feeling sick? don't worry, sae's ready to take care of you!
itâs past twelve, and you just arrived home with a terrible headache that has refused to go away, despite the painkillers you took hours ago. saeâs still overseas with an important match, so itâs just you in the large apartment you two usually share. desperate to rest, you drop your bags and skip dinner before hopping into the shower, hoping the hot water will soothe that damned headache of yours. Â
unluckily enough, the headache is still there when you exit the shower. too tired to care, you speed through your bedtime routine and slip into bed.
the next morning, you stir and let out a pitiful whine; the headache is still there, but your body feels on fire, aching with every minor movement. you blindly reach for your phone to check the time, only to see two missed calls from sae. sae never double calls, so something mustâve happened. Itâs four am, but you instantly call backâunsure if heâll even pick upâand he answers on the first ring.Â
âyou didnât pick up my calls,â he says plainly. thereâs a brief pause before u respond. âI didnât feel well,â you rasp out, voice hoarse from whatever infected you. âthe match ended early, iâll be home soon,â he replies calmly before hanging up.
you manage to muster up your remaining strength and toss your phone aside, before shifting underneath the covers to get comfortable againâdozing off as quickly as you were awoken. yet, youâre only able to rest a little before a cold handâsaeâs handâis placed flush against your burning forehead, rousing you from your sleep. âyou have a fever,â sae states, as if it wasnât painfully obvious, while sitting on the side of the bed, staring at you in your pathetic state. youâre about to retort when he suddenly pulls his hand back and tells you to rest, as he stands up, so you do, albeit a bit reluctantly.Â
itâs not long before he comes back with a wet towel and some pills with a cup of water for you. sae places the towel on your forehead, helps you swallow the pills, and is about to leave when you hastily grab his wrist, earning you a raised eyebrow.
âkiss it better?â you ask half-jokingly, to which he scoffs, but does so anywayâplacing a quick kiss on your overly-warm forehead. sae knows better than to indulge in your silly antics, but he canât help himself. maybe heâll get sick, but whatâs a little sickness to one of the best midfielders? he loves you too much to say no to you.
Tags/Content - mystreet, season 3-4, fluff, technically gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns used, no appearance descriptors), but reads as kinda feminine presenting. may be some very mild angst, gene is reformed but there are talks of his past, lots of bickering but like in a flirty way, very mildly suggestive comments or actions, lots of cliches. Please let me know if there are any others I should add!
Summary - Youâve been best friends with Travis for a few years now, staying over at his and Danteâs house is not uncommon. But when Danteâs older brother comes for a visit, he brings some unexpected feelings with him.
hawaii (maui) â gojo :: you sign up for surfing lessons hoping for a relaxing summer activity and instead get stuck with the most insufferable instructor on the island. By the time your final lesson arrives, saying goodbye feels a lot harder than falling off a surfboard.
You signed up for those surfing lessons on a whim, thinking itâd be the perfect low-stakes way to kick off your Maui summer. Turns out it was the start of something you still canât quite explain.
Youâd moved to Honolulu a few months earlier for a teaching job that kept you buried in lesson plans, grading, and parent emails most of the year. Summers were your resetâtwo full months off to actually breathe. The city was fineâpalm trees, good poke, that constant warm breezeâbut it felt like you were still unpacking your life in slow motion. So when the school year ended, you booked the ferry to Maui on impulse for the first couple weeks. One duffel bag, a beat-up pair of flip-flops, and zero expectations. You figured youâd lounge on the beach, eat too much fruit, and maybe learn to stand on a board without eating sand. Simple.
The surf school was a small operation tucked behind a row of rental shacks near Lahaina. A hand-painted sign read âMaui Wave Riders â No Experience? No Problem.â You showed up fifteen minutes early on the first day, sunscreen already sweating off your arms, and joined a group of five other beginners milling around on the sand. Two college guys from California, a couple on their honeymoon, and a woman in her forties who kept checking her watch like she had somewhere better to be.
Then Gojo showed up.
He jogged down the beach carrying three boards under one arm like they weighed nothing, white hair shoved under a backward baseball cap, board shorts hanging low on his hips. âMorning, wave warriors!â he called out, voice loud enough to scatter a few nearby seagulls. âWhoâs ready to get absolutely destroyed by the ocean today?â
The group chuckled nervously.
He dropped the boards with a thud and clapped his hands once. âAlright, quick roll call. Iâm Gojo, your ridiculously talented instructor. Iâve been surfing these waters since I could walk, so trust me when I say Iâve seen worse than whatever youâre about to do out there.â His eyes skimmed the group and landed on you. âNew face. You from Honolulu? Youâve got that city-girl posture.â
You blinked. âYeah. Howâd youââ
âCity girl it is,â he said, already moving on. âLetâs get you all suited up before the sun decides to cook us alive.â
The first hour was mostly on the sand. Gojo demonstrated pop-ups with exaggerated slowness, then yelled corrections while everyone practiced on dry land. He was everywhere at onceâfixing the honeymoon husbandâs grip, teasing the California guys about their âmainland form,â and somehow remembering the watch-checking womanâs name after hearing it once.
You kept falling during the pretend pop-ups. Your arms shook, and sand stuck to the backs of your thighs in gritty patches.
âEasy, rookie,â Gojo said, appearing beside you without warning. He placed one hand on your waist to steady you as you tried again. His palm was warm, calloused from years of paddling. âBend your knees more. you look like you're waiting for a busâ
You wobbled and dropped back to the sand. âI feel like a newborn giraffe.â
âGiraffes canât surf,â he shot back, grinning. âYouâre doing better than that guy over there.â He jerked a thumb toward one of the college dudes whoâd just face-planted dramatically. âAt least youâre not dramatic about it. Yet. Come on, try it without looking like youâre about to file a complaint with HR.â
By the time you actually got in the water, the sun was high and relentless. The waves were small, beginner-friendly, but they still felt like they held personal grudges. You managed to stand up twiceâbrief, glorious secondsâbefore the board shot out from under you and you ate it hard. Saltwater burned your nose. When you surfaced, coughing, Gojo was already paddling over on his own board, laughing.
âTen out of ten for commitment,â he said, offering a hand to help you back onto your board. âZero out of ten for grace. Classic city girl move. You fall like youâre texting and walking at the same time. Or maybe youâre just trying to hug the ocean. Either way, entertaining.â
âStop calling me that,â you grumbled, but took his hand anyway. His grip was firm, steadying.
âCanât. Forgot your actual name already. Too many new people.â He winked, then paddled backward. âTry not to drown. I donât get paid enough for lifeguard duty. Though Iâd look great doing it. Sunglasses and everything.â
The rest of the lesson blurred. Gojo flirted shamelessly with everyone. He told the honeymoon wife her form was âelegant as hellâ and fake-pouted when her husband splashed him. He called the California guys âbroâ every other sentence and pretended to steal one of their boards. With you, the teasing kept coming. After your third fall he yelled from twenty feet away, âNice splash! You training for the Olympics or just showing off for me? Wait, donât answer thatâI already know itâs the second one.â
You wanted to throw your board at his head. Instead you paddled harder and ignored him, muttering under your breath about cocky instructors who talked too much.
After the last wave, everyone dragged their boards back to shore. Your legs felt like jelly. Sand caked your knees and there was a suspicious amount of it in your bikini top. Gojo tossed you a faded blue towel from the pile near the shack. It hit you square in the chest.
âDry off before you attract every crab on the beach,â he said. Then, without asking, he reached over and tugged the strings of your bikini top tighter. âThis thingâs loose. Donât need any wardrobe malfunctions on my watch. Iâve seen enough of those this season.â
Your face heated. âI can tie my ownââ
âClearly not tight enough,â he interrupted, already stepping back. âThere. Now you wonât flash the tourists. Youâre welcome, city girl.â
The group dispersed slowly. You sat on the sand, wringing out your hair, when Gojo dropped down beside you holding two plastic cups of shaved ice from the nearby stand. He had sauce on his shirt from something heâd eaten earlier, and his cap was on crooked.
âPeace offering,â he said, shoving the red one toward you. âCherry for the newbie who ate the most waves today. Donât say I never did anything nice.â
You took it, the cold cup instantly numbing your fingers. âThanks. You donât have toââ
âI know.â He spooned a massive bite of blue ice into his mouth and spoke around it. âBut you looked like you were about to melt. Or cry. Or both. Figured sugar would help. Plus I already paid for it so donât waste it. Iâm not made of money, you know.â
The second lesson started late because Gojo showed up fifteen minutes after the scheduled time, half a breakfast burrito in one hand and sauce on his chin. âTraffic,â he mumbled around a bite, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a smear. âOr maybe I hit snooze. Who remembers? My bad. Summer schedules, right?â
He spent the dry-land warm-up doing handstands for no reason, sand flying everywhere. âWatch this!â he yelled, then immediately toppled over laughing. Sand went everywhere, including into your water bottle. You snorted despite yourself.
âChild,â you said, shaking your bottle.
âProud of it,â he replied, upside down for a second before collapsing. He shook sand out of his hair like a dog. Some of it landed on your leg. âYour turn, surfer girl. Impress me with those city moves.â
âNo thanks. Iâm trying to survive the actual surfing part. And you got sand in my drink.â
In the water he was still talking too much. Every time you wiped out he had a comment ready. âThat one had style! Too bad style doesnât keep you on the board. Maybe next time aim for the wave instead of the sandbar.â One joke about your paddling form landed so flat that the honeymoon husband winced and changed the subject. You paddled away and focused on the waves instead, wondering why youâd signed up for this when you had two whole months to fill.
