suguru’s secret visits are like lightning strikes. for a few fleeting hours, he sets your world aglow. and then he’s gone, leaving behind only the sharp scent of ozone and darkness that feels all the more suffocating for having known the light.
the sharp knock on your door disrupts through the quiet rhythm of your evening. three months. ninety-something days of his absence. you’d almost managed to convince yourself he was dead. anger curls in your stomach. how dare he darken your doorstep again ?
you consider letting him stand there in the dark, letting the silence be your answer. but your feet move on their own, traitorous muscle memory pulling you towards your front door. when you open it, suguru getō is standing in front of you.
he’s thinner, the sharp planes of his face more pronounced, weariness perpetually etched around his eyes. his hair is longer, falling past his shoulders in a dark, silken waves, and he’s in his gojo-kesa, cult leader finery. men and their audacity. he should’ve changed at the minimum
you open your mouth to curse him for leaving, for choosing this path, for letting you rot in your lonely apartment while he plays god to a flock of lost souls. but you don’t say anything. you can’t. what is there to say ? ‘welcome back’ ? ‘i missed you so much i thought i would die’ ? ‘fuck you’ ? all of these phrases feel inadequate.
it’s a little too late to deny him entry. he’s already moving, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. “it’s colder in here than i remember.” he murmurs. his voice is like a dream. a nightmare
“is that all you have to say to me?” you glare at him
an almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. a ghost, a memory of the boy who used to grin at you from across yaga’s classroom. “i was waiting for you to decide if you were going to slap me or kiss me. the odds are about even, i’d say.”
“don’t,” you whisper, taking a step back. “don’t you dare stand here and crack jokes. you don’t get to do that anymore”
the smile vanishes, replaced by weary resignation. he takes a step forward, and you take another back, a pathetic little dance in the narrow space of your hallway. he stops, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “okay, okay. . . no jokes. i’m sorry.”
“your apologies are worthless to me, getō.” he flinches. you see it clearly, the tightening around his eyes, the subtle clenching of his jaw. good. you want him to feel a fraction of the void he left inside you.
“you’re right,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, serious hum. “i’m not sorry for leaving jujutsu high. i’ll never be. i’m only sorry that it hurt you.”
sometimes the truth cuts deeper than any lie ever will.
“get out,” you say, the words rendering your throat raw. “get out of my apartment.” he doesn’t move. violet eyes unreadable. “i’ll call satoru. i’ll tell him you’re here. i swear to god, getō, i’ll do it”
“you don’t mean that,” he says, with a certainty that makes your blood boil. “you want me here. you missed me” he’s right. and you hate him for it. you hate him for knowing you so well.
“you’re delusional,” you spit, “you must be. what makes you think you have any insight into what i want ? you left. you chose your cursed ideology over me. so don’t stand here and tell me what i want as if that’s ever mattered to you”
he takes another step closer, and this time you hold your ground, your chin lifted in defiance. he’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the chill that has settled deep in your bones. his scent, sandalwood and something metallic, maybe blood ? you wouldn’t be surprised at this point, wraps around you, a phantom limb you’ve been trying to amputate for months. years.
“i know you’re angry,” he says, cooing in a way that used to make you melt, but now only makes your skin crawl. “but underneath all that . . . you missed me. just like i missed you.”
“missed you ?” you can’t help but laugh “i miss the boy i thought i knew. i miss the future we were supposed to have.”
he flinches again, harder this time. “that’s not fair.”
“fair ?” you’re shouting now, your voice echoing in the small space, raw and ragged. “you want to talk to me about fair after everything you’ve put me through ? what’s fair about loving someone who chose to become a monster ?”
“say it again,” he murmurs, “call me a monster.” he’s cupping the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you flush against him.
you should be fighting, screaming, clawing his eyes out. but your body remembers him even when your mind wants to forget. “you’re a monster, suguru,”
“i know” his gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. instead, he just rests his forehead against yours, eyes closing, breath fanning against your skin. “that’s why i came to say goodbye,“ the words hit you like a punch to the stomach.
goodbye ? what the actual fuck ? he’s been gone for three months, and now he’s here to say goodbye ?
“what ?” you manage to choke out.
“it’s not safe for me to be here anymore” he says, his voice quiet. “it’s not safe for you if i’m here. i won’t bother you like this anymore”
“no,” you shake your head fervently. “no, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to just . . . end it.”
“i have to . . . you’re so much better off without me. i know. you know” he says, his voice softening. he releases his grip on your neck, thumb stroking your cheek, a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache. he leans in just a fraction more, lips hovering a breath from yours. “so let me be with you one last time.” he whispers, “can i ?”
you pull back just enough to meet his violet gaze. you see the man you loved, the monster he’s become, and the ghost of what could have been, all tangled together in the face of the man who is about to break your heart for the very last time.
it’s the cruelest question he’s ever asked you. because saying yes is an act of self-immolation. it’s agreeing to let him burn you one last time, knowing fully well he’ll walk away and leave you in the ashes. but saying no . . . means extinguishing everything you have left of him. and you’re not sure which will hurt more. you hate him. you love him. you want him to leave. you want him to never let you go. “yes” what even is self-respect ?
he presses his lips against yours without hesitation. drawing you into a kiss that tastes of regret and longing and all the years you’ll never have. he pours everything into it, all the words he can’t say. he kisses you until you’re breathless, until you’re clinging to him, fists bunched in the fabric of his robes.
he doesn’t even try to lead you to your bedroom. he doesn’t have that much time to spare. he nudges you backward until your legs hit the edge of your couch and you tip over, sprawling against the cushions.
he falls to his knees, settling between your thighs, looping his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. the smooth fabric drags against your skin as he bares you to him. he’s starved for it, for you, his movements imbued with hunger that makes you shiver.
the first slow drag of his tongue against your clit is electric. a jolt of pure pleasure shoots up your spine, and you gasp, your back arching off the couch. he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves slowly, before dipping lower to lap at your slick. he groans, a sound of pure satisfaction, and the vibrations travel through you, making your thighs tremble. “god you taste even better than i remember”
he borderline worships you. his tongue a litany of apologies, his lips a prayer against your slick folds. he’s trying to cleanse himself of his sins through your pleasure, to find a moment of grace in the sanctuary of your body. to burn himself into your memory, to give you something to hold onto in the long, dark years to come.
“say my name, angel” he pleads, a saccharine string connecting his glossy lips to you. you want to deny him. you want to hold onto your anger, to your resolve. but he’s sucking your clit into his mouth so sweetly and the coil in your stomach is threatening to snap.
“suguru,” you gasp, his name a torn sob. “please.”
“that’s it,” he he hums in approval, his tongue flicking faster. “that’s my girl.” your hands fly to his hair, your fingers tangling in the thick, soft strands. you need to anchor yourself to him as he unravels you. you need to anchor yourself to him so he doesn’t disappear again.
he groans as you tighten your grip, pulling just enough to make him still for a moment. he looks up at you, his chin glistening with your arousal. a slow smile spreading across his lips. “pull it harder,” he murmurs, lowly “don’t be gentle, mhh, i don’t deserve that.”
he really doesn’t. so you let your fingers flit over his scalp and twist them in his hair, harder, pulling his head back, baring the long, elegant line of his throat. he hisses, his eyes fluttering shut, a look of pure bliss on his face. over the years, you’ve forgotten the power you have over him. to hurt him, to make him feel something other than the weight of his own convictions. you use it, your grip tightening as his mouth returns to your cunt
his tongue speaks of a hunger that can never be sated. he’s no longer just worshiping you; he’s using you, using your pleasure to drown out the voices in his head, to silence the ghosts that haunt him. and you let him, because you’re using him too, using his body, his mouth, to fill the gaping void he left inside you.
“i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your clit, voice thick with emotion. “i’m so sorry beautiful” you don’t grace him with a response. you simply pull his hair again, harder this time, a silent punishment for all the times he’s left you, for all the promises he’s broken. he whimpers, a symphony of pleasure and pain, and redoubles his efforts, tongue incessantly flicking over your sensitive cunt.
his veiny hands keep your thighs firmly planted around his head. your fingers are trembling in his hair,?your hips bucking against his mouth. he can feel it, the way your muscles are tensing, the way your breath hitches, and he pulls you over the edge with a harsh suck on your clit.
“f-fuck sugu” you cry out, your thighs clamp down hard around his head as you cum, your body arching off the plush cushions. he laps up your release, leaving a trail of kisses between your folds, saliva becoming one with your slick
you’re well past the point of making a mess on his face but he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even slow his movements. he’s too drunk on you. too wrapped up in making you feel good to care about his cock dripping with pre-cum beneath his robes. he keeps going, the tip of his nose brushing against your bundle of nerves. his tongue relentless against your oversensitive slit.
suguru’s tongue circles your spasming hole as your second orgasm builds, far more intense than your first. your head is spinning and all you can do is tug on his hair, eliciting another low groan from him. “suguru,” you gasp,
he flattens his tongue, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your puffy clit. “i’ve got you,“ he murmurs, slipping two fingers inside you without much of a warning, lithe fingers curling upward justtt right “let go. let me take care of you.”
and you do. you let go of the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. you let go of everything but the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you. the way his hand grips your thigh, the sound of his voice as he whispers bittersweet nothings against your core.
your second orgasm leaves you limp and pliant in his arms but it’s not enough. suguru can’t get enough of you. he’s a man dying of thirst in the desert and you’re the only oasis he’ll ever know. he knows he has to leave, knows he has to walk back into the scorching sand and the cruel, unforgiving sun, but for tonight, for these few precious hours, he’s going to drink his fill. to absorb as much of you as he can, to memorize the feeling of your skin against his, the sound of your breath hitching, the way your fingers clench in his hair.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot against your slick flesh. salty tears brimming his waterline “so perfect —hck— i could stay here forever.”
it’s lie, and you both know it. he can’t stay forever. he can’t even stay until morning. but in this moment, you let yourself believe him. you’re too far gone to form a coherent response
he alternates between soft, teasing licks and hard, sucking kisses, a maddening rhythm that pushes you higher and higher. he’s not just trying to make you cum and repend up for lost time; he’s trying to give you both a taste of heaven, “remember me like this.” he begs, “remember that i loved you.”
you want to promise him that you will, that you’ll forget the monster and remember the man, that you’ll hold onto this memory and let it sustain you. but you can't speak. you can only gasp his name, your fingers tightening in his hair as your third orgasm ravages you.
when he finally pulls away, his face is glistening, his violet almond-eyes are heavy-lidded with satisfaction. he moves up your body, his mouth finding yours. you can taste yourself on his lips. his forehead pressed his forehead against yours, “i love you,” he whispers, “i’ve always loved you. i always will”
you don’t say it back. the tears you’ve been holding back for months finally break free, tracking paths down your cheeks. you let them fall, silently.
suguru lets out a wounded whimper, leaning in and kissing your tears away, his lips soft and salty against your skin. a sob tears from your throat and then his arms are around you, pulling you off the couch and onto his lap on the floor, bundling you in his robes, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe.
you cling to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs, your soul. you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, his arms around you, his love.
“shh, i’ve got you,” he murmurs, his lips muffled against your hair, huge hands stroking up and down your back in a soothing rhythm. “i’ve got you. it’s okay.”
you cry for all the time you’ve lost, for all the words you’ll never get to say, for the future that was stolen from you. he just holds you, letting you fall apart in his arms again. he doesn’t try to justify his choices. he doesn’t make excuses. he lets you grieve.
when your tears finally subside, you’re left feeling hollowed out, limp and exhausted in his arms. he shifts, soft lips finding your temple, his breath warm against your skin. he holds you for a moment longer. then, with gentleness that belies his strength, he eases you off his lap, hands supporting your waist until you’re sitting on the edge of the couch.
and like clockwork, there’s a void where his warmth used to be. you’re used to it, but it hurts all the same. you don’t look up, you can’t. you just stare at your hands, balled into fists in your lap.
this is it — you’re certain — the part where he leaves. the end of the storm. but he’s only shrugging off his gojo-kesa, the dark fabric pooling on the floor. suguru’s not done with you. not yet. and part of you, the part that still loves him after everything, is glad.
Synopsis: Scar!jo's wife misses her husband's touch.
Pairing: Scar!jo x wife!reader.
Tags: [MDNI] Slow and intimate SMUT some fluff and angst sprinkled, voyarism, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding, p in v, reader is a horny little shit, praise kink ig, missionary, overstimulation (can people learn the diff between this and overwhelmed..?) cunnilingus.
From Shibuya and Shinjuku's ruins to the Italian coast is a long, dreadful and sorrowful journey you embarked on with your husband.
Freshly scarred and high from the adrenaline after the showdown, Satoru hadn't realised just who he was after defeating Sukuna.
He wasn't just the strongest anymore.
He was a survivor.
The winner.
But he came crashing down from the peak sooner than he expected.
One look in the mirror.
And he wasn't anyone.
Not your husband, and most definitely not Gojo Satoru anymore.
So for months, he hid.
The characteristic charming and confident man you married was nowhere to be seen the last three months. Buried in the rubble that consumes what Tokyo once was.
Satoru is still somewhat a ghost of himself—you watch him as he stays rooted at the shore, tall frame swallowed by his orange oversized sweatshirt to hide the dents in his canvas underneath that follow his skin until his mid thighs.
Just staring at the horizon of azure blue, a mirror of his own eyes.
Though you can't see his face, or read his thoughts from where you lay on the sunbed shaded behind the creamy, semi-see through curtains, you can tell his gaze is void—empty like it's been for some time now.
Or perhaps foggy with his everlasting fear. Paranoia of ever having to relieve what he did. Unfortunately for you, as much as you've tried to be a reassuring and wife, nothing has quite helped your husband with abolishing that mindset just yet—that he's on the battlefield.
You don't dare to say it out loud.
But you miss your husband.
Your Satoru.
So much.
Not how he looks.
Never that.
But the cheerful, loud and lively version of him. It pains you far too much to see him so far away despite being right next to you.
You press your face further into the plush white pillow beneath your cheek and try to find comfort in it—to no avail, you can only fall asleep on your husband's chest but he's refused physical contact ever since he came home.
It breaks your heart every time.
Because you love him either way—scarred or not—maybe now even more than before after he kept his promise of coming back to you.
He doesn't see it that way though. And he avoids you like it's better for you to stay away and not see the outcome of the events carved into him.
Says he's "not worthy for you anymore." or "unattractive." So you won't need to force intimacy onto him because he hates the feeling of your fingers brushing every dip of his skin that wasn't there before and that only serves as a reminder that he was still weak.
You wish he'd understand he's anything but weak.
In the distance he's still watching the waves, you begin to wonder if today, on the third day of your vacation—the one you forcefully dragged him on, far away from Japan so he'd have a change of scenery (a positive one)—he will finally get inside the water.
Tug off his cover-up, dip himself beyond his feet in the blue and lose himself in the ocean.
The answer lingers in the back of your mind like a pest, you're sure he's not ready yet, but there's a sliver of hope in your chest.
Which disappears and gets overtaken by vast disappointment once he turns around and makes his way to you. A few long strikes and he reaches where you're bundled up on the bed, hair messily sprawled out on the sheets, curtains half drawn to sheild you from the sun.
And he would usually cling onto you immediately. Throw a hand over your waist, press himself against your back and curl into you. Cuddle you until you both fell asleep in this nice weather.
Instead, now he takes the other end of the bed. Swinging his feet up after dusting the sand off and leaning against the headboard—quiet as a church mouse.
Sadness pools in your stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over your every fiber. You try to be strong knowing he has it so hard—but you can't help but feel undesirable at some point.
Swallowing the prickling feeling of wanting to cry, you try to keep your voice leveled—clear of any sentimental emotions—when you attempt small talk with him.
"How's the water, honey?"
He's quiet for a beat before mumbling "I didn't go in."
You hum, a sorry excuse of a smile on your face.
And you can't help it when the tears bubble quickly in you and you accidentally choke out a sob you were meant to push down.
Satoru’s head whips over to your sideways curled up figure on the bed when the sound reaches his ear.
You feel pathetic.
Making small talk with your husband.
Helpless, and feeling incredibly selfish.
For the first time in months, Satoru feels himself live in an emotional fully. Worry spreading through his whole body.
He pushes himself off his side of the bed and circles the bed till he reaches your side and crouches right where your face is hidden in the pillow and from where tiny whimpers are muffled.
"Baby, what's wrong?" You start sobbing at the sound of the nickname. He has no idea just how much it means to you to just hear him talk or look at you.
The tears spill past your waterline like a waterfall with no direction or limit, dampening your cheeks, soon turning your eyes raw from the dryness.
You hiccup into the pillow, muffle sobs that rip straight from your chest while your husband stays crouched next to the bed and rubs your back—unaware of the inner turmoil you actually fight everyday because of him.
Because he’s there.
Yet, he’s not.
And it stings.
“It’s okay, tell me why you’re crying.” His voice soothes in your ear, questions softly with the underlying care in his words that he always had with you.
That has your heart clenching even more, your chest tightening at how the man you knew only shows up every once a never.
You feel like a terrible wife for wanting him back.
“I miss you.” You frailly cry out, voice a pitch higher and shaky.
Though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably wearing that face of indescribable confusion. He’s there, so what are you talking about?
“I’m right here, sweetheart..?” He’s unsure as he points out the obvious.
You don’t miss a beat in replying. “No, I miss my husband.”
His mind slowly wraps around the idea he has about what your talking about and something shifts in him.
For the first time since he’s gotten back from the shore, you show your face again. Mascara smudged around the corners, hair messy, cheeks glossy and lips puffy.
“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. We barely talk. You don’t let me help. We are married for fucks sake, Satoru.”
Your voice breaks as you spill your hearts content out through the tip of your tongue. Months of frustration and loneliness piercing right at the one man you love most in the world.
Satoru falls quiet with a frozen tongue and a paralysed mind. Internally, he feels the gears shift, his mind rewire as he understands you.
And he gets it.
Shit.
Where has he been these last months?
Back at the battlefield while his wife desperately tried to cling onto his consciousness and ground him like the tether she always was to him in his world of curses?
Uneasiness washes over him at the realisation that he can’t erase the past—the last months you’ve spent in solitude with an absent husband at home, constantly nurturing it without reward.
So all he can offer and pray you accept are apologies.
“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His long fingers clasp around your hand against the pillow. Holding tight enough for you to feel your bones being squished against his.
“I’m so sorry.”
But you don’t need his apologies.
He has no need to apologise for. After all, you’re not the only one grieving him. He is too. The life he had, who he was, who the mirror showed him before the slashes.
It’s different though. He doesn’t love who he is now, while you still do.
He’s still your husband. You said “I do.” 4 years ago with the same confidence you’d say it today. Even after all of the hardships and even after all of the forgiving.
“Don’t apologise.” You mutter, shifting on the mattress and sitting upward—moving your weight to sit on your legs—and cup his cheek with your right hand to caress it.
Only now do you realise his eyes are glossy too, guilt swimming in them —regret. The kind that eats at your bones for mistakes you didn’t mean.
Quietly, you confess with the sound of the waves in the background supporting you.
“I’ll always be by your side, Satoru. But you need to let me in. I’m your wife.”
Your eyes follow the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows your honest words. Their meaning sinking into his marked skin with permission this time.
He nods once—slow and sure—and the knot in your chest loosens. In the blink of an eye, he’s getting off his knees.
The matress dips where he sits down next to you, hand still in hand, his body fully turned to you while your legs—folded beneath you—still are angled straight ahead.
