those who manage to survive the plague have become what is known as a Stiff, a generous nickname for their hardened skin and muscles, more sub-human than anything else.
It is currently unknown what about the plague makes Stiffs become violent. Their bloodthirst is unlike anything we have seen before; it is not a hunger or desire for food that drives them – rather, it’s a craving for destruction. Death.
Whilst not pretty to look at, Stiffs tend to move in a herd, favoring a group attack rather than a chase. Some still have their wits about them, preferring to stalk their prey first, waiting to pounce at the best chance. Others aren’t so patient, going for the kill at the earliest opportunity.
Symptoms take around 36-48 hours to fully infect someone, but can be seen within minutes of a bite. The infection is not contagious; it is not airborne – it can only be transferred through contact with blood or mixing saliva. Do not, under any circumstance, kiss a Stiff.
A bite from a Stiff is an assurance of death. No amount of amputation or prayers can save you once your body starts to rot from the inside out. Most last a week before their bones collapse in on themselves. A bullet to the head is the only way to fully terminate them before they reach the end of their life naturally.
Cities have lost out to wildlife, still managing to flourish despite the horrid conditions – it turns out, without human intervention, the natural world thrives upon destruction. Desolate plains lay were humans used to live, consumed by the heat of the sun.
There were only two options – no way around the inevitable – either you hid, trying to get the infection to die out on its own, or you suffered the consequences.
It was a windy wintery morning when you first heard the loud clang! of metal on concrete echo through the empty halls, and the groan that followed. Instinctively, you knew who it was before you had even rounded the corner.
“Jesus,” you mutter, unable to contain the smile the scene in front of you brings. “What the hell have they gotten you doing now?”
Ollie grimaces, curled in on his side against the hard floor. You would almost be concerned about him if you didn’t know how dramatic he was at heart. Offering him a hand up, which he takes without hesitation, you almost have to counteract your body weight so he doesn’t pull you down with him.
He swears under his breath as he regains his footing, long limbs dangling uselessly as his side.
“They said the light was flickering,” he murmurs, dusting off his pants. He tries to steel his expression, to hold onto the little composure he has, but you see straight through it. “Told me I was the tallest. Wouldn't even need a ladder.”
You glance to the side, over at said toppled-over rickety stepladder that he had clearly just fallen off of. The side eye you give him is lethal.
“Where did you even find it?”
“In a random supply cupboard. ‘Just grabbed the first one I saw.”
“That thing looks a hundred years old. The bottom rungs are rusty.”
He blushes, looking away. You watch his hands fidget in his pockets.
“Aren’t you glad it was me who found you, and not some stranger?” you laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly.
“Yeah, sure,” he drawls, picking up the ladder with ease. “Would’ve preferred literally anyone else.”
“At least you fixed it,” you tease. “I would’ve made your life hell if you had fallen off a ladder for nothing.”
The lights, as if sensing your conversation, flicker softly, casting a clinical white shine across the walls.
His lanky frame towers over you, and it hits you all over again just how skinny he is – how everyone here looks the same; famished and gaunt, stuck in this so-called ‘safe haven’ run by the government until something more secure popped up. That look of borderline starvation tended to be a pattern no matter where you went. Everywhere had the same lack of resources, a scarcity of nutritional foods.
It was devastating to watch play out in real time.
He must sense the shift in your expression, moving to comfort you before a loud alarm reverberated through the foyer. It’s not the kind that screams danger, yet you still find yourself on high alert in case there was any.
You knew what the siren was for anyway – it had only gone off twice since you had been here, but it was distinctive enough to root itself into your memory.
“Newcomers,” Ollie mumbles under his breath.
You nod, more out of habit than anything else.
You catch a glimpse at his expression, and he looks almost as nervous as you feel.
What if one of these people got bitten or is somehow infected with something that could take you all out, and they don’t know it? What if one of them is secretly a crazy mass murderer who just wants to kill everyone and take what little resources you do have? What if–
“–hey,” Ollie interrupts, and you're almost sure he can read your mind. “It’s going to be okay, yeah? They wouldn’t let anyone sketchy in.”
You want to laugh, to comment that well they let you in, so how sure can I be? but the words die on your tongue before you can say them out loud.
“I know,” you murmur, unsure why you feel so anxious this time around. A sigh of exhaustion makes its way past your lips. Dawn has barely passed, and yet you could feel the tug of exhaustion deep in your bones. “I should be comforting you, anyway, not the other way around.”
That makes him smile, a childish, goofy thing, and it warms your heart. Not in a romantic way, but in a way that a son looks fondly at his mother, or a proud brother wanting to show off to his sister. In a way that makes you remember how cruel this world has been to such a young soul. In a way that makes you want to scream, to cry, to pray for a better life for him.
He looks at you a moment longer, and you pull him into your chest – or, more so, you fall into his (when did teenage boys get so tall?). It's all limbs, but completely him.
“Shall we go greet them?” Ollie says into your hair, pulling back slightly to see your face.
You nod, laughing quietly to yourself. Even after all this time, he still waits for your approval. You suppose there isn't really anyone else to give it to him anyway.
Navigating the run-down hallways still feels like a vast maze, even after the countless months of being here. The endless lefts and rights always manage to confuse you, but you end up spatting out in the makeshift dorms, where Ollie points out a few extra bunks near yours that weren’t there when you woke up.
You hum just as someone pulls at his sleeve; barely 18-year-old Kimi, so young and full of life. He is buzzing at the prospect of new friends to make (his words), eagerly shoving you both outside of your room and towards the entrance.
There was already a building crowd surrounding the strangers, leaving little room to observe any faces. From what you could see, they looked particularly dirty, which, granted, you don’t know when the last time that they had access to a running shower was.
Ollie starts rattling off descriptions as he sees them, towering over most of the gathered survivors; a young, late-teenage girl with blonde hair and fair skin who you swore you heard introduce herself as Doriane in some form of European accent (French perhaps?); an older man, with greying hair and a grating voice that you could only pinpoint as American, sporting what used to be a bright orange shirt, bloodied and dirtied and frayed at the hem; and two younger men, maybe mid to late 20s, one tall with soft brown hair, one shorter with unruly dark curls, both flaunting incredible tans despite the circumstances – both with British-sounding accents, thick and strong as they come. You hear one introduce himself as Alex, but you don’t catch the names of the other two men.
You nod along, mentally cataloguing Ollie’s somewhat helpful accounts. He makes some comments about it being an odd bunch, which makes you laugh.
“You could say that about anyone here, Ollie. I mean, the three of us don’t exactly scream normality.”
Ollie gasps, offended. “I don’t know about you, but I'm as normal as they come.”
You huff an exaggerated ha! sound as Kimi taps your shoulder.
“I thought they weren’t accepting anyone else?”
“They weren’t going to,” a redhead next to Ollie supplies. “Told us all we’re at max capacity. Rumour is they had to pay their way in. Would’ve been very last minute and desperate on their end.”
Kimi laughs, breaking the tension in your shoulders. “With how much money they spent on this place, what’s a few extra people anyway?”
You grin at him, pulling him into your side. “Ah, Kimi. Many hands make light work. You might finally be able to escape the hell that you find gardening!”
He gasps, playfully shoving you off him before lunging at Ollie. “As long as they don’t bring any Stiffs in!”
Ollie scoffs, chest rich with laughter. “They would never let that happen.”
“Yeah, Kimi, haven’t you learnt by now?”
He laughs too, as the three of you begin a wonder back to your room. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘this place is ahead of its time, the safest joint on earth’ blah blah blah. We'll see about that.”
Ollie lightly elbows his friend. “Oh, Kimi, this place is unsinkable!”
“Unsinkable?” you snort. “It isn’t a boat.”
“You know what I mean!”
The brit starts booing you – loudly, for everyone else to hear. Kimi smiles before joining in. It turns a few heads, earns a few side-eyes.
You scowl at them, begging them to knock it off before I knock you out, but they can see the smile that's fighting its way through.
As their laughter dies down, you feel a prickle on the back of your neck. You know you are being watched; observed. It catches your breath before it hits your throat. Your hand instinctively cups the back of your neck, hoping to provide some comfort – it doesn’t.
Looking over your shoulder, you scan the crowd as it slowly disperses. No one is looking at you anymore – any attention you called was fleeting. You can’t pinpoint where it came from.
Kimi stumbles in front of you, tripping over his own feet, as Ollie cackles at his antics. It pulls you out of whatever momentary trance you had found yourself in, figuring it was nothing important anyway.
At 12:30 PM sharp, lunch is called. Almost instantaneously, as if every soul in the building had been waiting, the hallways become flooded. Families untouched by the disasters outside, childhood friends, roommates. Everyone was accounted for.
The lunch rush was always the same; busy, but not overcrowded. It was a soft bustle of people, despite the heavy foot traffic. Quiet in a way only conformity can be.
The three of you take your usual places in the cafeteria seating. The room isn’t overly glamourous – just a few tables haphazardly scattered and bolted to the ground for security. The fluorescent lights above are low, casting a repressed light-blue tint across the walls. Low chatter floods the room.
It gives the illusion of a place thriving with life.
The food is the same as always. A sandwich with either chicken or turkey that was simultaneously soggy and stale; a piece of fruit of your choosing; and finally, a muesli bar, today laced with mango and yogurt.
It hadn’t changed in the many months that you had been here, and you were sure it wouldn’t be changing any time soon.
Ollie sits to your left, Kimi in front of him. Some random group always fills in the few remaining seats but never bothers to make conversation. Your first week here was a brutal reminder of how clique-y humans become in large group settings.
The spot in front of you remains empty, like a cruel reminder of days past. You don’t let yourself think about Esteban. Not here, not now.
You slam your apple down a little harder than necessary, and you don’t miss the side eye from Ollie. Ever the observer, he is.
More people shuffle in when you feel the back of your neck prickle again. You look up.
He's easier to spot this time. Standing with a few people you don’t recognise, you realise he is one of the new entries. The four of them are arguably much cleaner and more well-presented than this morning.
He stares at you. You stare at him. Evaluating, sizing each other up from across the cafeteria. Neither look away. Neither back down.
