— ᨳଓ . kiz . 20 . she/her . writing4fun !
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જ⁀➴°⋆ current works :
roommate!geto x reader who wears lots of bracelets | 1.1k nsfw
home ── ⟢ gojo x reader | 1.2k
fwb!sukuna x reader when they are both crossed | 0.8k nsfw
ex!sukuna who still has reader's lips tattooed on him | 1.2k nsfw
CEO!Gojo x Professor!Reader who are childhood friends | 0.4k suggestive
I've always been yours ── ⟢ lawstudent!higuruma x medstudentfem!reader | 8.1k nsfw
I've always been yours TEASER | 0.3k nsfw
— ᯓ .✦ ݁˖.ᐟ ˎˊ˗
⊹܀˙ | a slice from my CEO!Gojo x Professor!Reader who are childhood friends that I am currently writing...
“I want to,” Satoru says lowly, his eyes meet yours and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“You want to what?” you frown and tilt your head.
“I want to be allowed to get jealous of the people that want you,”
You stare at him and take a step back with shaky legs as he takes a small step forward.
“I want to take you on dates, I want to see you more than I already do, I want to make sure you don’t overwork yourself, I want to know you’ll be my gala date no matter what, I want your coworkers to know me as yours,”
You stare at him, his sparkly blue eyes, his messy hair, god, the crazed look to him as if he’s letting you hold his heart, trusting that you wont rip it right out of his body.
“Satoru we can’t,” you whisper and he just shatters in front of you. He thinks you must be some sort of divine entity with the way you can absolutely just crush him. “I don’t want to lose you,”
“We can make it work, we’re not kids anymore,” his voice cracks.
“But what if it doesn’t?”
“But what if it does?”
“We can’t know that, it’s not fair to our friends if it doesn’t, our families? The connections we have, Satoru—” you’re desperate now, afraid, just so terrified of the idea that you might lose him.
“So it’s not that you don’t feel the same,”
That silences you. You open your mouth and close it, he’s got you backed up with your hips pressed against your kitchen counter now.
“Tell me you wouldn’t like it if I kissed you right now,” his voice is still low but this time you can hear a hint of something that sounds like a growl in the back of his throat. It’s the kind of stubbornness you see in the CEO when he decides to take what he wants.
“That doesn’t matter,” you frown, just as stubborn yourself. He takes a step closer to you, you’re almost chest to chest, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and you feel his large hands cup your face, it feels gentle compared to the storm you see brewing in his eyes.
“So this doesn’t matter,” he whispers as he cranes his neck down so your lips are almost brushing. “This?” he tilts his head so that your mouths would fit perfectly if only he’d lean in a bit closer, your eyes flutter shut and he lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re fucking unfair,” he pulls away. You blink as he steps back, trying to ignore how you had wanted him to kiss you. “I’m going away tomorrow for a month in Paris for work,” he’s backing away now, adjusting his suit lapels and tie, stepping on the other side of your front door before you know it. “I’ll be busy so,”
synopsis ~ months of longing. a week at a beach house. one shared bed, too much tension and too little self control. suguru geto has spent far too long wanting his friend’s roommate. far too long trying not to ruin her. unfortunately for him, when she shows up to spring break looking at him like that, he fails spectacularly.
tags ~ 18+ mdni !!! idiots in fucking love, yearning yearning yearning, geto's a masterclass yearner, lowkey slowburn? friends to lovers-ish, mutual pining, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, oral fixation, piv sex, creampie, marking, size difference, belly bulge, light possessiveness, aftercare, geto's just down bad and i love him and i love this
a/n ~ gosh this was toooo much fun to write. decided to make this one a long(er) oneshot compared to the multi parts i had for choso n gojo, bc it made more sense with the plot i had in mind! hopefully all of u lovelies enjoy ;) and sorry for the wait <3
w/c ~ 17.4 k (youch i got carried away)
access the frat verse here!
your roommate brings it up three days before finals week officially starts, which already tells you the idea is terrible. the two of you are sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment living room surrounded by open textbooks, half-folded laundry, and empty instant noodle containers.
she’s supposed to be writing a paper. instead, she’s online shopping for bikinis. “i actually can’t do this anymore,” she announces dramatically, laptop balanced on her thighs. “if i read one more discussion post i’m walking into traffic.”
you hum absentmindedly, highlighting a paragraph without processing any of it.
outside, rain taps against the windows in soft uneven bursts. campus looks gray and muddy and exhausted. even the frat houses have gone quieter this week. everyone’s studying, or pretending to.
your roommate suddenly gasps. “spring break,” she says.
“what about it?”
“we should go to your beach house.”
that gets your attention. you look up slowly from your laptop. “we?”
“yes, we.” she tosses a sock at you. “like. everyone.”
“everyone…us girls? or—”
“no, the frat too,” she says, smiling. “i want choso to be there.”
you roll your eyes, focusing back on your notes. she’s been glued to her boyfriend’s hip ever since they got together. it’s almost sickening, if they weren’t so perfect for each other. you’re rarely in the house alone anymore.
“dunno if that’s a good idea,” you say, because your brain immediately supplies the image of suguru geto.
it’s geto. always geto.
your roommates notices your change in expression instantly. the grin that spreads across her face is immediate and evil. “oh my god.”
you narrow your eyes. “don’t.”
“you thought about him first.”
“i literally didn’t,” you mumble, pushing your glasses up your nose.
“you literally did.”
you throw the sock back at her head and she dodges it, laughing. “you’re soooo weird about him.”
and she’s right. you are weird about him. not in an obvious way, no. whatever thing between you and geto occurs in fragments. in pauses and glances held half a second too long.
eye tag.
that’s what gojo called it once after catching the two of you staring at each other across the frat kitchen while everyone else argued over beer pong rules. “you guys do this every time,” he’d said.
you’d denied it immediately. geto had just looked away.
your roommate clasps her hands together. “please invite them. choso already said yes if you say yes.”
“you asked him before asking me?”
“well, yes.”
you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “the house isn’t huge.”
“it has four bedrooms.”
“one of them barely counts,” you point out.
“we can make it work.”
your parents are never at the beach house this time of year, anyways, and know you’re responsible enough to handle it on your own.
it’s few hours from campus along a quieter part of the shoreline. you haven’t been in almost a year.
the thought of ocean air instead of stale lecture halls makes you exhale slightly.
“aha,” your roommate says, pointing at you. “that was a considering face.”
“it was not.”
“come on. it’ll be fun.”
“it’ll be loud.”
“only a little.”
“imagine bonfires,” your roommate says dreamily.
“imagine property damage.”
“imagine volleyball.”
“imagine bail money.”
you already know you’re going to cave. despite everything the rest has somehow become tangled into your life over the past semester. in the middle of late-night food runs and campus events and parties is geto’s face and how you notice him before he notices you almost every time.
at parties, he’s usually tucked somewhere quieter while everybody else spirals around him in chaos. sitting on kitchen counters, leaning against walls with a drink untouched in his hand. watching. and eventually his eyes find yours, every single time.
the first few times it happened you thought you imagined it. you? nerd you? suguru geto looking at you?
but it kept happening. across crowded rooms and across lecture halls.
“you’re thinking about him again,” your roommate says.
it’s his deep voice and calmness and the way he rolls his sleeves to his elbows when he’s focused. the exhaustion constantly sitting beneath his eyes lately because he’s balancing classes and internship applications and responsibilities and everybody else’s problems too.
“shut up,” you say weakly.
“i’m texting choso. this is happening.”
you sigh, knowing that once your roommate wants something to go her way, it’s happening.
how bad can the trip really go, anyway?
“gojo’s already asking if the beach house has speakers.”
“tell him yes, but the neighbours don’t like noise past 10pm.”
“geto says he can drive.” your roommate looks up at you, chewing her lip, and you’re suddenly very interested in the notes you’ve been trying to read over.
now you’re imagining geto driving, one hand on the wheel, ocean air and his stupid rings glinting under the dashboard lights
you stand abruptly, gathering your notes before your imagination gets worse.
thursday - eight days from departure
geto realizes he’s in trouble on a thursday night while half-drunk freshmen scream-sing nextdoor to music that sounds like somebody attacking a speaker with a hammer. he’s sitting at the frat dining table with an untouched beer beside his laptop, trying to finish an internship application before midnight.
keyword : trying.
because you’re here. you’re not even doing anything particularly distracting either. you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of those oversized university sweaters, glasses sliding slightly down your nose while you argue with choso’s girlfriend over how many bags of chips are too many for one week at the beach house.
you shouldn’t be this difficult to ignore, and yet geto’s cursor has been blinking on the same sentence for six minutes.
gojo and toji yell something at each other from across the room. everyone starts talking over each other, except for choso, who’s curled into his girlfriend’s side, and you.
you stay focused, tapping at your laptop with concentration pulling your brows together slightly. geto watches your mouth move while you talk.
that’s becoming a problem too. noticing little things. the tiny crease between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed. the way you tuck your legs underneath yourself without thinking.
it’s gotten worse recently, or maybe he’s just stopped pretending it hasn’t been happening. for months now, every room he walks in feels altered slightly if you’re there.
he hates how aware he’s become of you. worse, you notice him too.
geto’s not stupid. he sees the way your eyes snag on him before flicking away. the pauses, the tension, that look you get when he stands too close.
it’s there constantly, like static humming between you both.
“geto.” your voice cuts clean through his thoughts.
he looks up immediately. you’re staring at him from across the room now, brows raised slightly. his stomach does something deeply irritating. “yeah?”
“you haven’t answered a single thing we asked.”
gojo grins instantly from the kitchen island.
“he was staring at you.”
geto doesn’t react outwardly. years of dealing with satoru have made his self-control nearly supernatural.
you, unfortunately, do react. irritation flashes visibly across your face before you glare at gojo. “oh my god, shut up.”
“am i wrong?”
“yes,” both you and geto say at the exact same time.
toji starts laughing so hard he nearly chokes. “jesus christ,” he mutters. “you two are painful.”
geto drags a hand down his face slowly. you’re suddenly very interested in your spreadsheet.
cute.
“i made categories,” you explain, stuttering over the last word as you regain composure. “colour coded. it’s a shared excel sheet so you can all access it too.”
geto smiles softly. you’re focused and bossy and pretty. he thinks he should probably stop looking at you like that.
“okay,” you say, tapping the couch. “can everyone e-transfer me their share tonight so i can book groceries in advance?”
gojo raises a hand. “no. actually, toji and i pass.”
you run a hand down your face. “what?”
“we’re the entertainment,” he explains, like it makes total sense.
“eighty dollars, each of you, please,” you say, tilting your head back. “i hate all of you.”
“that’s not true,” gojo says. “You like suguru.”
the room goes quiet instantly. choso coughs into his drink. gojo’s girlfriend physically turns away to hide her smile.
gojo points between the two of you lazily.
“the vibes are crazy.”
“there are no vibes,” you say immediately.
“you look flustered,” toji notes helpfully.
everybody starts talking over each other again while you try defending yourself with rapidly deteriorating success. geto says nothing, because while the others laugh and argue his eyes stay on you.
you can feel it too. he knows you can. that tension pressing tighter every time your gazes meet.
your eyes lift to his and his gaze flicks to your mouth for one brief, horrible second.
you both look away just as fast.
sunday - five days from departure
your bedroom looks like a clothing store exploded. bikinis draped over desk chairs, shorts hanging off your bedframe, three different pairs of sandals abandoned in the middle of the floor. “i hate everything,” you announce.
your roommate barely glances up from where she’s laying across your bed with choso half beneath her like a human mattress. “dramatic.”
“none of this looks right.”
“you’ve changed outfits six times.”
“because i look weird.”
“you literally don’t.”
you turn sideways in the mirror, scrutinizing yourself harder. the dress is just soft black fabric that skims your body, thin straps, lower neckline than what you normally wear. you bought it for some finance networking event your department hosted last month because your mom said you needed “staple outfits.”
your roommate sits up on her elbows finally, exasperated. “you know most people going on beach trips are worried about, like, sunscreen?”
“i am worried about sunscreen.”
“i forgot you made a spreadsheet for sunscreen.”
“uv rays are serious.”
choso laughs quietly from beneath her, hands resting loosely on her thighs. you point at him immediately. “don’t encourage her.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“the laugh felt judgmental.”
your roommate rolls her eyes before looking back at you properly. “you look hot,” she says flatly. “actually annoyingly hot. if you don’t pack the dress i’m stealing it.”
you scoff softly, turning back toward the mirror. “it’s too much.”
“for who?”
you shrug. some part of you already knows exactly who you’re thinking about, which is ridiculous. you’re literally standing in your bedroom overanalyzing a dress because suguru geto might see it.
your roommate seems seconds away from teasing you about exactly that when choso speaks absentmindedly from the bed.“geto likes that one.”
the room goes silent and you slowly turn around. “…what?”
choso freezes and his eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the mistake leave his mouth in real time.
your roommate lifts her head immediately. “what do you mean geto likes that one?”
“nothing,” choso says too quickly.
“choso,” she says.
“i’m serious.”
you narrow your eyes at him. “how would he even know this dress?”
another pause then choso makes the fatal mistake of hesitating. your roommate gasps dramatically. “OH MY GOD HE DOES KNOW THE DRESS?!”
“baby,” choso says weakly.
“no, no, come back.” she grabs his arm before he can sit up. “what do you mean he likes the dress?”
“i wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
you cross your arms slowly. “that’s an insane sentence.”
choso looks deeply distressed now. your roommate softens instantly though, because unfortunately for choso, she knows exactly how to handle him. she cups his face gently, pressing a tiny kiss against his jaw. “please?” she asks sweetly.
choso exhales heavily through his nose, cheeks going pink. weak man. he folds almost immediately. “okay but you cannot tell geto i said any of this.”
you and your roommate both nod way too fast and he points at both of you suspiciously before continuing. “you wore that dress to the frat one night.”
your brows pinch together slightly. “…when?”
“when you came to pick her up after that finance networking thing.”
oh.you remember that night.
you’d stopped by the frat around midnight because your roommate was too drunk to uber home alone. you were still dressed up from the event downtown. heels hurting. hair done. tired and irritated because gojo had answered the door already yelling.
you hadn’t stayed long, just long enough to drag your roommate upstairs to collect her stuff while half the frat stared at you like they’d never seen a woman before.
apparently including geto.
“what happened?” your roommate asks immediately.
choso rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “nothing happened exactly. some guy made a comment after you left.”
your stomach tightens slightly. “what kind of comment?”
“just saying you looked good or whatever.”
“and?” your roommate presses.
choso sighs. “and geto got weird about it.”
heat crawls instantly up your neck. “weird how?”
“he just…” choso pauses, visibly trying to decide how much to say. “he looked annoyed.”
your roommate’s jaw drops. “he got jealous?”
“well, I dunno, not—”
“choso.”
“i’m serious.”
“what did he say?”
another long sigh. “he said you don’t even realize how pretty you are.”
your roommate physically collapses face-first into the bed, laughing into a pillow. you just stand there your heart suddenly beating way too hard. “that’s not…” you clear your throat softly. “that’s not that serious.”
both of them look at you. your roommate lifts her head slowly. “you are genuinely the dumbest smart person i know.”
“i’m not dumb.”
“he said you don’t know how pretty you are.”
“people say things.”
“not like that.”
choso looks like he regrets existing and unfortunately for him your roommate isn’t done. “what ELSE has he said?”
“nothing,” choso mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“liar.”
“baby.”
another soft kiss against his jaw, pretty doe eyes, and you watch the fight leave choso’s body. he groans quietly. “he just asks about you sometimes,” he mumbles, glancing up at you.
your stomach flips again. “asks what?” your roommate says immediately.
“normal stuff.”
“define normal.”
“like if she’s seeing anybody.”
your eyes widen slightly.
“or what her type is,” choso admits.
your roommate grabs your arm so hard you almost lose balance. “i knew it.”
“stop saying that,” you hiss, feeling too warm and out of place in your own body now.
choso keeps talking now that he’s doomed anyway. “there were these guys talking to you outside one of our econ buildings a while ago and geto asked after if you knew them.”
you blink. you remember that too. two business majors from another frat trying very hard to impress you after class. geto had walked by while you were talking to them and you hadn’t thought he even paid attention.
apparently he had.
“and,” choso adds carefully, “he asked if they were bothering you.”
something warm and dangerous and twisting settles low in your stomach, and your roommate looks one second away from planning a wedding. “this is insane.”
“it’s not insane,” you say weakly.
“he likes you.”
“you don’t know that.”
“y/n,” she says flatly. “be serious.”
you sit on the edge of your bed, the black dress clinging to your skin, and now all you can think about is geto noticing it. remembering it. liking it enough to mention it after you’d already gone.
your roommate watches your expression carefully from the bed and then smiles slowly.
friday - day of departure
departure day starts at eleven in the morning and immediately feels cursed. gojo is late, even though the meetup spot is outside the frat. toji's holding an iced coffee and is directing where bags are to be put instead of actually helping. somehow, your roommate's lost one of her sandals already. choso's carrying about fourteen bags (thirteen of which are his girlfriend's) and you?
you're standing in the driveway trying to figure out how seven people accumulated this much luggage for a beach trip. a seven day beach trip. “why do you have three suitcases,” you ask gojo’s girlfriend.
"two of them are satoru's," she says, patting her boyfriend's head, and he grins like a lovesick puppy. "i don't know why he has so many clothes."
geto’s car sits at the curb behind gojo's girlfriend's car - the two drivers for the trip. geto's leaning against it, typing on his phone, and of course the fact that he looks good pre-noon makes your heart pang. you can only imagine what you would look like standing beside him, what with your frizzy hair and crooked glasses.
he's wearing a dark hoodie and shorts, sunglasses pushes up into his hair while choso helps him load luggage into the back. you try not to stare but your brain seems to enjoy self-destruction.
because watching geto lift heavy bags with one hand while calmly reorganizing everybody’s mess should not be attractive.
getp closes his trunk with a final solid thud. "my car's got the most space," he says. "why don't you transfer all the luggage over from the other car?"
your roommate perks up immediately. "perfect."
"there'll be room for one person up front too," geto adds casually. then he looks directly at you. your stomach flips so hard it almost makes you angry.
you glance away first. before you can say literally anything, your roommate beams. "great! y/n'll go with you."
you whip around instantly. "what?"
"you get carsick in crowded backseats," she says innocently.
which is true. unfortunately. “i can survive.”
“and i want leg room,” toji says. "no fuckin' way am i cramming in the back with the lovebirds," he grumbles, pointing to choso and your roomate, "with this fucker in the front." he points his thumb to gojo, who's smiling happily.
"then you can go in the front with geto," you say.
your roommate gives you a deadpan look. gojo's girlfriend sighs.
"toji, just sit in the back, please," choso says quietly. "it's only a two and a half hour ride."
he opens his mouth to retort an excuse but gojo's girlfriend promptly elbows him in the chest. he grumbles but settles in the back of gojo's girlfriend's sedan anyway.
geto looks almost relieved, but he quickly masks it with his typical aloofness.
your roommate grabs your shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "have fun!"
you narrow your eyes at her. “i hope your phone charger breaks.”
gojo leans out the passenger window of the other car. “pee break every forty-five minutes!”
“absolutely not,” both you and geto say simultaneously.
gojo points between you both immediately. “they’re married already.”
you ignore him completely, mostly because geto is already walking around to the passenger side of his car and opening the door for you. which should not affect you this much.
it’s basic manners. normal behavior. except when you pass him, the scent of his cologne mixes with cool morning air and coffee and suddenly your thoughts short-circuit for half a second.
annoying. very, super annoying.
you settle into the seat while geto finishes loading the last bag.
the car smells clean, like sandalwood and detergent and something distinctly geto. you hate that you know what he smells like.
the second he slides into the driver’s seat beside you, the space feels smaller. you feel him glance at you before putting the car into start, and you're driving off, leading the other car behind you.
your phone buzzes immediately.
roomie: have fun on your first date ❤️
you: i’m going to kill you with my bare hands
you shove your phone away quickly before geto can accidentally see. “you have the address?” he asks quietly.
“yeah.” you pull up the map. “did gojo’s girlfriend save it too?”
“i sent it to her twice.”
“good.”
“you don’t trust them?”
you stare out the windshield where gojo is currently hanging halfway out the car window yelling something about his spring break arc. “…should i?”
geto laughs quietly beside you and the sound makes your head spin happily. you don't hear him laugh often, unless he's mocking gojo. this quiet, real laugh is something you notice every single time.
after twenty minutes you hit the highway and you sink back into your seat with a sigh. “finally.”
“you stressed?” geto asks lightly.
“i like plans.”
“i noticed.”
you narrow your eyes slightly. “that sounded judgmental.”
“it wasn’t.”
“mhm.”
he glances at you briefly while turning onto the highway. sunlight catches against the rings on his fingers resting on the steering wheel. your brain immediately decides to become unhelpful so you look out the window instead.
for another few minutes, it’s quiet except for road noise and the distant bass vibrating from the other car behind, then geto taps the screen on the dashboard. “you want music?”
“i don’t mind.”
“you sure?”
“...yeah? why?” you glance over at him.
“because now if you hate my music taste you'll have to be super polite about it and the car ride will be awkward.”
you laugh softly. “i promise it won't be bad. i won't be that harsh.”
his mouth curves slightly before he scrolls through his phone. music fills the car a second later and you recognize it almost instantly.
your head turns before you can stop yourself. “wait,” you say. “is this the smiths?”
geto glances over briefly. “…you listen to the smiths?”
“obviously.”
“obviously?”
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“nothing,” he says, clearly amused now. “i just didn’t expect it.”
you scoff. “what did you expect?”
he thinks about it for a second. “something old. like classical music.”
"i don't mind classical, but the smiths have always been one of my favourites."
he flashes you a genuine smile, fingers gently tapping the rhythm of the song on the wheel. "i'm glad."
after that, conversation begins to flow easier. favourite albums, worst profs, gojo. (lots of gojo). he says something that makes you snort and that same small, real smile etches onto his lips and god, this is dangerous.
you watch the highway stretch under the pale morning sunlight while trees blur at the edges of the road. after a moment you steal another glance at him. he's relaxed, one arm resting near the window, sunglasses low on his nose.
he's so...pretty.
the thought hits so fast and hard it almost embarrasses you. as if sensing it, geto looks over suddenly. your eyes meet instantly and there it is again. that thing. that horrible, suspended moment where neither of you looks away fast enough.
his gaze flicks down briefly to your mouth then back up. your pulse stutters.
behind you, gojo’s girlfriend's car suddenly swerves slightly as gojo sticks his head out the sunroof, shouting something imperceptible.
the moment breaks. you clear your throat quickly, looking forward again. “they’re going to die before we even get there.”
geto’s laugh rumbles low beside you. “probably.”
gojo’s girlfriend has both hands gripping the steering wheel like she’s transporting explosives. “if you scream one more time,” she says flatly, eyes locked on the road, “i’m pulling over and leaving all of you on the highway.”