In a slow pace, he draws himself closer to you. The smell of his natural musk that always drove you crazy mixed with the ocean breeze in his milky white hair filling your senses.
His lips brush against you in the comforting way they always did before meeting.
And slowly, he whispers.
“You are so much more than my wife.”
You hum once, curtly.
“You’re my everything.”
And the man you thought you no longer recognised, kissed you like the man you know bu heart.
The kiss is impossibly soft. Tender and warm. Electrifying all of your dormant atoms to life, cells buzzing under his touch.
It’s magical. An open door to the world you thought you were shut out of entirely—one with him and your love.
His lips move slowly against yours. Plush skin meeting plush skin in a desperate yet patient reunion.
You didn’t realise you missed it so much till now.
It hurts to part.
Satoru only pulls away for a second to look in your eyes.
Neither of you exchange words before diving back into each other’s essences.
His hands find your waist, your body turns to him completely—back pressing against the headboard as he holds you, your hands fitting on his broad shoulders.
Beneath the tips of your delicate fingers, you feel the dips and uneven surfaces under the thin layer of his sweatshirt.
The kiss deepens once he swipes his tongue under your lip and you grant him that quiet access like you always have under the sun or moon.
You’ve always been Satoru’s.
From the day you saw him on the other side of the train station.
Till now.
And you always will be his.
Your nails slightly dig into his flesh as he explores your mouth, one of his hands now on your chin—tilting your face up—so he can follow the same path he always did.
Tongues fighting, bodies heating up under the daylight, you feel the need to reduce the layers between your thin white cover-up dress and his sweatshirt.
Hesitantly, the pressure on his shoulders caused by your fingers lessens and your hands migrate to the collar of the orange material.
He’s still kissing you as you tug on the zipper.
Then he freezes.
Tongue retreating and lips separating from the heated kiss. Eyes locking together.
You see the fear and hesitation in his baby blues. A silent prayer for you to not see him.
“Satoru, I love you.” You croak out. Voice scratchy and hoarse. The remaining few drops of tears spill from the corners of your eyes.
“I love you so much you have no idea. And I have always loved you and I always will. Even when you change.”
Your husband’s heart shatters.
Loud, like glass breaking against the floor. Unmendable.
But he trusts you.
So he dries your face with the buds of his fingers. Kisses the corner of your damp eye, and pulls the zipper down himself—showing the tainted and raw outcome of his fight.
Pink scars, painfully painted stars in his history.
You see beyond them. See the chiseled body he worked for, the defined v-line that you go crazy for, his rock-hard abs. His determination.
The scars are mere decorations you wish he accepts someday.
“You’re beautiful, honey. Even more now.”
Satoru has doubled in mass since being in the prison realm.
There’s nothing unattractive about him.
Your mind momentarily flashes to the promises of him giving you a family after the fight if he made it.
Every time you think about it, nausea overtakes you.
That dangerous what if that haunted you for nights before the showdown.
What if he didn’t…
No, he’s home.
And that matters so much to you.
That he could come home missing half of his body and you’d still cherish him to death.
Because you know there were others without the gift or the fortune to see their loved ones faces ever again.
Your hands press against the hard surface of his pecks before peeling your back off the headboard and reaching up to kiss him.
You’re caged in between his arms that hold himself up against the headrest. He happily accepts the kiss, lighter than a few seconds ago.
He melts into you again. Your back presses against the cushioned board again as he hovers over you once more.
Hands dipping, your nails feel every dip of his abs. Your legs subconsciously closing as the heat in between them grows.
Satoru bites your bottom lip so he can slip inside your mouth this time, his confidence recovering little by little as he sees the effect he still has on you.
You rein back a whimper that almost escapes one he lowers his lower body onto you. Hard boner pressing against your thinly covered clit—slotting himself perfectly against her.
With the palms of your hands, you push the orange sweatshirt off Satoru and he pulls his hands back quickly to throw it off before latching them on your breasts.
Your mouths dance a ballad you’ve both practiced across different lives.
With no regard for even considering that people might walk by and catch what’s happening through the slightly agape curtains, you slowly plunge your hands inside your husband’s swim trunks.
He hisses against your mouth as your hands wrap around his shaft, sensitive from not being touched or touching himself at all these last months.
Every fiber in you is on fire. His lips leave yours and attach to your neck—peppering your skin with love bites that show you’re his as he works on kneading your tits.
You start pumping his girth at a rhythmic pace, swiping your index finger to collect the small amount of pre-cum oozing out of his tip to stroke him.
Satoru’s face lifts to see you spit on your hand while maintaining eye contact and he feels himself grow harder even when it’s not even possible anymore.
His hand messily pushes down his swim shorts and his cock springs up, hitting him in his lower belly where you immediately grab it and coat it in your spit.
He lets out a deep rumble from his chest that has you twitching around nothing. One large hand pushing your cover up just enough for your bikini-covered breasts to meet the light of day.
A finger hooks under the thin strap underneath them and he sets them free once he tugs the string over your tits.
Your stroking falters when he moves to your nipple, biting as a greeting and then sooting the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You’re dripping—soaking the expensive material of your bathing suit under your cover.
Satoru’s still working on your nipple when his hand pushes up your cover up and moves aside your panties. Long fingers pressing against your warm wetness.
He swears he could cum just for the fact that you’re this wet over him.
A thick, rough digit of his pokes at your entrance before slipping inside. You gasp at the stretch, not having had sex in a long time.
Satoru relishes in the small sound. He pumps the finger once, twice and on the third thrust he unexpectedly adds another finger.
Now, his middle and ring finger stretch you. Wedding ring pressing against your cunt whenever he bottoms his hand out.
His palm rubs against your clit in a way that has you twitching beneath him. Your body jerks at his tongue swirling around your nipple and his palm slapping your bud.
Small moans ring in his ear. With your hands still wrapped around him, he starts thrusting against the mattress, chasing that friction while your mind crashes.
He feels you tense up when your walls start to flutter around his fingers so he pulls them out before you can reach your release.
You feel him lower and latch his mouth onto your pussy before you can process it and whimper for the loss of his digits. Hands letting go of his length as he lowered himself.
Immediately, your hips buck when he flattens his tongue—trying to lap up and consume relish in every taste of his wife’s nectar that she’ll offer him.
You lose all control over the moans and whimpers that leave your mouth—too far gone to even think about others now when your husband eats you up so messily.
Your juices mixed with his saliva soak into the white mattress, staining it, yet the two of you couldn’t care less.
Satoru laps up like a starved man. As he is. His tongue slips past your ring of resistance at times, teasing. Testing to see if you’re ready.
Your nails cling as his back, scratching new redness that he doesn’t mind—not in the way he does with his scars.
His hands are now under your plush ass, angling you upwards and holding you in place as he devours you with the reverence and need he has always had with you.
Your orgasm approaches quickly once he reignites it. Satoru holds the need to smirk against you once he feels your clit twitch and your sweet cunt start to flutter all alone.
He looks up with your bud in between his lips to see the heavenly sight of you propped on your elbows, tits out and glistening, your head thrown back.
His rutting against the bed stops.
You come undone on his tone aggressively. It hits you all at once, shivers overtaking you as your mind falls into pure euphoria.
Satoru doesn’t let a single drop spill.
Not giving you much time to recover, too eager to melt his body with yours, and with you all over his face, your husband climbs over your body again and captures your lips in a kiss.
Tasting yourself on his glistening lips, you shudder and whimper from how sensitive you are once you feel him rub his tip against your entrance.
“ ‘toruuu.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.
A mock pity pout spawns on his face. His head lolls to the side as he watches your struggled expression—mouth parted, eyes fluttering open and shut when he brushed himself against your overstimulated clit.
“Didn’t you miss me, baby?” He teases.
"I—did-I missed you so much, mmh!" You mewl out in high-pitched stutters. Eyes falling shut and letting the tears spill from your clamped shut eyelids once he bottoms out in one go.
“Oh fuck.” Satoru bites back a low groan that escapes straight from his chest, his thighs pressing against the round and plush skin of your ass.
He wastes no time in pulling back and snapping himself back home. Letting his length disappear inside of you with little to no resistance. “Yeah, baby. Take all of me.”
Electricity sparks every once-dormant nerve in your body back to life.
Your mind momentarily flashes back to the promises he had vowed to keep before the fight. How he’d retire if he won, give you a family and spend the rest of his days cherishing the moments he spends in your arms.
And you snap out of your thoughts once you feel his two hands slide under your thighs, strong forearms locking them against your hamstrings so he can snugly wrap your legs around his textured waist—carved skin firmed up from days in a dark realm where he fought against time and his own mind.
You feel him everywhere. To the veins harshly reminding you how they have a place within your velvety walls ever since he vowed to be the only one who would ever walk the earth to please you—to the heat swirling in your chest out of profound and raw love you have for your husband.
It’s not supposed to be such a bittersweetly beautiful moment as Satoru is keeping your legs folded around him—forcing him to voluntarily slam down and dip his bulging cock back down home, juices welcoming him and kissing his length goodbye when he pulls back—but it’s so painfully good.
The way he’s back within your reach—caging you under his huffing, feral state where you can see the light color of his eyes sparkling as his body is electrified with life for the first time in months—and the way he’s stretching you out so good.
Making you mewl out incomprehensible words that end up being letters melted into each other with no real meaning because your brain can barely form a real thought.
He’s finding the love you have for him in every crevice of you as your tongues mesh together again. Saliva on saliva as he connects his hips to yours without faltering once.
Begrudgingly, he pulls back. Your eyes fall down to his plush baby pink swollen lips that once shined with your release.
His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling—occasionally shaking as a deep groan escapes him when you suck him in so greedily—for a second, you catch his stare falling to your bodies connecting.
Then he snaps back up—face levelling to you where you’re still giving him that fucked out doe-eyed look that he swears will have him falling over the edge sooner than he intends to.
“Baby?” He softly calls out, the four-lettered word spilling out of his mouth with ease that comes out of the habit he has of calling you that loving name.
You barely hear the sound of his voice, mind somewhere over the clouds. His tip is pushing past your cervix soo nicely. Kissing that little spot that makes your muscles start to spasm in uneven waves—your eyesight blur and the tears streak down the sides of your face quick.
Unbeknownst to you, Satoru is a lot more pleased with himself than he’d admit right now. Even after the noise, the trauma and the ashes—he still has it in him.
Still has it inside of him to unravel you with the simples touches, to have you with your mouth parted open and your eyes rhythmically rolling back as he plunges inside of you—searching for your release.
It fills his body with a tingling sensation—a lingering hot feeling right where his heart sits at the realisation that you’re his wife in every sense of the word.
That you’re still here and still so loving.
All for him.
“M-mhm?” He hears you barely make out, nails moving from his back and onto his forearms where your nails subconsciously dig into his tainted skin.
A cannined smile pulls on his handsome face, almost resembling one of his characteristic smirks that has you knowing—even in your haze—that something is coming.
“Remember the promise I made you?”
Instantly, you scramble around your mind to try and filter to the thousands of promises you’ve offered each other and that he has yet to break.
There are so many, and you don’t have enough mind to run through them all.
“Which—ngh, ‘toru!” In the middle of your attempt to speak, he shifts, hooking both legs over his shoulders. Drawing his chest down, the strong surface of his chest weighing down on your smooth skin.
“—right there! Oh—“
You’re loud. Too loud for someone on a sunbed in a public place. Satoru probably knows it. Yet he makes no effort in shutting you up—he doesn’t muffle your real moans with a kiss, doesn’t silence your babbles with his hand. He lets them pour out into the open.
He lets the world know you’re his.
And that he’s back.
Either way, you don’t make any effort to stop the shore from knowing your lover is back.
His calloused hands, detailed with resilience and his unmatched strength, go delicate as he tries to wipe the stream of tears on the sides of your face.
“C’mon baby, you know which one.”
Seeing the way you fall quiet—half losing the fight between yourself and climaxing too early as your orgasm holds you by your throat, and half winning over the chaos of your mind—he “aids” you just a bit as his left hand drops and finds your clit with soft circles.
He’s teasing you, worsening the internal struggle he’s putting you through—setting every nerve in your body on fire as he pulls your release by the reins.
“What do you want from me?”
His words find a place in your disoriented head, clicking with his previous question.
A baby.
You wanted a baby with him before the fight.
A family.
Something to remember him by
Every night before that godforsaken day.
You tried.
Clung onto his body with a different—more painful kind of desperation than the one you have right now.
Tried for a baby.
Tried to leave a part of him within you just in case he—
The answer spills out of your mouth before your mind dips to darker places.
“A family.” You breathe out, eyes clamping shut for a second.
He muses, face dipping to press soft kisses to your pulsing temple. “Yeah?”
“Y—yeah!”
Your voice pitches higher at the last second as he presses down on your clit.
“Please—please, ‘toru—don’t leave me. Give me a baby.”
You don’t realise just how your fear is spilling through the cracks as you beg to finish and for him to never be done with you.
And Satoru goes soft.
Pace stuttering, abs tightening—he’s so close, you’re so close too.
With slow strokes, already high off demolishing you the past moments—Satoru rides the last moments of the roller coaster as he reaches his end.
“I’ll give you everything, honey.” He whispers, the bed creaking less beneath the both of you as he takes you to the edge.
And you titter to your orgasm that crashes over you twice as strong the second time once he completes his sentence. “Just take it all.”
He places a soft kiss to your lips as he buries himself inside, ropes and ropes of white milky cum filing your womb—overflowing right out of your walls while he remains inside, twitching and unwilling to leave.
A choked sob is muffled as Satoru’s lips catch it, right hand caressing your cheek.
Everything falls quiet, the smell of sex in the open air quickly settles back into the horizon as the sea overtakes the atmosphere and your ears hear the waves crashing against the sand.
The birds sing a song that relaxes your muscles. Your husband goes limp inside of you before pulling out—no longer having anything left of his to give that’s not love.
He plops down to you, the bed dipping in two sides now—but it quickly goes back to only one spot when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his warm body, letting you hear his heartbeat underneath the layers of skin.
Thud thud thud.
The sound goes straight to your veins, travelling through arteries and shifting your own heartbeat till it follows his.
He’s home.
Your Satoru is home.
And you fall asleep in his arms.
Safe, the way you both deserve to be.
Three hours later, Satoru walks over to the rim of the sea, stares off into the distance as the sun kisses his pale skin.
He’s uncovered, letting the salty breeze greet his open and slowly healing scars.
But he’s real.
And you join him when he goes inside the water.
Because this is just the first step out of the trenches.
And you’ll be there with him every stretch of the way.
Please excuse the way this turned out, tumblr has been deleting my completed drafts and not saving anything I write and it has been killing my motivation to write. Nonetheless, thank you to the 800 of u who have been patient w me, satosugu x reader and suguru x reader smut coming soon so lmk if u wanna get tagged~ bye loves.
Not proofread cause im scared it will get deleted.
呪術廻戦 ゛★ toji fushiguro babysits meg while his wife’s out.
you slip your keys into the lock and ease the door open, trying not to make too much noise.
girls’ night went longer than planned—laughing, snacks, zero rush to get back—but you’re glad toji was cool watching megumi. he’s been stepping up more these days, even if he still acts like everything’s no big deal.
you toe off your shoes and head toward the living room. the lamp’s still on, casting a warm, yellowish light over the room. and there they are.
toji’s sprawled out, taking up most of the space like he always does with that big frame of his. one arm’s tucked behind his head, the other resting heavy across baby megumi’s back. his face is relaxed in sleep, that usual smugness gone, just even breathing and the faint scar on his lip. megumi’s completely zonked on his dad’s chest, little body starfished out, dark hair sticking up, one chubby cheek squished against toji’s shirt and one chubby hand fisted in it. a couple of toys are scattered on the floor, and an empty bottle sits on the coffee table.
looks like they had a full night.
you stand there for a second, smiling to yourself. toji might be all tough and sarcastic most of the time, but seeing him like this—out cold with your son using him as a human mattress—it’s sweet in away you certainly aren’t used to. he’s not the type to gush about it, but he’s good with megumi in his own special way: steady, protective, like he’s making sure the kid gets everything he didn’t.
you grab the throw blanket from the armchair and drape it carefully over both of them. toji stirs, one green eye cracking open.
“you’re back,” he mutters, voice gravelly from sleep. he doesn’t move much, just adjusts his arm a bit so megumi stays settled.
“yeah, sorry it got so late,” you whisper, sitting on the edge of the couch. you reach over and run your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. it’s softer than it looks. “how’d it go? was he okay?”
toji grunts, leaning into your hand a little despite himself. “kid’s a handful. ate everything, made a mess with the blocks, then passed out on me during the game. he’s fine.” his eyes drift shut again, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “you have fun?”
“i did. missed you two, though.” you keep playing with his hair.
“good. now let me sleep,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. his hand gives your thigh a lazy pat before he settles back in.
you chuckle quietly. “want me to take megumi to his crib? you can come to bed with me. that couch can’t be comfortable for both of you.”
toji cracks his eye open again, gives you a half-asleep look. “‘s fine,” he mumbles. before you can argue he reaches up, hooks an arm around your waist, and tugs you down next to him. you end up squeezed in against his side, the couch way too small for all three of you, your head ending up on his shoulder while megumi’s still happily and unconsciously sprawled on his chest. the blanket gets pulled over you too, a little crooked but warm enough.
“toji, it’s cramped,” you whisper with a soft laugh, but you’re already relaxing into him, one hand resting on megumi’s back.
“deal with it,” he says, already drifting off again. his arm stays looped around you, heavy yet comfortable.
TW: ANGST, mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions, dark themes, sexual content mentioned (minors DNI), mentions of death and murder, declining mental health, and panic attacks
The next few weeks were tense to say the least. Toji was adamant about you not meeting up with Suguru. Satoru was adamant that you should. You were stuck in the middle. On one hand, there was a slight possibility that you could calm Suguru enough to end the war he declared; however, the marriage wasn’t a lie. Would confirming it cause things to get worse? Would it anger him more? Could things even get worse than they already were? Questions swarmed in your brain as you tried to decide what to do. Truthfully, it didn’t seem like there was a good option to choose.
The door slammed shut as Toji entered the apartment. He had just dropped the kids off at school, and was about to go for his morning run. The two of you hadn’t spoken much. You saw each other in passing, and sometimes at night when Toji was home to sleep. He was never rude, he never ignored you, but you felt like the dynamic between you was off and you couldn’t stand it. Toji was your friend. Before all of this, you had a really good thing going. You didn’t want that to end. You desperately wanted to talk to him.
‘The weirdness ends today.’ You decided.
“Hey.” You greeted as he walked by the couch where you were sitting.
He stopped to press a kiss to your head before going to the kitchen to make his protein shake.
“Toji, are you mad at me?” You asked.
“I just kissed you.” He said not looking back.
“Yeah, but you’re not really speaking to me.” You fiddled with your fingers as you watched him intently.
He sighed before turning to face you.
“I’m not mad. Ok? It’s just that I don’t understand why you would put yourself in unnecessary danger.” He said.
“He won’t hurt me. It may not change anything, but he wouldn’t do that. I’m not in danger.” You insisted.
“Alright, well, do what you want.” He said turning back around.
“If I do go, will you be mad then?” You asked.
He sighed.
“No YN. I have no right to be. You’re only legally my wife, we have no actual relationship.” He told you.
What he said was completely true, so why did it hurt that he said it?
“Oh.” You said softly.
He turned to look at you again. His eyes softened at the sight of you pouting.