You note his curls; free, loosely maintained, as if a hand had just been run through them; his eyes, piercingly green, even at a distance; his shoulders, taut despite the relaxed environment; the facial hair that hasn’t been shaved in at least a week. He seems to be doing the same – admiring, gauging–
“Can you please stop eye-fucking that guy?” Ollie pipes up, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m trying to eat and you’re grossing me out.”
Kimi snickers. It snaps you out of whatever trance you were in, elbowing him in annoyance.
“We weren’t eye fucking,” you mumble half-heartedly, barely believing it yourself.
You look down, forcing yourself to focus on your meal, but you feel his gaze linger, prickling softly at the back of your neck. It’s hardly 30 seconds later when a tray of food enters your field of vision. You look up, and he’s standing right in front of you. Mortified, you freeze.
“Mind if we join you?” he asks, voice velvety and smooth, topped with a grin that knows exactly what it’s doing. For a moment, the table sits in silence – not exactly awkward, but something closely adjacent.
Looking past him to his friends, you nod, not trusting your voice. Giving them all a once-over, you can’t help but think Ollie hit the nail on the head with the descriptions he gave you earlier.
The stranger’s smile grows impossibly bigger, and you feel your cheeks tint pink. He sits in front of you, the girl on your other side, the other young guy next to her, then the older man across from him.
You forced yourself to relax, brushing imaginary lint from your pants just to give your hands something to do.
“I’m Doriane,” the girl offers, a French lilt painting her words. She offers a hand, which you and Ollie both politely shake. Kimi just awkwardly stares, and you apologise on his behalf. At least Ollie remembers the manners you’d taught them. The young guy next to her introduces himself as Alex, and the older guy as Zak. He waves a howdy, scratching his greying beard. He looks worryingly pale, but you chalk it up to having a big day and having real food for the first time in a while, and move on.
You give your name in return, as well as Ollie’s and Kimi’s, who still sits like he’s just remembered he’s a teenage boy, sitting near a very pretty teenage girl. It’s quite the scene.
“That just leaves you,” you say, turning your attention to the man in front of you. You watch the calm rise and fall of his chest, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“Lando,” he says, cool as a nightly breeze.
You repeat it back to him, just to see how it tastes, to try it on for size. You conclude you like the way it feels on your tongue. He hums, holding eye contact, a lazy grin on his face.
Normal conversation flows around you – Ollie asks about Alex’s upbringing; Kimi finally finds it in him to speak to Doriane. But you can’t bring yourself to look away, and Lando can’t either. His head slowly tilts to the side, as if he is beginning to have you all figured out.
“So,” you say, just to break the building tension. “How’d you wind up here?”
“Same as everybody else, I guess.”
You chew on your lip. Your blood thrums beneath your skin. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.”
“Rumour is that you bribed your way in here.”
“I never cared much for rumours. They tend to paint me in a bad light.”
You scoff, though there’s no heat in it. “I wouldn’t give them that much credit. The information must come from some sort of truth.”
That makes him huff something like a laugh. You lunch gets forgotten in front of you, secondary to how mesmerising his eyes were.
“What do you think of this place so far?”
“We haven’t been given a room yet. Told us that we’ll probably get separated.”
Ollie, ever the eavesdropper, interrupts. “We have spare beds in ours. Come stay with us!”
The four of them glance between each other. You can almost hear the conversation they are having with their eyes – whether to trust this new, strange girl and her two odd-bunch sons.
Zak raises his eyebrows, a silent argument. Alex sighs, sick of his antics. Doriane scowls at the American. Lando smirks, then turns to Ollie.
“We would love that,” Lando says. Your two teenage boys let out a sigh of relief. “Only, of course, if it’s okay with you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. You can tell he loves the way it makes you squirm. He loves the tease, the chase.
The attention of the table turns to you. You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Seems like it's been decided on my behalf.”
Ollie squeals then pulls you into a tight side-hug, promising you wouldn’t regret this!, before him, Kimi and Doriane dart off to tell an official. Those kids have far too much energy for midday on a random Tuesday.
“Guess that’s settled, then,” Alex says, collecting trays to be put back. Zak excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Lando.
He looks at you a moment longer, memorising your features. Sharp, yet softened at the edges from stress. Scarred from the horrors you’d been through. Hopeful for the future, but not naive enough to think about better times.
“How about you give me a tour, since no one has offered me one yet?”
You roll your eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Sure, but you better keep up.”
The scrape of the chairs is a welcome distraction from the pounding in your chest. You pass the new teenage trio on the way out, making them promise they would wait for Zak and Alex to show them where the room was. You ignore him as Ollie gives you a suggestive look, eyes darting back and forth between you and your new ‘friend’, as Kimi calls him, adding unnecessary emphasis on the word like there are implications you don’t have an explanation for.
“Stay out of trouble, yeah? We won’t be gone long.” Turning on your heel, you stifle a laugh as Kimi yells not to do anything that he wouldn’t!
“So,” he starts, matching your strides with ease. “You care much for small talk, sweetheart?”
“Depends. And stop calling me that.”
He smiles, a sweet, knowing thing, and you know he sees the blush on your cheeks. He launches into his life story without hesitation.
He tells you about his childhood, where he grew up. About how he was orphaned at 15, no brothers or sisters in that part of the country, so he packed up his stuff, decided on a life of travel, and hasn’t been back there since. “You could just call me a tumbleweed, blowing with the wind,” he laughed, joyous and carefree. He says that’s where Zak came in – Lando was 18 then, in trouble with the police, when the kind American took him under his wing. It was a weird friendship they had – more akin to an uncle and nephew than anything else.
Your footsteps echo around the quiet hallways, in no particular rush to be anywhere. You show him the gardens, the kitchen, the best escape routes. The afternoon stretches around you, his stories both a comfort and a distraction.
For a moment in time, it was just the two of you, strolling lazily throughout the complex.
He tells you about being friends with Alex since they were young, together through teething and crawling. Time, as it so often does, distanced them. They were lucky enough they found each other – by pure coincidence – four weeks into the start of the apocalypse. Doriane was already with Alex at that point, and the four of them became a solid group throughout it all.
You realise then how easy it is to talk to him – his ability to be so carefree was a refreshing change of pace you hadn’t seen in a while.
In return, you tell him about how Kimi wound up in your care when the drought begun; you laughed about the time he rolled his ankle bad enough that you had to go scavenge for medical supplies in the nearest city and ran into Ollie, who tried to seem intimidating, but the youth in his eyes gave him away. After being so sure you were going to trap him when he followed you back to your hideout, he showed you the right way to bandage up Kimi, and the two of them clicked like it was meant to be.
“Esteban took such good care of them both. For a little while we had our own family, the four of us.”
Lando looked at you, really looked, searching for something you weren’t quite sure was there.
You didn’t have to have known him long to see that he was smart. He could do the math; how four turned into three. It was a pretty easy assumption to make, given the current climate. He didn’t say anything, but you could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. You watched as he put it all together.
Either way, whether he realised or not, you didn’t have it in you to talk about what happened. Saying his name was hard enough, let alone confronting the horrors of what he left behind. It was a storm of bad memories and cloudy trauma you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.
You're sure you would tell Lando what happened soon enough, but not here. Not now.
“And then our farm was compromised, this place was built, and we bartered our spot here. That brings us to now.”
He hums, a soft grin spreading across his pretty face.
Since when did you notice when guys were pretty?
Not guys. Just him.
You enter the dorms before you have the chance to explore that any further. Walking over to the one marked 081 atop of the small, glass window, you listen for the commotion inside. Kimi and Ollie always had some antics they were up to.
“Did you time that on purpose? Or is the universe just insanely kind to you?”
You laugh. “I guess we will never know.”
The door opens with a loud click, all heads turning in your direction.
“You’re back!” Doriane grins, mischief painting her expression.
“What did you think of the... tour?” Kimi asks, adding emphasis on the end like it was an inside joke you weren’t a part of.
Lando makes himself comfortable on the one remaining free bed, conveniently the one below yours; you know for a fact those three conniving teens did that on purpose. Little shits.
“It’s not what I would have done with the place, that’s for sure,” Lando drawls, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
“Is that so?” you say. “Pray tell, what would you have changed?”
“Poor customer service. And the bathrooms are horrific; whoever designed them needs to go back to the 70s, where those patterns belong.”
“For someone who is new around here, you sure have a lot to say about how this place is run.”
He smirks. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re the kind of guy who loves the sound of your own voice.”
Ollie cracks a laugh from a couple beds behind Lando, hiding his grin as the latter shoots him an unimpressed glare.
This is going to be interesting, you think. You look up at him again, only to see him already looking at you. The warmth spreading in your stomach is enough to tell you that you are in such deep shit.
You end up spending most of the afternoon in your room with everyone. You watch Doriane and Ollie become fast friends; how Alex looks after her as if she were his own. You see Zak look on with such pride in his eyes. You notice how he excuses himself to the bathroom quite often, though you chalk it up to old age; a malfunctioning bladder, most likely.
Lando lies on his bed, quiet for the most part, absorbing the conversation. Peaceful, completely in his lane.
He looks over at you once, nodding towards the door, posing a silent question.
You nod, needing no time to even consider anything.
He sneaks off first, excusing himself to go for a walk, though no one really pays him any mind. You follow not long after, not even bothering to give an excuse and ignoring the pointed look Kimi gives you. You swore you wouldn’t lie to either of the two, and you weren’t about to break that over something so trivial.
“Took you long enough.”
You scoff, closing the dorm door behind you. “It was barely two minutes.”
“It was a very long two minutes. Absolutely dragged.”
You smile, finding yourself somewhat endeared by his antics.
Knowing that dinner is soon, you can’t help but wander. You lead him again to the gardens, a small greenhouse that holds rows of vegetables and leafy greens for the kitchen. It's warm – comfortably so, given the state of the frigid, stale air in the hallways.
You're not sure where the staff are getting the water from to feed these crops mid-drought, but why question a system that works perfectly? Esteban used to tell you not to fix what isn’t broken. It's a bittersweet thought, but you harshly swallow the lump in your throat.