After that lesson the group stuck around for a beach bonfire someone had mentioned. Gojo helped stack the wood, mostly by handing pieces to other people while he talked nonstop about his worst student stories. Sparks popped against the darkening sky. The college guys passed around snacks from a cooler. You sat on a log, legs sandy, picking at a bag of chips and trying to brush off the grit that kept sticking to your thighs.
Gojo plopped down next to you, closer than necessary, his knee bumping yours. âNot bad today, rookie. You stayed up longer on that last one. Almost looked like you knew what you were doing.â
âYeah, until I didnât.â You brushed sand off your calf, then reached for another chip.
He shrugged, then reached over and pressed a cold can of soda against the back of your neck without warning. You jumped at the chill. âBrain freeze prevention,â he said casually. âYou seemed off after that third fall. Work emails again? Or just tired of my amazing instruction? Teachers get summers off, right? Lucky.â
You nodded, taking the can when he finally handed it over. The cold felt good against your skin. Across the fire, the watch lady was struggling to open a stubborn bag of marshmallows. Gojo hopped up immediately, nearly tripping over the log. âHere, let me. These things hate everyone.â He tore it open with his teeth, spilling a few into the sand, then helped her skewer a few on a stick. The lady laughed and thanked him. He waved it off like it was nothing and sat back down, wiping his hands on his already messy shorts.
You watched him for a momentâthe easy way heâd jumped in even after forgetting half the groupâs names earlier, the way he launched right back into a dumb story about a tourist who tried to surf with a GoPro attached to his forehead and nearly lost it to a wave. He kept talking, forgetting a detail midway and backtracking, but the story still landed. Something clicked as you listened. Not the jokes or the confidence. Just him helping without making a big deal out of it, even while covered in sand and burrito sauce. You looked away, took a long sip of soda, and passed the bag of chips his way instead of saying anything.
Lesson three was the rainy one. Light drizzle turned the sand dark and the water choppier. Gojo showed up on time for once, but his board shorts had a new mystery stain down the side. âDonât ask,â he said when you glanced at it. âI tripped carrying coffee this morning. Forgot the lid. Classic me.â
Everyone wanted to cancel but he talked them into one short session. âCome on, it builds character. Or pneumonia. One of the two. Whatâs a little rain between friends? You teachers deal with worse every day, right?â You fell more than usual. One wipeout left you with a minor scrape on your knee from the boardâs fin. Gojo had you sit on the sand under the shelter of the rental shack while he dug through the first aid kit, muttering about how he always forgot where he put the good bandages.
âItâs barely anything,â you protested, wiping water from your face.
âStill.â He crouched in front of you, antiseptic wipe in hand. His touch was light, almost careful. âDonât want it getting infected. Then youâd blame me and never come back for more of my top-tier teaching.â He blew on the spot gently to dry the wipe, then stuck a bandage on it. âThere. Battle wound. Makes you look hardcore, princess. Just donât tell the others I played doctor or theyâll all want one.â
âThanks, Doctor Gojo.â
He laughed. âDonât get used to it. I forget half my own stuff anyway.â He patted his pockets, realized heâd left his own towel back at the shack, and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his hands instead, leaving a wet streak across his stomach.
After the lesson the rain eased up. Most of the group headed out, but you and Gojo ended up walking toward a food truck a short distance down the beach. âIâm starving,â he announced, kicking a piece of driftwood ahead of him. âBurrito guy owes me after yesterdayâs mess. I left my wallet there last week and he held it for me like a saint.â
You went along. The truck had tacos. Gojo ordered way too muchâthree for himself, plus extrasâand then insisted on paying for yours when you reached for your wallet. âInstructor discount,â he claimed, even though the guy behind the counter just rolled his eyes and muttered something about Gojo always saying that. You sat at a rickety picnic table under a faded umbrella, eating while waves crashed nearby. He talked nonstopâabout a bad wipeout from last season where he lost his board for two hours, about forgetting his keys in the surf shack twice this month, about how the honeymoon couple asked him for coupleâs surf tips that were definitely not appropriate. You laughed despite the stress still lingering from wrapping up school emails before the trip. He noticed your quieter mood and launched into an even dumber story about the time he tried to teach a group of kids and ended up wearing a floatie as a hat until one of them cried laughing. Your taco nearly fell apart in your hands from laughing.
The next lessons passed quicker, with the group slowly thinning as peopleâs vacations ended. Gojo remained equal parts chaos and competence. He was late again once, showing up with the half-eaten burrito and complaining about forgetting his phone charger. He still teased, though less constantly now. âNice recovery, trouble,â heâd say after a decent ride. The hand on your waist during stance checks became routine. He stole your sunscreen again but actually applied it properly this time, thumbs pressing into the tight spots between your shoulder blades without comment. The towel toss after every session stayed the sameâsometimes missing and forcing you to chase it across the sand while he laughed.
One afternoon after the group had mostly cleared out, Gojo suggested grabbing shaved ice and walking the beach path instead of heading straight back. âNot a big deal,â he said, already heading toward the stand. âIâve got nowhere to be and you look like you could use the extra sugar before the ferry. Plus I forgot my water bottle again, so I need something cold. Teachers probably have all kinds of summer plans, huh?â
You agreed. It wasnât called a date. You just walked side by side, cups melting in your hands, stopping once so he could tie his shoe and complain about the sand getting everywhere in his shorts. He pointed out a crab scuttling sideways and made a bad joke about it being a better surfer than half the beginners heâd had that week. You kicked sand at him. He kicked some back, missing widely because he was distracted waving at a kid building a castle nearby. The kidâs mom looked stressed, juggling a cooler and a phone call. Gojo wandered over for a second, showed the boy how to pack the sand tighter for a taller tower, then returned like it was nothing, brushing his hands off on his shorts.
âKid had the right idea,â he said, spooning more ice. âBuild big, fall big. Kinda like your first few days out there.â
You rolled your eyes but kept walking. The path wound past some rental houses, and Gojo kept up a running commentary on random thingsâforgetting midway through a story about a local food spot and starting over. The shaved ice dripped down your wrist, sticky and cold. You wiped it on your towel, which heâd tossed at you earlier. By the time you reached the end of the path, the sun was lower and your legs were tired in that good way. He didnât say much about the next lesson, just mentioned the time and waved as you headed toward the ferry dock.
A couple more lessons followed the same loose pattern. Gojo showed up late one day with wet hair from an early morning swim heâd decided to take on impulse. During one session he spent half the time in the water chasing after a loose board that got away, cursing loudly enough that a nearby family gave him dirty looks. âMy bad!â he called back to them, then turned to you with a grin. âSee? Even the ocean thinks I talk too much. What do they teach you in school about dealing with loudmouths?â
You were getting better though. Standing up on more waves, riding them farther. He noticed, adjusting your stance with that familiar hand on your waist. âWeight back a little, rookie. There you go.â After one solid ride, he met you on the shore with a cold can of soda, pressing it against your arm this time instead of your neck. âNot bad. Youâre sticking around longer than I thought you would. Two months of summer? You planning to turn pro by the end?â
One evening after a decent lesson, the two of you ended up at the food truck again, this time splitting a basket of fries because heâd forgotten his wallet but the guy knew him. You sat at the same picnic table, watching the waves, while he rambled about a surf competition heâd entered last year and placed dead last in because he showed up late. You kicked his foot under the table when he exaggerated the story. He kicked back, laughing, then complained about the fries getting cold too fast.
The sun was still high most days, and there were plenty more lessons lined up across your two months off. You started taking the ferry more regularly, packing extra snacks in your bag that sometimes ended up shared when Gojo forgot lunch. He remained forgetfulâleaving the first aid kit open one day, losing track of whose towel was whoseâbut the teasing mixed with those small things that kept you showing up. Sand stuck to your legs after every session. The sunscreen he borrowed without asking. The way heâd toss your towel and miss half the time, forcing you to chase it while he pretended not to notice.
Another afternoon, after the group was basically just you and a couple stragglers, Gojo stuck around longer than usual. The lesson ran a bit over because he got distracted showing off a trick to the remaining college guy. You helped gather the boards, and he tossed you yours with a grin. âSee? Teamwork. Or whatever.â
You ended up grabbing drinks from a nearby standâcold sodas againâand sitting on the sand a little farther down the beach where it was quieter. He stretched out, complaining about forgetting to bring his hat today and how the sun was going to kill him. You passed him the extra snack youâd packed, some chips, and he took them without hesitation, talking about a funny parent email he imagined teachers got during summer break. The conversation wanderedâhim forgetting the name of a local spot, you mentioning a chaotic field trip story from last school year. Nothing big happened. Just sand on your calves, the occasional kick at each otherâs feet, and him spilling half his soda when he laughed too hard at his own dumb joke.
The summer stretched on, with more days ahead on the island. You headed back to the ferry that evening with wet hair and sandy flip-flops, already thinking about the next trip over. There was still more than a month left of your break, plenty of time for more wiped-out rides, more shaved ice, and whatever else came with showing up for lessons.
No one would have been able to resist him.
A few weeks into the classes, with the original group mostly scattered back to their real lives, new faces kept showing up. A pair of retirees from Texas who wanted to try something new before their cruise, three high school kids on a family trip who spent more time laughing than paddling, and a solo traveler from Seattle who kept asking Gojo for tips on the best poke spots. It kept things from feeling too quiet on the sand. Gojo still ran the sessions the same wayâlate half the time, talking too much, tossing towels that missed by a mileâbut now there were fresh people for him to tease.