“Hey.” He said walking to sit on the coffee table facing you on the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just that this-“ he gestured between you and himself. “Is so complicated. I know it’s not real, but some of it is. And I can’t untangle it all in my head to figure out what is and what isn’t. So I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t know if I’m allowed to have an opinion or feelings towards this decision. I know I’ve said I don’t want you going, but does that hold any weight?”
His green eyes were so clear and calm. He held eye contact so easily. He was the total opposite of you in that way.
“Of course you get a say. If you want one.” You told him.
“I want one.” He affirmed. “I don’t want you to go.”
His eyes held yours for a moment longer.
“Ok.” You told him. “I hear you. Will you hear me out?”
“Of course I will.” He moved to sit beside you on the couch. “I’m listening.”
You took a deep breath.
“This is going to be a lot.” You warned him.
He nodded, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and twisting his body towards yours to give you his full attention. You began telling Toji everything: the way your parents abused you, how you came to meet Suguru and Satoru, you told him about the day Suguru took you home, how his parents became you own and how you created a family. Then you told him about how he left, how he kept coming back, you told him of the emotional toll his absence took on Satoru and you and how neither of you would ever fully accept the changes Suguru had made to himself. Lastly, you told him what he had done: how he tore your family apart and was going to end up forcing Satoru’s hand to kill him. You told him all of it through tears as he listened, hanging on every word.
“That’s why Toji. He’s not just an ex. He’s…I don’t know now.” You cried.
Toji scooted closer, wrapping his arms around your shaking body to hold you, rubbing his hand up and down one of your arms.
“I didn’t know about your parents. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine losing them that way.” He pressed his face into the side of your head.
“I miss them every day.” You told him. “They were the best. They were so kind and genuine and supportive. They loved us. They saved me. When I think about how they….died….it makes me want to throw up.”
“Yeah. I think anyone would feel that way.” Toji validated you.
“I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s just that we, Toru and I, can’t let him go like this. We need him to change his mind. At least about the war. He’s done so much and it’s just that we need him to do the right thing.” You told him.
Toji didn’t speak for a while. He took in everything you said, just thinking it over.
“Do you think it’s stupid?” You asked when words never came.
“No, Sweetheart. I don’t think it’s stupid. Your feelings make sense. I’m so sorry that all of that happened to you and that all of this is happening now. I can’t imagine how hurt you must be.” Toji said softly.
“Does it change anything?” You asked him.
“No.” He told you.
“Why not?” You were surprised by his answer.
“Because I see it from an outside point of view, and from where I stand, it seems like you and your brother have placed unrealistic expectations on this guy. Maybe you see him as a savior because he got you out of a bad situation, I don’t know, but he is far from perfect, Doll. He’s a murderer and beyond his obvious flaws, he’s a man who let you down. You’re expecting him to do the right thing, but I just don’t know how realistic that is. The guy seems like a psycho. I mean, can a guy that can kill his own parents even feel love? Empathy?” Toji asked.
The blood in your body seemed to freeze upon hearing his words. The things he seemed to be implying about Suguru made you immediately defensive.
“You…you don’t know him.” You said, pulling yourself out of Toji’s arms to stand up.
“Hey, come on, Doll. Don’t get mad.” He tried to grab your arm, but you pulled away.
Panic began to rise inside you. Suguru loved you. He did. You weren’t imagining the kindness, you weren’t imagining his gentleness, or his character. No.
“You don’t know him, Toji! He was perfect! He was kind and he loved me and he…he was…” you began hyperventilating at the spiral of emotions that you were feeling.
“Baby, it’s ok.” Toji grabbed you to hold you upright, attempting to calm you down. “Breathe. Breathe. Come on, take a breath.”
But the air wouldn’t come. You were panicking both for air and from anxiety as Toji continued trying to help you.
“Look at me.” He said holding your face. “I’m right here. Please, Honey. You have to breathe.” He wasn’t panicking, but his eyes were intense.
You closed your eyes trying to calm down to breathe properly like he was telling you to, but you just couldn’t. Thoughts of Suguru, Mama, Papa, your family, they all swarmed you. It was real. They were real. Their love was real. You weren’t making it up.
“Fuck, where’s your phone?” Toji asked.
You pointed to the couch. He began ripping the couch apart until he found it. He held it to your face, unlocking it, before scrolling through it to find whatever he was looking for. You could vaguely hear his voice presumably speaking to someone before the phone was pressed to your face.
“Hey Sweet Girl. I need you to breathe for me.” Satoru’s voice came through the speaker.
You grabbed the phone from Toji’s hand holding it as if it was Satoru himself.
“I’m here.” He said softly through the phone. “Everything’s ok.”
You choked as sobs turned to wails before you melted into the floor clutching your phone.
“Can you tell me what has you so upset?”
Satoru asked.
“I-he-I” you sputtered. “S-s-Sugu.”
“What about Suguru?” Satoru pressed.
“He loved me.” You forced out. “It’s real.”
“Of course it’s real.” He confirmed.
Your breathing started to level slightly as you listened to his voice through the phone.
“He loves you. He just lost his way. Our Suguru wasn’t capable of such deception. At one time his love was pure, though I think it still exists in some twisted way. Our family was real. And you and I will always have each other, ok?” His voice was like silk to your ears.
“I love you.” You said as your breathing became normal.
“I love you more. You ok?” He asked.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” You told him.
“Don’t apologize. You and I are in this together, yeah?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
You and Satoru hung up and you sat on the floor leaning back on the couch.
“I’m sorry.” Toji said sitting beside you. “I didn’t mean to upset you. And I didn’t mean he didn’t love you, it’s just that you see him as this perfect being totally void of fault and blame. I don’t understand it.”
“Well you didn’t know him.” You sniffled. “He was perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect. We all have our flaws.” Toji told you.
“No, not him.” You smiled sadly. “He was really perfect.”
He patted your knee, but didn’t say anything.
“Thank you for calling Toru for me. It helped.” You said.
“Does that happen a lot? Panic attacks.” He asked.
“Yeah. Now they do.” You turned to look at him more clearly. “I think I have to see him, Toji. I have to try to take the burden from Satoru. If I can help, I need to.”
He nodded, chewing his lip as he seemed to be thinking it over.
“If that’s what you have to do, I understand.” Toji said. “But I’m going with you.”
“You can’t!” You said immediately. “He won’t listen if you’re there. Satoru can go.”
“YN, listen. We’re a team, ok? But I can’t send my teammate into something I don’t feel is safe. And no offense to your brother, but I don’t know him. In this situation the only person I trust with my wife is me.” His hand rubbed your shoulder.
“You can’t come inside. He won’t talk to me if you go in.” You reiterated.
“Fine.” He said. “Let’s make a plan.”
The next day, you were heading to meet Suguru at the same location you had met him at previously. Satoru had arranged the meeting and agreed to come with you. Toji would sit outside and listen through the wire you were wearing. The feeling of practically tricking him made you sick, but this seemed to be the only way Toji would agree to you going in at all. It was the best option you had.
“Are you nervous?” Toru asked as you approached the door.
“Yeah.” You admitted.
“It’s alright. It’s just Sugu. And I’m here.” He assured you as he pushed the door open.
The two of you walked inside, finding the place unusually quiet.
“Suguru?” Satoru called through the house.
“In here.” Suguru’s voice responded. Your heart rate increased at the sound of his voice.
Satoru guided you down the hallway and into the bedroom you had become all too acquainted with the last time you were here.
Suguru was sitting in a chair leaned over his desk. As you entered, he turned to face you.
“Toru!” He said standing to greet his best friend. “So good to see you.” He added.
You stood slightly behind the six eyes wielder while they exchanged pleasantries.
He ushered Satoru into the room, but didn’t speak to or look at you at all. The way he avoided you added to your guilty conscience. You trailed behind the pair who spoke and laughed together as if nothing had changed at all. It reminded you of them as teenagers: carefree, happy, totally and utterly in love with life and being together.
“So tell me, Toru. What is this meeting about?” Suguru asked perching himself on the edge of his desk after sliding the chair to Satoru.
“Well, actually, YN wanted to speak to you.” Satoru gestured towards where you stood behind him.
For the first time since you’d entered the room, Suguru’s eyes found you. The look he gave you wasn’t one you were familiar with. There was no gentleness or love; it was complete indifference.
“Oh? She couldn’t come alone?” Suguru asked, eyebrow raising. “That’s a new development. She had no problem “coming” the last time she was here.” He smirked as you shifted uncomfortably.
“Sugu-“ Satoru began.
“It’s ok.” You said.
Suguru’s eyes shifted between the two of you in what seemed to be particular interest.
“My dear friends have gotten quite close in my absence. Speaking for each other, going everywhere together, living together, Toru, have you fucked her?”
“Hey!” Satoru exclaimed. “Enough. Stop it. Of course I haven’t. We’re family, you know that. We’ve been friends for years. I’d never cross that line and neither would she. Stop deflecting.”
Suguru leaned back as a smile crept onto his face. “Ah, yes. Sorry, Satoru. I’ve let myself get carried away.”
Satoru relaxed into the chair again.
“I remember the days you used to hate each other and fight like cats and dogs. I was always the buffer. How far we’ve come.”
His eyes cut to you. “What is it that you would like to discuss?”
You cleared your throat and allowed your eyes to drift to Satoru momentarily. He gave you a nod, encouraging you to speak.
“You declared war?” You asked.
“YN please. Say what you want to say. Don’t ask me ridiculous questions you already know the answers to.” Suguru had never spoken to you this way. It was hurtful to hear the difference in his tone. For the first time since you’d known him, he was actually angry with you because of the marriage. You couldn’t blame him really. If roles were reversed, you would probably feel the same. That fact; however, did not lessen the blow of his scrutiny.
“Alright.” You said clearing your throat again.
“No. Wait.” Suguru held up a hand. “Alone.”
“It’s just me, Sugu.” Satoru protested.
“Yes. But I think words need to be exchanged between lovers-well, ex lovers- now.”
You watched as Satoru struggled with his decision.
“I’ll be fine, Toru.” You said.
“You’re scared of me now?” Suguru asked.
“No.” You said as if you couldn’t believe the question.
“Then why do you need a bodyguard?” Suguru cocked his head towards Satoru.
“I don’t.” You said definitely. “You can go, Toru.”
Satoru’s eyes tried to hold yours, but you looked away. Finally, he nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him. For several seconds, Suguru just stared at you. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched you like prey.
“I wanted to talk to you about the war.” You said breaking the deafening silence.
“And I want to talk to you about this little rumor I heard. Though, Satoru confirmed it, so I suppose it’s not really a rumor.” His voice was unreadable. Another thing about this meeting that was so unfamiliar.
“What about it?” You asked looking at the floor instead of at him.
He laughed. “What about it? I don’t know, YN. Maybe I want to talk about how you MARRIED someone like a week after you and I had sex! Maybe I want to talk about how you did that, and didn’t even bother to tell me yourself. I had to find out like some random person you barely fucking know!” Suguru never yelled. He hardly ever even got angry, but he was yelling now.
“I know. I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but it just happened.” You said softly.
“It just happened.” He repeated in disbelief.
“It did! I didn’t mean for it to, but it happened, ok?” How could you explain this without telling him the truth?
“No. Not ok. Why would you do that? How could you?” The anger had layers to it. There were so many feelings and emotions radiating in this room, it could explode from the tension.
“Suguru, you left me. I-“
“Would you please stop saying it like that?” He cut you off. “I left. I left everything, I left everyone. I left my life. I didn’t just break up with you.”
“Well it had the same result, didn’t it?” Your voice remained soft, but the pain broke through your tone.
He stared into your eyes, holding them ransom.
“Well, I guess it did.” He admitted. “But I didn’t move on to someone else. It’s only ever been you for me.”
You couldn’t fight the tears that rose to pool in your lash line.
“I’m sorry.” You breathed out. And you meant it.
“Are you happy?” Pain was all you could see in his eyes. Seeing him in pain broke your heart. Especially since you knew you were the cause.
For the first time in all the years of knowing and loving Suguru Geto, you told him an intentional, flat out lie. “Yes.”
He exhaled shaky breath as a tear fell onto his cheek. “Can you teach me how to be?” He laughed dryly.
You wanted to hold him in your arms, to kiss him and tell him you loved him and that everything was going to be ok. You couldn’t. Instead, you watched as laughter turned to cries.
“Sugu-“ you said.
“Ugh, please don’t. Please.” He wiped his eyes. “I can’t listen to you comfort me right now. I want it too much.”
You moved to sit beside him on the edge of the desk before laying your hand on top of his. A sound of relief escaped him at your touch. It was always that way between you. Two halves of one whole.
“Do you remember that night on the bridge?” You asked him. This was the first time any of you had spoken of it since.
“Yes.” He said.
“When I was up there, looking below at the water and the rocks, I wondered what death would feel like. I wondered if I would go to heaven or hell, and what would be waiting for me there.” You began.
“Why are we talking about this? I don’t want to think about it.” He said shutting his eyes at the memory.
You continued, “When I thought of heaven, I pictured you and how you loved me.” You admitted. “It’s the only thing I could think of that could possibly be close.” A tear of your own fell. “When you grabbed me to stop me from jumping, I thought I had done it, that I was already there, and I had conjured you up in my mind to greet me. The thing I didn’t bargain for that night was that you were my hell too.” You took a breath. “You leaving me, killing Mama and Papa, hurting Toru, and doing….everything you’ve done. That’s my hell.” You cried.
He was crying as well. Your hands remained stacked on the desk as you continued.
“All I’ve been doing since you left is trying to claw my way back. I want to wake up in their house, smelling breakfast, listening to our parents talk nauseatingly sweetly to each other, and watching you and Satoru wrestle. I want to go to sleep wrapped in your arms. I want heaven back! But you burned the bridge to reach it. You sent me and Toru to hell and you left us in it alone without you. We can never go back. So yes, Suguru. I got married. I married some guy I didn’t know that long, but I am trying to pick up my life and make something out of it. I’ll never get back to heaven, but maybe I can sit outside the door. Don’t I deserve to try?”
Your faces mirrored each other: splotchy, tear stained, and broken.
“I love you.” He sobbed. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you too.” You couldn’t not tell him.
“I want you to be happy.” He told you. “I just can’t bear that it’s not with me.”
“I tried.” You replied.
“I know you did. I know.” He agreed.
“But Sugu, this war.” You shook your head. “You can’t do this.”
“It was always going to happen eventually.” He said.
“But it doesn’t have to!” You squeezed his hand. “Please. Please don’t do this. Don’t force his hand, Suguru. He loves you. He’ll leave you alone, just…just leave him out of it.”
He looked at you for a moment before he sighed.
“You have the biggest heart.” The look you were used to, one of love and kindness, was back now. Thank god. “Always thinking of everything and everyone.” His knuckles caressed your cheek.
“Does that mean you’ll stop the war?” You asked hopefully.
“What my angel wants, she gets.” He relented.
“Thank you, Sugu! Thank you!” You grabbed him in a hug. Immediately, you felt his body freeze, and you knew what you had done.
“What is that?” He asked, feeling your back with his hand. “Are you…” he pulled back to look at your face. “Are you wearing a wire?” The look on his face would haunt you for the rest of your life. Betrayal was written all over it.
“Suguru-“
“No!” He screamed. “Who the fuck has been listening?”
You shrunk at his rage. This wasn’t him. This had never happened before. Moments ago, you were his angel. Moments ago, he loved you. By the look on his face now, that would never be true again.
“Did Satoru know?” A new level of hurt flashed over his face.
“No.” You whispered.
“Don’t lie. Is that all you do now? Lie to me?” He threw the chair at the wall.
“No, Suguru, I’m not lying. He doesn’t know!” This would be lie number two.
“Yes he did!” He screamed.
Just then, Toji came rushing in, followed by Satoru.
Suguru turned to look at them, then back to you. His eyes were empty. Void of love, of life, of Suguru.
“Come here, Baby.” Toji ordered from the doorway.
Slowly, you walked to him. Suguru watched you take each step towards your husband in disgust. When you reached him, he pulled you to stand slightly behind him.
“Sugu-“ Satoru began.
“Did you know?” Suguru asked him, though his eyes remained locked on yours. “About the wire. Did you know?”
“Yes.” Satoru answered. You squeezed your eyes shut.
“Well, look at that. My little angel has become a devil. A lying manipulating devil!” You grabbed Toji’s arm as you began to cry at his outburst. “ Your husband can’t save you from me.” He taunted.
“Get her out of here.” Satoru said to Toji before walking towards Suguru.
“Suguru, calm down. She wasn’t trying to lie to you. She just did what I asked her to do.”
“Why would you betray me?” Suguru cried.
Toji grabbed you, picked you up in his arms, and carried you from the room and out of the house. You could hear the two yelling at each other. The two of them didn’t fight. Suguru didn’t yell. This couldn’t be real. Your arms hugged Toji’s neck, your legs draped around his waist, and you sobbed into his neck. He put you in the car before quickly getting into the driver’s seat to get you both far away from the house, from your brother, from your lover. And this time there really was no going back.
Author’s Note:
Mental health check in: How are we feeling after all that angst? I got carried away! Sorry, my babies, but I hope it hurt so good! Thank you for reading :)
Synopsis: After years apart, you remeet Geto at a party, and you know you’ll never let him leave your side again
Tags/Warnings: Geto x GN!Reader, university AU, band AU kinda, fluff, smut, penetrative sex, unspecified reader genitals, rough sex, hookup, childhood friends to lovers, songfic elements at the end,
Word Count: 8,521
Notes: This is a repost from my old acc | Fic Playlist
Well, there you were. A drink in one hand and your friend holding onto the other arm, excitedly talking away as she was one to do after a few drinks. You always indulged her, so few did. The week wasn’t even over yet, but you were utterly exhausted. Just one encounter with Ryomen - or Professor Sukuna, as he’d insisted you do - you were firm in your decision that you needed to move out of his class. You’d known he wouldn’t be able to keep things civil, and he’d only confirmed that after seeing him just once. But, this wasn’t the place to think of him. You were keeping an eye out for any guys you might like, anyone who may just catch your attention enough to want to pull them into a storage closet to make out with. Why not, right? It was your last year of college and you needed to make the most of the inherent permission to engage in debauchery that came with being a student.
Your friend gasped softly, and you realised that you’d entirely zoned out, not that she’d noticed. You looked in the direction she was pointing, pulling her hand down because she was anything but subtle and you didn’t want whoever she was pointing at to notice.
“For you.” She yelled into your ear to be heard over the music, giggling drunkenly as she did. You looked at the two men she’d been pointing out, one with white hair and one with black hair. You regarded them both for a moment, and in your friend’s defense.. she had taste. They were both hot. It was just a matter of who you wanted.
>[The black haired guy]
[The white haired guy]
[Keep looking]
At your friend’s insistence, and assurances that she’d be just fine, you decided to go for it. What the hell. You crossed the room, slipping between people until you were stood beside the two men.
“Hey.” You greeted, introducing yourself to the both of them, forced to yell to be heard over the music. The guy looked oddly familiar, in a way you couldn’t place, though you chose not to mention it - it wasn’t important, and it wasn’t really the right time to be trying to figure out who his celebrity lookalike was. You were trying to get laid after all.
“I’m Suguru, that’s Satoru.” Suguru introduced, and you shook their hands, doing your best to shake of the slight awkwardness of meeting new people.
He was crazy hot. His hair was clearly long, but was tied back into a bun that was artfully messy, with a large piece left hanging out of the front to frame his face. He wore ear gages, had two lip rings, and a helix. His arms were tattoed, down to his hands where his nails were painted black and the polish was slightly chipped. To top it all off, he’d cut a slit into his left eyebrow, and for a moment all you could think about was being under him.