The only sound is the low buzz of a generator, a nice detox from the constant conversation back in the dorm. And for a while, it stays that way; you find an empty bench and sit with your eyes closed, thighs pressed into the cold metal. Lando has wandered off to God knows where, and you take the moment to breathe. To sit with your thoughts, surrounded by nature (or the closest you have gotten to it in a long time).
You can almost feel your spine decompress from the stress of being a single mother of two. Potentially three, if Kimi works up the courage to make a move on Doriane.
Eventually, your curiosity gets the better of you. You follow the sound of a gentle humming, all the way to Lando, cradling a book of some sort.
“What’ve you got there?”
He looks over at you, almost surprised, sheepish in his movements. “It’s nothing. Just a little sketchbook I have.”
“Can I see what you are drawing?”
“Sure.” You lean over his shoulder, closer than intended, but not overly mad about it. “It’s nothing pretty. ‘Just liked the way the light reflected onto the leaves.”
The sketch was mesmerising. A rough draft sure, but it managed to capture emotions you hadn’t anticipated. The shading, the texture, the details; it shocked you how easily someone could downplay such a talent.
“’Nothing pretty’?” you repeat.
“Yeah. I'm normally much better. Guess I'm just... distracted.”
You hum, still taking in the intricacies of the leaves. Finally, your gaze leaves the page, finding his green eyes already on you. “Lando, it’s...” you feel at a loss of words, settling on stunned silence.
You don’t miss the way his eyes lower to your lips, and how they hover there longer than they should. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry.
You don’t know who long the two of you sit there before the quick chirp chirp over the loudspeakers tells you it’s time for dinner. Whether it was a few seconds, or minutes on end, you aren’t sure, but the conversation abruptly ends there.
“It’s lettuce. Nothing deep, sweetheart.” He tucks the little notebook into his back pocket, and you lead the way out.
Lando’s hand brushes lightly against yours on the walk over to the cafeteria. Light enough to be considered innocent, but there all the same. You ignore the flutter in your stomach, instead opting to greet Kimi as he hands you a tray. The look on his face is priceless, and awfully suggestive. You wonder where he learnt that from – it certainly wasn’t from you. Maybe Ollie taught him some tricks when you weren’t looking.
Dinner passes quietly, without incident, but you know that it’s what is after that counts.
The hum of anticipation vibrates throughout the dining area, as if thrilled by the night's adventures. You know where the evening is leading; you see it in the way Kimi’s knee bounces, frothing to let loose; you see it in the way the table next to yours can barely maintain their composure.
Once every few weeks, the facility hosts a ‘pub night’, more or less against their will. They say it's to boost morale, but most people agree that it’s an excuse for everyone to get drunk, have a good night, and not face any consequences – staff included.
You don’t know where the liquor is sourced – whether it gets shipped to them from some unknown maker, or they have it in bulk storage – but it always seems to come stale and out of date. No one complains, not when it's the one opportunity to forget all your worries, if only for one evening.
Dinner wraps up in a blur, softened by the chatter of expectation. You follow the flow of traffic down a level, then two, with Lando hovering close behind you, the others hot on his tail.
You are immediately met with the smell of beer and regrets and a lively percussion, loose smiles plastered as far as the eye could see. It was the one night you were allowed any fun, and so everyone took advantage of it. A beer is in your hand as soon as you walk in, as if it was an entry requirement. It’s warm and reeks of a good time.
Lando grins, and you see his shoulders relax; he's completely in his element. With a crowd to please and you to embarrass, he sets himself on a mission: he is going to make this the best night of your life.
You watch pairs of hands drumming, strumming and everything in-between as the music swells around you. Accordions, violins, drums, you name it – the whole band brings the atmosphere to life. As it comes to a peak and finish, the growing crowd erupts into applause, taking the moment to catch their breath before continuing dancing. The air is electric. Something you haven’t experienced in a very long time.
For a moment, all feels normal.
Then you feel the tug on your elbow. You don’t have to look to know Lando is pulling you into the middle, the heart of the dancing. You laugh, knowing what he is getting you into. Knowing that you don’t dance, but for him, you might be willing to make an exception.
Wild, for someone you’d hardly known twelve hours.
“I don’t know the steps,” you laugh, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“I don’t either. Just go with it!”
The band begins again, a lively jig with an easy rhythm to it, and you instinctively clap along. The room is warm, rich with joy. And drunkenness. Lando grabs two random drinks from a table in passing, handing one to you – one that has lipstick stains lining the rim. You grimace and pass it to the next person you see. Shots make their way into your hands instead, wafts of pure alcohol burning your nostrils as you down two in a row.
Whatever intolerance you had before the apocalypse had long since burned out – now, two drinks was enough to get you buzzing. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a younger version of you scoffs in disbelief.
People move around you, and Lando's hands find you; one on your waist, one taking your own. He whispers, “Is this, okay?” and waits for a reply before spinning you into oblivion. You squeal at the sensation. The bass beats in time with your heart, thrumming deep in your chest.
Your shoes get lost in the bustle of movement, but you can’t find it in you to care. It was easier, more freeing, to dance without them anyway.
You get pulled closer into his chest as he leads the dance, swaying you back and forth haphazardly. He makes it feel like second nature, despite your messed up timing. His energy is completely and utterly infectious, pulling you into his orbit and waltzing you with such a delicate ease that it hurts your chest.
As the music speeds up, he lets you go, only to fall into an Irish jig himself. You watch as his feet tap the wood in time with the music, laughing to himself. He stops and points to you, and you know what you must do. Your body moves without thought, legs moving below you as if they had a mind of their own.
A crowd begins to gather around you, clapping in time to the music, spurring you on. It feels real, alive, moving with the beating heart of music. You’re grinning, a face-splitting thing leaving your cheeks red and sore. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you felt both completely in your lane and way out of your element. You're coming to learn that that’s just the effect Lando has on you.
Lando’s hands find yours again and pulls you into another spin. This time, you prance circles around each other. Arms interlinked, eyes never leaving the other. He holds you like you're the most fragile thing he has ever had the privilege of holding, whilst simultaneously gripping you tight, afraid to let go.
You curse yourself for feeling empty when his hand inevitably leaves yours. You shouldn’t be longing for a man you just met; it’s highly irresponsible. This is not the time, nor the place, to be letting your guard down for a stranger. It's hard not to, his pure charisma charming its way into your drunk mind.
Breathless, you dust yourself off. “Not too shabby for being so rusty.”
Lando laughs. Fully body, double over laugh. You're sure he’s just being polite; or drunker than you thought.
You look around for the others, coming up empty handed when Lando holds out another drink for you. You wave him off, winding your way through the sea of bodies back to the entrance.
“Hey sugar,” a man drawls in your ear, pulling you into his orbit. His breath fans across your face, a morbid mix of tooth decay and regrets. He stumbles on his own feet, words slurring as he tries to convince you to give him a kiss.
You shove him off you with force, skin crawling where he had gripped on so tight. Coated in a lukewarm sheen of sweat and disgust, your clothes stick to you as you wrap your arms around yourself. All you want it to get out of this room – was that so much to ask?
Lando is behind you in a second, protective like a well-meaning puppy. Standing his ground but not actually scaring anyone. Your cheeks warm at the sentiment.
The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, jaw clicking in dismay. He tuts, muttering a stupid whore under his breath before stalking away to find his next victim.
You feel like you have to shoulder check every other person just to get to the exit, despite the feeling of multiple eyes burning holes in your back. You wouldn’t turn to check if that was true; whether that was out of embarrassment or something else, you weren’t sure. You didn’t take the time to dwell on it.
In the doorway, security tells you that Zak disappeared not long after he arrived, and that Kimi, Ollie and Doriane excused themselves only a little later as well. You finally spotted Alex chatting up a beautiful girl just over the way, and she looked utterly entranced by him.
You sigh into Lando, who is suddenly much closer than you remember. He holds you to his chest, warm and searching your eyes, intense, yet sure of himself. He murmurs an are you okay? and you can hardly find it in you to nod. The proximity steals your breath away, and you feel claustrophobic. You push yourself away, stumbling through the crowd.
The fresh air of the hallway feels less stale than usual, less suffocating than that basement. You take your first real breath in too many hours, shoulders sagging.
“I’m sorry. Did I go too far back there?”
“No,” you sigh, suddenly more sober than you feel. “No. It wasn’t you. It was just... stifling in there.”
He nods, unsure how to respond.
It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds your chest heaving and the distant thump of many feet dancing a lively jig.
“Walk me back?” you ask, extending an arm.
More for balance than anything, you rationalise too only yourself.
He smiles, interlacing himself with you. Your stomach buzzes. You can't tell if it's from him or the alcohol.
You decide you don’t care.
The morning begins with a sigh, and a dull thump against your skull. You don't remember much from the night before, but you remember a hand in yours. You remember feeling warm and wanted. Content, just for the evening. You remember strings of laughter; aching cheeks mixed with full body giggles. And that was enough.
Your feet hit the ground quietly, but you hiss from the effort, hand instinctively cradling your head.
“You hungover too?”
You turn your gaze over at Lando, who looks like he fought death and lost. He groans, pushing himself onto his elbows. The image makes you laugh.
“No. Dunno what you are talking about.”
He smiles, though it looks painful. You watch him look around, taking in his surroundings. “How do you look so good for someone who just woke up hungover?”
Your cheeks heat immediately. “You’re lying.”
“I never lie before breakfast,” he says solemnly, before pausing. “Actually, that’s not true, but I wasn’t lying. Besides, it’s past nine. Where is everyone?”
“Probably at breakfast. Ollie had duties this morning, so the kids probably went with him.”
“Duties? Didn't know living here came with responsibilities.”
“We all have to help, Lando. I'm sure they will give you yours soon enough.”
“What’s the point of the staff then, if we are just doing their jobs?”
That makes you pause. “Dunno, honestly. Though I know well enough not to ask too many questions. They don’t take very kindly to that.”
“Fine. As long as I don’t get jury duty, or something.”
You smile, treading to the bathroom to look at least a little presentable. Matted hair and body odour don’t exactly scream having your life together.
The reflection looking back at you in the mirror looks nothing like the girl you remember. She didn’t have dark circles under her eyes that no amount of sleep could cure. She didn’t have to plaster on a smile that hardly reached her eyes – not like anyone noticed. Esteban would’ve.