“that feels hostile,” gojo says from the passenger seat.
“you barked at a motorcycle.”
“it barked first.”
from the backseat, toji groans dramatically as choso’s girlfriend shifts closer into choso’s side again. “i’m in hell,” he mutters.
“you’re just bitter because nobody wants to cuddle you,” she says cheerfully.
“wrong. women love me.”
“do they?” gojo says from the front, shit-eating grin on his face.
“historically. your mother would know.”
“you don't know shit about my mom,” gojo laughs. “she doesn't have your fucking number.”
“that's cause she gave it to me.”
choso quietly adjusts his arm around his girlfriend’s waist so she can lean more comfortably against him. toji gags loudly. “there they go again,” he says. “the world’s most nauseating couple.”
"you're just single. quadruple-wheeling the trip. us, choso and his girl, and whatever the fuck is going on in geto's car."
toji kicks the back of gojo’s seat and the car swerves slightly.
everyone yells immediately. “if we die,” gojo’s girlfriend says through gritted teeth, “i’m haunting all of you.”
“you’d look hot as a ghost,” gojo says instantly.
she snorts despite herself. from the backseat, choso’s girlfriend glances down at her phone.
“they’re probably having the most awkward car ride ever right now.”
gojo twists around immediately. “you think they’ve kissed yet?”
“it’s been thirty minutes,” choso says.
“exactly.”
“they’re not kissing,” his girlfriend says, though she sounds deeply unconvinced.
toji stretches his long legs out miserably. “they do have weird tension though.”
choso’s girlfriend smiles to herself a little, gaze drifting toward the road ahead where geto’s car moves steadily a few lengths in front of them. “i think they’re both just nervous,” she says softly.
“geto?” gojo laughs loudly. “nervous over a girl?”
if only they saw how bright geto's smile was right now as you talked animatedly about how well your finals went. with you and your legs propped up on the dash, smooth and perfect and he couldn't stop staring without seeming weird. how his heart skipped a beat every time one of your perfect smiles were directed to him.
if only they knew how gone for you he really was.
the second the beach house comes into view, everyone in the other car completely loses their minds. your phone starts vibrating before geto’s even finished pulling into the driveway.
SPRING BREAKKUHH
gojo: HOLY SHIT???
gojo: WHY IS IT HUGE
roomie: i warned u
you laugh softly under your breath as the other car practically screeches to a stop beside you. the house sits glowing gold in the late afternoon sunlight, all warm cedar and giant windows overlooking the water below. dune grass sways softly around the edges of the deck while waves crash faintly in the distance.
home.
you hadn’t realized how badly you needed this until now. gojo launches out of the car first. “BEACH ARC!” he screams.
“inside voice,” you call automatically.
“we’re outside.”
“future inside voice.”
toji steps out next, stretching dramatically. “thank christ. my knees were touching my organs back there.”
everyone starts unloading luggage in a blur after that. bags thumping against the deck, music already blasting from someones speaker, and of course, gojo attempting to carry six things at once before immediately dropping half of them.
you’re hauling one of the grocery bags up the front steps when your roommate appears beside you wearing the smuggest expression imaginable. “so,” she says casually.
you already know. “don’t.”
“you and geto looked cozy.”
“we were in a car.”
“alone.”
“with seatbelts.”
gojo’s girlfriend appears on your other side immediately. “the sexual tension was visible through the windshield.”
you nearly trip over the doorway. “there is no sexual tension.”
both of them stare at you and you adjust your glasses defensively. “there just objectively is not.”
“you’re doing the nerd thing,” your roommate says.
“what nerd thing?”
“the glasses push.”
your hand drops instantly away from your frames. traitors, the both of them. behind you, geto lifts two suitcases from the trunk effortlessly while listening to choso say something beside him.
he glances toward the front porch, toward you, and your stomach does the stupid thing again. once inside everybody immediately scatters to explore the house.
gojo runs directly toward the back windows dramatically. “the back deck is is insane.”
“don’t break anything,” you warn.
“you say that every time.”
“because every time you almost break something.”
toji opens the fridge. “this thing is bigger than four of the fridges at the frat.”
you kick your shoes off near the entryway while everybody talks over each other around you. the house smells faintly like cedarwood and ocean air, comfortable and familiar.
comfortable.
familiar.
geto pauses beside one of the windows quietly, gaze moving across the living room and you watch his expression shift slightly. he looks good, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair loosened slightly from it's usual knot, sunlight catching against his skin through the windows.
you look away before your brain gets worse.
eventually everyone gathers in the living room surrounded by luggage and grocery bags while you attempt to regain control of the chaos. “okay,” you say, clapping once. “room assignments.”
immediately, “dibs,” both gojo and choso say at the same time.
their girlfriends laugh. “obviously,” gojo’s girlfriend says. "we can take the upstairs bedroom, if you don't mind? the one on the side?"
“don’t be loud,” you say, and gojo flips you off. within seconds choso and your roommate have claimed one of the downstairs bedrooms, which leaves you, geto and toji, and two remaining bedrooms.
the master, upstairs. the guest room, downstairs, which has a double bed.
you’re mentally calculating sleeping arrangements when geto speaks first.
“y/n should take the master.”
your head lifts. geto’s leaning back slightly against the kitchen island now, arms folded loosely. “it’s her house,” he says simply.
heat flickers low in your stomach at how immediate the answer was. before you can respond, toji lets out a deeply offended noise. “what,” he says flatly.
everyone turns toward him. he gestures broadly at himself and geto. “so your solution is to cram two six-foot-plus men into a queen bed?”
“you survived the car,” gojo calls from halfway down the hall.
“barely. my spine compressed.” toji points accusingly at you. “i already sacrificed circulation for this trip.”
your roommate’s eyes flick between you and geto so fast it’s almost cartoonish. “easy fix,” she says. “geto and y/n share.”
silence, and your heart drops to your ass. nobody says anything immediately because apparently every single person in this house has collectively decided to make your life harder.
you stare at your roommate. she grins back innocently. beside him, gojo's girlfriend physically bites the inside of her cheek trying not to smile.
toji shrugs instantly. “works for me.”
“of course it does,” you mutter.
your roommate looks dangerously delighted now. “i mean…”
you whip around. “okay, that's--that's enough.”
“it makes sense.”
“does it?”
“logistically?”
you narrow your eyes. she smiles sweetly. geto has gone suspiciously quiet beside the kitchen island and when you risk one glance towards him he's already looking at you completely unreadable except for the faintest pink creeping up his ears.
your pulse stutters embarrassingly hard. “i can sleep on the couch,” you say quickly.
“absolutely not,” geto says immediately. too fast. the room goes quiet again and you feel every single person notice the tension. especially when geto clears his throat softly afterward. “i mean,” he adds more evenly, “it’s your place.”
gojo looks one second away from exploding with laughter.
toji stretches lazily against the armchair. “well i’m not sharing with him.”
your roommate suddenly stands. “perfect! problem solved.”
you stare at her in horror. “you didn’t solve anything.”
“you and geto get the master.”
your brain short-circuits. you open your mouth to protest then glance toward geto again. his eyes meet yours instantly, and you both look away.
biggest coward of all - your one and only, y/n.
everyone disperses after that. gojo immediately starts trying to connect his phone to the speaker system downstairs, toji disappears toward the back deck with a beer already in hand, choso and his girlfriend vanish into their room carrying bags and giggling like a disease.
you flee upstairs before your friends can torment you any further. your heartbeat still feels weird - you hate that.
the master bedroom sits at the end of the hallway overlooking the water, all soft linen and huge windows glowing gold from the lowering sun outside. you’ve always loved this room, not that you were in it often. throughout your childhood, it was occupied by your parents.
you especially love it at sunset. usually it calms you down.
usually.
right now all you can think about is the fact that suguru geto is sharing this room with you for an entire week.
it's insane and horrible and slightly thrilling in a way you refuse to examine too closely. you drop your bag onto the bed with a sigh before digging through your suitcase for something more comfortable. the drive left you sticky and overheated so you tug your shirt over your head absentmindedly, tossing it onto the bed before reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra.
finally. freedom.
you’re halfway through pulling on a loose tank top when the bedroom door suddenly opens. you turn automatically.
geto walks in mid-sentence. “i was just gonna leave my ba—”
he stops completely. so do you.
silence detonates through the room because your bra is currently halfway off your arms and your tits are fully out.
oh my god. you yelp immediately, clutching the tank top against your chest. geto looks genuinely horrified. not in a bad way but shocked, like his brain physically short-circuited. his eyes flick upward instantly but it’s too late because the image is already there now, permanently burned into his consciousness forever.
“fuck,” he blurts immediately. “shit. fuck, sorry. jesus christ.”
you make another strangled noise while trying to cover yourself and pull the shirt on at the same time. geto turns around so fast he nearly walks into the doorframe. “i’m sorry,” he says again, voice suddenly rougher than usual. “i thought you were downstairs.”
“it’s okay,” you squeak.
it is not okay. your face feels approximately one million degrees.
geto grabs the doorknob blindly. “i’m gonna— yeah. sorry.” then he practically slams the door shut behind him.
you stand frozen in the middle of the bedroom clutching your shirt to your chest while your nervous system completely implodes.
oh my god.
OH MY GOD.
geto descends the stairs with a flushed face and rigid expression - the kind of forced composure that immediatley attracts attention in a house full of idiots.
gojo looks up from the couch instantly. “…the hell happened to you?”
geto keeps walking toward the kitchen. “nothing.”
“you look like you saw a ghost.”
“something like that,” geto mutters.
friday - 7 pm
by early evening, the house finally settles into something softer. the unpacking chaos dies down, most of your group is watching the ocean from the back porch. you’re cleaning up dinner dishes with choso, who keeps (politely) asking why you’ve got a weird look on your face.
it’s been four hours since that disaster upstairs. the awkwardness still hangs between you and geto, who can’t look you in the eye.
you change into one of your bikinis eventually, tugging an oversized button-up over it before heading downstairs with your glasses perched back on your nose. the second you appear, gojo grins. “beach time.”
“beach time,” you confirm with a small smile.
outside, the air smells like salt and warm cedar as everybody trails down the private wooden path toward the shoreline. the beach stretches mostly empty around you, pale sand glowing gold beneath the lowering sun while waves roll lazily onto shore. your roommate immediately grabs your hand and drags you toward the water. gojo sprints in after you both screaming for no reason. toji lights a cigarette. gojo’s girlfriend seems reluctant to put her feet in the water but she explodes into giggles when the white-haired man hauls her over his shoulders.
geto hangs back slightly. he still can’t think normally, not after upstairs. not after accidentally walking into the bedroom and seeing you half-dressed with your tits out looking shocked and all cute and soft beneath afternoon light.
jesus christ.
he’s trying very hard to be normal about it but the image keeps replaying against his will. the gentle curve of your chest and your startled expression and the way you scrambled to cover yourself.
he feels insane.
“you good?”
geto blinks. choso stands beside him now holding a cooler in one hand.
“fine,” geto says immediately.
choso hums, not believing him at all. ahead of them, you’re standing ankle-deep in the water now while your roommate splashes at gojo nearby. the ocean catches sunset light in shifting ribbons of gold and blue around your legs and fuck, geto’s pulse jumps instantly.
your oversized shirt hangs open slightly over your swimsuit whenever the wind catches it. your hair glows warm at the edges beneath the fading sun while you laugh at something gojo yells from farther down the shoreline.
pretty doesn’t even feel like the right word anymore.
it’s worse than that now. every time geto looks at you lately, something low in his chest tightens painfully. beside him, choso watches quietly for about three seconds. “you should probably stop staring.”
geto tears his eyes away immediately. “i wasn’t.”
“mhm.”
annoying.
they walk farther down the beach together while the others spread out ahead. waves crash softly nearby, the wind cool against their skin. “you know,” choso says after a minute, “she likes you too.”
geto nearly chokes. “…what?”
choso shrugs lightly. “i’m just saying.”
“you shouldn’t say anything.”
“okay.”
barely a pause before geto blurts, “does she actually?”
choso laughs quietly while geto rubs a hand over his jaw with a sigh.
this whole situation feels increasingly impossible to manage. before this trip, there was distance. space and campus distractions. now there’s shared car rides and a shared room and seeing you every five minutes. and apparently accidental nudity.
and of course there’s the fact that geto genuinely likes being around you. he likes talking to you. likes the way your brain works. the way you explain things when you’re excited. the little irritated face you make whenever gojo says something stupid.
it’s becoming a real problem.
“you’ve spent six months pretending you weren’t obsessed with her,” choso observes quietly.
geto glares at him. “i’m not obsessed.”
choso looks unconvinced. fair enough.
the sound of you laughing (at something toji or gojo did, likely) hits geto square in the chest. there’s something different about you here already. you’re lighter, less tense than you are on campus. he watches you push your glasses back up your nose while smiling toward the ocean, sunset washing warm gold across your skin.
beautiful.
the thought arrives with startling clarity this time, like he could spend an entire lifetime memorizing moments exactly like this. you glance back toward him suddenly and your eyes meet across the beach.
there it is again, that pull.
that awful suspended feeling like the rest of the world drops slightly out of focus whenever you look at each other too long.
friday - 9 pm
it's properly evening when you all head back to the beach house. the sky's a pretty shade of dark blue, stars shining little dots above your head. you all file into the house and you say something about not trailing any sand in, looking very pointedly at gojo.
salt clings faintly to your skin, your hair's a mess from the wind, and your brain still hasn't recovered from the way geto looked at you on the beach. you slip into the kitchen first to grab water, hoping for approximately thirty seconds alone to regain your sanity.
so, naturally, geto walks in immediately after you. of course he does.
you busy yourself with the fridge while he moves toward the sink beside you, sleeves pushed up again as he washes sand from his hands.
silence stretches, and it's not uncomfortable, exactly. it's worse - aware. you can feel him there without even looking. the heat of him beside you, the sound of water running over his hands. your pulse does something deeply irritating when his shoulder brushes yours accidentally reaching for a dish towel.
“sorry,” he murmurs.
“you keep saying that this trip.” you regret the words as soon as they come out. why would you bring up that incident?
his mouth twitches slightly.
before either of you can spiral further or say anything else gojo’s voice erupts from the living room.
“movie night?!”
you close your eyes briefly. saved by the idiot.
everybody migrates downstairs afterwards where the basement living room is. it's cozy and there's a huge projector setup against one wall, and an entire cabinet full of old dvds your parents collected over the years.
gojo kneels in front of it like he’s discovering sacred texts. “this is so fucking cool.”
“don’t touch them with your greasy hands,” you warn.
“snob.”
he ends up carefully plucking the first indiana jones movie from one of the shelves and hands it to you. "good pick? i've never seen it."
"great pick," you approve. you crouch down to the dvd player, fiddling with the wires to connect it properly to the projector. behind you, everyone's already claimed spots on the couches.
you don't think much of it until you finally turn around and freeze. one end of the sectional is occupied by toji's giant limbs. the rest has a very comfortable looking choso-and-roommate combo who are already curled into each other. the beanbag has gojo and his girlfriend squished onto it.
the only open spot left is beside geto on the loveseat.
your roommate suddenly becomes very interested in not making eye contact and gojo's girlfriend looks seconds away from laughing. you narrow your eyes at both of them before trudging toward the loveseat.
you sit as far from geto as physically possible, which on the loveseat is not very far. there's maybe a foot of space between you both ,close enough to feel hyperaware of each other's presence.
as the movie starts gojo's already stealing popcorn from his girlfriend and your roommate is practically asleep against choso's chest within minutes. geto's still infuriatingly still beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch. not touching you, just there, and your heartbeat won't calm down.
you manage to balance this thin line of whatever-this-is between you and geto for half the movie, hardly paying attention to the plot, though you've seen the flick a dozen times. you keep gettind distracted by his arm (it's right there) and how if you inched just a liiiitle bit over, you'd basically be pressed against geto.
your bubble's interrupted by gojo bolting up from the beanbag, shouting about about a plot twist he 'totally saw coming,' and the volume of his screaming is so aggressive you jolt slightly.
your thigh brushes geto's. the rush that flows through you is electric and you both go still instantly. the contact lingers half a second too long before you shift subtly back except now geto's arm behind you lowers slightly. closer. his fingers brush your shoulder lightly and your pulse spikes so hard it hurts.
you stare very intensely at the movie screen pretending your entire nervous system isn’t imploding, then his thumb moves - small absentminded circles against your shoulder through the thin fabric of your shirt.
oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god -
you stop breathing for a second and beside you, geto’s voice drops low enough only you can hear. “…this okay?”
your throat feels weirdly tight. you nod once, his arm sliding lower around you slowly, careful enough to give you time to pull away if you want.
you don’t.
so instead he gently pulls you against his side, warm and solid, your brain short-circuiting instantly. somehow curling against him feels natural already. your head settles near his shoulder while his arm stays firm around your waist now, thumb still tracing slow patterns against your side.
the movie disappears completely and all you can think about is him. his cologne and the warmth radiating through his hoodie and the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek.
your heart feels seconds away from exploding.
geto feels equally doomed. having you tucked against him like this is significantly worse than he imagined. you fit there too easily. soft against his side and warm beneath his arm. he can smell coconut sunscreen faintly lingering on your skin from the beach and it’s actively destroying his ability to think. he's also trying very hard not to tighten his grip every time you shift closer unconsciously.
from across the room, toji announces, with zero social awareness, “i’m cold.”
toji’s voice cuts through the moment like a gunshot. you pull away instantly and geto’s arm drops from around you immediately like he touched fire.
“i can get blankets,” you say quickly, already standing.
“i’ll help,” geto says, glancing at you.
“you don’t have to—”
“it’s fine.”
you swallow thickly and nod, walking up the stairs, legs feeling like jello, geto right behind you.
from the couch, choso's girlfriend grabs a pillow and hurls it directly at toji's head. “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
toji catches it midair, deeply offended. “what?”
“they were having a moment.”
“how was i supposed to know that?”
“because everyone with functioning eyes knew that.”
gojo starts cackling.
when you make it upstairs, the silence between you and geto feels heavy and sharp and you move the hallway quickly trying to regain control of your heartbeat while grabbing blankets from the linen closet.
geto stands too cloise behind you that when you turn accidentally, you nearly walk straight into his chest.
your breath catches. his does too.
for one suspended second neither of you moves.
the hallway feels narrow suddenly and you're focused on warm, dim light spilling softly across his face and his dark eyes fixed on yours. your pulse pounds violently as geto's face flicks briefly to your mouth, then back up.
you think he’s going to kiss you.
you really think he’s going to kiss you.
instead, he quietly says, “…you don’t have to feel weird about downstairs.”
the words feel strange and your stomach drops slightly. “…weird?”
his expression shifts instantly like he realizes too late how that sounded. “no, i just meant—”
“right,” you say quickly.
humiliation flashes hot beneath your skin. he thinks you misread things, or worse, that he did. you step back first, push your glasses up too quickly. “no yeah. obviously.”
geto looks frustrated suddenly. “that’s not what i—”
“it’s okay,” you interrupt softly. “really.”
the tension curdles painfully into awkwardness as you grab as many blankets as possible before he can say anything else, then practically flee downstairs.
everyone looks up when you return. you toss blankets at people mechanically before settling onto the far end of the loveseat, as far away as you can from geto.
your roommate notices immediately. so does choso. so does gojo. gojo's girlfriend would've, too, if she weren't out cold asleep.
geto comes downstairs a second later quieter than before and he hesitates briefly looking toward you, then sits separately too.
on the floor.
distance stretches cold and strange across the room now. your chest aches and you tightly pull a blanket around yourself, staring at the movie screen without really seeing it.
geto watches the side of your face in silence from his spot on the floor and from that point on the rest of the movie feels wrong. nobody says anything outright but everybody notices, because thirty minutes ago you'd been curled into geto's side looking soft and shy while he stared at you like you painted those stars in the sky over the ocean.
now you're curled up like a hermit and geto's face seems almost painful as he stares at his feet.
gojo's eyes flick between the two of you every few seconds with all the subtlety of a car accident. his girlfriend, now awake, elbows him every time
choso notices too, though he’s more discreet about it. he just keeps glancing toward geto occasionally like he’s trying to figure out which one of you panicked first.
(toji remains blissfully clueless.)
you stay tucked beneath your blanket staring blankly at the projector screen while the movie plays out in blurry colors you barely register.
geto looks equally miserable. worse, actually, because now that he's replaying the conversation upstairs in his head, he realizes exactly how badly he phrased it. 'you don't have to feel weird about downstairs'. god. he sounded like he regretted it, like he was trying to backtrack, which is the opposite of what he meant.
he’d only wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. that you didn't feel pressured and that he hadn't crossed a line. instead he'd watched your face fall in real time. idiot. he's an idiot.
when the credits finally roll, everybody starts talking at once again. gojo arguing about the ending and toji asking if there's leftover chips and your roommate whispering something to choso while glancing at you.
you quietly push the blanket aside and stand. “i’m gonna go to bed,” you mumble. you’re not even sure anyone hears, but geto does. his head lifts immediately but you don't look at him, disappearing upstairs before anyone can stop you.
you trudge to your bedroom, straight to the en suite. the shower helps a little. the warm water and the silence as you scrub salt from your skin and try very hard not to think about how close geto had been in the hallway upstairs. or how badly you wanted him to kiss you.
humiliating.
by the time you finish changing into your university sweatshirt and tiny sleep shorts, exhaustion finally starts creeping in around the edges. the bedroom is dark when you return except for moonlight spilling silver across the floor through the giant windows.
geto isn’t there yet. your stomach twists at the thought but you climb into your side of the bed anyway, pulling the blankets up to your chin while ocean waves crash softly somewhere outside.
you tell yourself not to care, then eventually fall asleep anyway.
when you wake up again, the room is still dark. for one disoriented second you don’t know why your chest feels strange then you glance toward the other side of the bed.
empty. empty?
your brows knit together immediately. the digital clock beside the bed reads 4:07 am. you push yourself upright slowly. “…geto?”
nothing, and the bathroom’s empty too. confused now, you slip quietly out of bed and head downstairs.
the house is silent, dark except for one of the kitchen lights left on.
and there he is. geto's asleep on the downstairs couch, or at least attempting to be. one arm thrown over his eyes, long legs awkwardly cramped against the cushions because the couch is way too short for him, a blanket half falling onto the floor.
your chest tightens. he thought you didn't want him upstairs and guilt floods through you instantly. you carefully walk closer. “geto,” you whisper.
he wakes almost immediately. years of frat-house living apparently killed deep sleep permanently. his arm drops from his face slowly when he realizes it’s you standing there. his hair’s messy, voice rough with sleep. “…hey.”
you hesitate, suddenly nervous again. “why are you down here?”
his eyes flick away briefly. “didn’t wanna make things uncomfortable.”
your heart sinks. “you weren’t,” you say quickly. “i just thought…” you trail off awkwardly.
geto pushes himself upright slowly, watching you carefully in the dark. “thought what?”
you fiddle with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “that maybe you regretted it. when...we were on the couch.”
his expression changes instantly, softens to something almost confused. “what?”