“Sorry, I don’t normally do this, but I couldn’t help myself. My friend pointed you out and honestly you’re exactly my type, Suguru.” You yelled, and as Satoru heard your words, he gave his friend a wink and disappeared into the crowd to make himself busy.
“Why don’t we head out into the garden? We’ll be able to hear each other out there.” Suguru suggested, and you agreed, happy to follow him out and through the large french doors into the large, and significantly quieter garden. Your ears were already ringing a little, but it was well worth it if you managed to get your mind off everything for a night. You’d met another guy with dark hair and that name a long time ago, but the memories were distant and fuzzy, you’d been so young.
You took a deep, appreciative breath of the fresh air, and Suguru chuckled, leaning up against the brick wall of the house. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, briefly offering it to you, shrugging when you refused.
“So, I’m exactly your type huh?” He asked, a small flirtatious smirk creeping onto his face and you realised with horror that you’d need to actually flirt with him now to get him into bed. You knew how to do that, sure.
“I mean, I’ve already been pretty forward so I might as well keep going. I came here tonight hoping I’d find a pretty guy I could sneak away with for a little while, and I don’t know if that’s something you’re into but-” Your words were cut off when Suguru tugged you in by your shirt to crash your lips together without another word.
“I’m real into kissing people who think I’m pretty.” He whispered against your lips, and that was all it took.
You scrambled back through the party, waving a quick goodbye to your friend as you passed by, pulled along by Suguru. He didn’t have a spare helmet with his motorbike, so he gave you his instead, promising he was a safe driver.
“Where.. do I put my hands?” You asked, watching as Suguru climbed onto his bike, movements fluid from experience.
“You can hold onto my waist. You could hold onto the bar behind you but.. not the best for tight corners.”He replied, self assured in a way that annoyed you on others, but seemed to suit him perfectly.
“So just.. on your waist?” You clarified as you swung your leg over the bike, slowly sitting behind him.
“Lean when I do, and we’ll be good. We’ve gotta work together to stay safe, so just hold on.” He said, and you nodded quickly, pulling the helmet down over your head, and wrapping your arms around him.
His arms flexed as he drove, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were drooling just watching the way his biceps shifted. You leaned with him as he’d asked, the feeling of the air rushing by over your arms was one you could get used to. Not that you’d ever learn to drive, certainly not. You slipped your fingers into his belt loops to hold on tightly, nervous about touching him despite actively being on your way to his apartment to have sex, and you were sure you felt the vibrations of his responding groan where your chest was pressed to his back.
Once you’d arrived, you stumbled off the bike and handed back his helmet, only to be pushed up against it again as large, cool hands roamed your clothed body and insistent lips pressed against yours, the metal of his lip rings suprisingly warm. After just a few minutes too long lingering in the car park, Suguru guided you up the stairs to his apartment and threw open the door, pushing you up against the wall the moment you were both inside.
He wasted no time at all getting you naked, then descended on you like a starved man, using his tongue in ways you’d been worried you’d never find again, certainly not with some college guy. You pulled his hair from its confines pulling on the strands, encouraging him on until you came hard, against his tongue. He took you to bed then, picking you up to carry you through his small apartment. On the walls were displays of who he was as a person, all ignored in favour of feeling him inside you. Suguru didn’t make love, he fucked, and he did it well. He bent you double and slammed into you, with plenty of lube easing the way as he panted and whispered in your ear, muttering dirty things that only served to make you needier, more desperate.
When you slept, you slept heavily, almost missing your alarm in the morning. Thankfully, Suguru lived closer to campus than you did so you didn’t have to worry much that you could be late, or about your still faulty car.
“Mornin.” He grumbled in an unfairly attractive morning voice as you crept out of bed, trying (and clearly failing) not to wake him.
“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” You said awkwardly, tugging yesterday’s clothes back on. You wouldn’t have time to go back to your apartment to change, so you’d simply have to do your best to wear it with confidence and hope that nobody asked questions.
“S’alright. You headed to campus?” He asked, sitting up to reveal his tattoed stomach as the duvet pooled around his waist, the early morning sun framing him as it streamed in through the mostly drawn blinds. You’d bumped into them, and knocked a few out of place.
“Yeah. I’ve got early classes.” You brushed yourself off, attempting to will away some of the creases in your jeans, as if that would work.
“Me too. I’ll take you on the bike just give me ten.” Suguru said as he stood from the bed, and all your memories of the night before returned to your mind in an instant, all at once as you looked at his naked body. He chuckled, the sound low and resonant, and you could only look away, not acknowledging that you’d been staring.
While he dressed into something fresh, you waited in his living room, finally able to take in the decor you’d ignored the night before. Most of his walls were plain, the furniture nothing out of the ordinary, but on one wall was a cork board where he’d pinned handfuls of leaflets and tickets, a monument to a band called “Jujutsu Beats Monkeys”. You’d never heard of them.
“Hey, you ready to go?” Suguru’s voice rang out as he emerged from his bedroom, and you nodded. A lot of hookups weren’t as cool the next morning as this, so you figured he did this a lot, but frankly you were just grateful he was willing to drive you to campus.
“Yeah. Uh, is this your favourite band or something?” You asked, pointing out the cork board as he approached, and you watched as his eyes lit up with pride.
“That’s my band, actually. We’re doing pretty well locally.” He explained, grabbing his keys from the sofa where he’d carelessly tossed them in his pursuit to get you naked.
“Damn, this is my third year and I’ve never heard of you guys.” You continued to chat as you descended the stairs together, heading for his bike, a spare helmet cradled under his arm to keep you both safe. You pulled on the spare helmet and he put on his usual, and with that he drove you to campus like it was just.. no big deal.
You dismounted with slightly more grace than the night before, and with the help of a hand from Suguru.
“Hey, we’re doing a concert next week. You should come.” He said with a smirk, and you nodded, partly out of politeness but also partly out of curiosity.
“Where can I get a ticket?” You asked in return, quickly checking the time on your phone.
“I’ll put your name on the guest list, don’t worry.” Suguru winked, clearly unfairly aware of how attractive it looked on his face, and you fell for it completely, insides melting at the view.
“I’ll be there.” You said, quickly nodding before you rushed away with the excuse of being on time to class.
As you walked, you excitedly texted the group chat with all your friends to tell them the news, stomach twisting and flipping excitedly. Was that a date? Did it matter? If it resulted in a repeat performance then you’d be more than happy.
Someone who was incredibly unhappy was Ryomen, who paid far much attention to you for an ex and pointed out as you entered the room that you were wearing yesterday’s clothes. You refused to let his comment bring you down and took a seat near the back of the room so you could continue texting your friends. You promised to fill them in properly after class, not wanting to give Sukuna more reason to pick on you so early in the morning.
It wasn’t until you all broke for lunch that you really got a chance to chat with your friends again, apologising to those that had already graduated for not being able to give them the details.
You sat at your usual table, your friends sat around all eating happily, chatting idly about nothing in particular, complaining about classes. It didn’t last long though, as quickly all eyes were on you, eager to hear the details about your new conquest. Though you didn’t tell the story in as much detail as some of them would’ve liked, you did explain the encounter to them, more than proud of yourself for it.
“I told you those guys were hot!” Your friend who’d been at the party said excitedly, and credit where it was due, she’d been incredibly correct.
“So what was that this morning about maybe seeing him again?” Another friend prompted, stabbing at his chicken salad with a fork.
“Oh, he’s in a band and he said he’d add me to the guest list for their next gig.” You said, and a shrill squeal made you wince, rubbing at the ear closest to the source.
“Oh my god!! Tell us what his band’s called so we find their music!” Your friend cheered excitedly, pulling out her phone. You considered your options for a moment. The issue with your friends was that you knew for sure they wouldn’t stop at just finding his band on spotify, they’d cyberstalk him too, learn as much as they could about him. Did you really want that?
>[Tell them the band’s name]
[Keep it a secret]
After some consideration, you sighed deeply and told them.
“It was.. Jujutsu Beats Monkeys, which I thought was-” you’d been about to explain how strange you found the name, when several gasps cut you off.
“No way. They’re pretty famous around campus. Everyone wants to sleep with their front man.” A third friend acknowledged, and you grinned and shrugged.
“Well, I slept with him. He said he plays guitar, and trust me he has those skilled guitarist fingers.” Everyone laughed along with you, while your friend who had been at the party typed away on her phone, no doubt googling him.
“Jujutsu Beats Monkeys.. drummer Mahito.. singer and guitarist Suguru Geto..” the rest of her sentence faded into nothing. What? There was no way.
You lunged over the table to grab her phone, scrolling through the band’s instagram page that she’d found, and clicked through to the page of the front man. There he was, the handsome guy you’d slept with, with the name of your childhood friend you’d been so sure you’d never see again.
“Dude? Dude!” Yelling caught your attention, and you looked up at your friends with wide eyes, mouth hanging slightly open.
“What?” Someone prompted eagerly.
“I didn’t recognise him..” you mumbled vaguely, handing your friend back her phone, “oh my god. I knew him when we were kids.”
“No way! Small world.” Everyone continued to chat, meanwhile you stared down at the ink on your hand where Suguru had written his number so you could text him when you had some spare time. There was no way, but then, how many people were called Suguru Geto?
You
Hey it’s me, finally had a spare minute
I think we need to meet up
Suguru
Damn, did you enjoy yourself that much?
You rolled your eyes at his flirting, and where that morning it’d made your face warm, now it only made your hands clammy.
You
My friends and I googled your band earlier and we found something you might be interested in
Suguru
Well that’s ominous as shit
I’m in the library rn we could meet here
You
I’ll be there in five
With your phone returned to your pocket, and your clammy hands wiped on your jeans, you headed for the library. There was no sense in putting it off, after all. You had to find out the truth. When you reached the library, you spotted Suguru stood outside, and while he still hadn’t seen you you took a moment to just look at him and see if you could find the boy from your youth in his face. You stopped after a minute, not wanting to look like a creep.
After a deep breath to steady your nerves, you jogged the rest of the short distance to get some of your nerves out and called out his name to catch his attention. The smile he gave you was nothing short of heart stopping, and you couldn’t help wondering where he learned to do that.
“What’s up?” He asked casually, lit cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers.
“You didn’t tell me your surname last night.” You started, ignoring how odd it sounded as a conversation starter.
“Was kinda busy with my tongue b-” You cut him off with a light shove that made you both laugh, and you let him take a long drag from his cigarette before you spoke again. You licked your lips and told him your full name, watching the understanding dawn on his face.
“No way?” He asked, slightly breathless, mouth hanging open with surprise.
“Nice to see you again, Suguru.” You said softly, and he laughed loudly as he wrapped you in a tight hug that you couldn’t stop yourself from returning.
As children, you and Suguru had been utterly inseparable. You were best friends and somehow so much more than that, even at a young age. Your parents had once joked that they were sure you’d end up married. Every moment you could be together, you were, hanging off each other without a care in the world what anyone thought. He’d been your first kiss, even if it wasn’t really a kiss, you were too young to know what they meant. But still, his lips had touched yours, and you’d remembered it for years after. The memory of how he’d treated you without ever needing to be told had been a guiding light through your teenaged years, helping you pick friends and lovers alike.
You’d ended up separated as you went into highschool, with your parents needing to move to follow a job opportunity, and you’d been nothing short of devastated.
The night before you were due to leave, you’d climbed up onto the roof with him, and sat there in silence looking up at the stars.
“I’ll always be here for you.” He’d said, softly, like he was afraid someone would take his conviction from him too.
“I’ll never forget you. Never.” You’d replied, the moment loaded with childhood innocence and something you’d been so sure was real love.
“At least we’ll be able to see the same stars.” He’d said several minutes later, and you sat together until the sun began to rise, hand in hand, not ready to let go.
You’d collapsed into his arms and sobbed as your parents finished loading the car the next day, everything else already in the moving truck on its way to your new home. Both your parents and his watched on, pained to watch you be separated. They’d known how hard it would hit the both of you, but some things just can’t be avoided.
“I’ll find you again one day.” Suguru had whispered in your ear, a simple promise you knew he couldn’t be sure he’d keep, but you held onto it tight with both hands anyway.
“Find me, and then you can marry me like you said you would.” You’d replied just as soft, a special secret between just the two of you. He’d kissed you again then, soft and gentle, before you allowed your mother to prise you away from him and help you into the car.
“I told you I’d find you.” He said when he pulled away, holding you at arms length with a grin, taking you in with new eyes now that he knew the truth of who you were.
“Technically, I found you.”
“Technically, your friend found me.” You both fell into laughter, clutching each other again in a warm embrace. You’d known he looked familiar, but never would you have guessed why that was.
In the time between that day and the concert he’d invited you to, you spent a lot of time texting and catching up on life. You didn’t get another chance to see each other in person between spending time with friends, class work and his rehearsals but you made texting work. It was nice to have him back, he’d been your first friend and your best friend for so many years after all. You learned that Satoru was the other guest at the concert, the white haired guy you’d also briefly met at the party, and he’d effectively been your replacement. They’d met on Suguru’s first day in high school, and Satoru had picked him up like an excitable child with a stray cat, and they’d been friends ever since. It was nice to know he’d had someone to stand by him in your absence.
The growing pile of clothes on your bed seemed to mock you as you tried another outfit, attempting to find something that you felt like looked good enough to be seeing him again. You felt ridiculous, he’d been your best friend for so long and now he’d even seen you naked - so why should what you wore matter? But it was those very facts that seemed to make the outfit matter, that loomed over you as you attempted to figure out what to do with yourself. You wanted to act normal, to be friends as you once had been, and yet each time you saw a picture of him on your feed all you could think about was how he’d sounded as he moaned your name.
Forcibly, you shook your head, banishing the memory from your mind. You decided to keep on the outfit you were already wearing, time was getting away from you and you didn’t want to be late. Thankfully, your car was back up and running, the issue had only been minor, but you didn’t want to have to drive home late while you were sleepy behind the wheel. So, you called for a taxi, sitting outside your apartment as you waited.
Toji, your neighbour and the mechanic that had fixed your car found you there and struck up a conversation while you waited for your taxi. You waved him goodbye with a smile, thanking him again for helping you out the week before, then climbed into your taxi. The driver didn’t ask any questions, and frankly that was how you liked your taxi drivers, so you simply sat back and enjoyed the radio music softly filling the car.
Satoru was outside when you arrived and greeted you with a cheeky smirk that told you he knew full well that you’d slept with Suguru after re-meeting him at the party. You’d joked a little together, waiting for the venue to open, then headed in together. Satoru paid for your drink when you ordered at the bar, which you appreciated since you weren’t exactly wealthy - your minimum wage job could only afford you so much. When other people began to arrive, you headed together toward the front of the space, making sure you’d be right at the front of the stage when they came out to perform.
It was a fairly low stakes gig, so the crowds weren’t huge, but they were sizeable enough to be pretty impressive, and you noted that almost everyone, if not everyone, in attendance were fellow students. Your friends had mentioned that Geto’s band were popular on campus but you’d not really processed what that meant. It meant a lot of hot people screaming for them as they performed on stage. You were starting to understand where Suguru may have gotten his sexual prowess - and then you immediately scolded yourself for having that thought.
They performed well, with Suguru singing and playing his guitar, a guy with grey hair on drums, and a guy with facial burns on bass. Suguru was definitely the main event though. You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he sang, the casual clothes you’d seen him wearing so far traded for the more rock aesthetic the band seemed to sport. He wore a black sideless muscle tee, with the band’s logo on the front, his hair was up in its trademark bun, but pieces had fallen out during the course of the performance, sticking to his forehead from the sweat. He’d carved out the slit in his eyebrow recently, you could tell from how clear it was, and when he tilted as he played his guitar you got a view of his stomach tattoo that seemed to drive the crowd wild. When he opened his eyes to look out at the crowd, it was like he was trying to seduce each and every person, and when his eyes fell on you, you were powerless to do anything but stare back - and when he smiled, you were sure you’d died in that moment. You could only be glad that the lighting in the room was dark, even if Satoru beside you clearly could tell you were overwhelmed by Suguru’s beauty.
When their set was over, and everyone cheered, the three of them grouped together and waved out at the crowd, grins on their faces. Just before they turned to leave, Suguru’s eyes flicked down to you and he winked, to which Satoru whooped loudly, cackling without remorse. You met up with the band when they’d left the stage, each of them with damp cloths around their necks to cool down, and cold drinks in hand.
“You were good up there.” You told Suguru, leaning up against the bar as he stepped in opposite you.
“Thanks. That was a pretty good gig actually, we didn’t fuck up at all.” He acknowledged, voice clearly a little exhausted from performing. You gently bumped his knee with yours, beaming at him.
“Shut up and accept the compliment. I never thought you meant it when we were kids and you said you’d learn to play guitar.” You acknowledged, sipping at the second drink Satoru had bought you (you made a mental note to bring him some sweets from your job as a trade).
“Oh, I forgot about that. I said I’d write a song about you too, huh?” He said, smile shifting to a little mischevious smirk that you knew all too well, even if it now sat on a very different face.
“Whatever you’re scheming, cut it out.” You said, leaning over to playfully hit him, and you laughed together. The others crowded around to chat together, and things felt completely normal for the first time in ages.
>[Go to work]
[Go to class]
You turned on your heel in a rush when you heard the bell, already overwhelmed but quickly plastering a customer service smile over your panic.
“Hi there, how can I- oh hi Surugu.” You said, leaning heavily against the counter when you realised it was just him rather than a normal customer.
“What’s wrong?” He asked with a soft laugh, stepping up to the register to lean against the counter at his hip, arms folded over his chest.
“We’re so behind. My coworker called out and I, like a fool, said ‘oh I can handle it’ and then today has been unreasonably busy. We’re running out of things, and I’ve not had a chance to make anything new. I’m losing my mind.” You admitted, brushing your forearm over your forehead to itch it, your hands still covered in flour.
Without a moment of hesitation, Suguru vaulted over the counter, and guided you back into the kitchen with hands on your shoulders. You let him do it, mostly because you were enjoying the feel of having him so close.
“What are you doing?” You asked when he rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt, even though you certainly weren’t complaining about the view.
“Helping. Now shut up, I’m still learning this one.” He explained as he pulled out his phone to play what sounded like a demo of one of the band’s new songs. With no complaints, no arguing, no hesitation, Suguru simply began to wash dishes as he softly sang lyrics, giving you the chance to work on something else.
With a deep breath, and a profound appreciation for your friend, you got to work. With an extra set of hands now available, you were able to focus on making some replacement treats for customers, while Suguru swapped between washing dishes, and serving customers.
You fell into a rhythm together, moving around each other without a word needing to be said, like the years between you meant nothing in the face of the true bond that you’d forged in your youth, now reignited. He pulled things from the oven when you were occupied with customers, you caught his phone to stop it falling in the sink of soapy water, he sang softly along to the new demo to keep you both entertained as much as learn, you retied his hair when it began getting loose and he was covered in flour from cleaning one of the countertops. It was as easy as breathing, to be with Surugu. He stayed with you until your shift ended, watching from where he sat on the front counter beside the register as you finished the closing duties.
“You were a lifesaver today, Suguru.” You said with a sigh, leaning against the counter beside him, tilting to rest your head against his arm.
“Well, I do try.” He replied with a soft laugh, just letting you relax there with him for a moment.
“What did you even come in for?” You followed with after a few minutes, looking up at him without moving from your position. You were far too comfortable to even consider moving.