The old you didn’t struggle with self-identity every other day, wondering how grief can change a person so much. She looks nothing like the girl Esteban knew, and that was something you couldn't accept – how could you become someone he wouldn’t know?
Would he like the new you? Or resent you for never being able to get over his death? You know he wouldn’t have wanted you to grieve for as long as you had, but you couldn’t just move on with your life like this was normal. Like having him gone was normal.
It felt like an eternity since you last saw him. Since you had to learn to be someone he didn’t know. Since he wanted to chase the light where you couldn’t follow.
Your bare feet had gone numb against the concrete floor, a bone-deep cold winding its way up your shins and into your knees. You sigh, forcing yourself to look away before you have a full identity crisis.
By the time you’ve gotten yourself ready, changed into new, non-alcohol-stained clothes and dealt with your hair, Lando has barely managed to drag himself out of bed.
“C’mon,” you say, offering a hand. “If we aren’t out of the dorms but half past, they’ll come looking for us.”
“No bed rotting allowed?” he scoffs, finally finding his footing. “Wow, less than 24 hours here and I really do hate it.”
You know he doesn’t mean it, bright smile giving him away. His fingers squeeze yours before letting go, searching his bag for something decently presentable. You try not to flinch as the loss of contact.
Lando reaches for the hem of his shirt, back facing you, and pulls it off effortlessly. You struggle to not gasp at how toned it is; pure, tanned muscle ripples across his shoulders as he looks back at you. He grins when he sees you staring.
“Enjoying the view?”
Your face reddens, looking away instantly. You are positively mortified. Striding for the door, you mumble, “I’ll leave without you.”
He gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”
You scoff, embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Oh, but I would.”
“You would leave a poor man with a horrific sense of direction, lost in the maze of these godforsaken hallways?”
“Yes. Without hesitation.”
“Wow,” he says, pulling a simple black tee over his head, “glad to know where your alliances lay.”
The door creaks upon opening, and you have to use half of your body weight just to haul the damn thing ajar. “You coming? Or am I leaving you for dead?”
He looks up at you from tying his laces, an unimpressed glare in his eyes. You ignore the flex of his biceps of he pulls them tight. You don’t appreciate the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. At all.
Kimi was right. You hate that Kimi was right.
Though he never said it out loud, it was in the looks he gave you; the side eyes, the stares that weren’t as subtle as he hoped, the glances that screamed Lando just brushed your waist. What?? Ollie eventually caught on, too. The pair of them burned holes in the back of your head as Lando’s hand landed on the small of your back.
You didn’t even notice at first – it just felt natural, keeping him close. It was only when Ollie’s mouth dropped in disbelief that it clicked for you.
“Close your jaw,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling self-conscious, “you’ll start catching flies with that thing.”
He makes a face at you, but you don’t miss the way his eyes dart back and forth between yours and the placement of Lando’s hand. Kimi has a look on his face like he has something he wants to say but keeps it to himself when you glower at him. You don’t miss the side eyes they give each other, the laughter they barely manage to hold in.
The older Brit notices you tense and moves away without second thought. You look over at him, but he refuses to meet your eyes. In the back of your mind, you curse those stupid teenagers and their stupid, knowing looks getting into your head.
The chatter of the cafeteria dies down momentarily, as if sensing the dilemma in your head and giving you a moment to think.
As you prepare to leave, you pull Lando towards the back of the group headed back towards the dorms. You straggle behind, walking slow enough that you shouldn’t be overheard. The emptiness of the hallway echoes around you, quiet and hollow. It’s both a comfort and a stressor.
He fidgets with his hands, looking anywhere but at you. You clear your throat, but the words don’t come. You don’t even know what you are trying to say.
“So...” he says, the one to break the silence. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”
Your eyes widen. “Yes – I guess so, yeah.”
He takes a deep breath. “I think we should steal–”
“Ollie and Kimi don’t know–”
“–some leftover alcohol– they what?”
“–what they are saying– wait, you want to what?”
“What are you talking about?”
You blunder. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I figured we had a good time last night, so why not steal some alcohol and continue the fun? I think we both deserve to let loose more often.”
“Right,” you say, running your hand down your face. “Right. So that’s actually a horrible idea, Lando. Like we could get kicked out for trying that horrible. It’s happened before, and they won’t make exceptions for new people.”
“Oh. That's a shame.” He scrunches his nose, disappointment clear on his face. “Okay, so what were you saying then?”
You scratch your head, now the one to be avoiding his eyes. “Oh, yeah, right. Nothing, really. Just Ollie and Kimi being two stupid teens. It's nothing really.”
He gives you a funny look, like he has something he wants to say but doesn't know how. Then, taking you by complete surprise, he murmurs your name softly. “Spit it out.”
It doesn’t take much to get you to spill your guts. “They are just being silly, implying you and I are more than friends, but we aren’t, we are just friends – we are friends, right? I mean I think we have been getting along great and I had a great time dancing last night and at no point did I think the chemistry between us was electric or romantic nor did I enjoy your hands on me or the way you looked at me–”
“Hey,” he cuts you off, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We are friends. And I had fun too, dancing with you. It was not at all filled with...”
Sexual tension, you almost finish for him.
He settles on ‘friendly, totally platonic, gestures.’
It makes you laugh, and you see the cheeky smile on his face. “Good. Lando Norris, I'm glad you are my friend.”
His says it back to you, and the genuine rawness in his voice melts your heart, though his grin holds something more.
Zak, who you had yet to see that morning, interrupts. “Lunch is about to be called. Then head office wants to talk to the four of us, Lando.”
Your head snaps to him, caught off-guard by the sneak attack. The Brit nods, stunned into silence, and Zak disappears again.
You look over at Lando, and he returns your shocked expression. “Where did he even come from?” you whisper-giggle, leaning slightly into his space. If he protests to it, he doesn’t show.
“I don’t know!” he laughs, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. “Where did he even go? He just disappeared!”
“He’s an odd one, that man.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Nothing much comes of the afternoon.
Lando and his gang go to the head office, assigned their tasks and officially societal members. They were given the basic rundown; no stealing, no violence, no lollygagging. All things that were common sense for the average folk.
“The only thing of note was Zak not showing up,” Alex said, sitting on his bunk. “It’s very unlike him.”
“He was the one who told us about it, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know,” you chime in.
“He’s been acting weird ever since we got here,” Doriane says from her bed.
“Granted I only met him 36 hours ago, but he just seems like a weird guy in general,” Ollie says, picking at a loose fingernail.
Kimi gasps dramatically. “Do you guys remember those scenes from Stranger Things where they would all get together and explain their experiences and put it all together to form a plan? That’s what this feels like right now!”
The room falls into an awkward silence that no one knows how to break.
His smile drops. “Never mind. Forget I ever spoke.”
“...Anyway,” Lando says, keen to change the subject, “I was given laundry duties.”
“They gave me maintenance,” Alex says, and you know Ollie will be thrilled to finally have a friend.
“I got gardening – just means I get to spend more time annoying Kimi,” Doriane laughs, an evil look spreading across her face. Kimi looks petrified.
“They said Zak got dinner duty, but it’s only every third night?”
“Yeah,” you say, “that’s right. Did they say what crew?”
“I think C crew.”
You groan. “Great. That means he is with me. Can't wait.” Your tone drips with sarcasm, but you can’t deny the idea of becoming close with him; becoming close with someone who has been a role model to Lando. Maybe this could actually work out well.
You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you excuse yourself to the bathroom.
Lando waits one second, then two, waiting to hear the click of the door behind you, ensuring you are out of earshot before turning to Ollie. There was a determined set of his eyebrows, and Ollie wasn’t completely convinced that he wasn’t about to get asked for his blessing.
“Who’s Esteban?”
Ollie gasps quietly, slightly straightening. “How… do you know that name?”
“He was mentioned in passing. She had this look in her eyes, like she knew I wanted to ask more but didn’t want to answer them. Why, what happened with him?”
Ollie does a scan of the area, ensuring you aren’t secretly hiding somewhere. He takes a deep breath, as if preparing to share top secret information – which isn’t completely wrong – before quietly explaining.
“Esteban was friends with her before I was. They were together for years – well, not together together, but you know what I mean. They were literally inseparable, before and during the apocalypse. He was so kind to me when I first joined them, he taught me so much of what of what I know now, on how to survive. But he got bitten, and he begged her to shoot him. He didn’t want to become a zombie, didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she refused.”
Ollie scans Lando’s face like he was looking for something, before looking towards the ground, in somewhat shame. “They had a whole fight, like literaly physical fight before he stole her gun off her and shot himself in the face right at her feet. I wasn’t in the room, but I heard it, and when I went to find her, she wouldn’t move.
“‘Took lots of coaxing just to get her to look away, let alone let go of him. It was wickedly morbid, watching her fall apart whilst standing over his body… anyway, it crushed her. She never talks about it, but I know how much the guilt eats at her.”
Lando sighs, unsure of what to say.
“I’m surprised she said anything to you,” Ollie fills in the gap for him, “she hasn’t spoken about it since it happened. What did she say?”
“She told me that he was really good to you guys, and it was like you were your own little family.”
He exhales. “Yeah, I guess we were. It was hard on all of us, losing him.”
“I’m sorry man. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No. No, it’s good to talk about it, actually – to share the weight. I'm sure she will tell you eventually, anyway.”
Lando nods, words failing him.
“Besides, I hear you two have been awfully cozy.”
Lando freezes. “What? Did she tell you that?”
Ollie laughs. Full body laughs, right in Lando’s face. “God no. She would never say anything. But I mean, you two aren’t exactly subtle. We've all picked up on the flirting.”
Lando grimaces just as you walk back in the room, cheeks warm as the pair pretend nothing ever happened.
After dinner, Lando offers to take you some place new. Somewhere he swears you haven’t been, even after you tell him you have been in every square foot of this place. It wasn’t a huge compound, though the winding hallways made it seem never-ending at times.
He stays close, hardly two steps in front of you for the entirety of the walk. You end up in a stairwell, and the proud grin on his face makes you feel bad for having to break his heart.
“Lando, I've been in here before.”