“upstairs,” you mumble. “when you said i didn’t have to feel weird.”
geto exhales quietly through his nose then drops his head back against the couch cushions. “that is not what i meant.”
heat creeps into your face again. “oh.”
he looks up at you then, eyes all sleepy and honest in the dim blue light. “i was trying to make sure you were okay,” he says quietly. “because i wanted to kiss you.”
your breath catches hard. silence fills the room save for the hum of the fridge, ocean waves somewhere outside and your heartbeat going completely feral.
geto's gaze stays fixed on yours. “and i wasn’t sure if you wanted that too.”
you stare at him for one suspended second. “i thought you were going to.”
his mouth parts slightly, something warm flashing through his expression. “yeah,” he says softly. “i was.”
your pulse feels violent now and you shift your weight nervously. “you should come upstairs.”
geto studies your face carefully for another second like he’s making absolutely sure, then stands. the couch blanket slips forgotten onto the floor while you both just stand there in the dark living room breathing the same air.
when geto’s hand brushes lightly against yours heading toward the stairs, neither of you pulls away. walking beside him somehow feels more intimate than the almost-kiss downstairs. your hand brushes his once on the staircase and suddenly your pulse is trying to escape your body.
neither of you talks much once you reach the bedroom either. it’s painfully awkward now in that fragile post-confession way. you hover near your side of the bed, and geto stands near the dresser rubbing the back of his neck.“…sorry again,” he says quietly.
“for what?”
“all of this being weird.”
you blink at him then laugh softly despite yourself. “you saying that is making it weirder.”
his mouth twitches. “right.”
when you both scramble into bed you face opposite directions, approximately three feet apart. you can physically feel the tension across the mattress. as you stare at the ceiling you're trying very hard not to think about the fact that geto is right there.
same bed, same room, close enough that you can hear his breathing if you focus.
saturday - 10 am
you stir faintly as the sun wakes you up, bright enough to peek through the edges of the blinds. you stir faintly, something heavy resting around your waist. your brows pinch together sleepily.
wait.
you blink your eyes open slowly and realize with immediate horror that sometime during the night, both of you migrated completely across the bed. you’re practically tangled together now, your head tucked against geto’s chest, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist beneath the blankets, one of your legs halfway thrown over his.
before you can even process it fully, geto shifts too, his arm tightening instinctively for half a second before he wakes up enough to realize.
you both freeze then very slowly, geto looks down at you. his hair is completely loose from sleeping now, dark strands falling around his face messily and eyes still heavy with sleep.
his voice comes out rough and groggy when he finally speaks. “...morning.”
his voice sounds unfair, deep and sleepy and warm against the quiet room. you want to choke. instead you stare at him for one embarrassingly long second before scrambling backward so fast you nearly fall off the bed. “good morning!”
too loud. way too loud.
geto pushes himself upright slowly, clearly trying not to laugh.
you’re suddenly acutely aware now of your oversized university sweatshirt riding up slightly from sleep and the tiny shorts you forgot you were wearing. you can feel oil slicking to your skin and you probably look horrible, meanwhile geto looks basically offensively attractive for a man who literally just woke up. dark pools of hair fall over his shoulders, features softened
your nervous system cannot survive this week. “i’m gonna change,” you announce suddenly.
geto blinks once. “…okay.”
you point at him very seriously while backing toward the bathroom. “do not come in there.”
that finally gets a real laugh out of him, low and sleepy. “wasn’t planning on it.”
“good.” you disappear into the bathroom before your dignity can deteriorate further and once inside you stare at your reflection while trying to regain basic human functionality.
you slept wrapped around suguru geto. comfortably.
eventually you change into denim shorts and a fitted tank top before putting your hair up and emerging from the bathroom again.
the bedroom’s empty and for a confusing second you think maybe geto left downstairs already, before movement catches your eye through the balcony doors.
geto’s outside stretching in the early morning sunlight. shirtless. warm golden light spills cross his skin while he stretches one arm over his head lazily, back muscles shifting beneath the sunlight. his sweatpants hang low enough that the sharp v-lines disappearing beneath the waistband are very visible.
extremely visible.
you feel warm all over immediately because sure, you knew geto was attractive. obviously. but this feels actively engineered in a lab to ruin your life specifically.
outside, he rolls his shoulders once before turning slightly and immediately catches you staring. your soul leaves your body as geto pauses then very slowly raises a brow. “…morning again.”
heat floods your face so fast it’s almost violent. you look away instantly.
“you could warn people.”
“about what?”
you gesture vaguely toward him without looking directly.
“that.”
his laugh drifts softly through the open balcony door and when you glance at him again you see how prettily the sun catches against the winding tattoos along his arms.
geto watches your expression carefully and smirks slightly.
you swear you'll die before noon.
the house is (unfortunately) wide awake as you and geto walk downstairs. gojo’s voice echoes through the kitchen before you even hit the last stair. “WHY IS IT SMOKING?”
you immediately close your eyes. “what did you do,” you say, voice dangerously low.
“nothing!”
you walk into the kitchen to find everyone gathered around the coffee machine like it’s a bomb squad situation. steam hisses violently from the side of it and gojo stands there holding the glass pot. “i pressed brew,” he defends.
“with no water in it,” his girlfriend says.
toji looks half asleep at the island. “natural selection should’ve taken him years ago.”
your roommate's eyes narrow immediately as she sees you and geto walk in. her gaze drifts to the living room, specifically the blanket crumpled on the couch and the pillow on the floor.
you grab a mug to avoid eye contact with her, geto moving toward the counter beside you like this is a completely normal morning.
gojo squints suspiciously. “…you two look weird.”
“you always look weird,” you mutter into your juice.
“true but irrelevant.”
“the coffee machine’s dead by the way,” toji interrupts.
“i figured as much,” you sigh, examining the machine with a frown.
“he killed it,” gojo's girlfriend says.
“it was weak,” gojo argues.
“it was a twelve hundred dollar espresso machine,” you say, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "my parents are so going to kill me."
gojo freezes. “it was how much?”
you groan softly, dropping your forehead against the counter. “i’m going back to bed.”
beside you, geto laughs under his breath, low enough only you heard it. your stomach flips and you glance at him accidentally and immediately regret it because his hair's tied loosely back and he's in a fitted black t-shirt that does nothing helpful for your concentration.
plus you know what's under it. worse - you know what it looks like first thing in the morning sunlight.
your brain needs to be chemically sterilized.
everyone slowly migrates toward breakfast eventually while arguing over plans for the day. gojo offers to toast bagels (provided he doesn't break the toaster, too) and your roommate keeps kicking your ankle beneath the island every time you look at geto too long.
“stop that,” you hiss quietly.
“make me.”
you’re still groggy as hell from waking up at four in the morning and emotionally spiraling before sunrise so eventually everyone starts looking at you expectantly when discussion turns toward plans.
“what’s the weather?” choso asks.
you glance out the giant kitchen windows toward the water. clear skies, barely any wind. perfect.
“it’s gonna be a good beach day,” you say, wrapping your hands around your mug (yes, still full of juice. you'd kill for coffee right now). “we can stay down there most of the afternoon.”
gojo pumps a fist. “beach arc continues.”
“then maybe head into town this evening,” you continue. “there’s a boardwalk and some restaurants by the marina.”
“shopping?” your roommate perks up instantly.
“you don’t need more clothes.”
“counterpoint, yes i do.”
“we can do dinner there,” you say. “then come back for the sunset.”
everyone nods along pretty quickly after that but geto’s not really paying attention anymore, because while you’re talking, sleepy and slightly disheveled in your little tank top with your glasses sliding down your nose, sunlight catches against your skin through the kitchen windows.
all he can think about is waking up with you curled against his chest.
you look over toward him mid-sentence.“does that sound okay?”
geto realizes a full second too late that everyone’s waiting for his answer. “…yeah,” he says quietly, eyes still on you. “sounds perfect.”
after breakfast, the second you head upstairs, your roommate and gojo’s girlfriend follow immediately with excited little grins. you barely make it into the bedroom before your roommate shuts the door behind her dramatically.
“spill.”
you blink. “about what.”
both of them stare at you. “y/n,” gojo’s girlfriend says flatly, “there was visible yearning at breakfast.”
“there was not.”
you move toward your suitcase quickly before they can corner you properly. “nothing happened.”
“liar,” your roommate says instantly.
“nothing serious happened.” you push your glasses back up your nose. you ignore their little comments and start sorting through your bikinis instead. “we’re focusing on beachwear now.”
“avoidance,” your roommate whispers solemnly.
“coping mechanism,” gojo’s girlfriend agrees.
you throw a swimsuit at both of them and eventually the three of you end up sitting cross-legged around the open suitcase debating bikini options. “this one’s cute,” your roommate says, holding up a blue floral set.
“i dunno why i packed that one.”
“this one?”
“too bright.”
gojo’s girlfriend suddenly digs deeper into the suitcase before pausing. “…wait.” she lifts a black triangle bikini from the pile. sleek black fabric and a tiny gold charm dangling between the cups.
you laugh nervously. it's smaller than what you typically wear - you prefer more full-coverage, something that doesn't let the plush of your stomach and thighs fully exposed. the top'll push up your tits way more than anything you normally wear.
both girls stare at it reverently like archaeologists uncovering forbidden treasure. “THIS one,” your roommate breathes.
“absolutely this one,” gojo's girlfriend agrees.
you snatch at it immediately. “that’s too...much. i don't -”
“y/n, you're going to look amazing in it, no matter what comments you have to say about yourself or your body,” your roommate says. “you're hot. it's hot. you're going to look good.”
“i’m literally not wearing dental floss to the beach.”
“y/n.”
“what.”
“put it on.”
five minutes later you emerge from the bathroom already regretting every life decision that led here. the bikini really is tiny.
the black fabric contrasts sharply against your skin while the gold charm rests perfectly between your chest. the top pushes everything up unfairly well and the bottoms sit low against your hips with thin strings at the sides.
you instinctively cross your arms slightly. your roommate’s jaw physically drops and gojo’s girlfriend just stares.
“…holy shit,” she says softly.
“you HAVE to wear that.”
“i look insane,” you say, glancing at your feet. "bad insane."
“you look hot.”
heat crawls across your face instantly, and you glance toward the mirror again. okay. maybe it does look good. “it’s more revealing than what i usually wear,” you mumble.
“and you rock it.”
eventually they encourage you to keeping it on and you throw on a loose white cover dress afterward at least, something soft and flowy enough to hide most of the bikini beneath it.
then you start filling your beach bag. book, sunscreen, waterbottle, lip balm, portable charger.
your roommate watches with deep affection. “you pack for the beach like a divorced father.”
“preparation prevents suffering,” you say wisely, and gojo's girlfriend laughs while you shove sunglasses into your hair.
the three of you head downstairs together where the guys are still getting ready. gojo's already shirtless and toji's hoarding chips and choso nearly walks directly into a wall when his girlfriend appears in her bikini.
geto looks up from the kitchen counter when you enter. you feel his gaze drift down your face, down the cover dress you're wearing, and your pulse jumps instantly.
gojo ruins the moment by throwing sunglasses at him. “beach.”
everyone starts heading outside after that. the walk toward the shoreline is warm and breezy, sunlight sifting through dune grass while everybody talks over each other around you. you’re halfway down the road when somebody calls your name suddenly.
you turn instantly, recognizing the voice with a smile. “aaron?”
geto watches as a guy about your age jogs over from the neighboring property, grinning broadly. he's tall, sun-bleached hair, and apparently he knows you very well because he immediately pulls you into a quick hug.
“holy shit,” he laughs. “when’d you get here?”
“yesterday! i didn’t know your family was coming down this week.”
“mom wanted the boat out, even though it's kinda early.”
you smile easily at him - you did practically grow up together, summer after summer.
behind you, your friends have gone suspiciously quiet.
“oh, these are my friends,” you say, gesturing to your group. aaron shakes everyone’s hands easily while you chatter beside him naturally, smiling more openly than you usually do around new people.
geto watches the entire thing in silence and immediately dislikes this guy. he knows it's irrational but you look happy talking to him. not nervous or flustered, just easy and warm and familiar. aaron says something that makes you laugh and geto's jaw tightens.
logically, this means nothing. he knows that, but still. he watches aaron’s hand brush briefly against your arm while talking and suddenly feels the deeply primal urge to throw him into the ocean.
gojo notices instantly, of course, despite being a bumbling oaf most of the time. his eyes slowly widen behind his sunglasses. “he’s jealous,” he whispers as he leans towards choso.
“obviously,” choso whispers back.
the second aaron finally heads back toward his family’s place, the group starts moving again. something's shifted now, though. you notice it almost immediately walking beside geto down the sandy path toward the beach.
he’s quieter. thinking.
gojo notices too, his grin getting increasingly more dangerous every few seconds. eventually he speeds up to walk backward in front of you both. “so,” he says brightly. “beach boyfriend.”
“don’t start,” you sigh.
“he looked rich.”
“his parents are both lawyers and they own three beach houses here.”
“shit, well -”
gojo’s girlfriend drags him away by the arm before he can get worse. bless her.
for a minute it’s just you and geto walking side by side while the others move ahead laughing about something. ocean wind catches softly at your cover dress, your sunglasses rest pushed into your hair.
geto finally speaks. “…you two close?”
you glance over. his expression’s careful, casual sounding. “kinda,” you say. “i only really see him in summers though. it's been a while.”
geto hums once. silence stretches another few steps then before he can stop himself, he asks, “you ever date?”
your brows lift slightly.
geto stutters, “i just mean—”
“no, i know what you mean.” you laugh softly under your breath a little awkwardly now. “not seriously. we messed around a little as teenagers.”
geto goes still. you say it so casually, like it means nothing, and his brain instantly starts supplying images he absolutely does not want. you younger, laughing with that guy at bonfires, swimming together at night.
that guy touching you.
“oh,” he says evenly.
you glance at him sideways. “…you okay?”
“fine.”
liar. he’s absurdly jealous which is insane because he knows he has zero claim over you whatsoever. (and yet he thinks about last night and how you almost kissed and that soft look in your eyes and he feels waves of jealousy wash over him again.)
the thought of anyone else having touched you makes something dark and unpleasant twist low in his stomach. the walk to the beach is silent and the shoreline opens wide before all of you again.
everyone starts setting up camp and the warm sand burns pleasently beneath your feet. umbrellas, chairs, coolers, towels are all placed in motion
toji tries to ram an umbrella into the sand with zero clue what he's doing and you laugh softly, setting your beach bag down near one of the chairs.
geto watches you from a few feet away while pretending to unfold a towel as you reach for the ties of your cover dress.
his brain short-circuits instantly, watching the thin fabric slip from your shoulders. jesus christ, that bikini is devastating.
sleek little triangle top, gold charm catching sunlight perfectly between your chest, tiny straps against your skin. the bottoms sit low on your hips with those little thin side ties and geto physically has to look away for a second because blood rushes south immediately.
fast.
he’s actually in hell because now not only does he remember accidentally seeing your chest upstairs yesterday, but he also has visual confirmation that your body is genuinely engineered to ruin his life specifically.
nearby, your roommate whistles. “see?” she says smugly. “told you.”
heat creeps across your neck while you shove your sunglasses on quickly. “stop making announcements.”
toji glances from you to geto and laughs under his breath. “…dude.”
geto doesn’t answer. he's still staring until toji smacks his shoulder hard enough to jolt him back to reality. “get in the ocean.”
geto blinks. “…what?”
“cold water.”
realization hits instantly and his ears turn red immediately.
“shut the fuck up,” geto mutters. gojo walks by and smirks, shouting no way at the top of his lungs with absolute glee.
you look between all of them confused. “what’s happening?”
“nothing,” geto says too quickly.
toji’s grin turns downright evil. “he just really likes the scenery.”
your face burns alive instantly.
geto looks seconds away from committing homicide. he starts trudging towards the ocean, following everyone who's running towards the water.
choso's girlfriend stops him, pausing with the slyest smile you've ever seen in your life. “y/n needs someone to put sunscreen on her.”
geto stares at her blankly. “…okay?”
your roommate glares at him pointedly. “you dumbass.”
when realization hits, geto goes still, cause you’re standing there in that tiny black bikini looking suddenly very interested in literally anything except him, and now he’s imagining touching sunscreen onto your skin for an extended period of time while already painfully hard.
cool.
great.
awesome.
gojo’s girlfriend physically drags your roommate toward the lake before either of you can escape.
“have fun!” she calls sweetly.
silence settles immediately afterward except for distant waves and screaming from the water where gojo’s already drowning dramatically. you stand awkwardly beside the chairs clutching the sunscreen bottle and geto pushes a few loose strands of hair back from his face slowly before reaching for it.
his fingers brush yours. your pulse jumps. (his does too.)
“…so,” he says.
“mhm.”
“…where do you want it?”
you choke, brain interpresting that in the worst way possible.
geto's eyes widen slightly. “i didn’t mean it like that.” his ears are turning red again.
“right,” you mumble weakly. god, the tension between you lately feels actively lethal.
geto clears his throat once. “i just meant sunscreen.”
“i know.”
“okay.”
you very quietly mumble, “…just put it everywhere.” you realize how that sounds approximately one second too late.
geto shuts his eyes briefly like he’s asking the universe for strength then gestures toward the towel laid out beneath one of the umbrellas.
“you can, erm, lay down. or stand. dunno.”
you nod quickly, and the sand's warm beneath the towel as you settle carefully onto your stomach. geto kneels beside you, close that you can hear the bottle of sunscreen click open. your heartbeat pounds harder instantly.
“tell me if i’m using too much,” he says quietly.
“okay.”
cool sunscreen hits your shoulders first, then his hands. geto’s fingers spread the lotion slowly across your skin, warm palms gliding carefully along your shoulders and upper back.
he’s trying very hard to stay normal about this but your skin’s warm from the sun and soft beneath his hands and when you shiver slightly when his thumbs press near the base of your neck it certainly doesn’t help his…situation.
geto swallows hard. “…cold?”
“no.” your voice comes out quieter than usual.
you hear him exhale softly through his nose and his hands move lower slowly, fingers spreading sunscreen across the middle of your back now, dragging lower and lower inch by inch. it feels intimate, the kind of slow touch that settles beneath your skin.
you wonder, briefly, what your roommate, or gojo’s girlfriend, or choso, or any of them really, think of the sight (if they’re looking) geto leaning over you beneath the umbrella with his hair falling loose around his face slightly while his hands move slowly across your skin like he’s memorizing it. you lying there visibly tense every time he touches you.
“you missed a spot,” you mumble weakly, pointing toward your side mostly just to say something.
mistake. big huge mistake because you throb as geto’s hand slides carefully along your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your ribs. as your breath catches so does his and his hand lingers one dangerous second too long against your side before pulling away.
“…done,” he says roughly.
you sit up slowly, face to face with him at extremely close range. his hair’s falling into his eyes slightly from the wine, jaw tight, expression unreadable except for the very obvious tension simmering beneath it.
the moment snaps apart before either of you can do something catastrophically stupid. “y/n!” gojo’s voice echoes from the water.
you jerk backward slightly like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t and geto clears his throat immediately and pushes to his feet a little too fast. “…i’m gonna get in the lake.”
“okay,” you say too quickly.
he nods once before practically escaping into the water, leaving you sitting there afterward feeling completely disoriented. your skin still tingles everywhere he touched so to attempt to distract yourself you grab your book from your beach bag.
it doesn’t work. you read the same sentence six times in a row without processing a single word because all you can think about is the feeling of geto’s hands slowly sliding over your waist.
you’re hopeless.
your roommate and gojo’s girlfriend eventually wander back up from the shoreline dripping water everywhere and both immediately clock your expression.
“wow y/n,” your roommate says sweetly.
“don’t.”
“your sunscreen is blended sooo thoroughly.”
gojo’s girlfriend nods solemnly. “very even application.”
you close your book dramatically over your face. “i hate both of you.”
“he looked one touch away from cardiac arrest.”
“i’m serious,” you say, voice muffled from beneath the pages.
“and you looked like you were gonna melt into the towel,” your roommate adds wisely. you groan into the book.
out in the lake, geto’s standing waist-deep in freezing water, mind still scrambled, because shit, he can still feel the shape of your waist beneath his hands. he can still remember the tiny sound you made when he touched your side.
he thinks you might have noticed his situation downstairs. the water helps a little, at least, and beside him, gojo suddenly appears floating on his back. “you know,” he says conversationally, “you were sporting a fucking hard-on.”
geto nearly drowns him. “what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“you could see it from across the beach.”
“why were you looking, you piece of shit.”
“because you looked stupid.”
toji barks out a laugh nearby. “i’ve never seen you this bad over anybody.”
geto drags both hands through his wet hair with visible frustration. he knows they're right. this is bad. worse than bad. you're going to be upstairs sharing a bed every night walking around in tiny little outfits and looking at him with those shy nervous eyes whenever he gets too close.
from your spot in your chair on the beach you glance to the shoreline again over the edge of your book. you make the mistake of seeing geto standing waist-deep in the water with his wet hair pushed back.
by late afternoon, you're all making your way to the marina, everyone sun-kissed and buzzed off coolers. there's cute little boutiques with sun-faded signs, ice cream stands, tourists wandering around with shopping bags, boats bobbing against the docks while seagulls scream overhead.
it should be relaxing but instead, everyone’s acting weird. well, not everyone - gojo is still normal, unfortunately, which means he’s being loud as shit and trying on ugly sunglasses in every store while his girlfriend tells him he looks like a divorced dad. toji's carrying everyone's bags very bedgrudgingly and choso’s girlfriend keeps linking arms with him and dragging him into little souvenir stores.
meanwhile you and geto keep ending up next to each other by complete accident, which is to say, absolutely on purpose by everyone else. you’re walking along the docks eating gelato at one point when your roommate suddenly grabs your arm. “come into this store with me.” before you can respond, she’s already yanking you inside.
you blink, looking back where geto’s left standing outside with gojo and toji before you get tugged into a store.
gojo smirks immediately. “you gonna keep staring at the door like that?”
geto doesn’t even look at him. “shut up.”