“Satoru said you promised him sweets.” He replied, shrugging with the arm you weren’t leaning against.
“I will make extra for you to both share.” You told him, shuffling away into the back to find some leftovers that you could put together into a little care package for them. They’d only be thrown out otherwise.
“As a thank you for your help, and Satoru buying my drinks at your gig.” You announced when you placed the box of treats in Suguru’s arm, then guided him out of the staff door, which you locked behind you. He waited as you finished locking everything up, making sure all the shutters were down, then looked at his motorcycle with critical eyes.
“I don’t think I can take these on the bike.” He said simply, tilting his head as if somehow he could find a way to make them fit.
“I’ll drive you home, my car is up and running again, then you can come get your bike tomorrow. Just park it up in the employee spots behind the building.” You said, taking the box of treats from him to transfer them into your car while he moved his bike. You texted your coworker who’d be opening the store tomorrow so they knew who the bike belonged to, then glanced up as Suguru got into your passenger seat, picking the box up to set it in his lap.
You connected your phone to the car speakers, surprised and a little embarassed when Suguru’s own voice came through. You turned it down, and quickly went to change the track, but Suguru’s hand was suddenly wrapped around your wrist.
“You’ve been listening to the band?” He asked, looking surprised, and almost shy.
“Of course I have. You guys are awesome, and you’re my best friend. I’d listen to the band even if you guys were shit.” For a long moment, Suguru just stared at you, and you stared back with a reassuring smile. He nodded a little, mostly to himself, then took back his hand. You watched him for a moment longer, just waiting to see if he’d say anything else, then focused on driving you both home.
Suguru didn’t live far from your place, so it wasn’t too hard to drop him off, but he was grateful anyway. You thanked him again as he got out, then wanted to curse him as he leaned against the doorframe to speak to you, the veins in his forearms prominent, his biceps bulging from holding his weight.
“We should hang out again one day this week, I’ve hardly seen you.” He said, his silver lip rings glinting under the street lights.
“Yeah we’ve both been so busy. I’ll text you with my class and work schedule, and we’ll find a time we can do.” As you spoke, you took out your phone to send him both of the schedules in question, before you could forget. Suguru nodded and pushed himself upright, and you were beyond glad he wasn’t shirtless or the view of his abs flexing might just have killed you.
“I’ll have a look and let you know. I’ll see you around then.” He nodded and closed the car door, and after seeing him begin the climb to his apartment, you pulled out of the parking lot to go home yourself.
It was late, far later than it had any business being, when you called Suguru next. He answered quickly, though you could tell from the roughness of his voice that you’d woken him up.
“Hey, how come you’re calling so late?” He asked, followed by a soft yawn. You could just imagine him in his bed, those soft sheets wrapped around his naked body, his hair artfully draped over his pillow. Fuck.
“I’m really sorry to do this but I’m out at the club with some friends and my ride home got spiked so I’m kinda stranded.” You admitted, glad that you’d not had too much to drink that night.
“Shit. Give me five to put on some clothes and I’ll be there. Text me the address.” You sent him the address quickly, leaning heavily against the wall of the smoking area, where the bouncers were still close enough to help out if anyone passed by with a little too much confidence.
“Oh I know where that is. Yeah, I can be there quick. Hang in tight for me, sweetness.” He said before hanging up the call to get on his bike, while you were left wide eyed and flushed at the petname.
You were still a little dazed when he pulled up, wearing black sweatpants and a t-shirt that was tight as sin, and instantly had you distracted. Arousal came first, flooding through you unbidden as you imagined him peeling that shirt off, damp with sweat. But then, for just a moment, Suguru the lead singer didn’t stand in front of you with his motorbike, instead it was little Suguru who lived down the street and his red pushbike that you used to sit on the handlebars of.
He climbed off the bike and ignored the bouncers entirely to step up to you, wrapping you in a hug. The bouncers backed off only when you returned it with a smile.
“Hey.” He said softly, pulling back to look at you properly.
“Hi.” You replied, smiling at him, a little unsteady on your feet - more so from him being so close than from the alcohol.
“How many have you had?” Suguru asked, inspecting you more closely.
“Not many. I’m just a little tipsy.” You replied honestly, and when he was sure you could stand without help and you weren’t slurring your words, he nodded and guided you back to his bike with a hand around your wrist. He pushed the spare helmet onto your head, then climbed onto the bike, settling only when you followed and wrapped your arms around him securely.
Neither of you spoke as he drove you home - not that you’d be able to really hear each other anyway - but it was peaceful, and comforting to be so close to him. If the helmet weren’t so firmly in the way, you’d nestle your head against his shoulder and press your cheek to his, just to feel him, to hear his breaths and his heartbeat.
After you arrived at your apartment, he didn’t just leave you there, he insisted on walking you up to your door, and then helping you inside. If it was in part because he was being nosy, well that was Suguru’s business. You began to strip once the door was closed, and he didn’t look away - why should he, he’d already seen every inch of you after all - he simply watched to ensure you weren’t going to stumble and fall.
“Is that a new tattoo?” He asked once your shirt was tossed aside, looking at your shoulder blade with interest.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been going to the studio down the street from campus.” You confirmed, pausing as he approached so that he could look at it properly. It was clearly new, though no longer red. He reached out hesitantly to touch it and trace along the lines, not wanting to hurt you but eager to get more familiar with this new mark on your skin. When you didn’t flinch, he did just that, slowly tracing the tip of his middle finger along the lines of the tattoo, committing it to the image of you he had in his mind.
“It’s good work.” He said eventually, breaking out of his trance like he’d been under a spell. You hummed and continued to strip, struggling out of your pants to toss them aside. Suguru reached out a hand to steady you as you struggled, preventing you from falling as you awkwardly hopped around. Once you tossed them away, a second hand gripped your other hip, holding you close to him.
“Are you trying to tempt me, sweetness?” He whispered against your ear, his soft warm breath fanning over your neck, making you shiver.
“No?” You replied, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. He chuckled lowly, and you felt it resonate in your sternum, his fingers tightening around your hips, keeping you close.
“Well, it’s working. But if you want me to go, I can let you get some rest.” Suguru offered, leaving the ball firmly in your court. You shifted slightly, feeling the hard length of his cock against your ass through his sweatpants, and you knew your decision was made.
It took nothing but a whispered yes for him to drag you to bed, tossing you onto it like you weighed nothing at all. He followed after you, parting your legs without a moment of hesitation to tear your underwear off you, taking you into his mouth in the next breath, like he was stranded in the dessert and you were an oasis. Your back arched from the mattress, your fingers tangling in the sheets below you. For all that you’d been trying to resist thinking about Suguru like this, you couldn’t help the desire that flowed through your body. He groaned against you when you moaned his name, worshipping you like you were a forgotten religion only he had the privilege of maintaining, like a priest at your altar.
Suguru didn’t relent until you’d cum over his tongue, with two knuckles three fingers deep inside you, stretching you out for his cock. His cock was exactly what you needed after such a long day, filling you up while emptying your mind, punching into you relentlessly. Suguru fucked you like he needed to prove that nobody could do it better than he could, like he was trying to imprint the shape of his cock to your insides, and all you could do was writhe and moan his name, hoping your neighbours would forgive you. You clutched him tightly, with nails digging into his back and him panting against your neck as he nailed that spot inside you repeatedly, whispering filth into your ears that made the sound of your smacking skin inaudible - how could you choose to listen to that over his words when they were so delicious, only making you more desperate for a second orgasm at his hands.
It hit like a tidal wave when your orgasm crashed into you, with Suguru following shortly after, coating your stomach in his seed. You both panted, bodies pressed together as if you could become one, like if you just savoured this moment long enough then you’d never have to part again.
“Fuck, sweetness. This body was made for me.” He murmured in your ear, and you couldn’t help seeking out his lips for another kiss, a kiss that teetered on the edge of a dangerous ledge, one that promised thrill and heartbreak in equal parts.
“It’s been waiting for you for years.” You replied, heart seizing when you felt the movement of his eyelashes as his eyes widened.
“You tryna get me to fuck you again? Cause I will.” He warned, hand sliding slowly down your body until it rested on your inner thigh. It moved no further, but it didn’t have to.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Sugu.” And just like that, you lost your night in each other’s arms.
It was you that drove to class the next day, unwilling to sit on the bike when you were so sore, and not prepared to let Suguru drive when you’d both had such little sleep. You laughed about it together and listened to his music as you made the journey, taking a longer route to avoid the busier roads and therefore the worse drivers. When you pulled up on campus, you knew it was going to be a long day, but you found that you didn’t care. With satisfaction seated so deep in your chest, you didn’t care what anyone said.
“Hey, we’ve got another gig coming up.” Suguru said as he climbed out of the passenger seat, pushing his hands casually into the pockets of his sweatpants.
“Oh, send me the details, I’ll come.” You said, locking the car behind you both. You walked side by side to the building where your class would be, hands brushing with each step but neither of you made the move to simply hold hands. It felt too bold, to out in the open, even after he’d fucked you last night in four differnt positions, until the sun rose.
“Great. Satoru will be there too so you can hang out together again. He likes you.”
“Yeah, he’s nice. I can see why you get along with him.” You acknowledged, gently bumping shoulders.
“I think we’re gonna be debuting a few new songs at the next gig.”
“Oh yeah? Like the demo I heard when you saved my ass at work the other day?”
“Yeah, that’s one of them. You’ll be the only person in the crowd that knows all the words.” He said with a warm smile that made your chest tighten. There was moments where the two versions of Suguru seemed to converge, and that was one of them, seeing the hair you’d made a mess of and the shirt he’d fucked you in combined with the gentle smile that was so familiar it may as well be carved into your soul.
“I feel very special. I’ll have to taunt Satoru about it.” You replied, brushing off the way your stomach filled with butterflies when he opened the door for you, following shortly after.
“He knows the words to another new song, though. He’s been hanging out with me while I’ve been learning it. It’s not an original but we’ve never performed it before. He likes studying while I play, says it helps him focus or something.” Suguru shrugged but you understood where Satoru was coming from.
“I’m looking forward to it then.” You said as you stood outside the door to Sukuna’s classroom, hesitating before heading in, not ready to leave Suguru yet. The door opened without you touching it to reveal the professor in question. His piercing eyes bored into the back of your head, but you said nothing, just looking at Suguru.
“I’ll see you then. I’ll send you the details but it’s on Thursday.” He said, nodding politely to Sukuna before he gave you a wave and headed off for his own class.
The time until Thursday positively dragged.
Every class seemed hours long, every assignment seemed to take double the time it usually would, every hangout with friends left you distracted, able to only think of Suguru. It was borderline sickening how quickly you’d fallen totally head over heels for him (again) and your friends (rightfully) teased you relentlessly about it. You didn’t mind, it was all in good fun, and ultimately they were right. But, the times where you’d text or call Suguru in the evening, laying in bed as you just caught up, curled around the pillow he’d fucked you into like you could still smell his scent on it - those times made up for all the moments spent waiting.
You organised to take a taxi with Satoru to the venue, so you didn’t both need to pay, and you covered that in return for him buying drinks. You entered the venue arm in arm, laughing together like old friends, and quickly ordered drinks from the bar before it could start to get busy. Students filed in not long later, all eager to hear new music from the band, while you and Satoru took your spots at the very front, leaning against the metal barrier, joking and laughing, teasing each other in equal parts. You really did understand why Suguru had become such good friends with Satoru, and now you were honoured to call him your friend too.
When the band emerged from the wings, the cheering began, but none were louder than you and Satoru, whooping in the front row. Suguru looked down at you both and winked, making you both laugh and cheer more. The set sounded with songs you’d heard before, then the new song you’d heard the demo of, with you singing along to every word softly, so as to not prevent anyone else from enjoying the new track. Satoru was absolutely jealous, and you couldn’t help the teasing between tracks as the band had quick drinks of water to cool down. You were surprised when Suguru spoke.
“So, a lot of you have probably been to a lot of our gigs, I’m definitely seeing some familiar faces out in the crowd,” Suguru paused as some people cheered, “but today we’re going to do something a little different and I want to play a song we didn’t write. I listened to it fairly recently and it really connected with me, and some things going on in my life, is that alright everyone? We ready for a little change in format?” He called out, simling as the audience cheered as they always did. The bass player, Jogo, emerged from the wings and handed Suguru an acoustic guitar to replace his usual electric one, and then a stool for him to sit on while he played. It changed the tone immediately, and everyone seemed captivated.
“This song is called So Will I.” Suguru murmured into the mic as he played the first few notes, with Jogo and drummer Mahito sitting back to allow him to play.
“You say ‘what if I go crazy?’ I say ‘that ain’t gonna happen’, you say ‘what if I get lost?’ I say ‘you’ll just find your way back’, and you say ‘what if someone breaks my heart?’ I’ll put it back together like I do.” His voice sounded so different to how it usually did with the soft melody and gentler words. You were captivated, and when Suguru’s eyes met yours, the world narrowed to just be the two of you. Satoru leaned in and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, smirking a little.
“He did promise a song for you.” He whispered, and sudden understanding washed over you.
When you were children, Suguru had declared one day that he wanted to learn to play the guitar. When you asked why, he answered like it was the simplest thing in the world. He wanted to write a song for you.
“You say ‘what if things start changing?’ I say ‘we’ll be changing with them’, we’ll just sing a different melody and dance a different rhythm, you say ‘what if I give up?’ I say ‘that’s one thing I’ll never let you do’.” He continued, dragging his eyes away from you to look out at the crowd like a good performer, but your heart continued to thud, eyes brimming with tears you didn’t dare shed. The song he’d chosen for you, performed at a real gig with his band, who watched on with smiles as they let him take the stage and the audience by storm. He hadn’t written it, and yet it felt just as special, because it had never truly been about the words he may potentially write. It was about the way he sang it, the way the words formed on his lips, dedicated just to you. A song given to you, by him, even if not crafted at his hands, breaking the mould his band had created in your name.
“Even if the sky is fallin’, and the sun don’t wanna shine, if the stars we used to wish on disappear into the night, well I can move a mountain, but only by your side. Just say you’ll always be there, I know you’ll always be there, and so will I.” He softly finished, singing the final line as he looked right into your eyes, pleading with the lyrics. You nodded eagerly, and watched as Suguru’s face broke out in to a grin. He played the few last notes, then stood as the crowd loudly cheered. Suguru swapped the acoustic guitar for an electric one to play the final few songs of the set, and he grinned the entire time, as did you. Satoru squeezed you tightly with the arm around your shoulder, keeping you close as you waited for the set to end and the band to join you at the bar.
When the band emerged from backstage, sweaty but grinning, you charged right into Suguru’s arms. He picked you up without hestitation, almost like he’d been prepared for your outburst, and spun you around.
“You’re so dumb.” You murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“That’s kinda mean considering I just did a pretty grand gesture for you.” He replied, but he was grinning, his hands holding you tightly because he’d never let you fall.
“I’m never letting you go again.” You promised, pressing your lips togther firmly. Suguru melted easily into the kiss, only holding you tighter as his friends cheered around you, laughing loudly. When you parted, Suguru pressed his forehead to yours.
“Doesn’t matter if you do. I’ll always find you, so I can be by your side.”
the second your body twitches, even slightly, or you change position, toji’s eyes immediately prick open — constantly on guard.
but tonight? tonight he was awoken by something far different.
first, a gentle shuffle, your head resting against his broad chest, one of your legs slotting between his. toji stirs, instinctively draping an arm around you.
just as he begins to drift back off into a light sleep, skin to skin with his girl, you unconsciously lock your leg around him tighter; bare core pressing against the side of his thigh.
instantly, he’s awake again feeling the heat and wetness of your cunt against his skin.
toji assumed it’d end there. but no. slowly, you begin to roll your hips against his thigh, needy for him even in a deep sleep.
he doesn’t stop you, just lets out a low, quiet chuckle. "needy girl."
his hand finds your hair, gently soothing you as you unknowingly pleasure yourself, clit rubbing against his skin with every gentle thrust of your hips.
you sigh softly, warm and safe, pussy drooling from the contact. "makin’ a mess all over me, grinding that lil’ pussy all over me like y’just can’t help it," toji purrs, quiet enough not to wake you.
toji shifts his thigh more firmly between your legs, putting more delicious pressure on your clit, drawing a needy whimper from you. "keep goin, baby, that’s it," he soothes with that deep, gravelly voice, dick beginning to twitch beneath his boxers.
gradually, you pick up the pace, still in a deep sleep. you begin to moan, soft and breathy — slick sticky and warm against toji’s thigh.
you whine as your body grows tired, rutting against your boyfriend with unhurried rolls of your hips — "mnn," you complain, lazy and oblivious.
watching you struggle, toji grips your hip with one large hand, helping you move. "i’ve got you, princess. gonna help you."
your little sighs and moans turn into soft, broken pants. toji’s lips brush your temple, still occasionally muttering sweet praise.
"cmon, baby. almost there," he encourages, addicted to watching the way your hips move against him.
a smirk grows on toji’s face as he feels your body tense — so small against his. a desperate cry slips past your lips, along with a quiet mumble of his name.
"mm, toji—" you mewl, chasing the pleasure, still anchored in by toji’s large hand on your hip.
you stir awake just before you cum, eye fluttering open, too tired to register what was going on. "that’s a good girl," he rasps, "fuckin’ adorable."
you take in the feeling of your creamy mess against toji’s thigh — a faint sheen of sweat on your forehead.
your clit throbs as you come down, mind finally catching up with your body. toji kisses your temple, "look who’s awake." you bury your face against his chest, trying to hide your embarrassment. "toji.. did i-"
"hump my thigh in your sleep, yeah baby. y’did," he grins, rubbing your back reassuringly. "s’okay, it was cute."
you feared this would become a habit.
a/n; sorry this is so short i was having toji withdrawals and wanted to write something before bed (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
We know that Zayne is 27, Valko is 26, and Caleb is 25. Considering Zayne prolly stayed away from Linkon from Primary to,,, maybe Uni? Caleb also moved away to study, and Valko... Well, we don't know but indulge me on this.
WHAT IF THEY ATTENDED THE SAME UNIVERSITY?
Like it was on accident, since the 3 of them are rlly smart n talented, they were able to attend the top university of the world or something.
They're all in different fields but it's still in STEM, and they probably share the same location, if not the same building (probably not tho).
Zayne first arrived and he's amazing, top student in Science, etc. In his 2nd year, he made friends (maybe thru competition or whatever) with a Technology student, Valko. Two years after that, he finds a familiar name on top of the Engineering leaderboard, specifically in Aerospace and Aviation: Caleb, who was on his 2nd year by then.
Zayne is on his 4th year but since he's medical field,,, 8 years to graduate, I think? Valko's on his 3rd year.
Before Caleb, Zayne and Valko would just pass by each other, say hi, maybe nod at each other, but never really hang out. Until Caleb.
Apparently Valko has been chatting up both upper and lowerclassmens, making friends everywhere, and Caleb fits his vibe so they quickly became friends. After Zayne and Caleb rekindled, Caleb invites both seniors out to drink. One night, Zayne ended up super drunk and the three stumble their way to Zayne's dorm room. Making sure he doesn't die, the other two slept over, and that bonding experience has changed the status of their friendship ever since.
I imagine midterms and finals week are the most fun, because it's 3 super smart geniuses trying to not die from over-studying, and it actually helps because being with each other helps with their nerves. They go to Zayne's room, bc it's clean.
It's also cute because there's no competition. No one's beating anyone. They can be the top students of their respective fields, so there's no friendship-breaking pressure to win against one another.