You were getting decent on the board by then. Not great, but you could ride most beginner waves without eating sand every time. Gojo noticed, of course he did. His hand on your waist during stance checks lingered a beat longer. The teasing had shifted too, lower voices when no one else was close, dumb jokes that felt aimed just at you.
It started after one lesson when the new group had cleared out. You were rinsing off at the outdoor shower near the shack, water cold against your shoulders. Gojo leaned against the post, watching with that stupid grin. âNot bad out there, trouble. Almost looked like a real surfer instead of a teacher on summer break.â
âAlmost?â You shut off the water and grabbed your towel.
âYeah. Still paddle like youâre grading papers.â He stepped closer, sand stuck to his legs, and tugged the towel out of your hands to drape it over your shoulders himself. His fingers brushed your collarbone. Neither of you said anything for a second. Then he tilted his head toward the rocks down the beach. âCâmon. Before the next group shows up.â
Behind the rocks, where the tide pools hid you from the main stretch, it happened fast. His mouth on yours, tasting like the cherry shaved ice heâd split with you earlier. The rocks were rough against your back but you didnât care. Gojoâs hands were everywhereâsliding under the wet bikini top heâd tied too tight that morning, pulling the strings loose with one tug. âBeen wanting to do this since you showed up looking all city-girl annoyed,â he muttered against your neck, voice rough.
You laughed, breathless, and yanked at his board shorts. âYouâre still annoying.â
âGood. Means youâll keep coming back.â He lifted you against the rock, one hand steady on your thigh. It was quick and messy, salt on your skin, his laugh turning into a groan when you bit his shoulder. Sand got everywhere. Afterward you both sat there catching your breath, his arm loose around you while waves lapped nearby. He tossed your towel at your face like always. âDonât say I never clean up after class.â
That became the pattern. Lessons during the day with the rotating crew of new studentsâGojo showing off for the high school kids, helping the retirees with their balance in that sneakily kind way that still got to youâthen sneaking off after. Sometimes right there behind the rocks if the timing worked. Other times you took the ferry back together and ended up at the little apartment youâd rented for the summer, a studio with a view of the harbor and a bed that creaked under both of you.
One afternoon after a rainy session like the old days, the new group bailed early. Gojo drove you to your place in his beat-up Jeep, windows down, complaining the whole way about forgetting his keys again. âLeft them in the shack. Again. Youâd think Iâd learn after the third time.â
Inside the apartment it was slower. He pushed you against the kitchen counter first, hands on your waist like he was correcting your stance, only this time his fingers dipped under your shorts. âYou looked good out there today,â he said, mouth on your jaw. âSteady. Made me want to skip the rest of the lesson.â
You hooked a leg around him, pulling him closer. âThen stop talking and do something about it.â
He did. Lifted you onto the counter, dropping to his knees right there with the fridge humming behind him. His tongue worked you over until your fingers were in his white hair, tugging hard. When he stood up again, board shorts shoved down, he fucked you right on the edge, one hand braced beside you, the other gripping your hip. The cold can of soda from your fridge pressed against your neck at one pointâhe grabbed it mid-thrust and held it there, grinning when you shivered. âBrain freeze prevention, remember?â
You came hard, legs shaking, and he followed right after, messy and loud like everything else he did. Afterward you both ended up on the couch, half-dressed, sharing the rest of the soda while sand from your legs dusted the cushions. He rambled about a dumb tourist story from that morning, forgetting the punchline halfway through. You kicked his foot and he kicked back, laughing.
His penthouse was different. A few nights later he talked you into staying over instead of taking the last ferry. The place was nicer than you expectedâbig windows overlooking the water, but messy as hell. Boards leaned against the wall, empty soda cans on the counter, a towel draped over the couch like heâd forgotten it there days ago.
âWelcome to my palace,â he said, kicking clothes out of the way. âDonât judge the decor. Iâve been busy.â
You didnât judge. The place was a messâsurfboards propped against the wall, empty soda cans on the nightstand, a pile of board shorts and towels on the floorâbut the second the door shut you were on each other. Gojo backed you straight into his bedroom, hands already shoving your bikini top up, mouth latching onto one tit while he palmed the other roughly. âFuck, these have been teasing me all day under that top,â he muttered, sucking hard enough to leave a dark mark right where your bikini would hide it tomorrow.
He pushed you down onto the unmade bed, sheets already tangled from whenever heâd last slept. You yanked his board shorts down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking at the tip. Gojo grinned that cocky grin as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand. âLook at me,â he ordered when your eyes fluttered shut, sliding into you in one slow, deep thrust. You were soaked from the dayâs tension, and he groaned loud as your pussy clenched around him. âThatâs it, trouble. So fucking tight for your annoying instructor.â
He fucked you like that for a long timeâslow and deliberate at first, hips rolling deep so his cock dragged against that spot inside you with every stroke. His free hand slid down to pinch your nipple, then moved lower to rub your clit in tight circles. You arched up, legs wrapping around his waist, but he held you right where he wanted, controlling the pace. âSay it,â he teased, voice low and rough as he ground against you. âWhoâs the best instructor on this whole fucking island?â
âYouâre the only one, idiot,â you gasped, trying to move your hips faster.
He laughed, dark and filthy, then flipped you over onto your stomach without pulling out. He gripped your ass with both hands, spreading you open as he started pounding harder. The wet slap of skin filled the room, his balls hitting your clit with every thrust. âFuck yes, take it just like that. Been thinking about this pussy since you fell off that board the first day.â He reached around to rub your clit again, fast and rough, while his other hand fisted in your hair. You came hard, crying out into the mattress, pussy pulsing around his cock. Gojo didnât stop, fucking you through it until your legs shook.
He pulled out, flipped you onto your back again, and shoved your legs up toward your chest. He thrust back in deep, hips snapping. Sweat dripped down his chest as he railed you, talking the whole time like he couldnât help it. âGonna fill this cunt up. Youâre gonna feel me leaking out of you on the ferry tomorrow.â A few more brutal thrusts and he came with a groan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. He stayed there a minute, cock twitching, before pulling out and watching his cum drip from your pussy with a satisfied smirk.
You both collapsed, sweaty and spent, his arm slung over you while he complained about the sand still stuck to his back. âFound some in my ass crack earlier. Your fault.â
Even his car wasnât off limits. One evening after a long lesson with the new retirees asking endless questions, Gojo pulled you into the Jeep parked behind the shacks. âQuick one before you ferry out,â he said, already tugging you into the back seat. It was cramped and ridiculousâyour knee hit the door, his elbow knocked the seatâbut he made it work, yanking your bikini bottoms aside and pulling you onto his lap.
His cock slid into you in one go, your pussy still slick from earlier thoughts about him. âBet those Texas folks think Iâm just giving extra pointers,â he grunted, hands on your ass guiding you up and down. âIf only they knew I was balls deep in my favorite student.â The windows fogged fast as you rode him hard, the car rocking with every bounce. He sucked marks onto your tits, one hand slipping between you to rub your swollen clit until you were biting his shoulder to stay quiet. âCum on my cock like a good girl,â he growled. You did, clenching tight around him. He followed right after, filling you up again with a low curse.
Afterward he wiped you both down with a random shirt from the floor, then drove you to the dock with his hand on your thigh, whistling like nothing happened.
The hooking up didnât change the daytime stuff much. New students kept the lessons lively. The high school kids thought Gojo was hilarious when he did his handstand fails. One of the retirees brought extra snacks and shared them during breaks. Gojo still stole your sunscreen, still pressed cold drinks to your skin after hot sessions, still called you trouble or rookie when others could hear. But now there were these stolen momentsâbehind rocks with quick, desperate fucks where he covered your mouth so no one heard you moan; in your apartment where he stayed late and left his board shorts on your floor; in his messy penthouse where you woke up to him burning toast the next morning; in the car where everything felt urgent and stupid and perfect.
One afternoon with the group thinned to just you and the Seattle guy for a bit, Gojo kept the lesson short. Afterward he grabbed your hand and pulled you behind the rocks again. This time he bent you over a smooth boulder, yanking your bottoms down and thrusting into you from behind while waves crashed close enough to spray mist on your skin. His hand snaked around to rub your clit fast, mouth on your shoulder biting down. âGood girl, squeezing my cock so fucking tight,â he muttered when you came hard, clenching around him. He pulled out and finished on your back in thick stripes, then used your towel to clean it up, tossing it at you with a grin.
Back at the apartment that night it was lazier. You both showered together first, water running over sand and salt. He washed your hair without being asked, fingers careful, but it didnât stay innocent long. He fucked you against the shower wall, your leg hooked over his hip, pounding deep until the water ran cold and you came again with his name on your lips. In bed after, he was half-asleep, arm around your waist, muttering something about forgetting to set an alarm for tomorrowâs lesson.
The summer kept going, weeks blending with lessons, new faces rotating in and out, and these hookups that left you sore in the best way. Gojo remained Gojoâlate, messy, overconfident, talking too muchâbut you kept showing up anyway.
You zipped up the last duffel bag on the apartment floor, the sound loud in the quiet studio. Gojo sat on the edge of the unmade bed, legs kicked out, watching you like he was trying to memorize the way you folded your towels. The same faded blue one from the surf shack was stuffed in there somewhere, still smelling faintly of ocean and sunscreen.