“bro.”
“satoru.”
“you’ve had the expression of a war widow since sunscreen.”
by dinner, if possible, things have gotten even weirder. you all end up at this marina-side restaurant right on the water, string lights overhead and music drifting faintly from somewhere nearby.
the seating arrangement was personally made to ensure you don't survive the meal, obviously, what with gojo and his girlfriend together, choso and his girlfriend together, toji sitting like he’d rather die, and you and geto next to each other. close enough that your knees almost brush beneath the table.
drinks come, everyone's talking about the beach tomorrow and whether they should rent paddleboards. "we have the budget, but everyone has to pitch in," you say, which makes toji groan.
gojo says, "i saw that you can get a boat tour? we could go fishing or something."
you're all talking animatedly (save for geto, who's oddly quiet and keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye) then the waiter comes over. he's probably around your guys' age, eyes skimming over gojo's girlfriend tucked under gojo's arm, choso's girlfriend pressed against choso's shoulder, then you.
sitting alone, or rather alone-adjacent. “and what can i get for you?” the waiter asks you with a smile that lingers a little too long.
you look up awkwardly. “um…”
“good choice on the drink,” he says after glancing at your glass. “not everybody appreciates taste.”
your roommate nearly chokes on her water and you stare at the waiter awkwardly. “thanks?”
the waiter grins. “you guys visiting?”
you can physically feel everyone at the table stop listening to their own conversations. geto’s gone silent beside you, more silent then earlier. “yeah,” you say after a beat.
“nice,” the waiter says, leaning slightly against the table. “hope someone’s shown you the good spots around town.”
you laugh weakly because what the fuck do you even say to that. “uh…”
“hey, if you need someone to show you around, i get off at ten.”
“i think i'll get the chicken parm?” you say, laughing nervously. “please.”
“or maybe i could just give you my number,” the waiter says with a smile that makes your toes curl in disgust.
geto finally looks up, slowly, expression completely unreadable except for the fact that he looks deeply unimpressed. “she’s very clearly not interested.”
silence. complete silence. you even stop breathing, and the waiter blinks, looks between you and geto. “…sorry, man,” he says with an awkward little laugh, hands up. “can’t blame me for trying.”
geto doesn’t even smile. “yeah.” he pauses before saying, coldly, “just get the food and go.”
the waiter straightens. “alright.” he scribbles something on his pad quickly, then mutters, “didn’t know your boyfriend was so serious,” and walks away.
the silence is nuclear. nobody says anything, nobody moves, and your face is so hot you think you might actually die.
because boyfriend.
because geto didn’t correct him.
because nobody corrected him.
gojo is staring at his plate so hard his shoulders are shaking. your roommate won’t look at you. choso’s girlfriend is chewing on her straw like she’s witnessing live television and toji actually says nothing for once in his miserable life.
you risk one glance sideways to see geto staring straight ahead, jaw tight, ears slightly red.
you immediately look away.
dinner proceeds in the most painful silence known to man.
conversation starts back up eventually, but it’s all stilted and everyone keeps exchanging looks when they think you and geto aren't noticing.
you barely taste your food. geto says maybe twelve words the entire meal.
when the bill comes everyone’s kind of ready to leave purely to escape the tension. checks get split, gojo grabs his and his girlfriend’s without looking. choso pays for his girlfriend’s too.
toji stares at his own bill like it insulted his bloodline.
“why the fuck is grilled salmon thirty dollars.”
“because you ordered grilled salmon,” gojo says.
you reach for your wallet quickly.
“i got mine.”
“same,” geto says at the exact same time.
your fingers brush awkwardly near the bill tray, both of you jerking back like you touched fire. chairs scrape back and everyone starts filing out onto the marina walkway under the string lights and the tension between you and geto follows like a third person walking right between you.
saturday - 10 pm
on the drive back to the beach house, gojo’s girlfriend controls the aux while everybody talks intermittently about dinner and shopping bags and whether toji could survive prison after complaining about restaurant prices loud enough for the waiter to hear.
but underneath all of it sits that awful electric awareness between you and geto. every glance feels more loaded than before now, especially after the boyfriend comment. especially because a small part of you didn't want to correct it.
you stare out the window most of the drive pretending the cool night air coming through the cracked glass is enough to settle your heartbeat. (newsflash - it isn't).
when you finally pull into the driveway, the sky’s gone deep navy overhead, stars scattered bright across the water beyond the dunes. gojo stretches dramatically exiting the car. “i feel alive. this was a good day.”
“you screamed at a seagull today,” his girlfriend says.
“well, it was disrespectful. did you see how it took the hotdog out of my hand -”
everyone slowly filters toward the back deck unloading leftovers and drinks while the ocean crashes softly somewhere below. you’re halfway through carrying cups into the kitchen when gojo’s girlfriend suddenly says, “bonfire?”
you all immediately agree and you're honestly grateful for the distraction, because if you had to go straight upstairs right now and exist in a quiet bedroom with geto after today, you think your nervous system might actually collapse.
outside, the fire crackles warmly against the cool night air while everyone settles into chairs scattered around the pit.
you end up directly across from geto. the flames flicker gold across his face while he leans back slightly in his chair listening to gojo argue about horror movies beside him.
he’s not really listening, you can tell. every few seconds his eyes drift back to you again, and the look in them makes your stomach twist painfully.
yearning.
there’s genuinely no other word for it anymore. it’s there in every glance and every pause and every second too long his eyes stay on your face. you feel warm all over despite the ocean breeze.
around the fire, conversation drifts lazily between everyone else toji and gojo arguing and your roommate curled against choso’s side and music humming faintly from someone’s speaker. nobody comments on the way you and geto keep looking at each other. they just quietly notice, giving you both space.
across the fire, geto feels like he’s losing his mind a little.
you look beautiful tonight, your hair slightly windblown, oversized hoodie on, firelight dancing warm across your skin while you smile softly at something choso says.
he can’t stop looking at you and doesn’t really want to. his chest physically aches with it now, this awful wanting.
god, geto’s never been this gone over anybody before.
when yawns start appearing, everybody heads inside. gojo drags his girlfriend upstairs and your roommate shooting you one deeply knowing look before disappearing too.
it’s just you and geto left outside.
you crouch near the firepit gathering empty bottles quietly while embers glow soft orange against the dark.
geto watches you for a second.“…wanna walk to the beach?”
your heart stumbles immediately. “sure.”
the shoreline’s almost completely dark except for moonlight silvering the waves. sand cool beneath your feet, wind soft against your skin. you walk side by side in silence at first. comfortable silence this time. above you, the stars stretch endlessly bright across the sky untouched by city lights.
you stop eventually near the waterline where waves curl around your ankles gently before retreating again.
geto looks at you like he’s trying to memorize something. like his chest hurts with it. like every glance all semester somehow led here, to you, moonlight catching softly against your face when you tilt your head upward to the stars.
beautiful.
the thought, though not new, hits him so hard it almost steals his breath. “…you know what the worst part is?” he says quietly.
you glance over. “what?”
geto laughs softly once, self-aware and helpless. “i spent months trying not to want you this bad.”
your breath catches yet his eyes stay fixed on yours, steady and honest in a way that makes your pulse pound harder. “and now i don’t think i’ll ever stop.”
something in your chest melts completely. there's no teasing in his voice, just aching sincerity. geto looks at you like you're something precious and terrifying and like you're everything all at once, and suddenly you can’t stand the distance anymore.
so you kiss him.
his breath catches sharply against your mouth before he melts instantly, completely. one hand slides gently against your waist while the other cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real, kissing you back slow and deep beneath the stars. warm, careful for approximately two seconds before all that pent-up wanting finally cracks open.
you feel him exhale shakily against your lips. it feels a lot like relief.
you kiss him back just as deep, hands sliding up into his hair you've been aching to hold for months now, tangling your fingers there, and he groans into your mouth, pulling you more flush against him.
your toes curl from the sand when you feel his hardness poking against the top of your stomach.
from one kiss?
when he pulls back it's reluctant, his hands cupping your face and staring into your eyes like you're the only person he's ever seen.
"should we go back?" you ask softly, and he nods immediately. your lips are tingling, geto's hand laced tightly with yours like he physically can't let go now that he finally has you. every few steps he glances at you again with that same dazed expression that makes your stomach flip violently.
like he still can’t believe you kissed him first.
the house is dark when you slip inside, quiet, everyone asleep in their rooms already. you barely make it through the kitchen before geto pulls you gently against him again, kissing you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
you laugh softly into it, hands catching against his chest while he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the feeling.
months of tension finally snapping all at once.
you nearly stumble into the staircase together trying to stay quiet and by the time you reach the bedroom, both of you are flushed and breathless and grinning a little helplessly.
the door clicks shut behind you and suddenly geto’s hands are on your waist again and your back hits the wall softly beside the door while he kisses you deeper, warm and hungry. your fingers slide automatically into his hair again and he makes this low sound against your mouth that nearly destroys you.
“fuck,” he murmurs quietly against your lips. you can feel how nervous he is underneath it too though, how his hands careful despite how badly he wants you. you tug at the hem of his shirt first and geto pulls back just enough to drag it over his head quickly before immediately kissing you again.
shirtless in the dim moonlit bedroom, he looks unfair. your eyes stare at the tattoos winding along his arms and chest, dark hair loose around his face from the beach wind.
you stare for half a second too long because geto's cheeks flush slightly. (this, of course, makes him infinitely more attractive.)
“don’t look at me like that,” he mutters.
you laugh breathlessly while your hands slide down his chest, his muscles tensing beneath your touch instantly. his fingers hook gently into the hem of your hoodie, hesitation flickering briefly across his face. you nod softly, and that's all he needs.
geto pulls the hoodie over your head slowly and when it drops to the floor he just stares quietly. his eyes drag across your skin with open awe now, nothing hidden in his expression anymore.
this is how he wanted to see you. not startled or accidental. wanted.
heat blooms across your entire body under that look and geto steps closer again slowly, one hand settling against your waist while the other brushes lightly up your side like he’s still convincing himself you’re real. “…pretty girl,” he says softly.
you kiss him again immediately because otherwise you think you might combust, your fingers fumbling with the button of his pants while geto's lips start to press kisses down your jaw.
your back eventually hits the mattress gently as you both stumble toward the bed, and for one second he hovers over you breathing hard while moonlight spills silver across the sheets behind him. he's gazing at you with those lidded eyes, his boxers strained as his hands run up your stomach slowly, savouring, until he's cupping your tits in his hands, squeezing with gentle reverence.
“…i wanna take my time with you,” he says quietly. one hand moves to slide up your thigh while he properly settles over you, his other elbow braced beside your head. one of his legs slips naturally between yours and the pressure makes your breath catch immediately.
a faint smugness flickers briefly through his expression now, that quiet confident energy finally surfacing. “there she is,” he murmurs softly.
heat floods your face instantly and geto kisses you again before you can hide from it. your lips, deeply, tongue sliding against yours, brushing along your mouth. then your jaw, then your neck. his mouth lingers just beneath your ear, sucking gently, while his hand drifts carefully along your waist, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin.
“fuck,” he mutters quietly against your throat. his voice sounds wrecked already.
your fingers slide through his hair, tugging lightly without thinking, and geto exhales sharply against your neck before lifting his head to look at you. dark eyes and flushed cheeks and hair falling loose around his face.
he looks gone.
completely gone for you.
his hand smooths slowly along your waist again before drifting higher, fingertips tracing along your side with almost unbearable patience. your breathing stutters when he holds your tits again, kneading them once before rolling your stiffened nipples between his fingers.
“you okay?” he asks softly.
you nod quickly and he kisses you again while his thumbs slowly brush over sensitive skin, drawing another shaky breath from you. the sound goes straight through him - geto's spent months imagining this. wondering what you'd sound like, how you'd react to him touching you.
(the little, jealous part of his brain remembers aaron. he shoves the thought away immediately.)
reality is infinitely worse for his self control. you squirm slightly beneath him and his leg presses more firmly between yours automatically.
your breath catches harder this time and geto looks at you, something a little darker simmering beneath his eyes. “that feel good?” he murmurs quietly.
you hide your face briefly against his shoulder. “…maybe.”
his laugh comes soft against your hair. “maybe?”
heat floods your face when he tilts your chin back toward him gently. “use your words, pretty girl.”
your stomach twists and you nod once. “yeah.”
“yeah what?”
you stare at him in disbelief. “you’re annoying.”
he grins properly for the first time all night. “and you’re avoiding the question.” before you can answer, he kisses you again, swallowing the tiny embarrassed sound you make while his hand drifts lower along your thigh slowly.
your fingers curl against his shoulders when his mouth returns to your neck again, kissing lower this time while his hand squeezes gently at your thigh. when his hands defly dip into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, you moan quietly, head turning to the side.
he makes you so nervous and excited your heart feels like it's going to lurch out of your chest.
"can i touch you here, pretty girl?" he murmurs, fingers sliding along your inner thighs until they ghost over your cotton panties. if you'd known you'd end up like..this tonight, youd've chosen a more tasteful pair of underwear.
"please," you whisper, pulling him to your mouth as his fingers press against your clothed cunt, applying just enough pressure to make you mewl into his lips. you feel him smile, pushing your panties to the side before running a finger through your folds.
"you're wet," he chuckles before pushing his finger in, crooking it against your spongey insides. your head falls back against the pillow, hands digging into his back.
"oh my god, geto," you whimper, lips parting.
"suguru," he corrects, pushing another digit in, curling them deep enough to find the gooey spot that has your nails making crescent against his arms.
"suguru, please, 's so good," you babble, thrusting your hips to meet his hand.
he stills for a moment at the sound of his name on your lips. how you moan his name so prettily, begging for more. he leans down, kissing you hard, fingers moving faster and faster inside you, the sound lewd and so dirty and buzzing right to his crotch.
geto feels how you clench around his fingers, and he swallows thickly at the thought of how you'll take his cock. he groans, low and wrecked, capturing your nipple between his lips, teeth grazing along it slightly.
your head's dizzy, stars behind your eyes, gazing at geto and how he's sucking little bruises along your tits, up your neck, down your stomach. constellations of bite marks across your body.
"suguru, i—i'm close," you say, voice breaking. his eyes darken and he thumbs tiny circles over your clit, his two - no, three - fingers curling against all the right spots inside your core.
when you cum, body pulsing hard and hot in waves that make you tingle all over, geto groans, fingering you slowly until your breathing evens. the sight of you coming undone for him has him hardening impossibly more in his boxers, now damp at the front with precum.
you're panting below geto and your hand inches to his boxers, itching to tug them off. "you sure?" he asks quietly, restraint obvious in his voice.
"i'm sure, suguru," you say softly, kissing him again, palming over his boxers. he lets out a strained sound as you reach to pull them down and he quickly obliges, shrugging them off.
suguru geto, in all of his naked glory, is the most beautiful man you've ever seen.
you're rather partial to his pretty, leaking cock, too.
your eyes trace over the vein that runs along one side, the flushed, mushroomed dip, slick with precum, the thick shaft. how it twitches slightly under your gaze, hard and angled up towards his abs. you watch in a daze as he pumps himself slowly, his lips parted, watching you sprawled out so prettily for him, your hair like a halo around your head as you lay there.
you watch his gaze drift down your body, down past your tits, down past the splattering of marks he's left across practially every square inch of your skin. down to your pussy, still slick from your orgasm.
you squirm under geto's face and he tuts, leaning down and pressing his tip to your core. "don't have to be nervous, pretty girl," he says, kissing the side of your neck. his cock brushes against your folds and you both moan quietly.
geto's forehead drops to yours as one of his hands hooks through your thighs, pushing it up as he pushes in slowly. you wince at the pressure, eyes watering slightly - none of the men you've been with have been this...proportionate. he's quick to wipe the tears from your eyes, kissing your cheeks softly, jaw tight as he pushes in more, and more, passing each wall of muscle with a grunt.
"you're squeezing me, y/n, shit," he manages, pushing your thigh higher to deepen the angle. when he finally bottoms out his eyes roll back and you whine.
loud.
geto pushes his thumb into your mouth, his hand cupping your face, and you suck on it gently, face contorting with pleasure as he starts to thrust slowly, struggling to fit his cock back in when he pulls out.
"so tight," he groans raggedly, and all you can do is moan in response, his thumb still in your mouth, his other hand still warm against your thigh, sliding up to squeeze your waist. when geto manages to set a slow, steady pace, he's grunting every time he thrusts in fully, watching your hands grip the sheets desperately.
"right there, suguru," you moan, muffled against his thumb.
"here, pretty girl?" he rumbles, pistoning his cock deep and faster now, brushing your cervix with every thrust.
you nod, babbling incoherently, tugging his hair, holding his biceps, wrapping around his neck, touching everywhere you can and he lowers himself, chest pressed to yours. your tits soft against his skin, your tongue swirling around his thumb.
he holds you reverently, kneading the plush of your thighs as you clench around him, chasing another orgasm. you pull his thumb out of your mouth with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the digit. "suguru," you whimper, "suguru, suguru, suguru—"
"yeah, i know," he coos, thrusting so deep inside you you can see where he pokes at your stomach, the bulge bumping against your skin every time his cock presses deep in your cunt. "look at that, pretty girl. taking me sooo good, yeah? so good for me."
blood rushes hot through your body, liquid heat coursing through your veins, and your back arches off the bed, pulling geto impossibly closer to you as you moan softly into his ear, biting his neck as you feel your climax build and build and build.
"are you close? 'm gonna cum," he says, voice rough and eyes blown wide. "you feel me here?" he presses his hand to where his cock bulges against your stomach, the pressure stealing the air from your lungs.
"inside," you breathe, panting now. "cum in me, suguru."
and so he does, seconds later, because your voice saying those words along with his name fully break him. he holds you against him as he cums, pulsing thick and hot spurts of release, coating your walls. he rubs circles over your nipples as you climax, too, with a cracked moan of his name and your hands tangled in his hair.
after, you’re both a little breathless, tangled in rumpled sheets with the balcony doors cracked open enough for the ocean air to drift in. geto just stays close, one arm wrapped around your waist while his fingers lazily trace little patterns against your skin like he doesn’t quite know what to do with all this softness in his chest. you’re tucked against him, cheek pressed to his shoulder, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat finally slowing down. “…you okay?” he asks after a while, voice low and sleep-rough now.
you tilt your head to look at him, how pretty he looks with his pink lips and flushed cheeks. you smile softly. “you’ve asked me that like eight times.”
“i know.”
“paranoid?”
he huffs a quiet laugh, looking at the ceiling. “a little.”
your heart squeezes and you lift yourself enough to kiss him softly. geto smiles into it, eyes closing briefly. "you like me," he murmurs, and you bury your face in his shoulder so he can't see you smiling.
he helps you clean up, gently rubbing a warm cloth along your inner thighs where his cum's dried, hands you your hoodie, tucks blankets around you when you both collapse into bed. when you instinctively curl toward the far side like you did the first night, geto just blinks at you. "...seriously?"
you look over. "what?" and he wordlessly lifts an arm. your stomach flips and you slide back over, letting him pull you into his chest. his chin rests lightly on top of your head, one hand smoothing once down your back.
sometime in the middle of the night, you both fall asleep smiling.
sunday - 8 am
the next morning feels surreal. when you wake, blinking sleepily, you realize two things immediately. one: you're basically half on top of geto. two: he's already awake, watching you. the second your eyes meet, he smiles, small and sleepy and completely soft. "...hi," you mumble.
"hi." his voice is still rough with sleep and you both just stare at each other for a second like idiots then start laughing quietly for no reason at all.
everything feels weirdly giddy, soft. you brush hair out of his face, he catches your wrist and kises your palm. as you both get dressed you exhange stupid little smiles the entire time.
however, when you both head downstairs together, something awful starts to creep into your brain. there's no way anyone heard, right...? gojo's girlfriend is a notoriously heavy sleeper, though you don't know much about how gojo sleeps...toji and choso and your roommate, being downstairs, couldn't have heard anything at all. and you weren't that loud.
the living room comes into view where choso's sitting drinking coffee (from a new, temporary machine you bought at the marina yesterday). when he sees you and geto walk down the stairs he goes tomato red and your soul leaves your body. beside you, geto's trying so hard to act normal.
"morning," he says in the most suspiciously casual voice ever.
choso makes a sound that is not a word. "...morning." he looks away so fast he nearly spills coffee on himself. you stare at him, horrified. there is no way. there is absolutely no way they heard anything. they couldn't have.
before you can spiral further, gojo strolls in from the kitchen, looking smug for no reason. "good morning!" he says brightly. you narrow your eyes immediately. never trust that tone. he starts making coffee, chatting casually about breakfast plans like a completely normal person. too normal.
geto relaxes as gojo stirs sugar into his cup. takes a sip, then says, "so."
you feel the danger immediately. gojo glances over with the smile of a man about to ruin lives. " 'cum in me , suguru'?" he says thoughtfully. "that's the best you got?"
you swear time stops. geto goes completely motionless, full red ears to collarbone. your body leaves this earthly plane. choso coughs so hard he nearly dies on the couch. from the back porch, where you now see your roommate, gojo's girlfriend, and toji watching with rapt attention, they all burst laughing.
which means. oh my god.
you stare blankly at the wall in front of you and geto slowly turns toward gojo. "i'm going to kill you."
gojo raises both hands, grinning. "hey, don't shoot the messenger. walls are thin, lover boy."
you make a strangled noise and bury your face into your hands. somehow, impossibly, gojo makes it worse. "also," he says, taking another casual sip, "the name thing was kinda hot. personal fave detail."
"SATORU."