HEAR ME OUT: they're both bosses, they're smart, they're cunning, they look cool asf, like RLLY cool. Genuinely the biggest aurafarmers when it comes to status.
I imagine these two would go drive off and have meaningful conversations after a gala dinner or a big business meeting or a charity event, DO YOU SEE MY VISIONN??? Like maybe they'd get a few drinks in, Valko can visit Sylus' base in N109 and I imagine the Twins would welcome him too.
Maybe they'd try to outrank each other, friendly competition though because their masculinity ain't fragile, they'd 100% laugh at idiot podcast bros omg. THERE'S SO MUCH POTENTIAL. THE FRIENDSHIP AND BUSINESS PARTNER POTENTIAL.
Anyways, if I put my MC in the picture, she's 100% confused at what they're talking about bc the mind of business alpha males is too complicated for Ms Hunter. That's all folks.
— DOCTOR GOJO ┆ satoru gojo being ur long-time genius doctor friend who offers to do ur urgent gynecologist check-up...
pt.1
a/n: lol templates and plot aside i would literally jump into that chair with zero questions asked like satoru please do ur worst 😽 let me know if u want part 2 (nsfw) with the actual exam!!
he has been slowly fucking you, whispering praises, never faltering or speeding up. you can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, beads running down his chest, which… you should really ask to bite his nipples one day.
“ge- hnng!” that damn smile. it wasn’t even a smile, it was a grin. the worst fucking grin in the world but from all the jujustu gods from above did you love him. the build up began to grow, his stupidly big cock hitting every nerve, tears began to build. geto groans, tilting his head back when he sees the shine in your eyes.
“you gonna cry? need to feel me that bad?” pressing down on your stomach, right where your bladder was.
he looks down for second before sitting up and grabbing your hips. you shook your head frantically, hot tears running down your cheeks and before you could stop yourself, a choked out, “daddy-“
then everything stops. you didn’t even realize you said it, you hiccup, “no—no, don’t stop, please, suguru don’t stop, need to cum!” when you locked eyes with him, it was dark. lustful. it made your walls pulse.
“daddy, huh?” when he tilts his head, his bangs move from his eyes and their closed again, a sinister smile. “i- well i-“ he shakes his head, beginning his slow thrusts again but something about these-
“ah!” a gasp falls from you when his harsh thrust pushes your body up the mattress. “geto-“
he clicks his tongue, “i won’t fuck you until you say it again.”
well, who could resist when you’re so close?
“daddy,” you whisper, grabbing his biceps, “please daddy, fuck me harder?”
✧ SUMMARY You accidentally leave your Tumblr open… and the Jujutsu Kaisen men you’ve been reading about on Tumblr discover your fanfiction.
✧ NOTE: this is set in a college AU where all characters are 18+
✧ FEATURING: suguru geto and hiromi higuruma.
✧ CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni. explicit sexual content, x reader, accidental confession, mutual pining, friends to lovers (Geto), boss/intern dynamic (Higuruma), kissing, heavy petting, oral (f receiving + m receiving), fingering, handjobs, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise, body worship, breast play, nipple stimulation, hair pulling, light choking, spanking/ass slapping, rough sex, possessive affection, dominant behavior, oral fixation, edging, overstimulation, mirror/window sex, desk sex, office sex, couch sex, emotional intimacy, aftercare, fluff, humor, happy endings.
✧ WORD COUNT: 12k+ / ~55 mins
author’s note ♡ well… this somehow ended up being over 12k words… sorry. i’ve never written geto before because i’ve never really been a geto girlie (forgive me), so i hope i did him justice. higuruma completely hijacked this fic, became the longest one in the series at over 7k words, and may have permanently altered my brain chemistry. also… i discovered some things about myself while writing him. that’s between me, god, and the notes app.
hope you enjoy ♡
GETO ♡ TRUTH
It starts because of the playlist. That is what you’re going to tell yourself later.
That none of this would have happened if you hadn’t handed Suguru your phone ten minutes ago and said, pick something better, I’m begging you, because the same song had played three times and you were too comfortable on the floor to get up.
He had taken the phone from your hand with an amused little hum, changed the music without comment, and set it on the coffee table between you.
It should have been normal, harmless, completely fine. The problem was that you had forgotten what you'd been doing before he came over. Forgot about the open Tumblr tab, the tags, and the half read post you had absolutely no business reading while waiting for him to arrive.
Now the two of you are in your apartment living room, textbooks spread across the table, empty tea mugs beside a plate of snacks Suguru brought because he claimed you studied better when you weren’t “trying to survive on spite and caffeine.”
He’s sitting on the couch. You’re on the floor with your back against it, highlighter between your teeth, pretending to understand the notes in front of you.
Suguru leans forward to reach for his tea. Your phone buzzes once, then again. The screen lights up, and Suguru glances down automatically. You don't notice at first. You’re too busy trying to remember which page you left off on, flipping through your notes with a frustrated little sound.
“Did you move my—”
Then Suguru goes quiet in a way that makes you look up. He is always calm, always composed, but this is different enough to make your stomach tighten. He has your phone in his hand, and his eyes are on the screen—calm and amused and absolutely not guilty enough.
His thumb moves once, scrolls, and your stomach drops.
No. No no no.
"You are not reading that."
His eyes flick up to yours, and there's that smile. You scramble up from the floor and reach for the phone. He lifts it out of reach without even looking away from the screen.
“Suguru.”
“Mm.”
“Give it back.”
“In a moment.”
“You said that like you’re being reasonable.”
“I am.”
“You are literally reading porn about yourself.”
His mouth curves. “Romantic of you to call it that.”
Your face burns so hot you nearly feel dizzy. “I’m going to die.”
“Don’t.” His thumb moves again. “I’m almost finished.”
“Finished?” A strangled laugh escapes you.
He scrolls. Again.
“Suguru Geto.”
“That sounded serious.”
“It is serious.”
“It’s also very interesting.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It has my name in it.”
“That does not make it interesting.”
“It makes it personal.”
You reach for the phone again, and this time he catches your wrist gently before you can snatch it. The pressure is gentle but unmistakable, a reminder of his strength without any real force behind it. His eyes remain on the screen. That is somehow worse.
“Suguru.”
“Your tags are very thorough.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Your mouth opens, then closes. His smile deepens, just slightly. Then he finally lowers the phone. For one blessed second, you think he’s done. Then his gaze drops back to the screen.
“You bookmarked it.”
You make a strangled sound and try to pull your wrist free. He lets you go immediately, but keeps the phone.
“Give it back or I’m moving countries.”
“You’d forget to pack half your things.”
“I’ll start over.”
“You left your laptop charger here for three days last week.”
“That was one time.”
“And your water bottle.”
“Give me the phone.”
“And your keys.”
“Suguru.”
He laughs then. Quiet. Low. Far too pleased. But even through the amusement, there’s something else underneath it. Something watchful.
Suguru is not just teasing you. He is reading you, and that is the dangerous part. Not the phone in his hand, not the post, not even the fact that he has now seen enough words to ruin your life permanently. It is the way his attention shifts from the screen to your face, like the embarrassment matters, but the reason behind it matters more.
Finally, he locks the phone. The screen goes black. He sets it carefully on the coffee table, exactly where it had been before. Then he looks at you—really looks—and something shifts.
“So.”
“Don’t say so.”
His head tilts. “Is this what you wanted?”
You cross your arms over your chest, mostly because you have no idea what else to do with your hands. “It’s fiction.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Your mouth goes dry. Suguru leans back against the couch, still composed, still unreadable in that infuriating way he has. But his eyes have changed. They’re darker now. More focused.
"Because tags are easy." His voice stays soft. "I want to hear the answer from you."
You look away. His silence stretches between you, and you realize it would be easier if he laughed—if he turned this into a joke and let you hide behind it. But he doesn't. He just waits, and Suguru has always been very good at waiting.
"…Maybe."
"Maybe?"
You glare at him. "Don’t do that."
"Do what?"
"Repeat things like you're in control of this conversation."
His smile returns. "I'm not?"
"You're insufferable."
"You invited me over."
"To study."
"And yet." His eyes flick toward the phone. You groan and cover your face. He stands, and you hear the soft shift of his weight before you feel him closer. When you lower your hands, he's in front of you. He isn't crowding you or touching you—just standing close enough that thinking becomes impossible.
His expression softened, but there's nothing gentle about the way he's looking at you. His gaze stays on yours as he leans in slightly.
"Was it me you wanted?" he asks quietly. "Or just the idea of me?"
That shuts you up. Because of course he would ask that. Of course Suguru would find the one question beneath all the embarrassment and put his thumb right against the bruise.
Your voice comes out smaller than you want. “You.”
Something in his expression changes. His breath catches for just a moment—the only tell that he's not entirely composed—before he leans closer, his thumb brushing your jaw.
“…Me?”
You stare at him. “Yes, you.”
His gaze drops to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “You should have told me.”
“I was not going to tell you I read fanfiction about you.”
A low laugh leaves him. “No.”
He reaches up slowly, giving you plenty of time to move away. You don’t. His thumb brushes beneath your chin, tilting your face up just enough that you have to meet his eyes again.
“You should’ve told me you wanted me.”
Your breath catches. There is no joke to hide behind anymore, no phone, no screen, no tags. Just Suguru standing in front of you, calm and beautiful and far too perceptive, looking at you like he has finally found the answer to a question he never let himself ask out loud.
“I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” you admit.
His thumb stills against your jaw. For the first time, he looks genuinely caught off guard. Then his expression softens, just enough to make your chest ache.
“You thought I would refuse you?”
“I thought you’d be kind about it.”
His eyes narrow faintly. “That isn’t the same thing.”
“It feels worse sometimes.”
Neither of you speaks. Then his hand slides from your chin to the side of your face, careful now. Almost reverent. “I see.”
“You do?”
“I think so.” His thumb traces your cheek once. “You didn’t want to be humored.”
Your throat tightens. “No.”
“You wanted to be wanted back.”
You hate how easily he says it. How gently. How accurately. You look down, but his hand keeps you there. Not forcing. Just asking you not to disappear.
“…Yes.”
His smile returns, but it’s different now.
“Then I’m glad I saw it.”
Your eyes snap back to his. “You are not allowed to say that.”
“I’m afraid I mean it.”
“Suguru.”
“You were embarrassed,” he says. “I understand that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” His voice lowers. “But you were also honest.”
His gaze drops to your mouth for the second time. This time, he does not look away as quickly.
“And I find that difficult to ignore.”
Your pulse is racing. “You’re being very calm about this.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You look calm.”
“I know.”
It shouldn't affect you this much, but it does. His thumb lingers at the corner of your mouth, barely touching.
“Though I suppose…” His smile curves again, soft in a way that somehow feels more dangerous. “…this works too.”
“What does?”
“Finding out this way.”
You swallow. “Why?”
“Because now I know exactly what you were too afraid to ask for.”
Your face burns. He leans closer, close enough that his breath brushes your lips.
“And now,” he murmurs, “you know I’m not refusing.”
He kisses you before you can respond. It's slow at first, deliberate, his mouth warm and certain against yours. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to tilt your head. The kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you open for him with a soft sound that makes his grip tighten.
You reach for him without thinking, your hands finding his shoulders, his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunched under your fingers. He makes a low noise in his throat and pulls you closer, his other hand settling on your hip to guide you into his lap. The textbooks slide off the couch with a muted thud that neither of you acknowledge. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are darker than you've ever seen them.
"Look at me," he says quietly.
You do. He traces your lower lip with his thumb, still wet from the kiss.
"I want to see every expression you make tonight," he murmurs. "Don't hide your face from me."
Your breath comes out shaky. "Okay."
"Good girl."
The praise goes straight through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He notices—of course he notices—and his mouth curves into that dangerous smile again before he leans in to kiss you harder this time, less patient. You feel his hand slide under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, and you arch into the touch without meaning to.
"Suguru—"
"Shh." He moves his lips to your jaw, your throat, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. "Let me take care of everything."
He pulls your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without looking. You watch as he takes in every inch of exposed skin, his gaze slow and deliberate, and you fight the urge to cover yourself. When he cups your breast through your bra, his thumb brushing over the fabric, you bite your lip to stifle the sound that wants to escape.
"Don't do that," he says, his voice low. "I want to hear you."
"I—"
He unhooks your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms and letting it fall between you. The cool air makes you shiver, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you.
"You're shaking," he observes, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he trails his fingers across your collarbone. His hand curves around your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until it hardens under his touch. "Tell me what you want."
You can't think when he's touching you like this, can't form words that make sense. He leans in to replace his thumb with his mouth, his smile widening as he does. The wet heat makes you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance.
"Suguru—please—"
"Please what?" He switches to your other breast, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. "Tell me what you need."
"I don't—I can't—"
"You can." He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still cupped around you. "Tell me what you need."
"You," you manage to say. "I need you."
Something darker and more intense crosses his face. He reaches up to pull the tie from his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders. His eyes on yours are burning, focused entirely on you.
"Then you'll have me," he says simply.
He stands, drawing you up with him smoothly, then turns and settles you onto the couch. When he comes down over you, his mouth finds yours again, and his hair spills around your face intimately, blocking out everything else. You reach up to thread your fingers through it, surprised by how soft it is, silky and cool against your skin. He makes a pleased sound and deepens the kiss, his hips pressing against yours in a way that makes you immediately aware of how hard he is. You roll your hips and he breaks the kiss with a sharp exhale.
"Careful," he warns.
"Or what?"
His smile is all teeth. "Or I'll stop being patient."
He doesn't give you time to respond before he's kissing his way down your body, his mouth hot against your collarbone, the skin between your breasts, your stomach. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes.
"May I?"
You nod, not trusting your voice.
"I need to hear it," he says softly.
"Yes," you breathe. "Please."
He pulls your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving you completely bare beneath him. He looks at you like this is exactly what he wanted, and the knowledge of it sends heat pooling through your core.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs to spread them wider. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
He settles between your legs, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. One long finger traces through your folds, testing, and you're already wet. He makes a satisfied noise.
"Show me," he murmurs, and the quiet command somehow feels more intimate than any question. "I want to hear you."
Your face burns. "I don't—"
"Yes, you do." His finger circles your entrance without pressing in. "You were honest enough while reading. Be honest now."
"Please..” You manage to whisper.
He slides one finger in slowly, watching your face. "Here?"
"Yes—"
"And?" His thumb brushes over your clit, light enough to make you gasp. "Here too?"
"Yes—please—"
"That's it." He adds a second finger, curling them to find that spot that makes your back arch. "Let me see what works."
His thumb finds your clit properly now, circling with just enough pressure to make you whimper. He's methodical about it, testing different angles, different rhythms, watching every reaction like he's cataloging them.
"What do you need?" he asks, his voice low and controlled.
"Faster," you gasp, and he complies without hesitation, his fingers moving with renewed purpose.
"Faster," you gasp. "Please—"
He complies, his fingers moving with more purpose now, and the pressure builds steadily. You can feel yourself getting closer, your thighs starting to tremble.
"Look at me," he says. "Don't close your eyes."
You force your eyes open, meeting his dark gaze. He looks completely focused, studying every expression that crosses your face. His breathing catches for half a second.
“Just like that."
His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot, and his thumb presses harder against your clit. The tension winds tighter and tighter until—
"Come," he says quietly. "Let me see."
The orgasm crashes over you, your whole body tensing as pleasure floods through you. You cry out his name, and through it all his fingers keep moving, drawing it out until you're shaking.
"Good," he murmurs, finally stilling his hand. "Stay with me."
You're still shaking when he slowly pulls his fingers out. He brings them to his mouth, tasting, his eyes never leaving yours.
"That's what you wanted me to see," he murmurs.
Before you can respond, he leans down and drags his tongue through your folds in one long, slow stroke. You jerk involuntarily, oversensitive, but his hands come up to grip your hips and hold you still.
"You're much more honest like this," he says against you. "Not hiding anymore."
His tongue finds your clit, circling it with maddening precision. He's not rushing, just learning you the same way he did with his fingers—methodical, controlled, watching for what makes you gasp.
"Oh god—"
He makes a pleased sound and continues, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention. When he slides two fingers back inside you, the dual sensation makes you see stars.
"Suguru—I can't—"
"You can." He curves his fingers inside you, finding that spot again. "One more."
The second orgasm builds faster than the first, every nerve ending already lit up and sparking. His fingers curl inside you, his tongue moving in perfect rhythm, and you're climbing toward the edge again impossibly fast.
"Please—"
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me feel it."
You come with a broken cry, your hands flying to his hair to hold him in place. He doesn't stop until you're gasping and pushing at his shoulders, completely undone.
He pulls back, his lips glistening, and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh before sitting up. You're boneless, trembling, and he looks deeply satisfied.
"Everything you hide," he says quietly, "I can draw out of you."
You can't form words yet, can only watch as he reaches down to adjust himself through his pants. The reminder that he's still fully clothed while you're completely naked sends another pulse of heat through you.
"Come here," you manage, reaching for him.
He raises an eyebrow. "Demanding now?"
"Please."
That softens him. He leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands find the hem of his shirt and tug, and he pulls back just enough to let you pull it over his head. His chest is lean and defined, his skin warm under your palms.
"I want to touch you," you say.
"You are touching me."
"You know what I mean."
His smile is sharp. "Then do it."
You reach for his belt, fumbling slightly with the buckle until he covers your hands with his and helps you. His pants and underwear join the pile of discarded clothing, and then he's finally as bare as you are. Your breath catches at the sight of him—he's hard and flushed, already leaking slightly.
When you wrap your hand around him, he makes a low, rough sound.
"Fuck," he breathes.
You stroke him slowly, learning the weight and feel of him, and his hips jerk forward into your touch. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.
"Open your mouth," he says, his voice strained.
You do, looking up at him through your lashes, and his expression goes dark and hungry. He guides himself to your lips, letting you take him at your own pace at first, but his hand in your hair tightens as you take him deeper.
"Don't look away," he says, his voice controlled despite the tension in his shoulders.
You hollow your cheeks and suck, using your hand to stroke what you can't fit in your mouth. His jaw flexes, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw as his breathing deepens.
"Relax your throat," he murmurs. "Let me in deeper."
You do your best to comply, breathing through your nose as he pushes in further. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the sounds he's making—low groans and muttered curses—make it worth it.
You take him as deep as you can, your eyes watering, and he holds you there for a moment before pulling back to let you breathe. His hand strokes your hair soothingly even as his hips rock forward again.
The tension in his shoulders tightens, his jaw clenching with the effort of holding back, but before you can push him over the edge, he pulls out of your mouth and hauls you up to kiss you hard.
"Not yet," he says against your lips. "I want to be inside you when I come."
He sits back against the couch and draws you with him, guiding you into his lap. Your knees settle on either side of his hips, your hands bracing against his shoulders. This close, there's nowhere to look but at him.
"Here," he says quietly, his mouth curving slightly. "Because I want to see you when you stop hiding from me."
His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he reaches down to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. His eyes never leave yours.
"Tell me if it's too much," he says.
"It won't be."
"Tell me anyway."
"Okay."
He guides you down slowly, so slowly, letting you feel every inch as he fills you. The stretch is intense, bordering on too much, but the fullness is exactly what you need. When you're fully seated in his lap, he makes a low sound in his throat.
He keeps his gaze locked on yours, his hand steady on your jaw. His other hand settles on your hip, holding you in place.
"Move…" he instructs. "Slowly."
You lift yourself slightly and sink back down, and the angle makes you gasp. He watches every expression that crosses your face, his thumb stroking along your jaw.