âTwo and a half months,â he said, not for the first time. âEvery damn day. And now youâre just⊠packing.â
You didnât look up right away. Your hands kept moving, shoving flip-flops into the side pocket. âSummerâs over, Satoru. Iâve got lesson plans due next week. Kids donât care that I learned to stand on a board.â
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, white hair messy from the wind earlier. âYeah, well. I got used to you showing up. Even when you were terrible at popping up. Especially when you were terrible.â
You finally glanced over. His usual grin was missing. He looked like a kid whoâd lost his favorite toyâslouched, one foot tapping the floor. You sat on the bed next to him, shoulder bumping his. âIâll come back. Teachers get three weeks at Christmas. And next summerâs already booked in my head. Maui again. Same stupid lessons.â
He snorted, but it sounded forced. âYou better. Who else is gonna chase my towel when I miss the toss?â His hand found yours, fingers lacing tight. âIâm gonna be bored as hell. New groups every week, all of them asking dumb questions. No one to call me an idiot after I forget the first aid kit again.â
You squeezed back, throat tight. The last few weeks had been a blur of lessons with whoever showed upâmore retirees, some honeymooners, a bachelor party that Gojo mocked relentlesslyâand stolen time in between. Behind the rocks, in his Jeep, in this apartment where the bed still creaked from last night. Now it was quiet. Just the hum of the fridge and the distant harbor noise.
âIâm not exactly thrilled either,â you said, leaning into him. âHonoluluâs gonna feel small after this.â
Gojo pulled you closer, arm around your waist like he did during stance checks. âStay one more night. Ferry tomorrow instead.â
âYou said that yesterday.â You turned your head and kissed his jaw. âAnd the day before.â
He sighed, dramatic as always, but stood up anyway. âFine. But Iâm driving you to the airport. No arguments. And Iâm stealing one of your sodas for the road.â
The drive was mostly quiet. Gojoâs Jeep rattled over the roads, windows down, his hand on your thigh like always. He complained about forgetting his sunglasses, then about the traffic, then about how the next instructor rotation was some guy who talked even more than him. You let him ramble, watching the island scenery slide by. Every now and then heâd squeeze your leg, like he was checking you were still there.
At the airport drop-off, he parked illegally for a minute, hazards on. You grabbed your bags from the back while he hovered. âText when you land. And when you unpack. And when you remember how much you miss my shaved ice.â
You rolled your eyes but smiled. âI will. Promise. Christmas break, okay? Iâll book the ferry or whatever.â
He nodded, then cupped your face with both hands and kissed you. It wasnât quick. Deep and a little desperate, his thumb brushing your cheek. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. âDonât forget the instructor who taught you to surf. Or whatever.â
âHard to forget.â You kissed him once more, quick, then stepped toward the doors. He watched until you were inside, hands in his pockets, that sad-slouch still there. You didnât turn around again until security, and by then the Jeep was gone.
Two months later, you trudged up the stairs to your Honolulu apartment, keys jingling. The school day had been longâparent conferences, a kid puking in class, endless grading. Your shoulders ached like after a bad wipeout. All you wanted was a cold drink and to kick off your shoes.
The door across the hall was propped open. Movers carried in a surfboard and a pile of random junkâempty cans, towels, a familiar backward cap. You stopped, staring.
Gojo stepped out, wiping his hands on his shorts, white hair sticking up. He spotted you and grinned like heâd been waiting for this exact moment. âHey, new neighbor. Took you long enough to get home from work."
You blinked, bags slipping off your shoulder. âWhat the hell?â
âSurprise.â He leaned against the doorframe, messy as ever. âPenthouse was too quiet without you yelling at me for being late. Figured Honolulu needed a surf instructor. Or at least one annoying one. Lease is month-to-month, so donât get any ideas about me being permanent or whatever.â
You stood there, heart doing something stupid. The hallway smelled like his sunscreen already. âYou moved here? For real?â
He shrugged, but his eyes were bright. âHad to. Couldnât wait till Christmas. Plus, I forgot my favorite towel in your bag. Needed an excuse to see you every day again.â He kicked a box aside. âCome on. Help me unpack before I lose my keys in here. Then Iâll make you a shitty toast dinner like old times.â
You laughed despite the long day, crossing the hall. Sand from his shoes already dusted the floor. âYouâre still impossible.â
âYeah, but you like it.â He tugged you inside by the wrist, door clicking shut behind you. The summer might be over, but thisâwhatever it wasâclearly wasnât.
Going wedding dress shopping with Itoshi Rin is awful // fluff
(Sae x f!reader)
âHow do you like this one?â
Rin shrugs, âItâs lukewarm.â
âYou said that about the last three as well!â
âBecause itâs true.â
You roll your eyes and look at yourself in the huge mirror.
Youâre wearing a big, beautiful dress with lots of ruffles which is tight around the waist paired with opera gloves.
âI like it. What do you think Sae will think?â
âIsnât his opinion meaningless? Itâs your wedding dress and your wedding.â
You pout, âRinnie, youâre just the sweetest person on earth.â
Rin grunts. âDoesnât mean I like that one.â
With a big sigh, you turn around and walk to the changing room with the help of the sales lady.
The next dress youâre trying on, is a tight, beautiful satin dress. Itâs more simple than the ones youâve tried before, but just as gorgeous.
A big smile widens across your face as you look at yourself in the mirror, âThis oneâs beautiful.â
âItâs awful.â
You gasp, âRin! I find it very pretty.â
âYou have bad taste then. Proven by your choice of man.â
That makes you roll your eyes.
âI picked one last one, Rinnie. If thatâs not good, weâll have to go to another store.â
He nods and exhales loudly. You know exactly that he just acts like he doesnât want this. Sae told you how much Rin adores you.
The last dress is by far the most expensive.
Itâs made out of beautiful white satin with small details and the material is bound around your torso tightly.
The rest of the dress falls straight to your ankles, small gemstones and flower embroidery continue on the way down. A bunch of satin slings around your waist, in a slightly different material, held together by a gorgeous clip, making the dress look like one of a princess.
âWowâŠâ you turn around to look at yourself from every angle. âRinnie, I love this one.â
After a moment of silence, Rin nods. âItâs the best one yet.â
You gasp again, this time out of excitement. âYou like it?? Thatâs amazing, Rin! Weâll take it!â
And thatâs how Sae ended up paying 4000$ for your Dress.
a/n: English isnât my first language, criticism is welcomed but please be nice. Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Do not steal or copy my work.
I'm sexually frustrated, and I can demonstrate it if you'd like.
đ synopsis: your best friend, SAE ITOSHI knows you've never been one to have sex, do hookups, or even date. he doesn't want to overstep; he really shouldn't. but you keep looking at him like you want him to teach you, like it's his responsibility. and maybe as your best friend? it is.
đ contains: SMUT, fem!reader, reader has hair, reader has a mom, they r 19, swearing, endless anime references, childhood best friends, family friends & neighbours, experienced!sae, inexperienced!reader, bratty!reader, pussydrunk!sae, posessive!sae, pining, sae teaches reader how to kiss and masturbate, making out, neck kissing, vaginismus (complications with his fingers), clit rubbing while you touch yourself, pussy spitting, pussy eating under the blanket, yapper sae i repeat yapper sae
đ word count: 6.9k + 453 bonus drabble !
đ credits: to @g-gulp for editing, discussing, and making the banner for me! ur so awesome n amazing. other creds to all my irl friends who beta read this...
đ A/N: piggybacking off this post. based off an argument i had w an experienced!sae truther... also i took inspo's from @dotlusional's 'kiss' w katsuki!
"Okay, it's embarrassing, but I haven't really kissed anyone before."
"That's not surprising in the slightest."
"What? Hey!"
Sae had always been the blunt type; you knew of that. Ever since you were children, he would wave away the kind reporters asking him questions with a harsh 'Go away', take trophies and medals wherever he walked, and speak like he was better than everyone else.
Nobody told him he shouldn't talk like that to people â especially to adults and teachers. That language like that wasn't proper etiquette, so he never fixed it.
And you were always the more polite type. Shy, but got along with almost anyone if they spoke first. Kind, chiding him whenever he told another kid to piss off. Pretty, as the years went by and you went from scraped knees and tangled hair to soft skin, girlish fragrances, and the delicate contour of your legs.
He swallowed thickly.
Your legs.
As you got older, you stopped wearing basketball shorts and switched to skirts, then short shorts, then slacks. Frankly, it was hard for him to look away from your thighs. They were plush and soft and ran up the curve of yourâ
He tore away his gaze from your bare legs resting over the blanket and focused on the TV screen, the fan, and the open window pouring with rain. Anywhere but your tempting skin.
Sae usually doesn't admit these kinds of things, especially not to you, but looks alone? He's astonished that not even one person ever tried hard enough to date you. You're smart, comforting, and nice to look at. If he were to settle down, he would do it with someone like you.
Of course, someone like you.
"I don't mean it like that," he murmured, fixing on your eyes instead. Pretty they wereâall round and warm and focused on his. "You reject everyone who's interested in you."
Your index rubs your chin thoughtfully. "That's because..."
"Of your standards. Always on about your anime boys, huh?"
"That is so not funny, Sae!"
"It is a little funny. You're like Rin. He's almost finished his Junji Ito collection."
"Oh, now we're comparing me to Rinâ"
"You collect figures and manga."
"They're pretty."
"They're anime boys."
"They're Tomoe, actually. Don't generalise."
"Tomoe is an anime boy."