His face scrunches in confusion.
“The door after the first flight leads to the chef’s quarters. The second story door is restricted access. There is nothing here.”
“You really thought I brought you all this way to an empty stairwell?”
“That what it looks like.”
He hums, pulling out a card from his pocket. A security clearance card.
You gape. “How did you...”
“Do you want to ask questions, or do you wanna see what’s on the other side of that door?”
Rolling your eyes, you him as he winds his way up the first flight, then the second. You laugh to yourself as he can hardly contain his excitement, practically buzzing at the sentiment.
As you reach the landing, he exhales, then swipes the card. A red light turns green, beep in approval. He pushes the door open, revealing... another set of stairs.
“Lando.”
His giddiness remains, untouched by the scenes on the other side of the door.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“What?”
“I said, do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I heard you, just– yeah, sure, I do. What’s going on?”
“Okay, then c’mon,” he says, beckoning you forward. You follow him up the next stairwell, unsure of how he knows this exists, or if he actually knows what's on the other side. He guides up one story, and then another. At the top of the steps, he pauses before the door.
“Give me your hand.”
You look at him, curiosity swirling in your expression. Raising your hand to his outstretched one, your fingers gently brush against his before being held more securely. You can hardly contain the pure joy sitting deep in your chest, levelled only by scepticism.
“Now, I need you to close your eyes.”
“Lando…”
“Go on,” he says, pulling you closer to him. You follow his instruction, squeezing your eyes shut tight.
Fresh air hits your face as you hear the door groan open, the cold breeze sending a shiver down your spine. No longer is the stale stuffiness of the hallways, the uncomfortable warmth of the stairwell.
“Now step up.”
He manoeuvres himself behind you, body heat radiating onto your back. With a hand lingering at the small of your back, he guides you forward and up the last of the stairs. It’s close, intimate in a way you hadn’t felt in so long.
“Hold on to my hand, okay?” he murmurs at the shell of your ear as he moves you forward, playfulness biting at his tone. “Keep your eyes closed. No peeking.”
“I’m not,” you laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. In no world would you have ever imagined finding solace with Lando Norris, a man you met hardly 48 hours ago, whilst in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. And yet, here you were.
“Hold on, keep your eyes closed. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you,” you whisper, words partially lost to the wind. “We already established that.”
He huffs something akin to a laugh, letting go of your hands. He helps you step up onto some kind of railing, feet now fully off the ground, your weight balanced just so. You feel him step up behind you, feet bracketing yours, securing you in place.
His fingers ghost across your waist. It makes you shudder.
His hands move from your hips – as if he was trying to learn every inch of you – up your ribs to trail along your arms, eventually laying to rest on your own. The front of his body is pressed against your back, steady and secure in a way you weren’t expecting. You feel as he loosens your iron grip on the steel, slowly moving them out to extend at your sides, like an aeroplane. The wind whips your hair out of your face, catching on your sleeves. You can’t see, but you imagine it looks magical.
Lando’s fingers intertwine with your own, stretched out, warm, and entirely yours, as he whispers, “you can open your eyes now.”
You do, immediately hit with the soulful pinks and yellows that melt into the fading blue sky. The clouds, shadowed purple yet glowing orange, soften the vibrant sun. Dusk, in her prime, paints the most picturesque scene you had ever seen. It wasn’t often you had a second to appreciate the beauty of nature anymore, so you soaked it in as much as you could.
It's sheer beauty almost brought a tear to your eye. The warmth of the golden rays, mixed with the comfort of Lando, wrapped around you and pressed so close, felt so serene. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so at peace.
His lips brush your cheek; whether it’s on purpose or not, you can’t bring yourself to care.
A gasp falls from your lips, a small, involuntary thing, before a grin splits your face in half. “It’s beautiful, Lando.”
He hums, and you turn your head to look at him – Lando, who is already looking at you, presses impossibly closer. Your faces are mere centimetres apart, tension thick in the air. You don’t dare breathe, or blink, in fear of breaking the moment. The setting sun casts a warm glow over his sleek features, and you can’t help feeling that he looks in his element. Like he belongs exactly where he is.
The moment stands. The trees waiting with bated breath, breeze halting ever-so slightly, as if pausing to see who would make the first move.
You lean in and find his lips before you have the chance to overthink it. He meets you halfway in a sweet tangle of intimacy and romance. He kisses you soft at first, then deep and thorough, surer of himself, as if he had been waiting his entire life for this exact moment. It pulls all the air from your lungs, making your heart pound hard in your chest.
Turning in his hold, your hands find his hair, his around your waist. He sighs into your mouth, the sound both a relief and a blessing. It’s everything you could have ever wanted; completely him, and completely you.
His intensity burns white hot, tingling where skin meets skin. A thumb brushes under your shirt, gripping tight in its embrace. You can’t control the half-moan-half-sigh it elicits from somewhere deep in your throat. Lando tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. Your lips bruised his as you devour him, pouring every ounce of want into the clash. Teeth brushed teeth, possessive in its search for desire.
He pulls away first, practically panting, eyes blown wide. You have to resist the urge to dip your head and press soft kisses down his neck, along his pulse point, just to see what noises you can get from him.
Instead, you laugh, both in shock and satisfaction, and he grins, awfully pleased with himself. It’s the most serene thing you had ever seen.
“Just friends, huh?” he beams, hand pressed against your cheek.
You stick your tongue out, teasing.
The two of you stay like that for a moment longer, wrapped in the others embrace. You realise now how deeply green his eyes really are; specks of gold flicker lightly, but the passion in the emerald burns brighter than you’ve ever seen before.
Turning back to the sunset, you soak in the feeling of his embrace; you memorise the way he fits around you perfectly, as if you were meant to be. Him, toned arms and all, wrapped completely around you, surer of himself now. Steady in his confidence. It's overstimulating in the best way possible – with all your senses kicked into overdrive, the vividness of the moment makes your heart thud in your ears, and you struggle to comprehend even a single thought.
His heart beats wildly behind his ribs. You can feel it, pressed against your shoulders.
The knowledge of how crazy he drives you being mutual is enough to quell anything else on your mind.
The night settles deep into your bones, a quiet breeze cooling your burning skin. It was clear out, the soft wind ensuring the full night sky was on display; if you squinted hard enough, you could spot Jupiter being orbited by its four brightest moons. The constellations were drawn into all kinds of shapes and patterns, differing per creative mind.
You hadn’t seen the stars in so long. You hadn’t realised just how badly you missed them.
Lando’s hands lay resting on your waist, clearly not intending to move any time soon, not that you would let them anyway. He's stayed close, even after shifting to sit on a metal bench. The conversation was light, staggered by comfortable silence.
It's nice, having no responsibilities up there.
You take a deep breath, nuzzling your head further into Lando’s neck. He scoots impossibly closer, his right side pressing into your left.
By now, the sun had well and truly set. If you were to guess, it would be around half-past twelve. The stars blinked lazily above, mesmerising in their simple beauty.
You can feel the rise and fall of Lando’s chest, his breathing soft and even. You time yours with his, moving a hand to his chest if only to feel the beat of his heart. To prove that he was real. That this was real.
“Sketch me like one of your drawings, Lando.”
He hums, and you realise that he was on the brink of falling asleep. “Mmm, so cozy. Don't make me move.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “Please?”
“Lightin’ sucks.”
“Moon’s out. Isn’t that enough?”
He groans, peeling himself off you to get a better position. “Okay. If you insist, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl. Your cheeks heat at the pet name, a bashful smile painting your face pink.
He pulls his sketchbook out of a hidden pocket, a small, measly thing barely held together by a string. The cover, ripped and folded beyond repair with pages falling out every which way. Attached is a tiny grey lead pencil that has been used, run to its death; loved in a way only an artist could. You catch glimpses of a couple pages as he flips through to find an empty spot – glimpses of landscapes, sketched in black and white but vibrant with personality; drawings of everyday objects that bring a little life to the mundane. A vase with a sweet set of lilies – flowers you haven’t seen in years.
“Must be a nice distraction,” you muse, watching his face carefully. He smiles, a ghost of his past quietly emerging. He doesn’t reply – doesn’t need too.
There is no space for art anymore. There hasn’t been for years. No demand for creativity, no want for self-expression. No need for it, not when everyone is too busy trying to survive.
You sit back and observe as he moves to get comfy, sketchbook sitting gently on his leg as his gaze lands on you.
You laugh lightly as he gives you soft guidance on how to pose; he moves your arm above your head, legs crossed slightly over each other, face relaxed but smiling. He makes it hard to sit still, making little quips and jokes as he goes. You watch his expression close; concentration wrapped in adoration; a mix you could spend eternity getting used to if he asked. You realise there isn't much you wouldn’t do, if he asked you to.
You grin at the thought, and it hits you just how far gone you are. It warms something in your chest, a soft, intimate light you hadn’t felt in far too long.
“What could you possibly be smilin’ that?”
“Nothing.”
“No,” he says with a smile so bright it hurts your soul, “you gotta tell me.”
“Nope.”
He groans. “You can’t make me sit out here, in the freezing night, and not tell me what’s got you so happy.”
You watch his face; it’s a study of concentration, of trying to multitask both drawing and conversing at the same time.
“Just you, I guess.”
His hands stop for a second, as if taking a moment to process the information, then do a full body reboot. “Elaborate, please, love.”
You try (and fail) to not let the effect he has on you be shown. “I guess...” you say, stopping to try and gather your thoughts. Some time passes before you speak again.
“It’s been a whirlwind 2 days. Hardly even 48 hours. I mean, we met yesterday morning, for Christ’s sake.”
The scratch of pencil on paper helps sooth your racing heart.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good, Lando. So good. I wouldn’t have it any other way, it’s just... moving so fast, you know?”
He pauses, tracing the curve of your jaw. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to rush this, Lando. I really like you, and I think we could really have something here. I don’t want to ruin this by going too quick.”
“We are in the middle of a literal zombie apocalypse. Time isn’t exact on our side,” he says, looking up at you with a sly grin.
You laugh, shaking out the ache in your arm before moving it back into position. “We have survived this far, haven’t we? Who's to say we won’t make it to the other side?”