"WHAT? i'm being supportive!"
a/n ~ did u cry when they kissed? no? just me blubbering like a baby writing this? ...
horny y/n jumping on bkg even though he’s exhausted from work and still helps her 🤤
i love goofy ideas like these. u WIN
you were the brave one today. working from home… all alone… unable to adjust to your lover not being around… even if he was at work and you planned for this weekday to be at home. especially when you heard him let himself into your apartment while you had to finish up a work call. it was the hastiest, a borderline unprofessional goodbye how you rushed to end the call because he was here finally.
you only saw him a few days ago after all.
stepping into your living room, bakugou katsuki is hard to miss. massive body sitting in the centre of your sofa, he’s got his head in his hands, elbows on his knees in silence, sporting a black hoodie and shorts.
“you okay?” you ask, practically floating to stand in front of him, tugging his hand so he can uncover his face for you.
when he pulls away, looking up at you, your heart drops to your clit. in sickness or health, whatever words you’ll be saying on your wedding day to this man… well, you get it now.
katsuki meets your eyes with these droopy ones, cushioned with two dark bags underneath them. to anyone else it looks like he’s gonna curse you out any second, his eyes are practically slits but you can note, it’s just tiredness, especially when he leans his head into your palm.
his posture is slouched, body completely and utterly exhausted. this pro hero, one of the best in the world, needs to be on at all times, ready for anything but you, you get the privilege of seeing him off. ready for bed and a hot shower.
katsuki rests his cheek in your palm, those angry ruby gems becoming puppy like, “‘m fine.”
next, his hands hold onto the backs of your thighs keeping you still so he can press his face into your stomach. you feel his whole body sigh into you.
“you don’t look it. you look like shit,” you offer and you get two bouncing shoulders in a short laugh.
“y’got a lisp now? you mean sexy?” he muffles into your stomach, then presses his chin into you so he can look at you properly.
you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs. you notice a touch of hoarseness in his words. you press your thighs together.
your smile is apparent in your voice, “you’ve got this defeated look going on.” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it is a little sexy. maybe a lot.”
bakugou thinks he’s in with the joke at the beginning, till you shuffle in closer to him, the press of your hand on his cheek gets harder and he notices the change of pitch in your breath. even the black of your pupils widen, he sees this in real time. you’re not joking at all actually.
that gets him sitting up slightly, a smirk falling on his features. you pout when he does, staring at his lips like a wife separated from their husband for years. he knows his smile is a killer for you, a soft sigh leaving you at the sight of his gold canine and white teeth.
“gimme a kiss,” he demands and the good listener you are, you lean down to press yours against his.
it’s family friendly for the most part, three pecks until his pawlike hands sneak up your thighs to under your ass cheeks.
when you both pull away, you’re staring at each other for a few seconds until you lick your thumb and rub under his eyebrow.
“you didn’t get all your eye stuff off,” you whisper, referring to his eye makeup he likes to put on under his mask.
bakugou grunts in response, letting you clean up the left over marks he didn’t scrub.
“how long have you been waitin’ for me?”
always so perceptive. it makes your eyes widen like you’ve been caught out. “well i’ve been working—,”
“baby,” he soothes, in that soft way like you’ve done something silly and you won’t get in trouble for admitting whatever it is. even though he already knows.
“since the morning,” you breathe, eager to undress on the spot, to get his hands on your bare skin, to jump on his lap and pull down his shorts.
but the exhaustion is still apparent on his body. his movements are noticeably slower now that he can let his guard down.
“hm,” he replies and you run your fingers through his hair, pushing all his blonde locks back to reveal his face. your boyfriend is incredibly handsome. you press an extra kiss to the scar on his cheek and bakugou pulls you in. your knees sink into the sofa as you straddle his lap.
hot hands that were under your ass, sneak under your blouse. they’re like a relief patch, causing your skin to buzz in anticipation.
“what d’you want?” he hums and you’re already ready for your body to bounce on something, fingers twitching as they rest on his shoulders.
“katsuki,” you whine, rubbing your nose against his. his eyelashes brush against yours. “don’t ask me that.”
nimble fingers shift to the little buttons at your blouse. bakugou works on you while you’re fighting your own internal battle.
“why not, baby?”
“you’re tired from saving the city. i’m not going to make you have sex with me because i’m horny.”
bakugou rolls his eyes, completely humoured by the way you let him shimmy you out of your blouse, now sitting on him in your pretty lace balconette bra. he kisses the softness of your breast and you’re completely reactive, arching your back into his face.
“y’think i don’t wanna love you?”
the wording makes you mewl, hugging katsuki’s big head to your chest. your body blushes with heat, unable to look him in the eye, “don’t be adorable when i want you to put me in doggy.”
bakugou chuckles, “on your knees. let me do it.”
“didn’t you have a long day today?”
he looks you in the eye, “the fuckin’ longest. sixteen hours, everyone was on my ass.”
“then you need to sleep.”
“or i can have sex with my girlfriend.”
you have the audacity to look shy, knowing there’s a damp patch if he checked your panties right now. “but you’re exhausted.”
“babygirl.”
“babyboy.”
bakugou raises his eyebrows, “that’s new. i dunno if i like that.”
you shuffle on his lap, your crotch right over his. you’re delighted to find he’s sporting a semi, in fact, it makes you want to rabidly rub yourself over him like an animal in heat.
you kiss the corner of his jaw, tugging the neckline of his hoodie so you have space to kiss his neck. bakugou’s eyes flutter shut in response, hands on your bare waist.
“you’re my baby and you’re my boy.”
bakugou tuts, grabbing the back of his hoodie and tugging it over his head. he’s got nothing on underneath it to your joy, leaving his bare chest on display for you. you lowly moan at the sight of his biceps, the scars that run through them, the discoloured skin that merges with his blushed skin. one hand on you, another giving his toned abdomen a necessary rub.
“i’m your man.”
“fuck,” you whisper, standing up to pull off your leggings and sitting back on his lap like you never left. “and you’re sure? not too tired?”
he’s uncouth when he hooks a finger in your underwear, then runs the pad of his thumb to gather your wetness over your clit. your body slumps into him, giving bakugou all your weight for him to hold up.
“you underestimate how easy it is for me to get you to come.” he smirks, chuffed at himself for how well he knows you. “could do this half asleep. i have done this half asleep.”
referring to the four am sex you had a few days ago when you came all over his fingers with his tongue in your throat. eyes closed and half conscious.
“don’t be so cocky,” you moan for the wrong reasons, loving the slow comfortable pace of his thumb. pleasure rolls through your body softly, your hands mindlessly palming him.
“take him out then.”
“don’t him your dick.”
but still you do, yanking down his shorts and feeling the saliva build in your mouth at the feeling then sight. his adonis belt, deep ridges and harsh muscle. then him, thick and heavy. his cute red tip with veins running up the length of him.
“you love it.”
you’re nodding without realising, placing your palm on the scar on the centre of your boyfriend’s chest.
“fuck me,” you whine, sitting on your knees and shuffling to adjust to sit on his cock. “wanna feel you, ‘tsuki.”
though he stops you, hands on your hips.
“on your hand and knees, babygirl. like you want.”
Uh Oh! Recently, Aizawa has been extremely stressed with juggling hero work and the future of his students! His lack of an emotional output leads him right home, where he feels he neglected his beautiful wife.
CW: FLUFF + NSFW, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, squirting, yearning, teasing, etc. yearning, yearning, yearning, did i mention yearning? Aizawa loves his wife.
WC: 4k
You knew Aizawa’s favorite dish was beef stew on his most stressful days. And these past two months were nothing short of purgatory for him.
Purgatory being the overwhelming pile of duty and responsibility dumped on him with every coming week. Every day would bring forth more training than the last, straining his quirk with the intention to raise the next generation to prove better than the previous.
In short, he's worn out. A dry, wrung out towel left to lie outside.
To make matters worse, he hadn’t seen you, the woman he holds higher than himself, in eons. Of course, he makes arrangements to see you that loophole the UA dorm policy, and he makes sure to fill you in on daily events.
But it just wasn’t enough. Not for him.
“ ‘M home, sweetheart.”
Aizawa drags himself through the front door of yours and his shared home, hooking his key onto the holster as he eyes you in the kitchen.
His shoulders immediately release tension as the scent of layered seasoning waft his nostrils. Aizawa constantly insists you don’t have to do something so sweet and ambitious, yet you act on your own accord.
And he can't help but run his tongue over his teeth in restraint. You look perfect, even from the back. Wrong, especially from the back.
“ Shou’. ” Your nickname for him leaves your lips wrapped in affection. Angling your head over your shoulder to greet him with a sweet smile as your not exactly able to leave the stove.
“I didn’t think the bags under your eyes could get anymore full,” you giggle as you read his exhausted body. Slouched shoulders, heavy eyes and untamed locks.
He pokes his lower lip out. Real funny.
“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” he huffs, unraveling his capture scarf and hanging it beside his key. Rounding the kitchen island and perching his chin over your shoulder—nose nudging into the crook of your neck as his crimson eyes watch you do your magic. “Here I am looking forward to seeing you and the first thing you do is insult me.”
"You know I’m playing with you,” you huff, plating a hefty amount of mixed beef stew and rice. He quietly thanks you. “I even think it’s a look on you.”
“Sometimes I think you pray for my demise.” He speaks into your neck.
“You'll never know.”
His lips purse to add a few, lazy kisses to the side of your smooth neck. Enjoying the scent of cocoa scented lotion he finds there. Aizawa was a man who appreciates the minor details—something as little as a small accessory or even a change in body wash never went unnoticed.
You crane your neck to kiss above his brow, in response he lets out a low purr and takes his plate.
“ ‘M not as exhausted as I was for the past week,” he starts, taking a small trek to the dining room table. “I can actually spend a little time with you, t’night.”
You crack a smile when he makes that revelation. The octave in his voice made it obvious he’s looking forward to spending his crumbs of free time with you. You don’t respond until after you set the lid onto the pot of beef stew.
“You being here is enough to make me feel good," You remark. “Asleep or awake.”
Aizawa then takes his first bite of food to mask how much your words really tug his heart strings.
"Well," He speaks between bites. "I still have to teach tomorrow. I hope it's fine that I just spend a few hours with you in the house."
You hum. "I don't expect you to drag yourself around the city to go to a fancy restaurant with me."
"I know. Just wish I could provide a little m—"
"You’re doing enough, Shou’. I promise."
He blinks, chewing around a mouthful of food as he meets your winsome eyes with his own.
His middle finger idly taps on the metal chopsticks he was using. A tiny tick you noticed he had when he was saying less than he was thinking.
Not only that, but his lower lip slightly poked out. He's frustrated.
"Just saying." He murmurs. Sinking his teeth into a new bite. "I don't want to give you false hope. Though I wish I had some scraps of time every now and then to just ... be here."
You give him a forgiving smile.
"Sometimes I hope you have a little time for me. But I understand you're training a generation of heroes and saving lives." Your lips meet his cheek. "How could my pretty husband get any more badass, huh?"
Aizawa was always thankful you understood his circumstances. You're bold, but you're also perceptive.
One of the billion things he adores about you.
“I promise. One day I’ll take us somewhere. Maybe a different country.”
He angles his face so his nose grazes against yours. You could feel his breath fanning over your lips as he remains unmoving. The tension in the air thickened to the point where it was physical as cotton candy. You smile and nudge your nose against his.
Oh Aizawa loves you so fucking much.
Moments like these are rare, where he just gets to enjoy you.
His eyes flutter shut for a moment, dismissing his food as he gravitates toward your jaw—closing his lips into the space between your chin and neck. You hum and angle your head upward, allowing him more workspace. He nips a small love bite into your skin before kissing over it. Then he leans in for your lips.
You withdraw. Aizawa pauses to search your face. Wondering if he’d done something wrong.
"Finish eating, M'kay?" You run along his inky locks with a few fingers. If he kept doting on you like this, the food would go cold. "Then join me on the couch. I’ll make you feel extra comfortable.”
Aizawa snorts, pecking the inside of your palm.
“You spoil me entirely too much," He murmurs. You snicker at his words instead of denying them. No use, he and you both knew it was true.
You spend the next few minutes setting the living space for Aizawa and you. His favorite pastime activity was lounging around the house, specifically, lounging on you.
The man in question palms his hands onto paper towel after washing and drying the dishes in the sink. It was only fair he did after you went through the trouble cooking.
He’s real uptight with the lack of time he's able to spend with you, especially now that UA enforced the dorm policy. It was on rare nights like this he could organize some short hours to spend with you.
He huffs, ruby eyes drifting over to the open door that leads to the living room.
You're so perfect, and here he is. Managing brief interactions with you. The house is basically yours at this point, and he's just a frequent visitor. Aizawa knows the importance of all he does, yet some nights he still wishes that somehow, he could have you at his hip. Childish, non-logical wishes he’d scold himself for if he wasn’t in love.
But fuck it. He has you tonight. You have him tonight.
He’d be damned if he let an inconvenience get the best of tonight.
Running his blunt nails through his hair, he turns off the kitchen light and stalks off to the living room.
“I really appreciate your work in the kitchen. You know you don’t have t—”
Before he could even pass the doorframe, he pauses.
There you sit.
Quietly filing your nails with your knees against your chest. Pouty lips pursed with the effort of sculpting your nails to be the shape you desire. But what really stole his breath were the pajamas you’re sporting.
You look like a forbidden fruit. Dipped in honey and dangling above his eyes after years of being starved. Wrapped in a tiny, black cami and the smallest black shorts that hug the plushy soft of your thighs. He must’ve been staring for too long, because when his eyes finally snap back to yours, you’re staring right back at him. Amused.
"Didn't think your definition of a relaxing night was spectating, Shou’." You huff a laugh, settling the nail file on the coffee table once his feet finally enter the room.
He offers you a tranquil smile as he lifts his shirt over his skull, “That so bad? That I wanna appreciate my gorgeous, smart, adoring wife?” He questions, tossing his top over the armrest of the couch. Baring his stout body to your curious eyes.
Shrugging, you open your arms. A quiet invitation.
"You can appreciate me physically."
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He'd be a damn liar if he said he wasn't looking forward to this. To you.
The cushions dip and Aizawa crawls over your body with the grace of a feline. Not predatory. Worshipful was best fit.
A hushed sigh slips from your husband’s lips as he rests the side of his cheek over your breast, fluttering his crimson eyes shut as tension decays from his muscles. Not wasting a moment, you glide your fingers over his inky locks, fondness swirling through your body when he twitches and lets out a satisfied sigh.
Then a noise rumbles throughout his body.
A low purr. He can’t count the days he’d been looking forward to this. To you.
He nuzzles further into your cleavage. “I just want to enjoy you. Haven’t gotten a moment like this with you in two months, sweetheart.”
Your head dips, planting a chaste kiss to his forehead as the vibrations from his body travel over to yours. He lifts his head with dialated pupils. “I need to know. How have you been,” he shifts, completely dwarfing your body with his own. “With me being absent, and all.”
You hum. The purr his body emits tells you he was vulnerable. Naked. Happy.
“Well.” You start, mirroring his softened eyes. “For one, I got my nails done.”
You bring the sleek of your palm to his face. Aizawa’s crimson gaze flit accross the pink shade with curious, but satisfied eyes.
“Cute. You always did love pink.” He murmurs. Nose bumping against the tip of your nail before he pokes a small kiss to it.
“Anything else?”
You run your nail over his lower lip as a new memory teeters over your tongue.
“I’ve gone out a few times, went to a few … clubs.” You admit. But Aizawa wasn’t the type of man to lack trust in a partner. Especially you.
“A few clubs eh?” He grumbles, peppering more kisses over your neck and up the underside of your jaw. His locks tickling your skin.
“Could’ve sent me a few photos. You know how amazing you look when you doll yourself up.”
“Do I not always look amazing?”
“Don’t start.” Aizawa leans in, his lips closing over yours. You relax immediately, tongue slipping over his own as he shifts himself to sit onto his haunches. Eventually hovering over your upper thighs.
You watch your husband dip beneath your jaw and peck at your collar bone. His messy locks grazing against your skin while he explores the routes he’d left untouched for so long.
“I can’t say it enough, but…” you giggle under your breath as his ear tickles your neck. “I really missed you. Even when I’m proud of all you do I…”
He blinks slow, like a cat expressing affection. Idly biting the inside of his cheek, he waits for you to finish.
“I just wish I you could fall asleep beside me every night. Like, before those dorms were policy.” You breathe. Finally pushing out that quiet burden you never bared to the surface.
Aizawa blinks, digesting your vulnerable words.
Finally, his hand slips aginst the pillow, and cups your soft cheek. His thumb stroking tiny circles into your skin.
“I knew you were keeping in more than what you were telling me.” He murmurs. Watching your face soften into a tiny smile.
He offers a broken smirk of his own.
Then, his free hand glides over your stomach. Down your shorts, and hovers over your crotch. With two fingers, he gently pats over your clothed crotch.
“How’s she been without me, huh?”
Your thigh jumps. You hadn’t been touched by Aizawa in so long, it nearly felt foreign.
Your head shakes with honesty. “Dry.”
Aizawa snorts. A bittersweet response on his end. He didn’t want to leave you with an itch inside you that he could only scratch.
He quietly hooks his fingers onto the elastic of your pajama shorts, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek.
“You don’t have to…” you start, sensing uncertainty.
“I want to, sweetheart. How long as this pussy gone uneaten?”
He’s serious. You feel the subtle twitch in his pants as his lower half rests against yours. And the look in his eye made it clear he wouldn’t reevaluate his decision.
You scout his expression a while longer before silently nodding. Anticipation boiling beneath your skin.
Aizawa hums. Prying your shorts down your knees and off your ankles with gentle precision.
Pink panties. A classic.
He doesn’t waste another second wafting his thumb over the line of your puffy lips. Softly prodding through the top and grazing the clothed hood of your clit. You bite your lip as electricity sparks your stomach.
“See? You don’t even remember my touch.” He murmurs in thought.
You can’t help the way your thigh instinctively parts when he starts to map your inner lips through the cotton fabric. Eventually, his head sits between your thighs as he shuffles down the couch. It was long enough to fit both his and your bodies (bless Aizawa’s double income).
He hums, placing an unchaste kiss over your inner thigh, eyeing up your reactions as he scatters your skin with affection.
“You’d better make up for lost time,” you huff with sportive undertone. He cracks a smile against your thigh when your fingers dip into his mussed hair.
“I’ve never failed to make you come before. Don’t underestimate my skills.”
His tongue laps over the fabric of the panties—a test. Then he begins to eat you through the garment.
You let out a quiet moan, Aizawa uses his fingers to keep your thighs parted. Watching his spit and your moisture soil your own panties with satisfaction. The outline of you looked delicious under the light, he felt himself twitch in his pants.
“Can I see?”
“Mhm.”
He pries the panties aside. Enjoying the sight of your pussy, gone too long without his touch.
“There it is. My stress reliever.” He swipes his tongue from the rim of your hole, up to the hood of your clit. Bare, naked. Listening to your happy moans, he finally puts his versatile fingers to use and uses his thumb to softly circle the bud that rests snugly above your slit. Then he leans in and wedges his tongue inside.
God, he missed this pussy.
Missed it so much he couldn’t help the grunt that escapes him when he properly tastes you.
“Oh my… god,” you breathe, listening to the wet noise of Aizawa gently munching on you. He’s not usually a messy eater… but he misses his wife. And when he misses his wife, he atones for his absence
Even if it was something intimate and small, like performing oral on you.
“Wan’ me to fuck you with my fingers?” he questions, voice muffled with the effort of tonguing your gummy walls.
“Mhm, please,” you whine, thighs squirming under the firm grip of his free hand. “Fuck me ‘Zawa—mm, no, I need your cock.”
“Not until you squirt on my tongue.”
His response is rhetorical. Your pleasure comes first. A silent rule he engraved into the relationship even when it was first starting its embers.
With hazed eyes, you peek down at him. He spans his big palms over both your inner thighs to spread them further, then he inserts two fingers. Your face twists in pleasure, he prods around until he finds that spongey weak spot, exploiting it until you’re crying out.
Crimson eyes watch you writhe as Aizawa pleasures your gorgeous cunt. Your face and the way your body twists steal his breath so easily, he could marry you 80 times over and still not tire of it.
His fingers exit you with a quiet ' pop! ' While you protest at the loss, he settles on his haunches. His heavy bulge visible as he twirls his finger in gesture.
"Hands and knees. Wanna make all of you feel good."
Rolling onto your stomach, you mange a breathy giggle. "You greedy man."
"Starved. Now show me that cunt, pretty."
You don't even get the chance to breathe. The second you raise the fat of your ass, Aizawa uses his big hands to grab each cheek and drag you back to his insatiable tongue.
His nails mark crescent moons into your skin with his tight grip, Aizawa sloppily grinds his tongue from the tight ring of your ass back down to your eager lips. He murmurs a low 'so fucking good,' that goes unnoticed when you moan over him. Your back arches beautifully, and that's how Aizawa knows your nearing the end.
"Missed you... s’much." You sob, squealing at the feeling of him jamming two fingers through your slit rapidly.
Your slur makes his grip ease. You're so sweet, even like this.
“I know, sweetheart. Let me make you come,” caressing the globe of your ass with a hand, he makes a silent note to himself that you were upset about your time apart.
His tongue darts out to his soiled chin while he angles his fingers, a wet ‘squelch!’ ‘squelch!’ ‘squelch!’ Bouncing accross the walls in the living area as your thighs start to tremble. His nose grazes against one of your cheeks, planting a soft kiss to the soft fat as he focuses on coaxing a mind numbing orgasm from your body.
You don’t even get to warn him. Your brand new nails claw at the arm rest of the couch as you spiral off the edge. You spray, layering his forearm and chest with fluid as you squirm and shudder under the pressure of an amazing orgasm. Something Shouta knew how to expertly pull out of you.
“There you go… so fucking pretty.” Aizawa coos, hushing your whines with strokes along your spine and low praise. His teeth lightly bite into his lower lip as he watches the aftermath; soft panting, the sight of your soaked thighs and the tiny smile you were hiding in your forearm. It all made for a sickly sweet meal that had him pulling you into his arms, smothering the side of your face with apologetic kisses.
“Too rash? Can you do another round sweetheart?” Aizawa questions while you rest against his scarred chest. His hair tickles your shoulders as he leans down and kisses your temple.
Craning your face up to meet eyes, you offer a serene smile. One that he considers therapeutic.
“I said I wanted your dick, didn’t I?” You flutter the daint lashes that flourish your eyes, strength flowing back to your legs. He couldn’t be anymore proud — squirting and then pleading for dick. What a sweet girl he has. No—you have him stretched and skewered around your finger.