"You were the one who watched Kamisama Kiss with me!"
When was it? The summer before he left for Spain? You were prancing on about your ritualistic tradition of bingeing romance anime with him. There was Kamisama Kiss; Lovely Complex; NANA, which he had to stop because he hated Shoji; and his favourite, Ouran High School Host Club. The blonde male lead, Tamaki, always made him snort into his sleeve as a boy while you shook his shoulder squealing about it.
Anime like that was more up Sae's alley compared to Rin's fixation for horror and suspense, so he quietly cherished those days. Lying on the couch, watching TV in the summer heat, your frame on your stomach next to his, destroying a popsicle stick. It was a much better predicament than watching some porno his teammates had found on a beat-up DVD rental.
After all, he was with you.
You fiddled with your hands as the movie played on. Taxi Driver, for the third time this year. It was his favourite movie, but now that he thought about it, he never asked if it was yours too.
Was it?
You severed his thoughts with a question. "What was the anime you like right now, anyway?"
"The Apothecary Diaries. I like Xiaomao."
"You just like her cause she's like a cat."
"Meow."
You rolled your eyes at his quip. "I wonder what you think of Jinshi, then."
He paused. Sae always had a soft spot for the types of people with an odd backstory, much like Jinshi. It spiced things up compared to all the boring societal bullshit he deals with enough every day. "...I like him too. But he's a little dramatic for my tastes."
"You only like him cause he's pretty."
"Are you slut-shaming me or projecting?"
You snickered. "The former. Is he your type?"
"Not really? What do you think my type is?"
Waving your hands around, you mocked. "Someone hot with a nice ass."
He scoffed, but for some reason, he could feel his jaw clench. "So now you think I'm shallow."
You snorted. "...Yeah."
"Looks aren't everything, y'know. Pretty sure I go by vibe."
You snickered, your hand reaching into the bag of potato chips, his favourite snack that he was banned from eating. Damn you. "Uh huh."
You popped the chip into your mouth; a soft crunch was heard between your teeth, but all he could focus on was the plushness of your lips. He wondered if they felt as delicate as they looked. If they were as untouched as you said. How could that be possible? Look at youâ
"Y'know that scene in The Apothecary Diaries where Maomao thinks his dick is a frog?"
He rubbed his cheek, snorting into his palm. "What about it?"
"Do dicks feel like frogs?"
Sae hadn't jerked off enough to remember, and he certainly wasn't going to check. Sighing, he said. "I don't think so? Mine doesn't."
"So why did she think it was a frog?"
"She's never felt a dick before. And it was probably the position. He was on top of her, after all."
You shook your head. "No, she was on top of him."
"Idiot. He was the one who landed on her."
As Sae reached for his phone before you could pointlessly argue about their weird pseudo-sex position, the sheets rustled andâ
You climbed on top of him. Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, grinning like you proved something. Your arms were braced on either side of his head, your hair grazing the skin of his cheeks. And your kneesâthey were braced on either side of his hips, the urge to grab them all too real. Too sweet. Too good.
His breath hitched, magenta bangs poking his forehead as he murmured lowly. "What are you doing?"
Still, his large hands moved to rest on your waist, anchoring himself.
You reached for the phone in his hand, plugging in the password you knew by heart into the screen, fiddling with the phone.
You tilted the glass right before his eyes, it was that stupid frog scene. Maomao was on top of Jinshi, and you were unfortunately correct.
"See! I told you she was on top of him!" You grinned, pulling the phone away.
Before Sae could process what was about to leave his lips, he scoffed. "Are you sure you've never even kissed anyone before?"
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
Fuck.
He grumbled softly. "You're on top of me."
You scowled. "It's how the scene goesâa physical demonstration. And you're dead wrong; I don't feel a frog in this position."
"Cause m'not hard, stupid."
But if you kept yourself there any moment longer, he might be. His dick was already stirring to life in his sweats.
"Pfftâ You aren't?"
"Very funny. You're a natural at this."
"At what?"
Sae didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. Ever since you were kids, he had always felt this weird sense of protection towards you. At first, it was the same protection he felt towards his younger brother, Rin, even though you were the same age and probably tougher than him. Then as he grew older and hit that age where some people were more than family, that protection grew into something different. Something familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time.
So he shouldn't overstep; he'd be a horrible, horrible man if he did. But your lips are curved so prettily into a proud smile. Your eyes, the colour and wrinkles of skin, stirred something down his neck and abdomen.
The tingle didn't stop there, blood rushing to his half-hard cock.
Shit.
He already moved to tuck your hair behind your ear, whispering. "Temptation. Wanna gain some experience?"
You paused, eyes blowing wide.
Shit.
The both of you recoiled from each other instantly. Sae had nowhere to run, really, but he threw his head back against the couch, hands twitching, deciding if he should let go of your waist or not. You, on the other hand, completely pulled back. In this new position, it seemed more like you were straddling him than just looming over him.
A flush crept up his neck, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face. "That was aâ"
"Geez, didn't know you could be so bold." You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck.
He blinked, hoping you were another hallucination and he was dreaming in the confines of the Real Madrid training facility. That you were just another illusion tempting him.
No, you were still there. This time, your eyes lit up.
"Hey, that's a great idea, actually!" You leaned in closer again, a bright smile plastered over your mouth as your breaths mingled.
He paused. One second. Then, the next one. His lips twitched expectantly, his cerulean gaze low-lidded and fixed on you.
"...What is?"
"Teaching me how to kiss."
Damn his biology, cock completely twitching to life at your wanton suggestion. "Wha... What?"
"Oh, come on; it's just a little kiss," You whined, nudging his shoulder.
Sae cleared his throat, quickly adjusting the waistband of his sweats. "No."
"You've already kissed like, so many other people. One more wouldn't hurt. And it's for educational purposes."
"There's a difference when I kiss other people," he whispered, his sensual gaze betraying his words. "It's that they're not you."
"Dude, am I that bad?"
Dude? His brows furrowed, his lip curling into a grumble. "Not what I meant."
"Then what?"
The space between you was so thin he could die. Let the couch swallow him whole, and let the hallucination die with him.
Hazy excuses and words scrambled in his mind. "It's just that... We're friends. And your mom wouldn't be exactly happy with me if she knew about this."
You shuffled in your position, hips lifting off his. "...My mom isn't here right now. And we're not kids anymore. I don't need my mom's permission to do things."
Sae inhaled sharply when you pouted, head tilting back and hitting the soft cushioning. Were you going to keep whining about it until he gave in? Pester him and keep pressing yourself against him? God, what if he were going to like it?
Then, you muttered. "...Fine. Not like I wanted to know, anyway."
Ever since you were children, Sae had always been the more disciplined one of you two. When he was renowned as a football prodigy, nutritionists and dietitians quickly came into his life, lecturing him about his dietary restrictions to maintain and grow his build. While you ate Happy Meals and devoured candy every week, Sae had to almost entirely let go of fast food, specifically his favouriteâFrench fries. There was no doubt that he had to let go of many things to be perfect, but then he discovered that perfection was more than a flawed goal. Flawed philosophy. A lie.
But even if he wasn't perfectânobody wasâSae could have at least shown some semblance of hesitation or discipline, especially when it came to you, someone who was oh so dear to him.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you down, his lips brushing your cheek.
One breath.
Then, the second one.
And on the third, his other hand snaked to the back of your neck, the faint blades of baby hair standing up from his touch.
"I'll teach you," Sae whispered, something resembling a low whine pulling from his throat. "Nobody else can."
You swallowed thickly, eyes wide and pouring into his.
"Okay, I trust you."
His lips were twitching and breath uneven as you uttered the words. You might have been some sort of hallucination he imagined to get through the countless gruelling days in Spain. You might have been a fragment of his dream. Who cares? You were still so utterly divine.
After all, you were his favourite girl. His best friend.
Sae didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. But if you didn't learn ruin from him, then someone else would have to teach you. And he knew he was too selfish for that.
One breath. Then, the second one. And on the third, you closed your eyes.
And his lips pressed against yours.
You never thought you would find yourself in this kind of situation.
Sure, younger you had eyes. Sae Itoshi was famous and handsome and rich, but he was off-limits. He was your neighbour. And after Sae moved in Spain for almost three years, you were much closer to Rin than the distant boy since he barely responded to your letters and calls.
Getting involved with Sae would be a betrayal to your dear neighbour and pseudo-son, Rin. You once thought. Sae was annoying anyway.
But then his lips pressed against yours like you were something delicate, and the faint taste of strawberries and honey sent thrills of warmth straight to your core; any semblance of restraint you had melted away, pressing yourself against him firmerâneedier.
Then, you pulled away, just enough to peer down at him. His magenta locks were all frizzled up from the cushioning, and his cerulean gaze was half-lidded and fixed on yours.
No, more like on your lips.
"Did I?..." You start, but he cuts you off with a chuckle. "That was just a peck, idiot. Open your mouth."
You blinked.
His cold thumb pressed softly against your bottom lip, pushing the fullness down just enough to part your lips.
"Open your mouth," he whispered again, lower, against your lips. "It feels better this way, I promise."
A soft whine escaped your throat as he pressed his lips against yours again, shocks of electricity shooting down your spine and abdomen. His tongue swiped against yours once, something you assumed was like asking for permission, and your lips completely sealed around his, pressing yourself against him further.
Your hands scrabbled at the collar of his white T-shirt as his tongue prodded in the wet cavern of your mouth. It was gentle, like he was testing if you'd pull back. And when you whined, his tongue dragged slowly over yours, his hands tangling in your hair.