His smile falters, pencil tracing just a little too hard. “If there even is another side.”
The comment is grim, but realistic. No one knows when this was going to end; if this was going to end. And if it did, what would the other side entail? Rebuilding society from the ground up?
“Either way, I want to do it by your side. But if we go too fast, we’ll burn up and fizzle out before Kimi grows his first facial hair.”
A soft silence settles. You hear the brush of trees in the distant, the quiet whistle of the wind whipping your hair. The temperature is beginning to drop drastically, and you are starting to wish you brought a thicker jumper.
You watch as he tilts his head, studying the peaks and dips of your body; the ways your hips melt into your thighs, a display of ethereal, self-assured beauty; the arch of your eyebrow, fierce and soft all at once. He doesn’t say anything, but you see the look of adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do much to hide it.
On impulse, you lean over and kiss him. It’s much softer than the one before, less rooted in desire, more grounded in affection. It catches him by surprise, sketchbook slipping out of his hand as it comes up to cup your cheek.
Its sweet, and he sighs into you. You pull away, only to lean your forehead against his. He keeps his eyes closed, as if memorising how you feel when you’re so close to him.
“Lando,” you whisper, just as the pause stretches.
“Mmmph.”
He kisses you deeper. Your skin buzzes. You can feel his touch run deep, embedded in your soul. His hand slide from your face down your neck, across your ribs and settles on your waist. His sketchbook gets abandoned on his lap, favouring his attention onto you.
It’s a small gesture, hardly there unless you’re looking for it, but he pulls you closer. You have to bite down on your lip to stop from making a noise you know you’ll regret. His tongue slots into your mouth, lips parted in a delicious mix of lust and intimacy.
“Lando.”
“Yeah?”
“I–”
A loud bang rings out from behind the door, eerily similar to that of a gunshot. Not close, but enough that you can hear it from your vantage point. Screams follow, and it snaps you both out of the lovesick haze.
You don’t even look back as you sprint for the door. You don’t need to, you know Lando will be hot on your tail.
You take the stairs two at a time, anything to get to them quicker. To Ollie and Kimi, to make sure that they are okay. Getting to them means protecting them, even if it's a false alarm. You must get to them. If they die, it's because you weren’t there. It's because you weren’t–
The first thing that hits you is the sound – this place may have cheaped out on many things, but their alarm system isn’t one of them. A siren groans to life, blaring throughout the echoing halls as you wrench the iron door open. Red lights flash across the walls, fear immediately settling deep in your chest and rattling your bones.
You check your watch; 2:27 AM.
Adrenaline courses through your veins as you sprint towards the dorms. Many sleepy faces emerge from their rooms, curious as to what's going on. They must see you and Lando speed past before retreating out of fear, moving to pack and get the hell out.
You make it back to room 081 within record time. Lando unceremoniously shoves the door open, and you both topple inside, catching them just as they wake.
“What’s going on?” you hear Kimi grumble sleepily, as if this is just a minor inconvenience keeping him from a restful slumber.
“Dunno, but I'm sure it isn’t good,” Ollie returns as he stands, moving sit up on his elbows.
Alex, who was already awake, paces the room. He practically jumps out of his skin when the door slams wide open.
"Is everyone okay?” you say frantically, panic beginning to crawl up your skin. You rush over to Ollie’s bed, cradling his face to reassure he’s real. He's alive, Kimi is alive. Neither of them are hurt.
You do a quick head count. Six. Missing one. Kimi, Ollie, Doriane, Alex, Lando and yourself.
“Six. There's only six of us. Where is the seventh?”
“Who’s missing?” Lando says, letting the door swing shut by itself.
The room holds its breath as each try to account for everyone. Kimi and Doriane share confused glances. Lando, both literally and metaphorically, scratches his head.
Alex’s face drops.
At the same time he comes to the realisation, someone outside the door murmurs about what’s going on, and you catch strings of the conversation.
“We have to leave... it isn’t safe, love...This is because of that new American...”
Your stomach drops at that. Lando looks over at you, guilt written across his face. He doesn’t have to say it out loud, but you can hear what he’s thinking. As soon as you saw the empty bed... you had a feeling. Lando did too.
“He told me he wasn’t feeling great,” Lando whispers, pressing closer to you as if that would take away the grief. “I chalked it up to exhaustion from moving around so much. I should’ve listened.”
“We don’t know anything yet. Nothing is confirmed, okay?” you say, taking his hand in yours. “Once we are safely out of here, we will find him and get some answers.”
But you knew. You knew that he knew, too. Everyone did.
This was all Zak’s fault.
You can hear the commotion outside the door without even needing to see it. And the smell – despite the thick, titanium doors, you can almost feel the scent of rotted, dead bodies, wafting in.
The entire room stiffens for a second, dread seeping in as the six of you realise what’s going on. No one dares to say it out loud; to be the first to put it into words.
You look at Lando. He looks positively terrified.
They've breached the walls.
“Start packing,” Alex murmurs to no one in particular. Falling into a rhythm of quiet chaos, you hurriedly shove essentials into your backpack, layering as many clothes as you can possibly handle.
The alarms continue to blare overhead, violating any sense of peace you’ve ever had; they’re the kind that will ring in your ears, even after ceasing. The kind that sends dread coursing through every vein in your body, making you want to run and scream and cry all at once. The kind that sets off every alarm bell in your body, instinctually telling you that something is deeply, thoroughly wrong.
The unadulterated fear plastered on Ollie’s face makes your stomach turn.
“It’s going to be alright, yeah?” you find yourself reassuring him, as if it was second nature, even if you don’t entirely believe it yourself. “We are going to get out of here, and survive, like we always do.”
He nods, though he doesn't look awfully convinced. Kimi pats him on the back, and you know in your soul they will be okay – they must be. You didn’t come all this way, lose so many people, just for them to not live long and prosperous lives. No, you would ensure they made it out of here alive. Even if it meant that you didn’t.
“I thought this place was supposed to be impenetrable,” Doriane sighs, barely hiding the underlying tremor in her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder.
“Unsinkable,” Kimi and Ollie perk up at the same time. “Jinx!” the Brit smiles, easing the tension in the room, if only for a split second.
“Everyone ready?” Alex asks.
The room collectively nods, taking in a deep breath before pulling up their scarves around their noses. It wasn’t the most effective method, but you were willing to do anything to keep the stench out of your nostrils.
The door clicks open, and you shuffle out single file; Alex in the front, the kids squished in the middle, follow by you, then lastly Lando. His hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you gently, the only consolation you have.
Immediately, the group gets split – there's many, too many people in the hallway. It loud, panic thick in the air, overwhelming if you aren’t careful enough. You swallow the dread sitting high in your throat.
You see Alex stop up ahead, waiting in a doorway to make sure no one has gotten lost. A quick headcount ensures all six of you are there. Continuing forward, you try to not let the dread ebb away at your stomach. It's hard, with this many people surrounding you, not to panic and go apeshit crazy.
The hallways become more crowded by the second. People begin to shove their way forward, as if their lives where more important than your own.
You catch the eye of the kind lady who always gave her kids rations of her own food, ensuring they would grow up strong, even when it came at the expense of her own health. Caroline, you think her name was. She gives you a small nod of acknowledgement, and you return it without question, hoping that she sees the underlying hope of their escape, their safety.
She disappears into the crowd, most of which are dressed in their pyjamas. It hurts your soul to know that some of them won’t make it out alive.
You follow the kids into a quieter hallway, just for a second to breathe. You have to keep moving. Any second stationary is a second wasted. Time was not on your side.
“We got everyone?” You say to no one, chest rising and falling with the flow of foot traffic. “We need to keep going. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“Wait, I've only counted five,” Doriane quietly says to you. “Who are we missing?”
Five? How have you gone from seven to five? You look around – Kimi, attached to Lando. Doriane, on your left. Alex on your right. Kimi, Lando, Doriane, Alex and yourself. Who was missing?
You freeze. Dread pulls at your ribs, nausea clouding your brain.
“Ollie...” you mumble, already feeling panic claw up your throat, breathing coming in ragged pants.
“What?” Lando asks. He can see the dread stirring in your chest, creeping up your neck. “What’s going on?”
Guilt churned violently in your gut, mixing with the nausea already boiling there.
“Ollie is lost.”
He pauses at that. “...what?”
You were crying. Full, hot tears staining your cheeks.
“Ollie is gone,” you choke out. “He’s gone. He isn’t here. Lando, Ollie isn’t here.”
“We need to go,” Alex mutters, pulling his backpack tighter around his shoulders. The thought make you want to throw up.
“Alex, we can’t just leave–” Your voice broke. It cracked wide open, splitting something deep in your chest as a sob slipped out before you could stop it. You sucked in a choked breath, mortified as your vision blurs.
“Hey,” Lando murmurs, voice steely despite the shakiness in his gaze. “Hey, look at me. Look at me.”
You try to take deep, steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It does little to quell the guilt. “I’m sure he’s fine, somewhere safe and secure. He's a smart kid, yeah?”
Your hands were shaking. The overhead alarms made the pounding in your head impossible to ignore. Your eyes are stinging, cheeks glowing.
“We have to go look for him,” Kimi whispers, hardly audible. You look over at him. The expression on his face burns into your mind; utterly traumatised, and probably in need of a long hug. Your throat constricts.
Doriane recoils – physically recoils from her friend. “What? That’s potentially the stupidest idea. It could kill us all!”
You claw at your chest, hoping for some relief of the tightness nesting between your ribs. You can’t breathe; it’s all too much, all at once. You’re sure you groan, but you can’t hear it. Everything has gone fuzzy at the edges.
An argument ensues around you, as you force yourself back to reality. Get yourself together, you think, fingers squeezing your skull. Compartmentalise. Find Ollie and get the fuck out.
You hear Alex defend Doriane, not willing to put the five of you at risk for one person. Five lives for one. It isn’t a fair deal! Lando tells them they are more than welcome to save themselves, but he would look for Ollie. Kimi backs him up, despite the tremor in his hands. As if any of this is fair, Alex. How are you willing to abandon him? He's just a kid!