Giving you a moment to breathe, he gathers your limp body into his arms and stands without haste. Carrying the both of you over the the bedroom.
“You are insatiable, you know that?”
“You corrupted me.”
His hooded gaze doesn’t stray from yours as he nudges the bedroom door open with a foot, settling you onto the mattress.
There’s something placid about the moment. You voicelessly study his body; the newfound scars that cloak him, his growing stubble and the undeniable lust in his vision.
He shakes his head ever so slightly, because yeah. He fucking wishes he'd get this every night. The banter, the touching, the silent intimacy — what he wouldn't give to have you content like this. Aizawa splays your knees outward to have a non-obscured view of that perfect pussy. Moon kissed with the light that darts through the window and glistening with your past orgasm.
Fuck.
He could eat you out all night, if he really wanted to. But if you wanted dick, dick is what your husband would give you.
"Condom?" He asks, withdrawing his hands to shed his jeans until they pool at his ankles.
You glimpse over your knee and look at him incredulously. You always insist that you're on the pill, yet he's always preaching about responsibility. He snorts to himself.
"Alright, then.."
After fishing his cock out his boxers, he drags the heavy, warm weight along your cunt. Quietly observing the way you squeeze around nothing.
"Shou'..." You whine when he drags out your anticipation.
He hums, having half a mind to make you gag on his middle and ring finger. He wants to be tender tonight, to make love to his wife.
So, he continues to guide his tip along your slit until it catches on your opening — then he slowly guides himself in until you swallow his bulbous tip. You shudder at the familiar feeling, going so long without it that it felt foreign. He soundlessly observes your expression before he pushes more of himself in.
Eventually, the back of your thighs meet the pubic follicles on his pelvis. Aizawa mutters a tiny ‘ fuck ’ as you take him so snugly into your pussy.
He hadn’t even begun moving, and you’re already cock drunk. Your knees on either sides of your ears as Aizawa folds you into a deeep mating press.
“I—shit, Shou’. Please.” You whine. You don’t know what you’re pleading for, but you hope he delivers.
With Aizawa’s locks hanging into your face, he slowly grinds his hips up into yours. You’re mewling, unable to tell one feeling from another as he mutes you with a kiss.
This position forces your knees further against your shoulders — challenging your flexibility as he drove deeper into your body.
“You always take it so—fucking—good,” he accentuates his words with 3 hard thrusts, making you whine and claw for a grip on something. Eventually finding purchase on his back.
He’s grunting, now. Drilling into your poor, overstimulated cunt with calculated thrusts. To stabilize his body, he grips a fist onto the headboard. And fucks you into the sheets. His chest swells with pride when you cry out in ecstasy.
“My sweet girl. Gorgeous fucking wife,” he mumbles a barely coherent string of compliments.
He falters, pressing a large hand on your lower belly. He knows it’s a hard hitter for you, and he never forgets to do it when you’re fucked dumb.
And how right he is, when your orgasm gets swept from beneath your feet. Aizawa curses, sheathing himself balls deep and slowly spilling his seed into your womb. You mewl out a long stream of ‘ thank you ’’s while you milk his cock for all it’s worth.
He's absolutely hypnotized as he comes down from his high. Studying the way his semen beads down to your ass and forms a white ring where you're both connected. He's convinced, right in that moment, you have him under a spell.
He hunches over your body, gently coaxing your legs to fall back into place. Placing lazy pecks to your skin as you settle back into reality.
“You okay?” He questions, pawing at your waist to guide you into his chest. You nod in response, too fucked out to use your tongue for literacy.
Your hands absently trace the muscle of his shoulders as you hold each other, his pale skin stained with red lines caused by your nails.
“I lied.”
You lift your head in curiosity. He's already looking at you.
“This is one of UA’s break weekends. I’ll be back for 4 days.”
You smile, twirling a lock of his black hair between your fingers.
studying critical race theory this week and I try not to be so angry and upset about how racism factors into literally every single aspect of our society and how it’s perverse nature will create biases in places you wouldn’t even believe but. how can I not be raging every fucking second about this shit
just came back from a camping trip with no service right after i posted my higuruma fic and im literally astonished with how much yall loved it thank you so much :(((
18+ MDNI | giggling and kicking my feet with the idea of your ex!sukuna who still has the print of your lips tattooed on his neck...
[ cw : sukuna jerks off to the thought of you, sukuna is a little bit pathetic for you, he leaves you a voice message | reader gets called : baby ]
He shouldn't have expected anything different when the woman he was seeing found out. But he should also be well used to the outcome by now.
It's not enough how you haunt him in dark nights when he can't fall asleep as he traces the shape of you on his ceiling thinking about how much he fucked up to lose you. He had been afraid, afraid to commit to you, afraid he wasn't good enough for you, afraid of not knowing what the future would hold for the both of you. No, it wasn't enough that you plagued the back of his mind for the past two years.
💋ྀིྀི
He had been foolish, and in love, before the insecurities hit. Loved you and your lips so much that he got them branded on him for life. You always loved to kiss him, make out with him, lick him on his collar bone. He always loved when you wore your lipstick, red and glittery pink smudging onto his face, his lips, his chest. It was his favourite to be littered with evidence of you. So he got the tattoo of the stain of your lips on his right collar, the delicate shading of the tattoo contrasting his other bold, blacked out ones. He doesn't think he could ever forget the way you reacted when you found out.
"Sukuna, oh my god you idiot," you gasped, hands covering your mouth in shock as you step forward to look at his bare chest closer. You had to admit, it was a beautiful rendition of your lips, the shading soft, and you reach up absently to touch the reddened skin of his collarbone. He watches you trace your lips on his skin, you're gentle with him, and he thinks he would let you mark the rest of him too, if you wanted.
"Y'know I love your lips," he murmurs, bringing you closer with a pull from his hands on your hips.
"Yeah, but you did not have to do this!" you hiss, but your heart melts just a little, "Did your regular guy do this?" you hum in curiosity.
"Yeah," he says quietly, hands tracing up your hips to your jaw, his hands cupping your face, "Fuckin laughed at me, fucker thought I wasn't serious," you giggle and he falls in love with you all over again.
💋ྀིྀི
He grits his teeth at the cold as he leaves the restaurant, stuffing his hands into the jacket pockets. Things were going well! She liked him, he liked her, the two of them seemed compatible! When she asked him about the tattoo, he didn't lie, but he also didn't say anything about planning to remove it or cover it up. She had taken it better than the other people he had been talking to so the weight on his shoulders lifted a little. When she asked him to dinner he should have known that she would bring it up, her words echo in his head as the wind bites at him. In all honestly, he doesn't know why he can't bring himself to get a cover up. It wasn't a cost thing, and he knows it would be easy to cover it up to match the ink on the rest of his body. He thinks of you as he walks home, the cold weather bites at his skin. It was easy to fall in love with you, he thinks. Your eyes sparkled when you looked up at the stars, you carried yourself so well, your laugh killed him. You were way out of his league anyway, he was such an idiot.
When he gets home, he doesn't even turn on the lights, stripping down to his boxers he stumbles onto his bed. He inhales as he opens instagram on his phone. Your username already on the search bar with how much he's been missing you. Your profile greets his eyes, gorgeous pictures of you that he's seen a million times but could never get tired of. He clicks on one of you on a hike with your dog. Theres one of you on the ground hugging your sweet border collie, this huge smile on your face that makes his heart clench. He wonders if you asked a stranger to take the photo or if you went with somebody, he wonders if you ever think about how the two of you would always go on hikes together.
Fuck he misses you.
His finger scrolls and its a picture of you at the beach. It's you in this black bikini that he loves, laying on the sand, looking up at the camera, these dark red sunglasses on your face as your hair flows gently down your shoulders. He bites his lip, he's already half hard. His finger swipes left and in the next one you're wet, legs in the water, and his eyes fall on the curve of your ass.
The next post is a picture of you from above, a point five of you with your head tilted up making a kissy face at the camera. His eyes immediately fall to your lips, he can't stop looking at the pink flesh, he misses kissing you stupid.
He should be frustrated with the fact that this reminder of you branded on him is turning away potential matches but in the back of his mind, he knows he's still in love with you. Sometimes it comes off as relief when the women take it upon themselves to break whatever chances he had off so he didn't have to be guilty when he thought of you.
He swipes away into your contacts, the last message you sent him was something to do with picking up your stuff that you had forgotten at his. His finger hovers over the call button and his head falls back onto his pillows as he groans. He was still a bit of a pussy around you. So he settles for leaving you a voice message, god he hopes you don't tell him off and block him.
"H-hey baby," his voice is low, phone in one hand, palming himself in the other over his boxers, "I fucking miss you, shit-" his eyes drift down to look at his collarbone, your lips printed onto his skin. "Can't stop thinking about those pretty lips baby, please give me another chance, fuck-" god he's begging for you, utterly pathetic for you. "Fuck I'm such an idiot for losing you, you've ruined me for everyone else," he groans before sending the message to you and tossing his phone away. He realizes he's also an idiot for sending you that and that you would be justified in punching him in the face but he can't bring himself to care, if only you'd look at him one more time.
He's rutting into his fist now, hips grinding on the bed as he thinks about how you would bounce on his dick, how you would bite at his neck with only your lipstick and heels on. And just like that he cums in his boxers like a fucking teenager, the white staining the fabric and he groans in shame, opening his phone to un-send the message but the read receipt shines into his eyes tauntingly.
💋ྀིྀི
author's note : i recently got my collarbones tattooed and could only think of this :(( i want sukuna BAD
[ MDNI 18+ | cw : fem!reader, no-curse!au, one sided hate but it doesn’t last long, no curses au, slow burn uhhhhh, reader kinda clueless, friends to lovers ish, Geto wingman lowkey, Higuruma is a bit of an idiot, male masturbation, thinking about you (like a lot lol), smoking, drinking, eventual smut, licking you through panties, dry humping, unprotected sex, cumming on your stomach | reader gets called : sweetheart, angel, baby, pretty girl, gorgeous, baby ]
It was a slow shift, something only caught after the change fully arises.
This is what Higuruma tells himself as he wonders.
Wonders when he started looking for the gleam in your eyes after solving a problem or when he started wanting nothing but to see your figure hunched over the table beside him in his apartment as you study together.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
It was common knowledge that the man with the crooked nose was intelligent. At the top of most his classes, he was like a small celebrity within his own law graduate program. Everyone seemed to like him, except for you.
You and your smart mouth and witty remarks, not that he minded much. Technically, your med courses would never have overlapped with his law ones if you had not decided to take a Bioethics and Health Law course as an elective. And the world liked to remind you that this thorn on your side shaped like a tall man in a suit was all your fault.
You fall into your seat in the lecture hall, pulling out the sorry excuse of wood parading as a table as you pull out your laptop. You’re at the front row of the massive room that can fit somewhere around 600 students, and yet he always seems to find a seat next to you. At first you hadn’t minded it, you had tried to find a friend in the dark haired boy, most of the people unfamiliar to you in this course as most of the students in your program liked to avoid anything to do with writing essays like the plague. He wasn’t rude per se, more standoffish than anything, responding to you in curt words and sliding narrow eyes at you whenever you got really into a case, sharing your knowledge regarding the health and operation side of the situation. He had not met anybody as driven as you were, not in the way that made his heart beat just a bit quicker at a glance from you. So he opted to observing you most of the time, watching you do some flashcards before lecture started or how you would type furiously into your laptop as you hung at every single word your professor uttered. He wasn’t much of a talker, and your eagerness overflowed out of you in the way that forced him to close in on himself out of instinct, which you took as animosity.
Today he’s earlier than he usually is, barely anybody in the huge hall as he walks down the stairs to his seat. You’re hunched over the small table, biting your lip in concentration as you stare at a diagram — something to do with cell function he thinks — arrows pointing at random combinations of letters and numbers that mean nothing to him. You look up as he slumps into his seat, he’s wearing a dark green vest over a white collared shirt, sleeves pushed up his forearms as you stop yourself from staring. He blinks down at you, wondering how early you usually come as lecture starts in twenty minutes, eyes subconsciously sliding over to your form. Oddly enough, he notices how the faint sunlight from the windows reflects off your hair and how you look more tired than usual, dark bags under your eyes. It’s midterm season and Higuruma has had his own share of all nighters and caffeine consumption but you always looked put together, you always looked good, which is something he’d rather not admit.
“That seems complicated,” he murmurs and you look up to meet his eyes. He looks bored, but little did you know his own words even startled him.
“No, really?” you raise an eyebrow at him, sarcastic. The edges of his lips quirk up in something akin to a smile you had never seen on him.
“Explain it to me,” he says, leaning forwards for a better look on whats on your screen.
“What?”
“Explain it to me,” he repeats, you can’t tell if he’s patronizing you.
“Why are you interested all of a sudden?” you ask him and he shrugs.
“You seem smart enough to explain it to someone who doesn’t know anything about biology,” he responds in a genuine voice.
You take it as a challenge, showing him the metabolic pathway, the importance of it’s function for the body and what could go wrong. He listens to you, nodding along and asking relevant questions until lecture starts and the hundreds of students rush into class, drowning out your voice as the professor starts class.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
At the end of class you pack your bag quickly, biting your lip as you look at the bus route times, with the way the buses were delayed, you were going to be late to your lab all the way across campus. You ponder running the 30 minute walk to your lab building before you hear Higuruma’s voice.
“In a rush?” He’s still in his seat, looking up at you.
“I think I’m gonna be late for my lab,” you murmur, “the buses are delayed,”
“I’ll give you a ride,” he says easily
“Oh! You don’t have to do that-”
“The lab buildings are across campus no?” he interrupts you as he stands up, he dwarfs you in height embarrassingly.
“Yeah, but-”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says easily, jerking his head to the exit, urging you to follow him as he walks off without a word. You quickly swing your bag over your shoulder and hurry after him and his long strides. He leads you out of the law building and you follow out into the parking lot, he’s got a small black car that looks sleek like him.
“Nice ride,” you murmur, hands brushing over the black handle in admiration.
“Thank you,” he says, starting the engine in a low hum as you settle into the seat next to him. He glances next to him, eyes searching your unsure ones. “You uh, you look tired,” he says from a lack of other words to say.
You snort, “Thank you captain obvious, I am tired,” His lips quirk up a bit, it’s a sight you think you could get used to. The rest of the drive is quiet, comfortable silence settling into the air as he pulls in front of your lab building. “I really appreciate this,” you say, stepping out of his car.
“Anytime sweetheart,” he smiles at you as you shut the door, watching until you’ve disappeared into the building before driving away.
The next week, he brings you a cup of coffee to lecture without explanation.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
You had tried not to make it a habit to rely on Higuruma for a ride after class whenever you had a lab, but he’d made it a part of his routine. His car now has one of your hand sanitizers on his console, and it smelled more often of your perfume than it didn’t. Today was no different, walking side by side out of the building, only having to run to the car as the rain pours down onto you both. You shiver as you shut the door and he immediately turns up the heat, his dark hair dripping as his eyes slide over to you, as they often do nowadays. A ding comes from your phone and you open it to see a message saying lab was cancelled due to the thunderstorm but you suspect your lab coordinator just didn’t feel like it.
“My lab is cancelled,” you say, teeth chattering.
“That’s convenient,” he hums, “do you want me to drive you home?” you open your mouth, and shut it. You were honestly expecting him to kick you out of his car.
“Are you sure? Don’t you hate me?” you ask, looking down at your hands. He barks a laugh, an unfamiliar sound to you.
“Do you think I would drive you to your lab every week if I hated you?”
“I don’t know!” you exclaim, exasperated. “You never say anything to me and you look like you hate me.” He runs his hand through his hair, understanding you.
“Ah shit-” he looks up, back of his head hitting the back of his seat, “That’s uh, that’s just my face” his eyes find yours again and see something genuine in them, “My friends always say I look like that”
You blink, unsure if he’s lying but you find it difficult to see if he is. “So you don’t hate me?”
“No” he affirms.
“Are we friends?”
“Were we not already?” He asks and you giggle.
“I guess we are,” You say with a smile and he returns it easily.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
You realize it’s easier to talk to Higuruma than you thought. He’s a good listener, and he’s observant, his lack of words is not due to the fact that he doesn’t want to talk to you but because he likes to gather all of his thoughts first before responding.
He is definitely going to make a good lawyer.
You’ve slowly taken over parts of his life, your things in his car, the extra charger he keeps in his bag for you, your coffee order etched into his brain. With the little time the two of you spend together, you have managed to crawl into his life without intention to leave.
You’re next to him in the library, sighing in exhaustion. It’s sometime around nine at night, you’d been sat at this exact spot for the past twelve or so hours. Something else he’s learned about you is that you get clingy when you’re tired. You had fallen asleep against him on your couch while watching a movie more times than he can count; so when you lean your head against his shoulder and loop your arm around his, limbs tangling, he almost doesn’t react.
Almost.
His fingers on the keyboard freeze for a second as he looks down at you. You’re reading his paper lazily, muttering under your breath the carefully written lines. It’s almost painful for him to look away from you as he tears his eyes off of you and onto his screen, continuing to type. You two sit like that for a bit, you asking him questions about the case, him murmuring the answers to you, patient if you don’t understand. You stay like that for a while, by the time he’s finished, he realizes you haven’t said anything in a while and looks down to see your eyes shut, breathing soft.
Once again, he freezes, making sure he doesn’t move so as not to wake you. He looks down at you in a way that might be considered staring, his eyes looking at how your lashes rest against your cheek, how your hair is soft on his shoulder, how your right arm is still wrapped around his left one. He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, feelings swelling in his chest that he’d rather not confront right now.
You shift a bit and wake yourself up with a bit of a startle.
“Shit I fell asleep,” you say, untangling yourself from his side, the warmth of you lingering.
“Lets go home,” he smiles.
You notice his laptop has been shut and wonder how long he sat like that.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
You blink at the bottom of your glass, alcohol coursing through your body as you feel your blood pump with the bass of the beat of the club. Utahime had dragged you out of the library and shoved you in a tight dress, saying something about how you needed a night where you passed out because of alcohol, not exhaustion from studying. You had obliged, too tired to argue, and she had promised to buy drinks!
You’re standing in a corner, taking a minute for yourself from dancing, weighing if you should risk trying to bum a cigarette off the guy that just stepped out the back. You were honestly glad at the distraction and the shiny lights, hips swaying and jumping up and down with your friends. You feel a small buzz throughout your body that felt good, taking a breath before making your way to the dance floor again when you bump into a shoulder, losing balance on your heels.
“Whoah, easy-” you hear a familiar voice before you feel Higuruma’s hands on your waist to steady you. He holds you for a beat longer than he should, looking down at you and your blown pupils, the pink on your eyelids and glitter on your collar bones. He’s speechless, and is glad at how you seem to fill the silence easily.
“Sorry Hiromi,” you say stepping back and brushing something off his shoulders, “What are you doing here?” you tilt your head up at him. Even with your heels, he dwarfs you, shoulders broad as he leans forward to hear you better out of instinct. You’d never seen him out, at least not really. The black button-up he’s wearing is really doing something to you.
“Ah, Gojo dragged me out,” he says, eyes still stuck on you as your eyes sparkle with excitement. Before you could reply, someone comes up behind Hiromi and slings their arm around his shoulders. With a grunt, Hiromi realizes he’s still holding onto you and lets his arms fall, glaring at the man behind him.
“Who’s this Hiromi~” Gojo starts before he sees you and exclaims your name in excitement, to which you laugh. You had met Gojo a couple times in passing, sometimes at Higuruma’s, sometimes at the library along with Geto and Nanami. He was probably the most approachable out of the group — albeit a chatterbox — you liked him.
“Hi Gojo,” you smile as he clings to Higuruma, he asks you about your day as the three of you walk back to a booth where you see that the rest of the boys had found Shoko and Utahime. Higuruma has gone quiet, back to observing as you sit down next to Geto and Shoko, giggling as you order another drink.
“Hey,” Geto bumps your shoulder playfully. He leans down and whispers in your ear, “Are you and Hiromi a thing?”
You blink, more surprised than anything and shake your head. You had never really thought about your relationship like that. Geto hums in response as he meets Higuruma’s eyes before he backs off out of your space and goes back to arguing with Gojo. The group bickers a bit more, you and Utahime doing shots and Gojo annoying Nanami to what looks like the brink of explosion, trying to get him to go dance.
“C’mon Nanamin! You’re only young once,” Gojo leans into Nanami as the blond desperately tries to shake him off.
“Gojo, you know I don’t-” Nanami starts before Geto pushes him out of the booth and practically strangles him onto the floor. Gojo follows, stumbling drunkenly as he laughs at Kento trying to escape. The group starts to filter out of the booth, Shoko and Utahime going to get more drinks, leaving you with Hiromi.
“Are you going to dance?” you ask, eyes glinting, unable to imagine the serious future lawyer on the dance floor.
“Are you inviting me to dance with you?” that catches you off guard as he looks at you with the same mischievous look he gets before he knows he’s going to win an argument.
“I didn’t think you were much of a dancer”
“I’m not,” he leans forward, forearms on the table as he gets closer to you “I can be for you though,” the alcohol is making his tongue loose.
Before you know it, you’re pulling Hiromi by the wrist into the crowd of people. The music is just right as you find yourselves surrounded by sweaty, glittery people and his large hands find your hips, to keep you within arms reach he rationalizes in this head. You throw your head back onto his shoulder, hands coming up to play with his hair and he sways with you, breaths heavy as you look up at him. It feels like it’s just the two of you and the music, pumping through the speakers and into your heartbeats as they beat together. He’s surprisingly good at keeping up with you, his hands right where you need them to be, his body against your back perfectly. You’re closer than you should be, his breath mingling along your shoulder but even then there’s an air of respect. If you were any more sober, you would’ve had a sorry excuse and been halfway home already but you can barely form coherent thoughts as the warmth of his body feels electric to the touch.
Without thinking, you turn to face him and he’s already looking at you, strobe lights flashing so you can’t quite tell what expression he’s wearing. You’re smiling, and he thinks he could die a happy man holding onto you right now.
“You’re a good dancer,” he says, without thinking.
He’s got to stop blurting shit out in front of you before he says something he can’t take back so easily.