"Mmmâ" Sae drawled into your mouth. "Is this okay?"
You panted, your breath mingling with his. "Yeah, yeahâSaeâit's good. Feels good."
"Yeah?" He seared his lips onto yours again, tongue webbing out to rub the roof of your mouth, sending sparks of heat down your stomach. He pulled back again in a quick haze, lips brushing against yours. "Feels good, hm?"
"Feels s'good; is it always this good?" You mewled, pecking his lips before flicking your tongue over his bottom lip, gasping when his mouth parted.
One of your hands gripped his collar, the other cupping the back of his head, tangling between his soft magenta locks. A gentle prick disturbed your bottom lip, caught between his teeth.
It stung a little. And in a normal context, it would even hurt. But it felt so goodâso, so good when the sting came from him.
His lips then descended to pressing wet kisses down your jaw, all the way to the column of your neck.
You moaned quietly. His lips were hotâsuffocatingly hot to the touch. Burning, like a fire had scorched your skin, but instead of pain, it was bliss.
You felt his lips curl into a faint smile against your warm skin as you craned your head back, exposing more of your neck. Soft groans escaped your throat, your fingers curling hard into his shirt.
His lips settled in the junction between your neck and shoulder, pressing a soft kiss before biting down. Harder than before.
"Sae!â"
"First time it felt this good for me too." He murmured against your skin, slowly thumbing your hips all the way up your waist. "You sure this is your first time?"
A slight flush crept up your neck, turning your head away from him. "You don't have to try and make me feel better, yâknowâŠ"
"M'being forreal." He tilted his head to the side, cerulean eyes filled with something you weren't quite used toâmirth. His gaze kept following yours even as you tried to look away. "Don't believe me?"
You pursed your lips sheepishly, your hands moving to rest over his shoulders. "Not really. But Iâ It's kinda hot in here, isn't it?"
Maybe it was his wet, full lips, or the fact that his lashes were so close you could count the endless, luscious hairs. Maybe it was the soft tingle in your core that tightened with each lingering touch of his hands.
Then, he lifted himself up before gently pushing you off his lap. "You're nervous; I get it. It's because you're on top of me."
He loomed over you, a playful twinkle in his eyes so faint you wouldn't catch on if he weren't your best friend. An annoying kid you forced to be your friend.
Naturally, you pushed yourself back until your back hit the cushions. Blinking up at Sae, who stopped himself short when you lay down, your hand tugged on the hem of his shirt.
You knew what that meant; so did Sae. A silent plea for something more than kissing. A silent prophecy that if he leant down, he wouldn't be able to get back up again.
Fucking Sae Itoshi, the idea of that was too surreal. You knew he had experience, that being a prodigy meant plenty of beautiful men and women threw themselves at his feet. You knew that he lived in an entirely different world from yours for five years, doing who knows what out there.
Still, you wanted him. You wanted him bad.
You frowned. "...Sae."
"This is going a bit far, don't you think?" He said, eyes averting from yours.
"I thought you wanted to."
"...I do."
"Then why are you hesitating?"
"I'm not supposed to touch you like thisâ"
"But you already have," you cut in. "Why are you acting like I'm some kind of... some kind of nun?"
"Pfftâ You kinda are."
"That's not even true!"
"You are really innocent, sweetheart. It's not a bad thing."
You bristled. Sweetheart?
"Sae, c'mon," You tugged harder, watching his jaw clench. "Please."
He muttered. "Don't say that."
"Please."
You tugged on him a little harder, but this time, he let himself fall over you, hands bracing on each side of your head.
He pressed his lips against your forehead once, the action more intimate than you liked to admit. Like he was afraid of breaking you.
"You do know what you're asking for, right?" He whispered against your temple, carefully moving to the shell of your ear. "I don't wanna pressure you into anything."
"Iâ" You paused, trying to ignore the shivers trickling down your spine. "I want this."
"Are you sure?"
"Sae," you whined. Was he teasing you again? Your chin tilted to face him, your gaze softening at his unsure one. It was so uncharacteristic of him. Completely unlike the impassive boy you grew up with.
"M'sure."
"Okay," he nodded, cheek softly nuzzling against yours. "You're in charge then."
You weren't so sure what he meant, but your eyes shut and carefully found his lips. His kiss was slow and carnal, nose brushing the side of your own and large hands snaking around your waist. He squeezed you so softly, as if it were afraid of your departure, and held you close. So close that his breath felt like your own.
Your hips lifted to accommodate his hands, sliding to paw at your ass. His tongue gently prodded in the expanse of your mouth, darting around before stilling just at the tip of yours.
A noise of confusion escaped your throat as you scrunched his collar.
Sae hummed, laughing quietly against your mouth. "C'mon, kiss me too. You wanted this, right?"
The thought made you squirm beneath him, hands gripping tighter. He gently grasped your wrists and redirected them over his shoulders, coaxing you further.
"Wan' you." You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck. "I do wan' you."
Your lips reconnect, this time slipping into the cavern of his mouth and rolling your tongue against his. The wet friction sent shocks of electricity between your legs. Your tongue prodded behind his teeth before licking the roof of his mouth.
"Don't get shy on me now," he whispered. "Get your tongue deeper."
Your tongue pushed deeper at his words. So warm. So nasty. So fucking good.
He hummed, lips sensually following the pace of your own, hands grazing whatever he could touch. His tongue dragged over yours to poke your inner cheek, laughing when you whined and pulled him closer.
You pulled away breathlessly, only disrupted from his lips chasing yours into one last, searing kiss.
"Saeâ" You gasped.
He gently pecked your lips. "Sorry. Got carried away."
You panted, temple pressed against his cheek as you caught your breath. Your thighs rubbed together from the hot ache between your legs, sparking with each fleeting second.
"You're wet, aren't you?"
Your head tilted up, your eyes widening at him. "What?"
Sae was breathless and debauched, his lips swollen and wet from your own, magenta hair dishevelled from your hands, almost revealing the baby bangs he liked to hide after turning sixteen.
"Here," two fingers shakily slipped past to press against your clothed pussy. "Feels good, right?"
You squirmed, fingers clasping around his wrist. "T-That feels good."
"You want me to help you?" He panted, softly thumbing your clothed slit. "You can say no."
"Noâ I mean, yes."
You paused, eyes darting to the sheets instead of his curious gaze. "...Do you have a condom?"
He was at your place, after all. And frankly, you were gravely underprepared for this kind of situation.
"Idiot," he laughed, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "We won't be needing that for a while."
The chill of the AC hit your skin when Sae tugged your shorts over your ankle, fingers smoothing over your clothed mound.
"Hm," he mused, tapping his index over the wet patch of your panties. "You're really wet."
His digits were twitching over your pussy, hooking beneath the edge of the cotton fabric. Like the urge to push your panties to the side was killing him.
A flush crept down your neck, gaze settling on the sheets. "NoâNo shit."
He made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tapping over a particularly sensitive part of yoursâone stationed above your hole, twitching when he rubbed it.
Your hips jolted at his touch, his index slowly circling the beady sweet spot. "Mm!â"
Then, his hand pulled away, moving to the curve of your ass. With a gentle tug, he hooked your panties' waistband down. "Up."
Your hips lifted as he tugged away the last remnant of privacy you had. Any semblance of comfort washed away from the cold air and his lingering gaze, the fabric hooking over the same ankle your shorts were.
"Hey, relax." Sae clicked his tongue when you squirmed, his warm hand moving to rest on your knee. "Eyes on me."
You tried to listen, focusing on his collarbones, his shirt, and fragments of his messy hair, but nothing worked. You couldn't meet his gaze, not when he stared at you so intently. Not when he could see every part of you. Not when his fingertips moved to press against your entrance.
Was this really what you imagined fucking Sae would be like? Not like you had imagined it or anything, just out of curiosity. He was never open about his personal life, but it was obvious that there was a side of him you've never seen. The weird phone calls. The weird disappearances. Hearing him curse and belittle others was the normal kind of crudeness you were used to with Sae. It was no doubt he was gentler with youâsofter with you.
So to hear him be so blatantly vulgar?
He inched closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"You say you want me," he started. "Then you do shit like this."
It was bewildering.
You fiddled with your fingers before finally tilting your head to face him, swearing you saw the faintest hint of a smile when he dipped the tip of his middle finger inside.
"Mm, good."
Something like a whimper escaped from your lips, unaware that you were actually able to make those kinds of noises. "S-Shit."
His brows furrowed as his finger gently prodded at your entrance. "You'reâ" Sae bit his inner cheek pensively, stilling his digits. "You're a little too tight."
You winced, feeling your hole stretch around his finger. "I-It hurts."
He immediately withdrew his finger. "You've touched yourself before, right?"
"Um, yeah? Not really, like thisâ"
Sae smoothed his hand along the underside of your thighâan attempt to soothe you. But his eyes were wide and... chiding? "Why didn't you tell me that before?"
"Okay, well, I don't know how this works!"
"Oh my god." He sighed before sitting back. "C'mere."
You chuckled nervously. "To do what?"
"To do it yourself," he chided. "C'mon."
That's when you found yourself in an embarrassingly exposed position, settled right on Sae's lap, his knees stationed right between yours, spreading your legs.
"Can't believe you wanted to fuck before even masturbating..." He murmured, chin hooked over your shoulder.
You swallowed thickly, head turning away. So vulgar. "It's not m'fault I didn't know."