You feel Alex shake your shoulders, trying to snap you back to reality. He whispers something in your ear, but you miss it. You feel Doriane wrap herself around you, making you promise to stay safe.
A nod is the best you can muster for her.
The two disappear before you can even comprehend the situation.
Lando’s hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you in Ollie’s last known direction. At first you protest, unwilling to move.
“We need to go,” he says, not unkindly, tugging you a little harder.
Kimi nods in your peripheral, dread evident on your face.
Fresh tears blurred your vision, spilling without permission, chest hitching as you followed Lando into the sea of bodies, Kimi keeping his hand interlinked with your own. Heads turned, faces twisted in confusion as the three of you pushed through in the wrong direction, headed away from the exit. Towards the danger.
Get yourself together.
A steady shoulder checks turns into slow jogging, into a panicked run. As the crowd thinned, the smell got stronger. The stench of rotten skin overwhelms you, overriding all your other senses. The thin fabric of your scarf does little to protect your nose from the burning the odour causes.
You knew they were close. They weren’t fast, but by now there would be many. If there was a group of them, you were walking into a death sentence. You can practically hear the cracking of their muscles over the muted screams echoing against the linoleum floors.
Corner by corner, you weaved your way through the extensive hallways, following the smell. A body lies in front of a door. A young man, presumably bled out from an over-eager Stiff biting too hard. Another around the next hallway, missing a chunk of her neck. A third, still alive, hardly holding on. A bloody crescent of teeth marks bruises her leg. You know there is no saving her.
The bodies pile up the further you go. You can see how much it is killing Kimi to have to search for Ollie in them.
Door after door whizzes past, none more important than the rest. Dorms, kitchens, bathrooms. Security.
Security. You recognise the different handle, how it doesn't stand out much against the rest, but if you knew where to look, you’d spot it. You spotted it.
“Wait,” you murmur, tugging yourself free from their grip and heading for that door without question.
Lando calls your name, unwilling to stop, to hear you out.
The handle was locked. Taking a deep breath, you tensed your shoulders. One step back, then two, then three. You throw your weight at the door. You hit it with a sickening thud. Your collarbone cracks.
The hinges don’t budge.
“What are you doing?” Kimi shrieks. “We need to go, now!”
“Weapons,” is all you say before throwing your body weight at it again. It gives in a little. You go again. And again. And again, until your shoulder aches and you’re sure it’s dislocated.
Cmon, you mutter for only yourself. It's splintering. One more and it gives.
The smell was becoming unbearable. So strong you could almost taste it.
With a battle cry, you sprint at the door. You hit it hard. The door cracks open, splintered locks thrown across the floor. You have to bite your lip to stop from screaming out in pain. If you weren’t sure about your shoulder before, you're certain about it now.
The inside is decked out with military-grade equipment; short- and long-range guns, grenades, sonar pulses, everything of the sort.
You holster a hunting knife to your left thigh, a switch blade to your right, and a pistol to hold. Kimi grabs a flare gun for his bag, a shot gun for his hands. Lando hesitates before choosing a revolver and a semi-automatic.
A scream comes from the hallway. Something no longer human.
“Kimi!”
The three of you stop dead in your tracks.
“Ollie?” he breathes before sprinting out. “Ollie! OLLIE!”
“Kimi, WAIT!”
You and Lando share a look before running after him. You cradle your shoulder the best you can, ignoring it in favour of following Kimi. Of protecting him, getting him out alive.
It breaks your heart to hear the two teenagers scream for each other. Chocking back a sob, you force yourself forward.
You round a corner and almost run square into Kimi. He's standing deathly still, gaping at the site in front of him, shotgun dropped at his feet. Your heart pounds in your ears and across your back.
Three Stiffs kneel around Ollie’s body on the ground as he shrieks in pain. Kimi whimpers.
One looks up at the noise, letting out the most horrifying shriek you had ever heard. It made your ears ring harder than the alarms ever had.
Lando fires three shots without thinking. The Stiffs go down without a fight, thudding lifelessly to the floor. A cloud of dust (or decomposed skin?) puffs into the air as they do, and you see the pool of blood surrounding Ollie. His skin is deathly pale, breathing short and ragged. He looks like death.
Your heart shatters. Ollie, your Ollie, was dying because of your negligence. Because you let him out of your sight. You let him get bit.
“Kimi,” he sobs, reaching a shaky hand out towards his friend.
It happens in milliseconds.
Kimi, just a naive kid, reaches for him, for his best friend, wanting to comfort him in a time of need, stepping closer. Lando, who knows better, moves to pull his arm away.
Instead of Ollie grabbing Kimi’s arm, who stumbles backwards into you from the force that Lando pushed him away with, he grabs the older males.
The sickening crunch of teeth on flesh echoes in the hallway.
Your stomach plummets to the floor.
The pistol is in your hand before you think. You fire one shot, and it hits Ollie square in the chest. Not enough to kill. The adrenaline is gone as quickly as it came. Your hands shake, and you can’t aim clearly. Miss by a little, and you hit Lando.
Kimi screams at you to stop! Stop it YOU’RE HURTING HIM! He grips your arm, fingers digging into skin, forcing your hand down – forcing the gun away from Ollie.
Another gunshot rings through the air, but not one of yours. Lando, now bleeding profusely from his forearm, shot Ollie in the side of the head.
the kid’s jaw immediately goes lax, letting go of Lando’s arm. He slumps, brains scattering across the wall.
The room falls eerily silent, your ears ringing from the gunshots and alarms and shrieking. Kimi turns around and throws up.
Your own stomach clenches violently. “Jesus,” you huff, barely managing to keep down the bile rising in your throat. Your hand, trembling, covers your mouth. You didn’t even realise you were shaking.
Lando pants, dropping his hands to his side. The gun falls with a clatter onto the concrete, his fingers losing all strength. They flex at his side, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. What to do with himself.
He just killed Ollie. Your Ollie, dead on the floor in front of you.
You hug Lando before you can think. He pulls you close, hugs you tight against his chest. You feel his exhale rattle against your chest; his heartbeat thudding wildly behind his ribs. He smells of violence and metal and death.
No one says it out loud, but you are all thinking the same thing; Lando is a dead man walking.
“You two need to go,” he murmurs into your hair, hand stroking the back of your head gently before pulling away. He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking across your face, as if memorising every little detail. “You need to go before I can hurt you.”
“Lando...” your voice cracks. A sob pulls at your chest, hands gripping his shirt with no intention of letting go. You look down, only to be met with Ollie’s lifeless eyes.
You gag, immediately feeling guilt gnaw at the pit in your stomach. More than anything, the smell has overridden your ability to think clearly. Gunpowder doesn’t mix well with decaying skin.
“You need to go,” Lando repeats, putting his hands on your face. The gentle stroke of his thumb across your cheek bone is a stark contrast to the harshness in his tone. His eyes plead with you. You know he’s right.
Kimi retches again, but nothing comes up. He stays doubled over in the corner, body folding in on itself. The force of it makes him rock back and forth as tears stream down his cheeks.
Your head swivels between the two. A decision is made for you.
“Kimi,” you say, moving to grip his shoulders. “Kimi, we need to leave. Now.”
You hear the tremble in his breath as he forces himself to stand, leaning against the wall.
“Wait.”
You turn around. Devastation drowns Lando’s expression.
“Shoot me.”
You swallow down acid. “What?”
“Please,” he begs, all but dropping to his knees. “Please, love. I don’t want to turn into one of them.”
Your hand trembles towards your thigh.
“I... I can’t, Lando.”
“Please.”
He closes his eyes, anguish ruining his stature.
You don’t think. You stride over to him, press a soft kiss to his lips, and sigh into him. He exhales into you, but breaks away and takes a step back. Before he does, you feel it; the slip of a sketchbook into your pocket. He wants his memory to live and die with you. The thought makes you sick.
His hand finds yours; fingers wrap around the gun, and he guides the barrel to rest on his forehead.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, looking the most at peace you had ever seen.
Kimi watches on in horror, unable to look away.
You close your eyes. Your hands shake. Your stomach flips.
You pull the trigger before you can think about it.
The noise echoes throughout the quiet hallway. All that remains in your unsteady breathing, silent tears streaking down your face. At least, it sounds quiet – when did the alarms stop? Or was the ringing in your ears so bad you couldn’t hear it anymore?
Grief claws up your throat, begging for release, anger and fear tangling so badly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Kimi goes to say something but is cut off by thundering footsteps headed your way.
You don’t have time to grieve. Not here, not now. You know there is more Stiffs nearby – there has to be. They move in a herd. Three would never be the extent.
You get to Kimi's side, sliding his arm around your shoulders, then point the gun towards the corner.
You wait with bated breath. The footsteps grow louder, more frantic. Your hands shake, finger ready to pull the trigger.
Alex comes full speed around the corner, Doriane hot on his heels. You drop the pistol in relief, clattering to the ground with a loud clacking, instantly sobbing at the site of help.
“You came back,” Kimi cries, collapsing in on himself. You struggle to hold up his weight. “You guys came back for us.”
The shock registers on their faces, taking in the scene behind you. You watch as they see Ollie, slumped against the wall and dead eyed; then Lando, crumpled on the ground with a bullet through his skull. His blood is still pooling, slowly inching closer to your shoes. You want to let it stain you, as if to prove that this was real – that he was real. Just to feel something.
You can hear the words Alex is internalising; what if he had stayed? Could he have saved them?
Two men, hardly given the chance to grow into themselves before death was thrust upon them. Before their lives were stripped away, added to the tally of millions killed for nothing.
You hope that there, in death, they will find peace. That they will finally get the happy ending they deserve so badly.
Maybe in the next life, you will too.
Maybe in the next life, there won’t be any pain and suffering. Maybe you’ll get to spend more than 48 hours with your soulmate before his is ripped from you.
Maybe then you will find serenity in the stillness, enjoying the quiet.