You tilt your head at him in confusion, the music too loud and the crowds pressing you in not helping you hear him. Instead of repeating himself, he twirls you, and you giggle.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
You find yourself outside of the club, sharing a cigarette with Suguru. The night air is cool and your legs ache in the best way possible. You had left Hiromi at the bar when a girl started talking to him trying to ignore the strange feeling at the pit of your stomach you desperately didn’t want to address. Ringed fingers pass you the cigarette and you take a long drag, letting it fill your lungs, the tranquility perfect.
“Higuruma likes you,” Suguru says, always one to get straight to the point. You blink, trying to process the words in case you heard them wrong.
“What makes you say that?” You look at the long-haired man beside you. He had always been the calmer analyzer to Gojo’s firecracker of a personality, it was no wonder they were best friends, the yin and the yang.
“He’s got this look like you slapped him in the face and he’d let you do it again willingly,” at that you bark out a laugh to which he just smiles at. “Just think about it,” he says before tossing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it, tilting his head to urge you back inside.
You let the words wash over you as you go back in behind Suguru, the alcohol in your system making it hard to focus on what exactly he meant not that the words were even remotely spoken in code.
You gravitate to the bar again, getting another drink or two before losing yourself in the music again, trying to forget what Suguru said. You dance with Shoko and Utahime for a bit before you start to feel a pounding headache and a familiar feeling at the pit of your stomach. You find Higuruma and Nanami as you stumble into the booth and Higuruma steadies you with a hand on your arm.
“I think I better go home,” you slur, blinking rapidly to regain your balance. Hiromi looks at Kento and the blond nods as Higuruma stands up, hand in the small of your back as he leads you out of the crowded club.
“Did you have fun?” he says as you try not to lean too much on him.
“Mhmmm,” you say, trying to pull out your phone, having trouble even unlocking it. “I gotta get an uber,” you murmur, getting frustrated as the password you keep entering keeps rejecting. He lets out an amused exhale through his nose at you, you’re leaning into his side like nothing else is holding you up. You’re still glittery and your makeup is smudged perfectly. Angelic, he thinks.
“Here, I can take care of it,” he says before pulling out his own phone, practically sober compared to you. He calls an uber and sits beside you on the curb. You lean your head on his shoulder and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. He was sure to find glitter on his clothes tomorrow, and your perfume clinging to his skin.
“Geto said you like me,” you say, not truly sure of what you’re saying.
“Did he?” he muses. Your eyes are shut and he would bet anything on you not remembering this conversation tomorrow morning.
“Is he right?” you look up at him with doe eyes. Hiromi feels as if someone shot him in the heart, cupid must be cruel to think him composed enough to deal with his feelings for you when you look at him like that.
“Do you want him to be?”
“I meannn,” you slur, struggling to put your words together. You reach for his hand and play with his fingers, his hand is warm and much larger than your own. “You’re hot,” he snorts at that. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know he was attractive, in reality, he was just not keen on pursuing a relationship with how busy he was studying. Women come up to him all the time, at the library, at the club earlier, hell, even one of his TAs had approached him in the past.
“You think so?” he murmurs and your eyes drift down to his lips.
“I mean I’m sure you know,” you huff, looking away. “I don’t wanna boost your ego but like—” you bite your lip, “You’re so smart, and like” you frown and he wishes nothing but to smooth the wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Composed, and I like that”
He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. If you were any more sober you would’ve teased him not knowing you were the only one who truly left him speechless. Before you notice, the uber pulls up and he practically lifts you into the backseat and steps in after you.
“You’re coming with?” you ask, surprised he was leaving as well. He only gives you a nod; if he hadn’t ran into you tonight, he would’ve left hours ago.
The ride to your apartment was quiet and Hiromi is hyperaware of your warmth. You cling to him as you ride up the elevator, quiet, and you lean on him as he grabs your keys from your bag and helps you into the apartment. The two of you stumble in and he switches on the light just in time to see you stumble in and fall face first onto the couch. He laughs out loud, and you grumble, finally free of the ache in your feet. As you sit up, Hiromi brings you a glass of water and you nearly spit the water out when he gets on his knees in front of you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What are you doing?” You whisper. Everything is spinning still and you’re warm all over all of a sudden. He reaches for the straps of your heels, hands gentle as he undoes them for you. He massages down your calf and finally takes your right heel off and you let out a satisfied exhale.
“Better?” you nod, and he undoes the other heel. You reach forward without thinking much as he sets your shoes aside, cupping his face as he looks up at you.
“Hiromi,” you whisper and he melts into your touch.
“You’re killing me, you know that right?” his voice is low, gruff as he stands up and pulls you up before he does something stupid. “Lets get you to bed sweetheart,”
He helps you into your room and helps you with your dress zipper before practically running out, wanting nothing but to stay and watch you undress but his rational side takes over. As you change, he goes into your medicine cabinet and finds some Advil for your inevitable hangover in the morning and fills another glass of water for you. He waits in your kitchen for a bit, not willing to risk seeing you in less than he should, his forearms are on the kitchen island and he looks around your dim apartment. Your roommate was away on a work trip so you were alone. He considered sleeping over, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to do that, your roommate was nice enough to him and the couch wasn’t too bad. He lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, you were sure not to remember anything about tonight, it wasn’t a good idea.
“Hiromi?” he hears your voice, tired through the wall and peeks into your room. You’re sitting on your bed, legs dangling. You’re in one of his shirts you stole from him and what looks like just your panties but he doesn’t look close enough to confirm. Your room is messy, your dress tossed on the ground and your bag spilling out onto the floor. He places the Advil and glass of water on your beside table.
“You okay?” he asks, and you look up at him.
“Mhm,” you bite your lip, “thank you” you whisper.
“Always,” he says and you tuck yourself under the covers.
“You should stay, cuddle with me,” you look cute he thinks. Your blankets up to your chin and your hair tangled all over your pillow. He smiles weakly.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea sweetheart,” he mumbles, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead and your eyes flutter shut.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
You wake with a pounding headache as the sun filters in through your blinds. You remember flashes of last night: Gojo’s white white hair in the crowd, Geto’s knowing glances at you, a rare smile across Nanami’s mouth as the night moves on in a flash.
Hiromi’s warm hands on your hips.
The feeling of your head on his shoulder.
Hiromi looking up at you.
You groan and you rub at your eyes and sit up, trying desperately to remember what might have happened last night for him to be looking up at you like that. Your feet still ache from the heels you wore and your mouth is dry, you notice the medicine on your bedside table and a sticky note. You down the Advil with a hefty swig of water and look down at the note:
Get some rest today, left a box of bandaids out on the table for you. — H
It takes you a bit to read as your eyes try desperately to focus. You reach down at your sore feet and notice how the backs are open and red with raw flesh, you always did like heels that destroyed your feet. You try not to read too much into the note.
You stretch and check your phone, squinting at Utahime and Shoko’s messages, scrolling through stories absently. A certain message catches your eye, it’s from Geto, just a slightly blurry photo of you and Higuruma under the club lights, no other message attached. His hands are on your hips and your head is against his shoulder looking up at him, he’s looking right back at you, it’s as if nobody else exists. You stare at if for a long time, cursing Geto for being the sly fox that he is and leaving it on read, tossing your phone away and burying your face in a pillow. You don’t remember dancing with Hiromi, hell, you wouldn’t even know how you got home if not for the note.
Before you can overthink yourself into oblivion, you pull yourself out of bed and pad into the kitchen, making some breakfast for yourself before pulling out your laptop to study.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
Higuruma wakes up later than usual. His usual 6am wakeup ruined by thoughts of you flashing through his mind late at night by the time he got home. He laid in bed for a long, long while before falling asleep, eyes glued to the ceiling in the dark. His hands are still glittery from touching you.
God, what was he doing touching you?
Dancing with you?
He drags a hand down his face in frustration as the morning light beams into his room, forcing itself through his eyelids. He didn’t even like to dance, and yet he keeps replaying how your hips pressed against his, how your hands played with his hair, how your eyes practically hypnotized him under the flashing lights. He groans, like it physically pained him to think about you, his dick already half hard. He trails a traitorous hand down his stomach and he grips himself over his sweatpants. He bites his lip at the thought of touching you in the dress, at the thought of what the fabric would have felt like if he’d helped you undress in your room.
Fuck!
He lets out a low groan.
He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, he shouldn’t be thinking about you like— Like how you would look if he took you from behind, would your back arch like you’re aching for it? Like how you would sound when he licked your clit just right Like how your pretty cunt would grip him so good
Before he can stop himself, he lowers the waistband of his underwear enough to free his cock. It slaps against his stomach, heavy. He thinks about how you might hold his dick as he wraps his fingers around himself, squeezing the shaft before jerking his hand up to the tip, teasing himself as he jams his thumb into the slit. Would you be mean? Tease him? Maybe you would bite your lip as you jerk him off with both hands.
Shit, those pretty lips.
His hips jerk up in desperation.
He would kiss the fuck out of you, your pretty lips open for him, his tongue wet against yours. He would tilt your head up to look at him and spit into your mouth before bending over you and tasting his cigarettes right off your tongue. He would let your lipstick marks stay on his collar for the day for people to see what you did to him, if you wanted. He would let himself indulge a little and have you on your knees in front of him as you slowly lick up his shaft, those eyes of yours so seductive to him.
God he was pathetic.
He’s thrusting up into his own fist now, feet planted on the bed. He grits his teeth and groans, a guttural, lustful sound, wonders how you would react if you saw him like this. God, how was he supposed to face you now? His mind wanders again to how you look on his kitchen table during late nights, your hair messy as you force yourself to study, how you look in his shirt and sweats he let you borrow, how focused you get when you study for an exam, how you curl up against him on the bed in the early morning when he’s awake and you’re not after having argued that you should sleep on the couch. He wondered when he started to see the girl that thought she hated him as somebody he wants to be around all the time.
He squeezes his eyes shut and cums with a low groan he has to bite his arm to muffle himself. His hand wrapped around the base as his release paints his stomach, down the divots of muscle he’s got there is pearly white. His eyes flutter open slowly, images of you still flashing behind his eyelids still. Regret hits him immediately, shame washing over his face as he sits up and cleans himself up. He busies himself with cleaning his room and tries to forget you, murmuring under his breath about his mock trial coming up that he has to prepare for as he jumps in the shower, your smile etched into his mind.
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜
To Hiromi’s credit, he had felt like a perverted degenerate for thinking of you in any way other than as a friend, however he did also decide to absolutely ghost you for a month after the outing, as he tried desperately to forget his feelings for you.
For the first couple weeks, you figured he was busy studying for midterms just like you were, only finding time to think about him when you were about to fall asleep from exhaustion during the night. You had spent enough days awake with only short naps to ease your exhaustion that you hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t texted you. Hiromi never texted often, usually just texting people if he had something specific to say or to respond to someone. With you though, he let himself text you when he randomly thought about you, sending you pictures of flowers he sees and thinks you might like and replies to the random thoughts you send him throughout the day. So you only realized that you had been practically texting nobody after your midterms were over and you had had a good day to catch up on sleep. You scroll up and down the text history, most of the recent messages are blue as you scroll up and down. You were left without even a reaction or a read receipt. You decided not to think too much about it, he was likely still not done his own midterms. You figured he would let you know if something you did bothered him.
Except he didn’t. He had answered and messaged in group chats and he didn’t seem to have fallen ill all of a sudden. So you found yourself in the doorstep of his apartment on a Thursday night. Geto (the bastard) had sent you what would be an ominous text about how the two of you should just talk it out and you decided to listen to the motherfucker for once.
You knocked twice, hoping he was home and after a second, the door opens and you’re met with the tall hulking figure of Hiromi.
Before he could react, you yell, pushing him backwards into his apartment with a finger to his chest.
“How dare you Hiromi?” you say through gritted teeth, “You can’t just ghost someone without an explanation like that!”
He looks shocked, looking down at you, as the back of his waist hits the edge of the kitchen island, you’re looking up at him with tears in your eyes.
“I thought we were friends,” you whisper, wiping at a falling tear with your palm. He looks down at you before bringing you into a hug, his tall figure bending over you as your face hits his chest and your arms wrap around him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do,” that makes you look up, your chin on his chest as your search his eyes.
“Did I do something?” you tilt your head, “God, did I do something stupid that night we went out? I can’t fucking remember anything, I’m so sorry if I—” you start to ramble but the words die in your mouth when he cups your face in both hands, tilting your face up at him.
“Oh, only told me you thought I was hot,” he murmurs, his eyes finding yours and the heat of it makes your face hot. You start to remember how your back arched for him, practically clinging onto him the entire night “Only fucking ground your hips on me where everyone could see,” his thumbs trail over to play with your bottom lip and you instinctively open your mouth and suck.
“Are you going to kiss me?” you ask, and he thinks you might be an angel in disguise.
“Fuck,” he practically growls before bending over and kissing you. You yelp in surprise before melting into him, he’s kissing you just like he’d been thinking about for the past month. You taste sweet, and he thinks he could get addicted to the clashing of your teeth and the warmth of your lips on his. He pulls away before he can get carried away with the touch of you.
“Please tell me I didn’t read into it,” he says, your breaths mingling as he rests his forehead against yours.
“You didn’t read into it Hiromi,” you whisper and he spins you around and sits you on the kitchen island.
“Say my name again,” he murmurs against your mouth as your legs part to make space for him to step into you.
“Hiromi,” you whisper and he kisses the words right out of your mouth. His hands are on your waist and yours find his face, tilting his face just how you like it. You’re vocal, soft whines escaping you and he makes it his mission to see how many more sounds you can make.
His lips are still on yours as his hands trail under the hem of your hoodie, pulling away just enough to make sure it’s okay with you before capturing your lips in his again. His hands are large, warm against the skin of your stomach as he reaches up and squeezes your tits, feeling your nipples pebble through your bra. You let out a breathy whine as you pull at his hair and his eyes roll to the back of his head. When you wrap your legs around him, he lifts you up, hands on your ass.
“Let me fuck you properly like you deserve,” he says against your lips before taking the two of you into his room, he drops you on the bed and crawls over you as you pull your shirt off. His lips are on your tits before you can take off your bra and you throw your head back in a moan, his teeth graze at the black lace and his tongue soaks the pretty fabric.
“So pretty,” he murmurs before pulling the cups down with his teeth, staring at your perfect nipples, standing upright for him.
He sucks like no man you have ever been with, you whine and buck your hips as you feel his tongue circle around the pert nipples and he grunts as his hands try and keep your hips still while your back arches for him.
“Greedy arentcha?”
“Sh— ahh! — shut up” you give him a pout he cant help but kiss. Once his lips are on you again, you reach down and palm his cock through his sweatpants and he lets out a hiss. You grip it and see the stain of his pre on the crotch of his pants and let out an amused giggle.
“I’m greedy?”
“How could I not be greedy with you sweetheart?” He murmurs and the heat in between your thighs makes you clamp them shut. He smiles against your lips and goes to undo your pants. He pulls them down slowly. sitting back on his haunches as he takes you in, on his bed, in just your panties. He reaches down and cups your aching pussy, the fabric is damp and you let out a whine, desperately wanting more of his touch.
“Hiromi please,” you look up at him and he smiles. He reaches down and licks a stripe up your panties, where your slit is and you look down, resting on your forearms to see his face in between your legs. Your smell is driving you crazy he thinks as he makes out with your clothed pussy. Tongue poking into your slit, teasing you as the fabric curbs to the shape of his tongue, preventing him from entering. He’s groans against the fabric and a pretty moan escapes your lips as your head falls back onto the bed, your hands in his hair. He makes out with your panties, the already soaked fabric now sticking to you with his spit and your pleasure.
“Such a pretty girl you are,” he says as he pulls away, lifting up to look at you. Your eyes are screwed shut, your head fallen back, neck practically asking for him to bite at it. And that he does, his teeth grazing at your pulse point before latching on and sucking. You let out a needy sound as he grounds his hips into yours, his body engulfing yours on the bed.
His mouth is gentle on your neck as he licks and sucks on your pulse point, the weight of his body enough to make you dizzy with want. Higuruma licks up your collarbone and finds your lips again, to which you happily interlock with a messy kiss. You buck your hips up involuntarily, and he pulls away just enough to look down at you.
“Hi,” you whisper, breathless.
“Hi,” he smiles and moves your hair out of your face. “Can’t believe you even gave me the time of day,” he murmurs.
“You acted like you hated me,” you tilt your head at him with a smile. He rolls his hips down on you and you let out a whimper.
“Never hated you sweetheart,” his voice is low.
“You’re hard to read!” you pout up at him and he can’t help but press a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulls back you crane your neck up to kiss him and he lets you. Your tongue meets his in a clash of need, you kiss him like you can’t get enough, he kisses you like he’d let you take anything you want from him. You faintly taste your arousal off his tongue and let out a moan that he gladly swallows.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs against your lips as you push him back so that his back is against his headboard and you’re straddling him. You look down at him and his eyes are blown, dark with need as he looks up at you. Your wet panties grind just perfect against his jeans, the friction making you whine as you circle your hips.
“You’re hard,”
“You’re wet,”
“You’re annoying,”
He smiles.
You think you would get annoyed with the way that he always has a response but you don’t find it in you when his hands on your hips help guide you against his lap. It’s sensual: you’re practically naked for him in the dim lighting of his room, the moonlight spilling in now and the smell of arousal faint in the air, Higuruma thinks the sheen of sweat on your body makes you glow.
“Are you needy, baby?” He hums as he helps you circle your hips, tone a tad condescending but his hips buck up into yours in tandem. Your hands grip his shirt and you’re slumped forward, cheek against his chest as the sounds of your pussy squelch against his crotch.
“Please,” you whisper, broken, and thats all he needs before he gently sets you down on your back again, reaching back to pull off his shirt and unzips his pants before crawling over you.
“I’ll give you what you want pretty girl,” he says it like its a promise.
You look up at him, hazy, as he gently spreads your legs and pulls your soaking panties down. The wet material plops heavily against the sheets and his lithe fingers spread your pussy lips apart in awe.
“Stop teasing,” you pout but it falls on deaf ears as his fingers trace up your slit, your arousal practically leaking out onto the sheets. He watches you flinch as he runs a finger over your swollen clit, rubbing circles. You’re dripping so much so that two of his fingers slip in easily; he watches in awe the way your pussy swallows up his fingers as his knuckles sink in.
“Been thinking about this for the past month,” he murmurs as his thumb comes up to tease your clit. The sounds of squelching echo loudly in your ears and you struggle to keep your legs open.
“Hiromi…” you whine with this voice that echoes in his head and sends a rush of blood down to his cock. Your legs shut around his arm, locking his fingers in place and you grind your hips.
“You like that baby?” He hums as his fingers curl just right and you let out a pathetic moan. “My pretty girl,” he whispers as he pulls out, met with a desperate protest from your lips. He gives you a look that you can’t quite name as he gently folds you in half, your knees hitting up beside your head as he lines up his dick to your entrance. He thrusts forward with one move and your legs fall onto his shoulders as he kisses the moans straight out of your mouth.
He lets you adjust, looking down at you and your eyes screwed shut. He’s long, nudging right against your cervix, and your mouth falls slack against his.
“You can move,” you breathe out, and he grants you a thrust and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He thrusts into you slow and deep. The sounds of wet squelching fills the room as his hips grind gently against yours. When you open your eyes he’s already looking down at you.
“Good?” he practically growls, holding himself back to only shallow thrusts.
“Mhm,” you practically whine and he leaves you speechless as he pounds into you more steadily now. You think you see stars as your cunt grips his dick. “Faster,” you murmur, dazed.
He gives it to you. Oh he gives it to you, and just like he promised. His thrusts are rapid as his hips slap into yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s groaning against your mouth as your tongue lazily makes out with his. When the two of you pull away to take a breath, he sees your eyes blown out for him and the sight makes his dick throb inside you. He’s sensual about the way he fucks you, his back ripples underneath your nails and his hips snap into yours. When you guide his hand down to your clit, he rubs in circles, your legs locking around his hips so as not to let him go. He groans when you whine his name, hips losing rhythm as they slap into yours frantically now, the pads of his fingers abusing the swollen bud of your clit.
“Cum for me baby,” he growls, “Let me make you feel good,”
Your orgasm hits you in a flash, you see stars as the rope pulled taught on your lower belly snaps and your release feels like heaven. Your pussy pulses around his cock and he has to use every ounce of will he has to pull out of you. He watches the way your legs shake and your mouth is open letting out a loud moan for him. He pumps is hand around his dick, harsh, twice before he cums all over your stomach. The pearly white fluid settling onto the divots of your skin. Exhausted, he falls on top of you and you let out a soft oof as he wraps his arms around you and rolls over so you’re on top of him. You’re still dazed, blinking a few times before looking down at Higuruma who is already looking at you.
“Let me take you out proper,” he always gets straight to the point. His voice is low, tired and he tilts his head up to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. You indulge in the taste of him lazily.
“Okay,” You whisper before resting your cheek against his chest and your eyes flutter shut.
18+ MDNI | giggling and kicking my feet with the idea of your ex!sukuna who still has the print of your lips tattooed on his neck...
[ cw : sukuna jerks off to the thought of you, sukuna is a little bit pathetic for you, he leaves you a voice message | reader gets called : baby ]
He shouldn't have expected anything different when the woman he was seeing found out. But he should also be well used to the outcome by now.
It's not enough how you haunt him in dark nights when he can't fall asleep as he traces the shape of you on his ceiling thinking about how much he fucked up to lose you. He had been afraid, afraid to commit to you, afraid he wasn't good enough for you, afraid of not knowing what the future would hold for the both of you. No, it wasn't enough that you plagued the back of his mind for the past two years.
💋ྀིྀི
He had been foolish, and in love, before the insecurities hit. Loved you and your lips so much that he got them branded on him for life. You always loved to kiss him, make out with him, lick him on his collar bone. He always loved when you wore your lipstick, red and glittery pink smudging onto his face, his lips, his chest. It was his favourite to be littered with evidence of you. So he got the tattoo of the stain of your lips on his right collar, the delicate shading of the tattoo contrasting his other bold, blacked out ones. He doesn't think he could ever forget the way you reacted when you found out.
"Sukuna, oh my god you idiot," you gasped, hands covering your mouth in shock as you step forward to look at his bare chest closer. You had to admit, it was a beautiful rendition of your lips, the shading soft, and you reach up absently to touch the reddened skin of his collarbone. He watches you trace your lips on his skin, you're gentle with him, and he thinks he would let you mark the rest of him too, if you wanted.
"Y'know I love your lips," he murmurs, bringing you closer with a pull from his hands on your hips.