"It's not your fault. Should've prepped you better."
You huffed softly. "So why do I have to do it?"
"Because," his hand gently clasped over your dominant hand's wrist, snaking it down your exposed abdomen. "There's no way someone at our age hasn't touched themselves before."
"I have. Just not..."
"Fingering?"
Your ears burnt. "It hurts."
"Because you're not relaxed or turned on enough." He brought your index finger to rest over your sensitive bud. "This is your clit. Feels good to almost any kind of touch. Be gentle with it."
You bit your inner cheek, watching his hand guide you to rub your clit in slow circles. "I know what a clit is."
"...Nice to know that's the only thing you've touched in the past nineteen years."
Your head snapped towards his. "Hey!"
He snickered, ignoring your huff. "So, if you want to cum..."
His lips ghosted over your ear, whispering softly. "Touch here. Rub there. Doesn't matter. But you could always..."
A soft whine escaped your throat as his hand guides you down further, stopping right at your entrance. "Make yourself feel good here."
Before you knew it, your middle finger was already dipping between your folds and inside your hole.
"Oh my god," you mumbled, brows furrowing. "Sae."
He hummed lowly. "Like that, go slow. It's good, hm?"
"S'good." you murmured, your finger now entirely inside.
"Feels even better when you curl your fingers."
Your brow twitched at his words, following curiously. "Wha... Okay."
His lips trailed down to the spot under your ear, kissing and sucking on the skin softly. "What do you usually think about when you touch yourself?"
His hand tapped the back of your own as you panted. "You."
It came out quicker than you expected, and in all honesty, it didn't even register properly from all the haze. But it was weird that after every call, every time you met Sae, you couldn't help touching yourself later that night.
It was something about his drawled voice, or the contour of his skin, or the flawlessness of his lashes or the chisel of his jaw. Or maybe it was his body, sculpted from divinity itself?
His breath hitched at your admission, fingers twitching over your hand.
You whined, pulling your finger out to push it back inside, curling to hit a sweet spot that made your toes curl. "I always think of you."
Something stiff throbbed against your ass cheek.
Your breath caught in your throat. Then, he bit down on your neck. Harder. "Owâ"
Sae seared your lips in a fervent kissâall tongue and teeth and the intimate squeeze of your waist. He drank down every noise you made, panting against your mouth, swirling his tongue along yours.
"Let me help you," he panted, shaky fingers moving to gently pinch your clit. "Need to help you."
You moaned into his mouth, hips jolting from his touch. "S-Sae."
"Two fingers, you can do that, right?"
Swallowing thickly, you panted over his lips as he pecked you. "Mmâ"
"C'mon," he muttered, pressing wanton kisses down your jaw. "Gonna make you feel s'good."
You pressed your ring finger to your entrance, pushing in slowly, wincing. "Hurts, Sae."
"Shh," he hushed against your cheek. "You can take it."
His index and middle rubbed against your puffy clit in a desperate side-to-side motion. Brows twitching with each passing second, he panted heavily. Your hips lifted in shock, fingers instinctively curling inside you.
Oh, you hit that good spot. It was spongy and rigid and oh so sweet.
You moaned, head thrown back over his shoulder. "Ah..."
"That'sâ" he sputtered, fingers continuing their relentless attack. "That's your g-spot. Should feel different from the rest of ya. Should feel really good."
Wet noises filled the room as you pistoned your fingers in and out of your hole, bracing yourself atop your best friend. Even though he was talking in your ear, breathy and hot as he always did, nothing registered. Every sense you had was being replaced by the overwhelming sensation of sweet bliss, your jaw slack and eyes shut.
"Curl your fingers more. Yeah, like that, deeper. Shit, you'reâ"
You whimpered, hips jerking as he continued to rub and roll your clit. "Sae, think m'gonna do that thing where I... F-Fuck."
He let out a quiet whine against your shoulder. "You are?"
"Y-Yeah, aren't y-you supposed to be the expert?"
"Shâ Shut up."
Just as something hot and unbelievably euphoric was about to snap, his fingers pulled away, panting harshly over your shoulder.
You huffed, your brain foggy. "Wha... Why?
"Not yet," he muttered. "Not yet."
Before you knew it, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. "You sure this is your first time masturbating?"
He pecked your lips, descending to your chest, pressing soft kisses to your clothed nipples and down your stomach. "You're pretty good at it."
"Pretty good?" you murmured, jolting every time he kissed your stiffening buds. "Thank you?"
His low-lidded gaze flitted down to your drenched slit, lips spasming at the sight.
You frowned as he settled between your thighs. "Sae, no."
"No more?"
"No," you shook your head, hand scrambling to tug at his collar. "I didn't do anything for you."
"...You don't need to."
You huffed, spotting the tent in his sweats. "Don't lie."
"M'being serious," he grabbed your hand, pressing a hot kiss to your palm. "I want to do this."
You sputtered at his words, embarrassed that he was inching so close to your bare pussy. Panting, you whined. "Do what?"
"Eat you out."
"What? Oh my god, that is soâ" you stammered. "So embarrassing!"
His hands smoothed over your inner thighs, spreading them apart. "No, it's not."
"Yes it is. Sae, get up!"
He huffed as you pulled at his collar again, his sigh blowing warm air over your wet folds, making you yelp.
"How about this?" He reached for the blanket urged aside. "You see a blanket instead of me. Way better, right?"
You huffed. "You say that like I don't want to see you..."
"Isn't that what that is?"
"I don't want you to see me!"
"But you're so pretty." He pressed a kiss right on your clit, making you jolt. "And so sweet."
Your ears burnt as he pressed another kiss on your slit and another on your entrance.
"Okay, okay. We'll use the blanket."
"Alright," he hummed, pressing one last kiss to your clit again.
"Fun."
It was weird, feeling the ghost of his breath but only seeing a broad figure under your blanket.
Your legs were spread over his shoulders, thighs marked with soft kisses and bites Sae spent minutes on perfecting, murmuring something almost biblical to himself.
Then, you felt his fingers spread your lips in a V-shape, letting your head fall back on the cushions.
One breath.
Then, the second.
And on the third, still, nothing came.
"What are you doing down there?!" You whined, heel digging into his defined back.
You were only met with silence, but from the hot wave of air, you knew he was annoyed.
You scrunched your nose. So typical of him.
Then, he spoke from under the blanket. Low and teasing. "Your clit is all puffy."
"...What?"
He leaned down, pressed his lips to the bud and whispered. "And you smell s'good."
Then, his tongue licked a slow strip from your weeping hole all the way to your sensitive bud. The entirely new sensation washing over you in ways you could never imagine, your teeth catching your bottom lip.
"Oh, fuck. Sae..." Your hand reached under the blanket, tangling in his magenta locks.
His tongue slowly swirled around your clit, switching to softer kitten licks, slowly bobbing his head. You whined, thighs clamping around his head. "Ahâ t'much!"
Your thighs squeezed shut around his head, so close that your knees grazed each other and the sweat from his hair smeared against your thighs. Sae huffed and wrapped his lips around your sensitive bud, slurping it into his mouth harshly.
You moaned sweetly, cheek pressing against the cushioning. "F-Fuck!"
Finally, you loosened up enough for him to catch your thighs off guard. His fingers dug into the plushness and pushed them apart, all the way until your knees hit the cushions.
"Too much?" Sae hummed, spitting into your messy hole. "You're so dramatic."
Dramatic? He was the one seriously overwhelming you!
His tongue webbed out, swirling around your entrance before licking up your folds. Spreading your labia with his tongue in a firm, upward lick, soothing the fold with soft, barely-there kisses.
Then, he sealed his mouth over your entire pussy.
"Sae," you whimpered, fingers pulling his hair in warning. "Don't even think about it."
A soft huff vibrated against your folds, his snicker evident. His thumb gently rubbed your thigh like some kind of apology. Then, he sucked your pussy in one, harsh motion.
"Oh my godâ" you cried, thighs struggling to close against his strong grip. "C-Can't!"
"Mm," he murmured against your folds, his tongue moving to swirl around your entrance again, the tip gently prodding its way inside. "You can."
Your fingers sharply pulled at his hair. "S-Sae!"
He grumbled, the vibrations sending tremors into your pussy. "Stop movin'."
"Can't," your eyes squeezed shut when his tongue pushed in, firmly licking your sweet spot. "Sae, I c-can't."
Sae's tongue withdrew, soothing your pussy with wet, apologetic kisses, lips pressing over your inner thighs. "Why? What's wrong?"
You panted, fingers still gripping his hair. "...I told you I can't."
"Can't what?" he hummed, thumb reaching to rub your clit in slow circles. "Cum?"
"Cum." Your cheeks burnt at the word. "No, I do wanna cum."
He panted harsh breaths against your thigh and pussy, the oxygen levels decreasing by the minute under the blanket. "You're pissing me off. You say wanna cum, but you can't take it?"
"H-How is that my fault?"
He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it aside. His bangs were all sweaty and pushed back over the rest of his hair. Sweat beaded at his temples, some reaching down his neck.
And his lips quivered, his entire mouth drenched with your wet slick, smeared over his cheeks and nose. Sae huffed lowly, cerulean gaze focused on the cushions, catching his breath. "M'going as slow as I can."
"I-I'm trying to keep up with you."
He scoffed. "...Yeah 'course you are."
You huffed. "I don't like your attitude."
"Okay then," he retorted, eyes threatening to roll. "So stay still. I'm not using a blanket this time."