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 you’ve known yuuji itadori since the days where he was all scrapes and bleeding knees. you’ve loved him since the day he first called you pretty and saved you the last red popsicle. you’ve never been able to have him, because your best friend and his little sister has always stood in the way (2.3K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. college au, not canon compliant, characters in 20s, mutual pining, friends to lovers, forbidden romance, jealousy, small legal age gap (2 years), dry humping, car sex, clothed sex, best friend’s older brother yuuji itadori & fem reader.
the third oldest of four siblings who lived in the last house on the street. he came with two brothers and a sister your age, who decided the first day that you met — you would be best friends for the rest of your lives.
it was a pinky promise, sacred and sworn — overseen by two sets of parents in your backyard, early spring when you were around five. you didn’t know at the time it would come with a decade of yearning and heartbreak. an older brother you could never have, one you’d never get to keep. that one bad thing you’d crave for years on end.
he’s always been there, yuuji has, in the background of all your memories. never mean to you, like sukuna was (the oldest brother) and a lot more friendly than the nervous wreck choso (the middle brother) but always loud in your ear and disrupting tea parties or sleepovers when you spent the night with his little sister. your best friend who you’d drawn a contract, of course in brown crayon, stating that you’d never pick yuuji itadori over her.
even when he’d save you the last red ice-pop instead of sister because you liked them better and she always tossed them halfway through. even when he’d let you sit on the back of his bike in the summer because you’d never quite learned how to ride. even when he’d invited you to his all boys birthday party, and walked you out of the laser tag room because you’d been too scared of the dark to keep playing. you remember his sister being upset with you that day.
you realise that you like him very early on. yuuji itadori, that is. yuuji who had been the first ever boy to say your hair looked nice after your mum made it pretty with a new silk ribbon. yuuji who smelled like the park on a hot day, like tarmac but also earthy because he’d come home coated in soil down to his scraped knees that bled through his jeans. yuuji who chased his little sister through the house with mud tracks, blamed it on the two of you but ended up stuck with the punishment anyways. the same yuuji who went to middle school ahead of you both just by two years and deemed it his duty to walk you home from elementary, he’d wait for you by the gates all scary with bandages on his cheeks from the fights he’d get into, but smiley all the same.
yuuji, who carried you back home the summer before you started high school when you broke your wrist running the woods behind his house — who didn’t flinch when your best friend scolded him for being a clutz. it was her fault not his. it’s always funny to see them bicker, she’s always so protective of you and yuuji the same. you feel a part of their bond, like you belong with the two of them at your side … which is why the guilt hurts when you start to look at yuuji differently that summer. when he starts to grow into his looks and your heart starts to flutter every time he’s near.
you try not to overthink how much he cares for you, staying awake with you while you wait in the ER to be seen — smiling with you and holding your free hand when they put a cast on you. he bares the burden of telling your parents, begs them not to punish you but him instead. for a girl at fourteen it’s chivalry. you pretend it isn’t love.
in high school you walk the halls with your best friend, fully in love with her brother — you pretend it doesn’t hurt that he’s become so popular, that all the cheerleaders seem to have his attention and he’s got so many friends he doesn’t need to hang out with his little sister and her minion anymore. you sit through awkward double dates at the local diner so your friend can get closer to her crush but your heart most looks forward to yuuji picking you both up at the end of the night in the old truck he decides to fix up in time for college.
“boys your age don’t know what they want,” he leans back from the driver’s seat to tell you — hair wild and brown eyes warm. “be careful.”
and you want to ask him if he knows what he wants. if it’s you. you don’t.
the two years where, yuuji is in college before you can join him are the worst. he hardly visits, off on his sports scholarship which takes up all his time and you miss him more than anything — hopelessly in love and endlessly yearning. your best friend gets a boyfriend and suddenly life doesn’t feel like how it was back then, no more ice pops made with red fruit and juices that run down your arm, no more strapped knees and hospital rooms for sprained bones. no more late night drives in yuuji’s truck after curfew. it hurts, and the boys at school suck — they’re not kind like itadori is.
when you’re in college yourself, it’s all the same. boys still suck except they major in business or economics or compsci and party instead of studying. your best friend is at a college two hours away and you take turns visiting one another every weekend — she barely brings up yuuji, but the little fragments she shares of him still makes your heart flutter. you ask if he has a girlfriend. he’s never brought anyone back home for winter break. once the weekends end, you’re back on your own again rolling through the mundane with your heart tucked under your sleeve until you see it. him. pink hair and brown eyes, his laugh catching in the spring breeze — yuuji is there. on your campus for some kind of away game and when he sees you. everything clicks. it feels right.
after practise that day he takes you for a drive, still in his truck from high school — couldn’t get rid of her, too many memories. your laugh is woven into the seatbelts in the back seat and your tears are probably soaked in the material too. yuuji drove down ahead of his teammates to visit a friend, not a girl. he adds. the whole drive your heart hammers in your chest so loud you think he might be able to hear it and if he does — yuuji says nothing. though he looks at you every five seconds, gaze flickering away from the road to watch your face. the silence broken into pieces by the small, aimless questions he asks you. how’ve you been? are you liking your classes and …
“can i kiss you?”
he asks once you’ve stopped, hidden somewhere in the back of a fast food parking lot. your conversation had lulled, but the tension had grown thick — so much so that not even a knife could slide through. the fries the cinnamon twists itadori had ordered for you both cool on the console between you, brown eyes are hazy and hooded with an emotion you can’t quite place — striking nerves through your heart almost like cupid’s arrow. you’ve wanted nothing more for a decade and a half. To be looked at by yuuji in the way he’s looking at you now. to be wanted by him.
“why?” you ask.
yuuji leans closer, the palm of his hand sliding to cup your face. “i’ve missed you, is all.”
he says back.
a million thoughts rush through your mind, the longing you’ve always felt. the stupid, teenage girl crush that’s always lingered in the back of your mind. the guilt you’d feel hiding this from your best friend, his little sister — his only sister. she’s all you have left, a constant in your life … but your selfishness overrides anything you feel towards her. the promise you’d made in crayon on a4 paper as a child disintegrating into dust as you nod eagerly, shyly, leaning into yuuji’s touch like someone might rip it away from you all too soon.
“please?” you blink slow, doe like in a manner that makes itadori groan as though he’s been shot in the chest. it’s needy, hungry and it makes you melt in your seat. “please kiss me, yuuji…”
within a heart beat his lips are on yours, searing feverish like glass that’s been heated to the highest degree. there’s so much feeling behind the way yuuji moves, tender love and notes of longing and maybe lust that no longer feels like it’s one sided. when he kisses you everything sort of… clicks into place, this is what you’ve needed and dreamed of for years and it’s everything you wanted. his hand slips to the back of your neck, comforting and possessive as though he doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers, and he pulls you further into the messy lip lock. his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, tasting the strawberry lip balm you’d slapped on earlier — yuuji asks, he doesn’t take. waiting for you to open up to him like a flower in bloom.
your own fingers tangle in messy, windswept hair that reminds you of the cherry blossoms across campus — they tug at and tighten in his locks bringing him further into you to the point where you think itadori might crawl over the console just to have you. he tastes like red-juice popsicles and feels like the summer sun beating down on your skin. yuuji feels like home against you and it’s something that you didn’t even know you’d missed.
things progress faster than you realise, not that you mind, and it should feel wrong, so , so wrong to be kissing your best friend’s older brother like this — to be letting him pull you into the back seat, hands sliding under your worn out high school hoodie to settle on your hips as he tugs you onto his lap. you should feel sick to your stomach every time he moans your name like it’s a sin he’s been waiting to taste his whole life.
you gasp itadori’s name back almost rehearsed — like you haven’t pictured him with you like this before. and when he rocks his hips up against yours, concealed hardness straining against his jeans with the touch material hot on your clit through your denim shorts, the world stops just for the top of you. “waited so long,” yuuji mumbles, lips swollen, breathing ragged and hands everywhere. “never thought you’d let me…”
“i’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his mouth, tongue curled against his and your salvia smeared across his rosy lips. yuuji blinks up at you like you’ve just given him the whole world and you lazily sling your arms over his broad shoulders — hiding in your own bicep, suddenly shy. “i’ve always wanted you.”
smiling to himself, yuuji’s hands map their way up to your ribcage, feeling for your thrumming heart — dizzy from the heat in his car and the confession on your lips. carefully, he pulls you back and forth over his lap, watching you fight and lose your own battle of holding back dulcet mewls and whimpers. “you have no idea how happy that makes me, to hear you say that.” he kisses your cheek, much gentler than before. his forehead presses into your cheek and itadori grinds harder, faster making sure there’s a constant delightful pressure against your throbbing clit.
his long lashes flutter against your cheek like angel’s kisses — barely there, unlike the thickness of his clothed erection against your soaking mound, as it drools between the layers of your clothes. he lets you hug him close, lets you swivel yourself down on him and take what you need in the back of his car. the one where you’d laughed with your best friend, cried against his little sister.
casting her from your mind, you screw your eyes shut and focus on the blistering bliss that brews in your lower belly. chanting his name as though it’s all you’ve ever known. “yuu, yuuji — ah! it feels…” you whisper, brain miles behind the pace of your hips as they buck down against his. when yuuji pushes up, you push down, that little pleasure nub tucked between puffy pussy lips catching on his rock hard girth. “feels so—”
wrong. so good. so insane and crazy. but you can’t stop, wanting him, needing him, grinding on him.
“i know baby, i know,” yuuji whimpers, pet name slipping out like its natural — too far gone. “feel it too, you got me. ‘m right here. promise, i’m with you.”
itadori hugs you close now, the strength of his arms tugging you across his lap and his length until you’re both panting messes slumped against one another — the tensions and the highs you’ve been building stacking so high there’s no choice but for all of it to come crashing down. you’re all curses and cumming, orgasms that rip through space and time in sync, soaking your shorts and running his jeans. it’s messy, has you trembling but yuuji is in no better state, lips dropping to your collar bones as you sniffle into his hair. both of you ruined for everyone else but each other.
regret should follow fast, you should push him away and have him drive you home because you’ve betrayed the only other person in your life to have cared. your best friend, mere miles away — expecting to see you this weekend, ready to greet you with her adoring smile and big heart she’s always kept you in. you should feel like shit for fucking her older brother.
but you don’t and you don’t care what happens beyond tonight, because you’ve wanted yuuji for longer than you’ve ever known and maybe naively you think this’ll work out.
this falling in love and fucking your best friend’s older brother behind her back thing.
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