"That's what you wanted," he murmurs. "Not the idea of me. Me."
"Yes—"
His hand tightens on your hip, controlling the pace. "Say it again for me. I want to hear it every time."
"I wanted you," you manage. "Just you—"
His eyes darken with satisfaction.
"You—" You rock your hips, trying to move faster, but his grip keeps you slow and controlled. "Please—"
His voice stays calm even as his breathing gets heavier. "I want you to feel every second of this." His hands guide your movements, keeping the pace maddeningly slow, tightening whenever you try to rush.
"Suguru—"
"See?" he says quietly, keeping the pace slow. "Honesty suits you."
His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer until your foreheads touch, until there's nowhere to look but into his eyes.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs against your lips. "Better than anything I imagined."
"You imagined—?"
"Yes." His hips roll up to meet yours, and the friction makes you both gasp. "Every time you looked at me, every time you smiled—I wondered what you'd feel like."
The confession breaks something in you. You kiss him desperately, your hands sliding into his hair, and he makes a rough sound against your mouth, finally letting you set a faster pace. His grip tightens on your hip, his breathing getting heavier.
"That's it," he says against your mouth. "Don't perform. Just feel it."
The pressure builds steadily, heat coiling tighter in your core. His hand slides between your bodies to find your clit, circling it in time with your movements, and you're suddenly so close.
"Not yet," he says. "Look at me first."
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. They're darker than you've ever seen them, his jaw tight with tension.
"Now," he says quietly. "Come for me now."
The orgasm crashes over you, stronger than the first two combined. You cry out his name, your whole body convulsing, and he holds you through it, his hands steady on your hips even as you shake apart.
"Fuck," he breathes, his control finally breaking. "I need—"
He shifts beneath you, his hands guiding you to recline slightly while he stays seated. The angle changes, deeper, and when he starts moving again it's with less control than before.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice strained.
"Yes—god yes—"
His hands on your hips control everything, lifting you and pulling you down onto him with increasing urgency. You think you have control like this, on top of him, but you don't—his strength, his grip, the way he's watching you with that dark, focused gaze.
"You listen so well when you finally stop fighting me," he murmurs.
His breathing gets ragged as his grip tightens on your hips, pulling you down harder each time. One hand slides up to rest on your throat, not pressing, just possessive.
"Mine," he says quietly, like he's testing the word. "You're mine."
"Yes—"
"Say it." His hips snap up harder. "Say you wanted me."
"I wanted you—" you gasp.
He makes a rough sound, his rhythm getting erratic, faster, less controlled. You can feel him getting close.
"Suguru—"
Your voice saying his name is what breaks him. He pulls you down hard, his whole body going rigid as he comes with a rough groan that doesn't sound like him at all. The rawness of it, the urgency—it's intoxicating.
He makes a choked sound and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight against his chest as he rides out the aftershocks. His face presses into your shoulder, his breathing ragged, and you can feel him trembling.
Neither of you moves at first, both of you breathing hard and trembling. Then he carefully pulls out and turns you over, gathering you into his arms as he settles back against the couch. His hand comes up to brush your hair back from your face, gentle and tender.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly.
You nod, not trusting your voice yet.
"Look at me."
You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. They're softer now, the dark intensity replaced with something warmer.
"Are you sure?" he presses. "I wasn't too rough?"
"No." Your voice comes out hoarse. "It was perfect."
His expression softens and he leans down to kiss you, slow and sweet. When he pulls back, he's smiling in a way you haven't seen before.
"Stay here," he says. "Let me clean you up."
He disentangles himself carefully and disappears down the hall, returning a moment later with a warm washcloth. He cleans you gently, his touch careful and thorough, and the tenderness of it makes your chest ache.
"Come here," he says when he's done, pulling you back into his arms. "Just rest for a bit."
You curl into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, and his fingers start running through your hair in soothing strokes. His other arm wraps around your waist, holding you close, and you can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing under your palm.
His lips brush your temple. "I meant what I said," he murmurs. "About being glad I saw it."
You make a soft, embarrassed sound and he chuckles.
"Don't hide from me now," he says. "Not after that."
"I'm not hiding."
"No?" His hand tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. "Good. Because I have no intention of letting you."
"Possessive," you observe.
"Yes." He doesn't sound remotely apologetic. "Is that a problem?"
You think about the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he said mine like it was a fact rather than a question.
"No," you say quietly. "It's not a problem."
His smile is soft and satisfied. He leans down to kiss your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I'm not going to pretend I don't want you after this."
You laugh softly and settle back against his chest, letting your eyes close. His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, and his other hand traces idle patterns on your hip.
Your legs shift against his, the couch creaking beneath you both. "We should probably move eventually," you say. "This couch isn't that comfortable."
"Eventually," he agrees. "But not yet."
"No?"
"No." His arms tighten around you slightly. "Right now, I just want to hold you."
The simple honesty of it makes your chest warm. You press a kiss to his collarbone and feel him smile against your hair.
"Okay," you say. "Not yet."
You stay like that for a long time, tangled together on the couch, his heartbeat steady under your ear and his hands gentle on your skin. The textbooks are still scattered on the floor, your clothes are everywhere, and you're both probably going to regret sleeping on the couch later.
But right now, wrapped in his arms with his hair falling around you both like a curtain, you can't bring yourself to care about any of that. Not right now, because this is perfect.
HIGURUMA ♡ GUILTY
It happens because the printer jams, which is technically where everything starts. Not with the open Tumblr tab, not with the post, and definitely not with the fact that you were sitting in Hiromi Higuruma's office while he was in a meeting, using his computer like that was a normal thing to do.
The printer jams again. The same ancient machine that everyone in the office treats like an unpredictable elderly relative, makes a horrible grinding noise, spits out half a page of a deposition summary, and then flashes a red error light like it is personally offended by your request.
You stare at it. The printer flashes again.
“Of course,” you mutter.
You are supposed to be organizing case files. That is your job today. Technically, your internship involves a lot of things—research, document review, filing, sitting quietly in meetings while pretending you understand more than you do—but today, specifically, you are supposed to print and sort the corrected client intake forms before Higuruma gets back.
It should have been simple, easy, almost impossible to mess up. Except the printer hates you, your laptop refuses to connect to the office network, and Higuruma had said, very casually before leaving for his meeting, “Use mine if you need to print anything. The password is on the sticky note under the keyboard.”
Which had felt intimate in a way it absolutely should not have. It’s just a computer password, a work computer password, a practical solution from your supervisor who trusts you enough not to be irresponsible with confidential files. That’s all. You are a normal adult, and normal adults can use Hiromi Higuruma's computer without making it weird.
You repeat this to yourself while sitting at his desk, then again while logging in, then again when you notice the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the office. By the time you realize his suit jacket is still draped over the back of his chair, you start to doubt that.
You dressed exactly as a law intern should that morning, a blouse tucked neatly into a pencil skirt, sheer stockings, heels sensible enough for the office but not sensible enough to be innocent. At the time, it felt professional. Sitting alone at Higuruma's desk, surrounded by his files and the faint smell of his cologne, it suddenly feels like it was a poor decision.
The office feels different when he’s not in it, though you can't decide whether it feels less severe or somehow worse. His desk is neat in the way only his desk could be. Files stacked squarely, pens lined near the legal pad, a capped fountain pen resting beside the keyboard. There’s a half-empty mug of coffee near the edge, black and long gone cold. A yellow legal pad sits open beside the monitor, covered in his handwriting—sharp, slanted, precise.
You try not to stare at it too long, but fail. Then you remember you are supposed to be printing forms, not romanticizing a man's handwriting like you have completely lost your mind. The forms crawl along at a pace that feels almost deliberate.
You glance at the progress bar.
Ninety-three percent.
Somewhere between impatience and terrible judgment, you open another tab and log into Tumblr to kill the time. The moment your account loads, your dashboard appears. Right in the center of the page, like the universe hates you, is a post you opened during lunch and absolutely forgotten to close... a post with his name in the title.
Hiromi Higuruma x Reader.
Your blood goes cold.
"Nope," you whisper.
You grab the mouse so fast you nearly knock over his coffee. The page freezes. Because of course it freezes.
"Oh my god."
You click the X but nothing happens. You click it again. The cursor turns into the spinning wheel of death. You stare at it in silent, growing horror.
The conference room door opens somewhere down the hall. Voices spill into the hallway. Your stomach drops.
“No, no, no—”
You click harder, as if physical desperation might intimidate the computer into cooperating. It does not.
Footsteps approach from the hall—calm, measured, getting closer. The kind of footsteps that make your stomach drop.
The tab finally closes. You exhale so hard you nearly sag in relief. Then the browser reopens it, right as Higuruma appears in the doorway.
Neither of you moves. He looks at you first. Then at his desk. Then at the monitor. You have never wanted to disappear more in your life.
For a second, his expression doesn’t change. That’s the terrible thing about Hiromi Higuruma. Other people would react. They would laugh, frown, ask questions, make some obvious sound of shock or confusion.
He does none of that. He just steps inside and closes the door, quietly. You stop breathing.
“Higuruma-san—”
His eyes remain on the screen. You stand so fast his chair rolls back into the desk behind you.
“I can explain.”
He glances at you. Then back at the screen.
“I would be interested to hear that explanation.”
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He walks closer, slow and composed, setting the file from his meeting on the corner of the desk. His gaze flicks over the page. Not hurried or startled. But he’s not just looking… he’s reading.
You lunge toward the mouse, but he reaches it first. He sets one hand over the mouse, calm and decisive, before you can close the tab. Your fingers stop inches from his. The air between you goes completely still.
“Higuruma-san.”
“Mm.”
“Please don’t read that.”
“I already read the title.”
“That’s already too much.”
“I disagree.”
You forget what you were about to say. His eyes scan once over the screen. You make a sound of pure suffering. You try to speak, but the words tangle before they leave your mouth. He doesn't wait for them.
"So this is a story involving me."
You close your eyes. "Please."
"Written in the second person."
"Please stop."
"With several concerning tags."
You open your eyes. "Concerning?"
His gaze slides toward you. "Explicit."
"That isn’t concerning. That’s just—" You stop. "Actually, never mind."
His mouth almost curves. It’s not exactly a smile, but something worse. Satisfaction.
You point at the screen. "That was not supposed to be there."
"I assumed."
"I was using your computer to print the intake forms because the printer jammed and my laptop wouldn't connect, and then the browser synced my account, and I tried to close it, but your computer apparently hates me."
"My computer?"
"Yes."
"You are blaming the computer."
"I’m blaming several things right now."
"I see."
"You don’t see. You’re being calm in a way that makes this way worse."
He finally looks fully at you.
The overhead light cuts sharp shadows beneath his eyes, making him look even more tired than usual. He rubs two fingers briefly over the bridge of his nose, then lets his hand fall back to his side with the same quiet control he does everything else. Then his gaze returns to the monitor.
“…Interesting.”
You nearly choke. “No.”
“I did not ask a question.”
“And yet somehow I’m still objecting.”
His attention flicks back to you. “You object often when you are nervous.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I object to that.”
A very small smile touches his mouth. “That supports my point.”
Your face is so hot it almost hurts. He reaches for the keyboard.
You panic. “Higuruma-san.”
“I’m closing it.”
“Oh.”
He clicks once, and the tab disappears. The screen returns to the shared drive, plain and harmless, as if it did not just ruin your life.
The office feels strangely quiet afterward.
You exhale shakily. "Thank you."
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans back against the edge of the desk, arms crossing loosely over his chest. His meeting clearly ran long. Tie loosened, sleeves still buttoned. He has that look—exhausted, severe, like he's already decided you're disappointing.
Then he says, “I have one observation.”
Your stomach sinks again. “…Please don’t.”
“You appear to have a type.”
You blink. “What?”
He looks directly at you. “Quiet men.”
Silence.
His expression remains perfectly neutral. Then he adds, “With unresolved emotional issues.”
You stare at him. “…That’s…”
“Accurate?”
“Annoyingly accurate.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I noticed.”
You drag both hands over your face. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“I know you left explicit fanfiction about me open on my office computer.”
You drop your hands and glare at him. “I did not leave it open. It ambushed me.”
“Ambushed you?”
“Yes.”
“Legally, that would be difficult to prove.”
“Oh my god.”
That tiny smile returns, barely there but somehow it wrecks you, then it fades. Not completely, but enough for the air to change. He looks back at the darkened monitor, then at you.
“You understand,” he says, voice quieter now, “that this is inappropriate.”
Your fingers curl against the desk. “Yes.”
“I am your supervisor.”
“Technically, temporary supervisor.”
His eyes narrow. “That does not improve the situation.”
“I know.”
He studies you for a long second. The silence in the office feels heavier now. When he speaks again, his voice is still calm, but there is something underneath it that was not there before. “I need to be very clear.”
You swallow hard. “Okay.”
“If this was only embarrassing, we could pretend it did not happen.”
Your heart pounds harder. “And if it wasn’t?”
He holds your gaze. “That is what I am trying to determine.”
You forget how to breathe. He pushes off from the desk and steps closer, not enough to touch you, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to keep looking at him.
“You are not in trouble,” he says.
“That doesn’t feel true.”
“It is.”
“You look like you’re cross-examining me.”
“I am trying not to.”
“That’s worse.”
“It is necessary.”
“Why?”
His expression barely changes, but you catch the tension in his jaw and the brief, incriminating drop of his eyes to your mouth before he looks back at your face.
“Because I read enough to understand the nature of what was on that page,” he says.
Your throat tightens.
“And I need to know whether it was only fantasy.”
The question lands with all the weight of a verdict, and you look away first.
“Higuruma-san—”
“Hiromi.”
Your eyes snap back to his. He looks almost surprised by his own correction, then exhales through his nose. “If we are having this conversation,” he says, “use my name.”
Your mouth goes dry. “Hiromi.”
Something shifts in his expression—barely a reaction, but enough to make your pulse jump. He reaches past you without touching you and clicks the monitor off, leaving the office softer without the screen’s glow.
“There,” he says. “No evidence.”
You let out a weak, breathless laugh despite yourself. “That is a terrible joke.”
“I am aware.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“You should be better at those.”
“I’m told I am better at other things.”
Heat creeps up your neck. The silence after that is immediate, and the slight sharpening of his eyes tells you he heard exactly what it did to you. Slowly, he leans back against the desk again, but this time his attention stays entirely on you.
“I’m going to give you a chance to leave,” he says.
Your heart pounds. “Why?”
“Because if you stay, I will ask you questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“The kind where I won’t accept implication.”
Your fingers curl at your sides. “And if I don’t leave?”
His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face. “Then I will assume you want to have this conversation.”
You should leave. You should apologize, grab the printed forms, finish your internship, and never use another person’s computer again for as long as you live. Instead, you stay exactly where you are. Hiromi watches you for several seconds.
Then he says, “All right.”
Your heart pounds harder. “All right?”
“You stayed.”
“That’s not a confession.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it is evidence.”
Your breath comes out unsteady. He tilts his head slightly.
“Was it curiosity?”
You swallow. “No.”
“Accident?”
“The tab was an accident.”
“But reading it was not.”
You don’t answer. His voice lowers. “Use full words.”
“No,” you say. “Reading it was not an accident.”
“Was it about me?”
You try to look away, but his voice stops you.
“Don’t.”
It’s not sharp, which somehow makes it worse. It’s quiet, controlled, and certain.
You look back at him. “Yes.”
His fingers flex once against the edge of the desk. “Me specifically?”
“Yes.”
"So it is me you wanted. Not position, not authority, not the age gap—just me."
You go still, and his expression tightens because he notices that too.
“Answer.”
You barely get the word out.
“Yes.”
The office goes completely silent. Then he steps closer, still not touching you, still leaving enough space for you to walk away. That restraint should make it easier, but it only makes your pulse beat harder.
“Say it honestly.” he says.
“Hiromi—”
“Clearly.”
You inhale shakily. “I wanted you.”
Something in him stills. Not a loss of composure—almost the opposite. His restraint settles into something quieter, more dangerous.
“You understand what you are saying.”
“Yes.”
“You understand that if I touch you, I need to know it was not because you felt pressured.”
“I know.”
“You can leave.”
“I know.”
“You can tell me to stop.”
“I know.”
His gaze searches yours. “And do you want me to?”
“No.”
His jaw tightens. “That was not clear enough.”
Your heart is beating so hard you feel it in your throat. “I don’t want you to stop.”
For the first time, his control visibly slips. It’s brief, a sharp breath through his nose and a flex of his hand at his side, but you see it. Then he reaches up and loosens his tie. The gesture is small. But somehow that makes your knees feel weaker than if he’d rushed.
When he looks at you again, his eyes are dark and focused entirely on your face. “Good,” he says.
He steps closer, close enough now that the sleeve of his shirt brushes your arm. “Then tell me what you wanted from that story.”
Your mouth goes dry. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Hiromi—”
“If we are going to cross this line, I need you to say what you want plainly.”
Heat rushes through you so hard you nearly lose your balance. His hand lifts as if to steady you, but he stops himself before touching you. He’s still asking, still waiting, and that restraint finally breaks something in you.
You reach for him first. Your fingers curl into his tie, and his eyes drop to your hand.
“That,” he says quietly, “is an answer too.”
You almost laugh, but it comes out shaky.
“I wanted you to touch me.”
His gaze lifts back to yours. “There,” he says, voice rougher now. “That was clear.”
Then he kisses you. His mouth is firm against yours, controlled but not at all cautious. His hand comes to your waist at the same moment, pulling you in with the kind of restraint that has finally run out of room. You make a small sound against him, and his fingers tighten like he’s been waiting all day to do this.
The desk presses into your back. His other hand comes up to your jaw, holding you still while he kisses you deeper. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven, and so is yours.
His thumb traces once along your lower lip. He works his way down slowly, unbuttoning your blouse and watching your face the whole time. When he reaches the last button, he doesn’t push the blouse off your shoulders. He only opens it, parting the fabric beneath his hands until the black lace underneath is fully exposed.
For the first time since he walked into the office, Hiromi pauses. It’s barely more than a hitch in his breathing, but you catch it. His eyes drop to the lace, then lower to the way your skirt is still fitted neatly around your hips, your stockings sheer against your thighs, your heels hooked against the edge of his desk.
From the outside, you look exactly as any professional intern should. Composed and appropriate, exactly how you're supposed to be. Underneath, you've been making very different choices. Your breath hitches. A muscle flexes in his jaw, and you realize he caught that too. The way your body responded to being seen.
"I didn't say anything."
“You looked.”
“Yes.”
“Hiromi.”
His mouth curves faintly, but there is tension in it now. “You are making it extremely difficult to remain objective.”
Your hands tremble slightly. His hand slides beneath the open blouse, knuckles brushing your ribs before his fingers find the clasp at your back. He doesn’t ask about the lace or tease you for it, and somehow that silence is worse. The clasp gives under his hand, and he draws the straps down your arms slowly before setting the bra on the desk beside you.
He looks at you again, and this time he doesn’t bother hiding it.
“You’ve been sitting across from me all day with this under your blouse?”
You lift your chin. "Would you have preferred I didn't?"
“No.” His thumb brushes the mark the strap left on your shoulder.
His mouth lowers to your neck, warm and gentle kisses making your body feel tingly.
“Hiromi—”
“Quiet.”
His lips trail lower, over your collarbone, then down until his mouth closes over your breast. The sound you make is immediate and embarrassing, and his hand comes to your waist, holding you still when your hips shift forward.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs against your skin.