"Yeah, but you did not have to do this!" you hiss, but your heart melts just a little, "Did your regular guy do this?" you hum in curiosity.
"Yeah," he says quietly, hands tracing up your hips to your jaw, his hands cupping your face, "Fuckin laughed at me, fucker thought I wasn't serious," you giggle and he falls in love with you all over again.
💋ྀིྀི
He grits his teeth at the cold as he leaves the restaurant, stuffing his hands into the jacket pockets. Things were going well! She liked him, he liked her, the two of them seemed compatible! When she asked him about the tattoo, he didn't lie, but he also didn't say anything about planning to remove it or cover it up. She had taken it better than the other people he had been talking to so the weight on his shoulders lifted a little. When she asked him to dinner he should have known that she would bring it up, her words echo in his head as the wind bites at him. In all honestly, he doesn't know why he can't bring himself to get a cover up. It wasn't a cost thing, and he knows it would be easy to cover it up to match the ink on the rest of his body. He thinks of you as he walks home, the cold weather bites at his skin. It was easy to fall in love with you, he thinks. Your eyes sparkled when you looked up at the stars, you carried yourself so well, your laugh killed him. You were way out of his league anyway, he was such an idiot.
When he gets home, he doesn't even turn on the lights, stripping down to his boxers he stumbles onto his bed. He inhales as he opens instagram on his phone. Your username already on the search bar with how much he's been missing you. Your profile greets his eyes, gorgeous pictures of you that he's seen a million times but could never get tired of. He clicks on one of you on a hike with your dog. Theres one of you on the ground hugging your sweet border collie, this huge smile on your face that makes his heart clench. He wonders if you asked a stranger to take the photo or if you went with somebody, he wonders if you ever think about how the two of you would always go on hikes together.
Fuck he misses you.
His finger scrolls and its a picture of you at the beach. It's you in this black bikini that he loves, laying on the sand, looking up at the camera, these dark red sunglasses on your face as your hair flows gently down your shoulders. He bites his lip, he's already half hard. His finger swipes left and in the next one you're wet, legs in the water, and his eyes fall on the curve of your ass.
The next post is a picture of you from above, a point five of you with your head tilted up making a kissy face at the camera. His eyes immediately fall to your lips, he can't stop looking at the pink flesh, he misses kissing you stupid.
He should be frustrated with the fact that this reminder of you branded on him is turning away potential matches but in the back of his mind, he knows he's still in love with you. Sometimes it comes off as relief when the women take it upon themselves to break whatever chances he had off so he didn't have to be guilty when he thought of you.
He swipes away into your contacts, the last message you sent him was something to do with picking up your stuff that you had forgotten at his. His finger hovers over the call button and his head falls back onto his pillows as he groans. He was still a bit of a pussy around you. So he settles for leaving you a voice message, god he hopes you don't tell him off and block him.
"H-hey baby," his voice is low, phone in one hand, palming himself in the other over his boxers, "I fucking miss you, shit-" his eyes drift down to look at his collarbone, your lips printed onto his skin. "Can't stop thinking about those pretty lips baby, please give me another chance, fuck-" god he's begging for you, utterly pathetic for you. "Fuck I'm such an idiot for losing you, you've ruined me for everyone else," he groans before sending the message to you and tossing his phone away. He realizes he's also an idiot for sending you that and that you would be justified in punching him in the face but he can't bring himself to care, if only you'd look at him one more time.
He's rutting into his fist now, hips grinding on the bed as he thinks about how you would bounce on his dick, how you would bite at his neck with only your lipstick and heels on. And just like that he cums in his boxers like a fucking teenager, the white staining the fabric and he groans in shame, opening his phone to un-send the message but the read receipt shines into his eyes tauntingly.
💋ྀིྀི
author's note : i recently got my collarbones tattooed and could only think of this :(( i want sukuna BAD
18+ MDNI | Thinking about fem!reader who gets needy when crossed with fwb!sukuna...
[ cw: intoxicated sukuna and reader, exhibitionism, dry (...) humping | reader gets called: baby, slut, whore ]
You stumble onto the balcony, your red solo cup spilling as you struggle to keep balance. Sukuna turns to look at you, his pink hair contrasts his red eyes, looking at you lazily. You make your way to sit on his lap on the chair, your skirt rides up and he can feel your damp crotch grinding against his. You take the joint from his fingers and he lets you, watching you grind as you take a large hit, and blow smoke on his face. His hands land on your hips and he helps you grind your hips against his just as he thrusts up into you.
"Are you needy baby?" he asks, condescendingly. You roll your eyes.
"Please, you're into it," you say tilting his head up so that he's looking up at you. Your lips are close to his, fuck he wants to kiss you. It was an agreement not to kiss, because the sex wasn't supposed to mean anything, because it was just to let off steam ... right?
He lets you grind on him just how you like, when you bring your hand down for him, he takes a hit off your fingers and blows smoke right into your lungs. It's not a kiss.
The two of you settle into a rhythm, the r&b from the party booming faintly through the glass door of the balcony and you can feel the heavy gaze of Toji from the couch inside. You're humping Sukuna desperately now, your whines just barely low enough not to attract too much attention.
"Ryo-" you whine as you soak through the crotch of his jeans, desperate for the hardening length you're grinding on.
"You're such a fucking slut," he says through gritted teeth despite his own hips thrusting up in time with yours, "You want people to know - fuck - how good your best friend fucks you huh?" He's condescending and mean, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters a bit when you whine his name.
It's wet despite the layers of clothing between the two of you, you're bouncing on him now, circling your ass just the way he likes with your hands on his shoulders. You throw your head back as his hand traces from your hips down to the waistband of your mini skirt. It barely hides anything, he lifts up your tiny skirt to see your pretty white lace panties soaked through just for him. His fingers tug it to the side and your bare pussy slides just right against the fabric of his jeans.
"Look at this pretty cunt," he's groaning as your wet, wet slick stains his jeans. "So wet for me yeah?" he looks up at you and your eyes are glazed over. He grits his teeth before his thumb presses harshly against your clit. You moan like a pornstar as his fingers circle your clit, the hand he has on your hip grips you so that you can't move. "Tell me," he practically growls.
"H-huh?" You squint down at him, frustrated as the room starts spinning and you can only focus on the pad of his finger playing with that swollen aching bundle of nerves.
"That this s'all for me," he looks up at you and he can see you looking down at him, your eyelids are low and your lips are dry. He pinches your clit just to see your eyes roll to the back of your head.
"S'all for you Ryo - ah! - please can i cum Ryo?"
"Please can I cum Ryo?" He mocks you as he starts to grind you onto his hard length again, thumb still playing with your clit. "Such a needy fucking slut," he says under his breath as that pleading look of yours gets more desperate. Its wet, the sounds of the way your sopping cunt grinds against his pants echo on the balcony. "Using me like a toy every time you need huh?" that makes you moan.
"Fuck, please Ryo," your voice is high, you can see Toji shift on his seat in the couch.
"Fuck baby, cum for me," he says lowly and you feel a slap on your clit. Your body freezes on his lap as your pussy convulses, your release leaking. The sight makes Sukuna cum, your eyes screwed shut, your hands gripping his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped divots into his skin. His white release soaks through where your pussy still rests and he can't help but stare in awe.
You on the other hand, lift from his lap, he hears your heel land on the concrete ground before you're fixing your skirt and stepping back into the house with a slurred "Thank you Ryo". He sees you from the corner of his eye, watching as Toji comes up behind you to dance, averting his eyes as Toji's hands land on your hips. He shouldn't feel territorial, you're not his. But it does make him grit his teeth at the thought of how one of his friends was dancing with you after he made you scream like a whore.
𝜗◞ ♡ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ; gazing at 𝒈𝒐𝒋𝒐 & his lifted shirt results in him dry humping you ꒱
every time you catch sight of gojo's happy trail your heart skips a beat. his arms lifting over his head to stretch his limbs out, the t-shirt he's wearing lifting up just enough to display the enticing visage of his lower abs leading down into his pants. white tufts of hair creeping out his pants and trailing upwards enough for you to see and feel a certain way about.
you avert your eyes after staring for far too long, long enough for gojo to pause mid stretch and tilt his head at you. his gaze trailing down his own body, trying to ascertain where you were looking. he doesn't seem like the astute type but you can practically feel the amusement rolling off him, easily picking up on what caught your attention.
"if you wanted me to take my shirt off... you could just ask."
you grumble back at him, annoyed by his ability to notice everything about you, "i don't want you to take your shirt off."
he hums a lilted tune, "hmm, certainly didn't seem that way with how you were eye-fucking me."
"i was not!" you gape at him, "you're imagining things, i fear your ego is growing too large for you to handle."
gojo walks the short distance to where you're sitting on the couch, his form leaning down so he's in your space. lips already hovering over yours as he asks, "so, we're not going to have sex on the couch?"
“i’m not that easy.”
a light laugh leaving him, “i am, you looked at me and now i’m all hard.”
"that's not my probl—"
his lips on yours shut you up, kiss heavy and already needy. he doesn't waste any time slipping his tongue into the mix, the taste of you making him shiver and whine. a sudden pressure around your wrist alerts you to his hold, his hand guiding yours. he places it under his shirt, your palm resting against the same trail of hairs that landed you in this situation.
the thrill that moves through you has you gasping into his mouth, pussy fluttering from how easily he overwhelms your senses. melting into him, letting him kiss you stupid. growing too horny to continue this way, you hold onto him and somehow manage to get him to lay on the couch.
his back resting on the cushions with you straddling him. "i wanna ride you," words spoken soft and tantalising, hand slipping under his shirt again to rest where it once was.
gojo's shirt rides up with your touch, the warm pressure of your soft palm has his cock twitching in his pants. "are you waiting for an invitation?"
"more like a plea," you challenge his glib attitude.
"pleaseee sit on my dick, pretty," his hands slide up your thighs to grip your hips, "i'm aching for it." and as if to prove his point, he ruts his hips up under you. grinding his erection against your clothed cunt.
your nails lightly scratch against his skin, lungs shuddering from the much needed stimulation. you're digging your teeth into your lower lip to stifle down any pathetic sound he might be able to pull from you. failing completely when he tugs you down at the same time that he's rutting up.
"fuuuuck– hold on– hnn– this feels soo—" he doesn't finish his sentence, head tilting back as he keeps dry humping you.
his skin is all flushed and radiating heat, eyes dazed and lost in the muted pleasure he's gaining from this. he's acting like a dog as he keeps relentlessly grinding against you. a small and pitiful whimper leaves him and you're keening into it. hands tugging his shirt up more, palms perched on him as you meet his grinds.
"wait– wait– hng– i'm gonna—" even though he's asking you to wait he doesn't stop his hips, continuing until he's shuddering through his own orgasm.
his pants growing damp as he cums in them, gojo can feel the way his seed clings to his clothes. coating his dick in his own sticky release. if it hadn't felt so fucking good he'd probably be embarrassed but he's in complete bliss right now.
"did you just cum?" you ask him, somehow even more aroused. his relaxed and borderline fucked out expression making you want him more.
he's panting softly, eyes glazed over as he answers, "you shouldn't have looked at me like that."
... he keeps replaying how your hips pressed against his, how your hands played with his hair, how your eyes practically hypnotized him under the flashing lights. He groans, like it physically pained him to think about you, his dick already half hard. He trails a traitorous hand down his stomach and he grips himself over his sweatpants. He bites his lip at the thought of touching you in the dress, at the thought of what the fabric would have felt like if he’d helped you undress in your room.
Fuck!
He lets out a low groan.
He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, he shouldn’t be thinking about you like— Like how you would look if he took you from behind, would your back arch like you’re aching for it?
Like how you would sound when he licked your clit just right
Like how your pretty cunt would grip him so good
Before he can stop himself, he lowers the waistband of his underwear enough to free his cock. It slaps against his stomach, heavy. He thinks about how you might hold his dick as he wraps his fingers around himself, squeezing the shaft before jerking his hand up to the tip, teasing himself as he jams his thumb into the slit. Would you be mean? Tease him? Maybe you would bite your lip as you jerk him off with both hands.
Shit, those pretty lips.
His hips jerk up in desperation.
He would kiss the fuck out of you, your pretty lips open for him, his tongue wet against yours. He would tilt your head up to look at him and spit into your mouth before bending over you and tasting his cigarettes right off your tongue. He would let your lipstick marks stay on his collar for the day for people to see what you did to him, if you wanted. He would let himself indulge a little and have you on your knees in front of him as you slowly lick up his shaft, those eyes of yours so seductive to him.
God he was pathetic.
He’s thrusting up into his own fist now, feet planted on the bed. He grits his teeth and groans, a guttural, lustful sound, wonders how you would react if you saw him like this...
Gojo Satoru was like a shark in the way that if he stopped moving he would die. At least that’s what he always believed.
Since he was a child he strived for more. More than the little legacy known to be him, more than his important clan, more than the world could possibly carry for him and him alone. The chase was exhilarating and the want was addicting.
Gojo Satoru was like a shark in the way that his personality was so malleable that it almost held no structure, like that of a sharks body. He was often told he was strange, moods changing instantaneously. There was no doubt that he was an interesting person to be involved with and his charming, yet powerful energy drove him towards success.
In his ever changing scene, there had always been one constant in his life.
You.
You who followed Satoru miraculously through his Jujutsu High years with you in your normal high school and into his life now, you who worked hard to reach for your goals and uplifted his own no matter the hardships he had faced in his life. You who always picked back up where you left even when he would leave without a trace.
The pressure that had been on Satoru’s shoulders since he was a child was only ever eased by you, carrying the weight with him, and he could never be more thankful every time he came back to seek your comfort.
He makes his way down the street towards your small studio apartment. He had always offered to pay for a bigger place for you, somewhere closer downtown and more spacious for your projects but you had always declined, having grown attached to the small place you called home. The old elevator whines as he gets on and presses the button up to your floor. He runs his fingers through his hair, sunglasses shifting down his nose slightly, and shifts his weight from one foot to another.
He hasn’t seen much of you at all for the past half year. You were not the type to bother him too much with messages of worry and curiosity of where he went, always trusting he will be safe. His life involving the cursed spirits and the clans was none of your business you had told him once, that the grandeur and importance of who he is and where he stands has nothing to do with you and you had wanted no part in it, in turn you had been safe from that part of his world. He had been glad of the fact to have someone look at him without any preconceived notion or lens because of the life he had been born into.
But he knew much of your life. Satoru knows you always dreamed of living in New York because “that’s where dreams come true” and Satoru knows you think it’s cliché but you pay no mind. He knows how you can’t do anything whatsoever without music and he swears that your hands were god-given with the way they create art. Satoru knows your works had been published in countless museums and galleries. You had sold countless prints of your paintings and slowly you rose up in the industry, and he knows you still chose to live in a moderately large city instead of moving because you don’t want to spoil the grandeur that is New York in your mind, even though now, you can afford to. You had always been the same to him, your smile, your passions, the art that you make, improved, sure, but never really changed. He can feel the same love in your smile from your high school years and the same hard work in your art now as he did before.
He knocks twice on your white door, and hears you yell out something about being right there as he waits patiently. The incandescent lights of the hall shining down on his hair, softly flickering as he grips the plastic bag.
When you open the door to see your friend you stop dead in your tracks. You make eye contact and see his striking blue eyes, always holding so much, almost immediately you rush to hug him tight. He lets you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head, taking in your scent. You bury your face in his chest your arms tightening around his waist.
“how are you Satoru?” is what you ask him first, worry etched into your features as you break the hug. Always worrying about how he is and if he is taking care of himself, and he never has the heart to lie to you.
“been better, happy to see you” He follows you into your home dropping the plastic bag on your counter, your walls have been filled by works done with your own hand, canvases scatter the floor and books stack up all around because you never got around to buying a shelf. You hum from the kitchen as he settles on your couch sighing as your cat, Poppy, settles on his lap. You fill the silence by making the tea you keep in your cupboard even though you never drink it yourself and Poppy softly purrs. You pass him his tea and sit down next to him, the silence natural and comforting as you watch him take a sip and close his eyes, softly petting your cat. He feels more at home here than he does anywhere in the world. Here in your too small apartment overflowing with your passion and life, littered with traces of him over the years, the tea he makes you buy sitting in your cupboard, the photos he knows still sit on your bedside table in your room, the mug of coffee in your hands he bought you so long ago that you still use. He always wondered how you could make a space feel so lived in, so loved in.
“i missed you”
you feel like home.
It’s such a soft hush out of his mouth you almost don’t catch it. It’s different from before, where he’d pull you into a hug and lift you off the ground almost yelling it, it’s different from his teasing banter as he flicks your forehead over dinner. You tilt your head at him, his eyes are still closed, you can see the exhaust under his eyes and his restlessness as his fingers softly twitch and your heart lurches.
You and Gojo had always been two forbidden souls from different worlds toeing between the line of something more, always too afraid to cross, always too afraid of where you might stand.
“i missed you too”
so come home to me.
He smiles then — and you know he is back to his usual self — rising to his full height, your cat letting out a noise of discontent before skittering away. Gojo snatches the paper bag from the counter and sets it on your lap, the smell of food overtaking your senses. Satoru watches you dig into the takeout and swipes a few bites for himself telling you stories about his students and watching how you laugh behind your hand. There’s something melancholy about the moment you think, looking at his eyes through his stupid sunglasses as they crinkle with fondness when he tells you about Megumi or when he lets out genuine laughter, throwing his head back and closing his eyes when he recalls how Itadori was forced awake watching movies. You’re glad he can find happiness amidst all he suffered through, you’re glad he can find it in you.
authors note | erm so this might not be cannon, i havent watched jjk in a solid minute
18+ MDNI | thinking about geto's roommate!reader who wears bracelets and rings religiously...
Suguru wasn't a stranger to jewelry.
His lithe fingers adorned silver bands, gleaming chains dangling, smirk decorated with the shine of his snakebites. So he didn't miss when you got a new bracelet, a silver embossed bangle that clinks with your other bracelets like a song whenever you move. He's on the couch as you pad into the kitchen, distracted by something on your phone as you make yourself a tea. He follows your hands, gentle with your mug as you warm your hands. His own fingers twitching, imagining what it would feel like to hold your hand, interlock fingers adorned in silver as he groans against your neck—
You take your mug and sit on the couch beside him, legs curling in as your lips blow to cool the hot drink, chains clinking against your wrists as you take a sip. He slides his eyes back to the TV, as you ask him what's going on in his show. He's always found it shocking how you seem to make yourself so at home when you're around him. He says something about what the characters are doing quietly.
You watch the show with him, curling up in your corner and Suguru is painfully aware of every time you move or shift to get comfortable, the clinking ringing in his ears.
"Did you get a new bracelet?" he murmurs, words practically spilling out of him and you look at him, he's looking at the screen, eyes lazy as yours gleam with excitement.
"I did! Isn't it pretty?" You shift closer to show him, like you do every time you get something new. He blinks and looks at the bangle you took off to show him, taking it from your fingers. He looks at the silver design, fingers tracing the swirls and flowers, something he thought fit your style so well.
"It's very you" he says, making eye contact for a second before he takes your wrist and clasps the bangle gently around it, touch electric on your wrist. You blink, eyes trailing to the silver on his lips for a second before looking at his eyes where his have already found yours.
"Thank you" it comes out a whisper from your lips before you hastily move away, taking your mug with you as you scramble to your room with a lame excuse. He sighs, head falling back against the back of the couch, looking up at the ceiling.
God you were going to kill him.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Suguru has nothing complain about regarding you as his roommate, you always cleaned up after yourself, were never late on rent, and mostly kept to yourself just like him. The apartment however, had the thinnest walls imaginable. He can hear you humming from the other side of the apartment in your room and you always know when he's moving around.
It's not something he minded too much, it felt intimate sharing what seemed like a quiet life with each other, smiling when you hum one of the songs he recommended you. Except at night, at night he wishes the walls be thicker than the thin excuse of a barrier at this apartment.
He hears you as he steps out of his room quietly in the dark to get a glass of water and blinks. He can barely make out the sound of your laboured breathing accompanying the jingle of your bracelets familiar to his ears. It sounds like you're moving impatiently and Suguru pauses, confused for a second before he hears a quiet moan escape your lips. He freezes at his door before stepping back into his room, hands roughly running through his hair, pulling the hair tie loose as he collapses back on his bed, his dark locks falling just at his shoulders.
You've always been quiet, whines just above a whisper and heavy breathing shallow, Suguru should be able to let you get away without knowing that you're masturbating when he's in a separate room. But you never take off those goddamn bracelets. The rapid clinking softly tantalizes him through the wall as he closes his eyes, hand on his stomach trailing to his waistband.
He imagines you on your bed, on your back with a sinful arch, maybe you're on your knees, grinding on a pillow, hands between your legs. He bites his lip hard, sliding his waistband just enough to free his cock, hissing as he grips the base.
Suguru who is familiar with jewelry can tell you're wearing one of the wooden bangles he got you, the clinks a deeper sound against all your other silver. He imagines you wore it just for him, thinking back to how he saw it at the thrift store and immediately knew you would like it.
Your hand is rapid against your pussy, rubbing in circles as your rings clink together, your other hand on your nipple, pinching. You were always a bit quieter, your moans almost a whisper when you were making yourself feel good. And you were so ear blind to your own bracelets for having worn them so long you didnt even realize how loud you were being.
Oh but Suguru knew. He was right fucking there with you. Tongue piercing clinking with his teeth as he imagines tasting you, he wonders if he could make you moan as your hands pull a his hair, making out with your pussy. He fists himself, biting back a groan as he thinks about thrusting into you, his lips on yours and his fingers holding your wrists, the metal cool against his palm. His tip is leaking pre-cum as he spreads it down himself as he hears your hand moving quicker, gritting his teeth as he squeezes himself he listens for your quiet whimpers. He cums as you let out a breathy whine and he hears your hands stop and your thighs clamp shut. His cum spurts out onto his stomach, white travelling down his abs, his own breathing laboured.
He lay there for a few minutes, hearing you pad quietly out to the bathroom, humming to yourself. He cleans himself up with a towel and tosses it into the laundry basket, the guilt immediately hitting the pit of his stomach as he realizes he just jerked it to his roommate getting off. He groaned at the thought of having to look you in the eye the next morning knowing he could fuck you the way you deserve with some more pretty metal on your wrists.
In his drawer sits a gleaming pair of handcuffs of the same silver you love.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
authors note | HI SO first post lol, its a bit self indulgent if you couldn't tell