You grip his shoulders. “Don’t say it like that.”
His tongue circles slowly, deliberately, and your fingers tighten in his shirt.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re taking notes.”
His mouth pauses. Then he looks up at you. “I am.”
Your chest tightens.
He switches to the other side, one hand coming up to palm where his mouth just was, and the dual sensation makes your thighs tense around his hips. His hand moves to your knee, then slowly up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher inch by inch until it bunches around your hips.
When his fingers reach the top of your stocking, he stops. The sheer fabric gives way to bare skin beneath his touch, and you watch his attention drop to the black lace thong sitting high on your hips. He goes completely still.
"Don't," you say before he can.
His eyes flick up to yours.
"I'm not going to," he says quietly, his thumb already sliding beneath the lace at your hip. "Yet."
Your skin shivers under his touch. That’s when his control shifts. Not gone, but sharper now, more focused. His fingers slide along the edge of the thong, not quite touching where you need him, and your hand tightens on the desk.
"Hiromi—"
"How long?"
Your stomach drops. "How long what?"
"How long have you been sitting in my office, looking at me like a professional, competent intern, while imagining me doing this to you?"
His fingertips skim the waistband of the thong with infuriating precision, and your hand tightens on the desk.
Your shoulders tense.
His attention sharpens. He's found the answer he wants to examine.
"The first week."
"Yes."
His thumb presses lightly against you through the lace. You gasp before you can stop yourself.
“There,” he says quietly. “That was honest.”
He traces along the edge of the thong, still not giving you enough, and your hips shift forward involuntarily.
“Stay still.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.”
His hand comes to your waist, holding you in place while his fingers drag over the lace with deliberate precision.
"Tell me what you read," he says.
"You already read it."
"I read the title and the tags. I want to hear you say it."
"You want me to narrate my own humiliation?"
"Without the sarcasm."
Your breath catches. There it is—that particular brand of control he's been using all night.
"I wanted you to touch me," you say, and the admission feels heavier when spoken aloud. "Skin to skin. No teasing."
His pupils dilate slightly with surprise, maybe, because you're being direct.
He slides the lace aside instead of taking it off, his hand returning to your skin, and you have to grab the edge of the desk to stay upright.
"Like that?"
"If you're going to tease me, at least commit to it."
He circles once, twice, not giving you enough pressure, and your hips chase his hand.
"What else did you read?"
"That you'd make me come. Multiple times. That you'd keep going until I couldn't—"
His finger slides inside you, just one, and your head falls back.
"…Until I couldn't think."
He adds a second finger without warning, and you lose your grip on the sentence entirely.
"Oh—fuck—"
He curls his fingers, finding the spot that makes your thighs shake.
"You were saying?"
"I wasn't—I can't—you know what I was saying—"
"I want to hear you say it."
Your shoulders tense.
"I wanted you to make me come."
"There it is."
His thumb presses against your clit at the same moment his fingers thrust deeper, and the combination causes a high pitched moan to slip past your lips. His hand moves with more purpose now.
"Good," he says, voice rougher than before. "Now show me."
Your thighs lock around his wrist, your whole body tensing up as you come. You can't even tell if you're saying his name or just making noise. He keeps going until your muscles go slack and you're completely undone. When he pulls his fingers out, you're still shaking.
"That was one."
Your brain is still catching up. "One?"
"You're going to come at least twice more before I do."
"I don't think I can—"
"You will."
You sit up on the desk, still catching your breath, and watch as he steps back. He's still fully dressed—suit jacket, tie, everything—while you're half naked. The contrast makes your pulse quicken.
He reaches for his tie, loosening it before pulling it over his head. Then he starts on his shirt buttons. You watch, mesmerized, as he reveals more skin. The hollow of his throat, his collarbones, the lean muscle of his chest and stomach.
When he shrugs the shirt off, you reach out without thinking. Your hand presses flat against his chest. He's warm and solid.
His hand covers yours. "What are you thinking?"
"That I've been imagining this for two months and it's better than I thought."
His breathing deepens. He doesn't move. He just watches you. You slide off the desk and stop in front of him. Your fingers find his belt. The buckle clicks open beneath your touch. Then the button. Then the zipper.
His breathing hitches just slightly. You ease the fabric down just enough, your eyes never leaving his. His jaw tightens but he says nothing. You sink to your knees. One hand settles lightly against his thigh as you lean in. Your fingers wrap around him and he goes completely still.
"Fuck—"
You hold his gaze for one last second before your mouth closes around him. His head tips back on a sharp breath, one hand finding your hair almost immediately.
"Oh…"
You take him slowly at first, your tongue tracing along him before easing him deeper.
"So composed in my office," he murmurs, voice already rough. "Where did that go?"
You hum around him, and his hips jerk forward before he catches himself.
"Sorry—"
You take him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat, and the sound he makes is wrecked.
"Ah—fuck—"
His hand guides your rhythm now, and you let him, relaxing your jaw and breathing through your nose.
You can feel him getting close, his breathing ragged, his grip in your hair almost painful. He pulls you back suddenly, his chest heaving, and guides you to your feet with a hand under your chin.
"On the desk," he says. "On your back."
You climb up, the wood cool against your bare skin. He pushes your thighs apart and steps between them.
"I'm going to make you come on my tongue," he says, matter-of-fact. "And you're going to tell me exactly how it feels."
"Hiromi—"
"That's an order."
Then he leans down and puts his mouth on you. The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp.
"Oh—"
He licks a slow stripe up, then circles your clit with deliberate precision.
"Fuck—that's—"
"Keep talking."
"It's good—it's so good—"
His hands grip your thighs, holding you open, and he works you with his mouth like he has all the time in the world.
"Mmm—right there—"
He focuses on that spot, his tongue moving in steady circles, and you feel the tension building again.
"Oh god—oh god—"
Your hands come down to his hair, and he makes an approving sound against you.
"Don't stop—please don't stop—"
He doesn't. He adds two fingers, sliding them inside while his mouth stays focused on your clit, and the dual sensation makes you cry out.
"Ah—ah—Hiromi—"
He curls his fingers, finding that spot again, and your back arches off the desk. Your grip tightens in his hair.
"I'm—"
That's all you can manage. His fingers thrust deeper, his tongue working faster, and you can't even tell if you're saying his name or just making noise anymore.
Your thighs start to shake.
He notices and his hands flex against you, holding you open even as your body tries to curl inward—but he doesn't stop. Not until your hand slips from his hair and you're pushing at his head, gasping something that isn't words. Only then does he ease back, letting you breathe.
"That's two."
You can't speak.
He straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then sits back in his office chair.
He kisses you once, hard. "Come here."
You step forward, but he shakes his head.
"Straddle me."
You move to obey, positioning yourself over his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs. You feel his gaze on you like a physical touch. His hands come to your hips immediately, steadying you. You sink down slowly, and when you're seated fully in his lap, his hands tighten.
"What are you doing?" he asks quietly.
You hesitate. "Sitting on you?"
"Be specific."
"I'm straddling you in your office chair." You meet his eyes, fighting a smile. "Is this a deposition?"
His mouth almost curves. "Answer the question."
"I want you inside me," you say, and saying it aloud—in his office, in his lap—makes heat rush through you. "I want you to fuck me."
"That's better."
He shifts beneath you, positioning himself, and you feel the head of his cock press against you. His hands guide your hips down slowly, and the stretch makes you gasp.
"Oh—"
"Keep going."
You sink lower, taking him inch by inch, and his breathing becomes uneven.
"All.. the .. way." He says grittily while pushing down against your thighs to help you take all of him.
When you've settled all the way down, his forehead drops to your shoulder for a brief moment. Then he lifts his head, his expression controlled again despite the tension in his jaw. You start to rock your hips, and this time he doesn't stop you.
"Slower," he says. "I want to feel every movement."
You obey, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate grind, and his fingers dig into your skin.
"That's it."
The angle has him hitting deep with each movement. You can feel the tension building again already. His hand comes to your jaw, tilting your face toward his.
"How long have you been thinking about this?" he asks quietly.
"Hiromi—"
"Answer me."
"Two months," you gasp. "Since the first week."
His breathing deepens. "And you didn't say anything."
"You're my supervisor—"
"That didn't stop you from reading about it."
Your face burns. You try to look away, but his hand keeps you in place.
"Don't," he says. "I want to see your face when you admit it."
You keep grinding against him, the friction building with each slow roll of your hips.
"What did you think about?" he asks.
"This—" Your breath catches. "You—in your office—"
"Be specific."
"You touching me. Kissing me. Fucking me on your desk."
A muscle jumps in his jaw. "And did you touch yourself while you thought about it?"
"Yes—"
"How many times?"
"I don't—I don't know—"
"Estimate."
"Hiromi—"
"Answer the question."
"A lot," you gasp. "Almost every night—"
His hand tightens at your hip, and you feel him pulse inside you.
"Keep going," he says roughly. "Don't stop."
You grind down harder, chasing the tension that's coiling tighter with each movement.
"Oh god—"
"Look at me."
You do. His eyes are dark and focused entirely on your face.
"You're going to come on me," he says quietly. "And you're going to tell me when you're close."
"I'm—I'm already—"
"Then say it."
"I'm close—Hiromi—I'm so close—"
"Show me."
Everything locks down around him. You can't breathe, can't speak—just his name spilling out while pleasure tears through you. He holds you through it, his hand steady at your hip, his thumb still working your clit until you're shaking.
"That's three."
You collapse against his chest, breathing hard, and his arms come around you immediately.
Then he tilts your chin up and kisses you—slow and deep, nothing like the controlled intensity from before. When he pulls back, his mouth trails down your jaw to your neck, and you feel him smile against your skin.
"You're so much more honest when you're like this," he murmurs. "It's incredibly sexy."
You make a breathless sound that might be a laugh. He kisses your throat once more, then pulls back to look at you.
"Can you stand?"
You nod shakily. He helps you up carefully, steadying you when your legs threaten to give out. Then he stands, taking your hand and guiding you toward the window, his grip steady and deliberate.
Your heart jumps.
"Hiromi—"
"The blinds are down."
"But—"
"Look."
You do. He catches the cord and raises the blinds just high enough to expose the glass without opening the office completely. Through them, you can see the building across the street—dark windows, empty floors.
"I know that building closes at six," he says quietly. "It's been empty for two hours."
Of course he checked. Of course he knew. Your breathing picks up.
He positions you facing the glass, your palms pressed flat against the cool surface. The city spreads out below, lights glittering in the dark, and you can see your own reflection—flushed, half-naked, his shape behind you. His hand settles at your hip.
“This is what you wanted,” he says quietly.
Your shoulders tense. “Hiromi—”
“Not exactly this,” he says, his gaze meeting yours in the reflection. “The story did not need to be that specific.”
Your breath becomes shallow. His hand tightens at your waist.
“You wanted me. Here. In my office.” His voice lowers. “Because it wasn’t supposed to happen here.”
Your face burns so hot you almost look away, but his hand comes to your jaw before you can.
“Don’t,” he says. “Look at me.”
You meet his eyes in the glass.
“Is that wrong?”
You swallow. “No.”
“No, what?”
Your fingers press harder against the window. “No, it’s not wrong.”
His gaze stays fixed on yours. “Then tell me what you want now.”
Your voice comes out shaky. “I want you here.”
“At the window?”
“Yes.”
"Why the window?"
You hesitate. His thumb drags slowly along your jaw. "Because it was yours. Because I wanted it to happen somewhere I knew it never should."
Your shoulders tense. Then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh.
"That," he murmurs, "is an answer."
He hooks two fingers beneath the stocking at the inside of your thigh and pulls deliberately. The sheer fabric gives with a soft rip, a dark run racing toward your knee. He watches the damage spread across your skin in the glass, his jaw tightening. "I'll replace them," he says, voice rough and final, like the decision had already been made.
"So you wanted this. Here. In my office. That's what you're telling me?”
You nod against his hand.
"Say it."
"Yes. I wanted it here."
His jaw tightens. "Then that's what you're going to get."
He enters you slowly—so slowly you feel every inch—and the stretch makes your breath catch audibly against the glass. His hand tightens on your hip. The other stays braced beside yours on the window.
For several seconds, he doesn't move. Just stays buried deep inside you, his chest pressed against your back, his breathing uneven and warm against the curve of your neck.
Then he pulls back. Slowly and deliberately. His hips roll forward again, deeper this time, and you hear his breath hitch—a quiet, involuntary sound that he can't quite control.
He does it again. The same measured pace. The same controlled intensity. But his breathing is getting heavier now, each exhale warm and audible against your shoulder. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dig into your hip like he's holding himself back.
His forehead drops to the side of your neck. His breath comes faster. He keeps moving—slow, deep thrusts that make your palms slide slightly against the glass—and you realize his control is starting to crack.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No."
"Don't make me infer."
"I don't want you to stop."
For a few seconds, he stays completely still, breathing unevenly against the back of your neck while your palms press harder to the window.
"Okay?" he asks, voice strained.
You nod, but his grip tightens.
"Use words."
"Yes," you breathe. "I'm okay."
His mouth brushes your ear.
"Do you want more?"
Your eyes flutter shut.
"Yes."
"Then ask."
Your voice comes out before your pride can stop it.
"Please."
That is what breaks the last of his patience.
His hips draw back slowly, then press in again, deeper this time, and your breath leaves you in a shaky sound against the glass.
"That," he says, voice rough, "was clear."
He starts moving with intent—pulling almost all the way out before pressing back in, each thrust deliberate and deep, one hand gripping your hip while the other stays braced against the window beside yours.
“This is what you wanted,” he says, low and close to your ear. “My office. My hands on you. Just enough risk to make you admit it.”
“Hiromi—”
His hand comes up from the glass to your mouth, covering it gently.
“Quiet. I don’t care if the building is empty. You’re going to keep your voice down.”
You nod against his palm. He thrusts deeper, and the sound you make is muffled against his hand.
“That’s better.”
His other hand slides around to your clit, circling slowly, and your knees nearly buckle.
"Mmm—"
"Stay still."
You try, but the combination of his hand, his cock, the cold glass against your skin, the reflection of the two of you in the window—it's too much.
His fingers press harder, his rhythm steady and relentless, and you feel everything tightening inside you, wound so tight you can't breathe.
"Mmmmmmmpphhhh—"
"Look at yourself."
You do and you can see everything in the glass—your flushed face, his hand over your mouth, the way your body responds with each thrust, the city lights framing you both.
"This is what your answer looks like," he says quietly. "No implication. No room to deny it."
You make a desperate sound against his palm.
"Are you close?"
You nod.
"Then let me feel it."
Your thighs lock around him.
"Mmm—mmm—"
He groans, his rhythm breaking for just a second before he pushes deeper, his hand pressing harder against your clit.
"Fuck—"
Your grip tightens on his wrist. Your breath comes in sharp bursts against his palm. He doesn't stop. Not until your body goes rigid, then shaking, your muffled sounds the only thing either of you can hear.
When you finally go still, he slowly withdraws his hand from your mouth.
"That's three."
You can barely stand. He pulls out carefully, and you whimper at the loss.
"Come here."
He guides you back to the desk, turning you to face him.
"Lie back."
You do, the wood cool against your overheated skin. He steps between your thighs, his hands coming to your hips, and slides back in slowly.
The angle is different, it’s deeper and more intimate.
"Oh—"
He leans down, his forehead pressing to yours, and starts moving with a slower, more deliberate rhythm.
"Look at me."
You do and his eyes are dark, intense, and you can see everything in them—the control he's been exerting, the need he's been holding back, the way he's barely keeping himself together.
"Hiromi—"
His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you in place.
"I need to see you," he says quietly. "When you come again. I need to see your face."
"I don't think I can—"
"You will."
He kisses you, deep and consuming, while his hips maintain that steady rhythm. When he breaks away, you're both breathing hard.
"Touch yourself."
Your hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit, and the added sensation makes you gasp.
"Oh—"
"That's it."
His thrusts get deeper, more purposeful, and you circle your clit faster.
"I'm close," he says, voice strained. "Come with me."
His hand tightens in your hair, his forehead still pressed to yours, and you can feel him getting close—his breathing is ragged, and his rhythm is faltering.
"Hiromi—"
"Fuck—"
He's not holding back anymore. His hips drive into you harder, faster, and his hand grips the back of your head like he's afraid you'll disappear. His forehead stays pressed to yours but his eyes are open, locked on yours, and you watch him break—his jaw clenching, his breath stuttering, everything he's been holding pulled taut.
"I—" He doesn't finish his sentence, he can’t.
His jaw clenches. His breathing comes in ragged bursts. You feel him everywhere—his cock deep inside you, his hand in your hair, his chest against yours—and it's too much, it's all too much.
"Come," he says, and it's not a command anymore. It's a plea. "Please—"
He comes with a low sound, his whole body tensing inside you, and the feeling of him losing control completely pushes you over the edge. You gasp his name and he buries his face in your neck, his hips still moving, his breathing shattered against your skin.
"Fuck—" He says it again, muffled, like he can't stop, like he's still coming, like he's never felt anything like this before.
You hold him while he catches his breath, and he pulls back to look at you. His hair is a mess, his face is flushed, and he looks nothing like the composed lawyer who caught you with fanfiction on his computer an hour ago. You reach up and touch his jaw, your thumb brushing his cheekbone.
"You're completely undone," you say quietly.
He catches your hand, pressing it against his lips for a moment before releasing it.
"That appears to be your fault," he says, still holding your hand against his face.
"We should—" You gesture vaguely at the state of his office.
"In a minute."
He kisses you again, softer now, and you melt into it. When he finally pulls away, he reaches for his shirt.
"Here."
You put it on, the fabric swallowing you, and he watches with something warm in his eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That's not nothing."
"You look good in my clothes."
You hesitate a second too long. He pulls his pants back on, then starts gathering the scattered papers from his desk. You slide down, your legs still shaky, and find your thong.
"So," you say, pulling it on. "What happens now?"
He looks at you. "What do you want to happen?"
"I was kind of improvising."
"Clearly."
You make a face at him. He sets the papers down and crosses to you, his hands coming to your waist. He smooths his thumb over your hip once, then looks toward the locked office door. When his attention returns to you, his gaze is measured again, and a bit careful.
Then he says, "This was inappropriate."
"I know."
"I'm your supervisor."
You give him a look. "I'm aware, Hiromi."
"This can't happen at the office again."
He pauses, his thumb still tracing your hip, and you feel something change. You start to think—
Oh.
He's ending this.
Then his hand tightens slightly. "But—" He pauses. "My apartment is ten minutes from here."
Your heart skips. "Is that an invitation?"
"It's evidence of intent."
You smile. "You really can't help yourself."
"I have a reputation to maintain."
"You just fucked your intern at the window."
"Allegedly."
You laugh, and he kisses you again, quick and warm.
"Get dressed, I'll drive."
"What about my car?"
"You can get it tomorrow, or I can walk you to it now."
"Someone's going to see us."
"No one will know anything unless you decide otherwise."
"And what do I say?"
"That you stayed late. That I gave you a ride home because it was late. That's all anyone needs to know."
His hand comes to your jaw, tilting your face up. "Tomorrow we figure out what this means. Tonight—"
"Tonight we go to your apartment?”
"Yes."
You don't have a better plan. He helps you find your clothes, his hands lingering each time he passes you something. When you're both dressed—rumpled and obvious, but dressed—he turns off the lights and locks his office door.
The hallway is empty. The building is quiet, and he takes your hand. "Come on," he says.
And you follow him out into the night, your heart still racing, his shirt still warm against your skin.