Your breath hitched as he settled between your legs again, fingers tracing circles over your hips.
"And," he hummed. "M'not letting you hide."
Before you could process what that meant, he steadied his hands over your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. You could only see the open window from this view. Not Sae. Not a blanket. Nothing.
Your feet kicked squeamishly, though it didn't help much. "Wait!â This is so embarrassingâ"
His lips found the seam between your thigh and ass, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin. "Hn, stop squirming."
"How can I?" You buried your face in your hands. "You can literally see everything and I wanna dieâ"
You were cut off with a soft moan, his thumbs spreading your lips to slurp up your dripping hole, tongue prodding into your hole. His fingers dug into your ass cheeks, groping it harsherâneedier.
"Fuck," he groaned softly, kissing down your folds until he found your sensitive bud. He sealed his lips around it before sucking fervently, noises growing as you squirmed. "Fuck, fuck. You taste s'good."
He almost growled into your cunt, moving to press kisses to your ass cheeks, softly biting down on the flesh.
Your hand wrings back to grab at himâhis shirt, his shoulderâto be met with a firm hand clasping your wrist. He pinned it to the couch as he leaned down again, lapping his tongue over and over at your clit.
He was breathingâpanting so hard that his exhaling puffed air into your hole. "S-Sae!" You moaned softly into the cushioning. "Oh my godâSae!"
Something warm tightened in your abdomen. It was hot and electric and aching to explode, just like the times when you'd touch yourself, but this was much more. So much more.
You panted into the cushions, soft moans and whines escaping you as he ate your pussy. He was relentless; he always was, but this was a different kind. Sae could do anything, say anything, but when he promised you pleasure and brought you heaven?
Holy shit, it was too much that you could go crazy any second now.
"Let me tell you somethin'," he broke your thoughts, murmuring as his tongue slid out of your hole. "When you feel something so good you think you'll go crazy. Say you're cummin'."
"I-I know what that is."You whined, seeing that sort of language in the porn you read and watched, but not exactly knowing when to use it. "I think."
He muffled a scoff against your cunt, switching to long, firm licks up your entire pussy. "Wow. Genius over here."
You felt the warmth spread down your stomach to your thighs and cunt and clit and everywhere, fingers clawing into the cushioning. "Okay! Okay, I'm... M'cummin!"
You could feel his brow quirk, lips ghosting over your clit. "You're what?"
You were close, so close to the pressure releasing. But now, your cheeks were burning because Sae couldn't help but bully you about sex language. "I'm... I'mâ"
He smiled against your pussy, the curve faint but there, and wrapped his lips around your bud one last time, flattening his tongue and sucking harshlyâso harsh you could see stars.
"M'cummin'!"
White dots skewed your vision, and you swore you had died just now, but the pressure released, getting licked softly from Sae's tongue.
But oh, it still felt so good after you came, grinding onto his wet muscle. "Ah, Sae..."
His tongue stilled as you ground on his face, fingers digging into your ass cheeks harder. "Now's the time you get eager?"
"Shâ Shut up." You whined as he freed your wrist. "Oh my god."
He began to lap again, a little softer but pleasing against your puffy clit. "Mm," he hummed. "You came this time."
"I already told youâ I know what that isâ"
He slurped your clit into his mouth, the sensation all too overwhelming for your current senses. "Ah!"
"I know you know. Just telling you." Sae said, pressing one last gentle kiss to your bud before pulling away.
You panted against the cushions, only now realising the drool pooling in your mouth. Your ass was still perched in the air, your whole body dripping from sweat.
Sae swallowed thickly at the sight, his own erection throbbing against the cushions.
He didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. Sae was your best friend. Someone your mom entrusted to you. Someone you'd watch romance anime with. Someone who purposely didn't laugh at your jokes, just to see you get angry,
But you tasted so fucking sweet. Your noises were so pretty, so alluring. He'd have to die before leaving his place between your legs.
And you kept arching like it was his responsibility to teach you. Touch you. Make you cum over and over until you couldn't think of anyone else but him.
And maybe as your best friend, the boy you knew since you were in diapers?
It was.
"One more." His hand moved to grope your ass cheeks again, flipping you onto your back. "Give me one more. I know you can. Just one more."
"Wha?... Sae." You whined, so clearly fucked out, not even bothering to glance at him.
"You can do it," he whispered, leaning down to press several shaky kisses to your wet folds.
"For me. C'mon."
BONUS!
The summer after you graduated high school, you found yourself back at home in Kamakura. The weather was scorching, sweat beading down your neck as you stared at the ceiling. Your feet were perched over the side of your bed, back pressed against your cool floor.
"Did you finish?" you murmured, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sitting on the floor against your bed was Sae, who had come back from Madrid to spend the summer with family. Frankly, in the past three weeks he had been here, he had not spent one day with his family.
Well, maybe aside from his mom, but everyone liked Mrs Itoshi. Besides her, he always had some lame excuse to work out, go on a jog, meet someone, go to Tokyo, or spend time with you.
You didn't mind, really. It just meant summers were meant for Sae.
"Shut up, m'almost done." He said, checking off the boxes on his phone. He wore a black T-shirt, legs crossed in a pair of basketball shorts, accentuating the muscles he had been gaining over the past few years.
Was it weird to stare?
Your head tilted faintly, settling on his concentrated face. He had been getting pretty good-looking recently, a little more than you'd like to admit. Since last year, he's been pushing his bangs back. His bangs were cuteâalmost childlike, but him with this new style... It certainly brought out his blessed facial structure and his lashes. Also, the glowiness of his skinâ
Oh my god, ew, that sounds so dick hungry.
And that was certainly not towards Sae Itoshi.
"Done," Sae tilted his phone towards you, a bright red sixty-four illuminating from his screen.
"What the fuck have you been doing in Spain?" You immediately propped yourself up, snatching his phone. "A rice purity of sixty-four?"
He shrugged. "Why would I tell you?"
"Last year when you came back, it was like, an eighty-seven."
"Things change."
"Whore."
Sae rolled his eyes, taking his phone back. "You'll get there one day."
You scrunched your nose as he petted your hairâoutwardly affectionate, but you knew he was being annoying.
"I don't wanna be like you." You swat his hand away. "I am totally okay with my ninety-two. Totally okay."
He stared at you blankly. "...Riiight."
You whined, sighing. "Maybe I'm not, but will that day come any sooner?"
"Y'know, in order to get some, you have to...put yourself out there. Talk to people. Flirt."
"Oh, fuck off," you reached to pinch his side, grinning when he groaned.
"You're too old to be doing this."
"We're eighteen, dumbass."
He grumbled, efficiently moving four feet away from you. "Wonder who your first kiss is gonna be, or somethin'. I feel bad for him."
Then, Sae groaned again when you threw a pillow at his face.
A/N: I may or may not wrote this for myself⊠Donât ask why Feely is giving Gibs here. I was going for how he acts with Katie in the snippets!
Summary: Your childhood friends, Hugh Biggs and Patrick Feely practically fight over you. #JealousyTroupe
Patrick Feelyâs family barn smells like animals and hay.
Youâre shoved onto a pile of hay bales. Legs thrown over Patrickâs lap because there's nowhere else to sit.
His fingers are tracing random shapes on your ankle right above your sock.
âGet off me, you eejit,â you laugh, trying your hardest to wiggle away.
âMake me.â He wraps his hand tight around your ankle.
The loud barn door suddenly opens, dragging along the gravel floor.
Hugh Biggs.
His face falls the second his eyes land on the sight of your legs draped over Patrick's lap.
âAlright,â Hugh says, his voice sounding rougher than usual.
âAlright, lad,â Patrick nods. He keeps his hand on your ankle, his thumb still moving in circles.
Hugh stands there for a second, looking between the two of you. âDidn't know you two were... hiding out.â
Out of nowhere, he reaches down, his fingers gently brushing a stray piece of loose hay out of your hair. His hand lingers against your cheek for a second. âYouâre freezing.â
âIâm grand!â
Hughâs eyes flick down to Patrickâs hand on your leg, and then back up to his face. âMove over, Pa. You're hogging the space.â
Patrick doesn't move an inch. âPlenty of space over there. Don't be greedy.â
âSit down, Hugh,â you say. âYou're making the place look smaller just standing there.â
He drops right onto your other side. âIâm not.â
âYouâre crowding her, lad,â Patrick says. He slides his hand up from your ankle to your calf, giving it a squeeze. âGive her some room to breathe.â
Hughâs eyes lock onto Patrickâs hand. âYou give her some room. Why are your dirty paws all over her anyway?â
âBecause sheâs comfortable. Aren't you?â
âI was until you two started acting like a pair of toddlers.â
Hugh ignores you, staring straight at Patrick. âShe looks trapped, Pa. Take your hand off her leg.â
âShe looks grand to me.â
Hugh turns his head to you, looking completely put out. âYou're just going to let him sit there and grope you? Since when do you let Feely get away with that?â
âSince she didn't tell me to stop,â Patrick answers for you.
âI think you both need to calm down.â
âIâm perfectly calm. Itâs Biggs over there who looks like he's about to blow a fuse.â
âIâm not blowing a fuse,â Hugh mutters, pulling your wrist an inch closer to his own lap. âYouâre just being an annoying prick.â
âAnd you're being a greedy bastard. This is my farm!â
âTell him I'm better company,â Hugh says to you.
âYou're terrible company when you're sulking.â
Patrick laughs out loud. âTold you, lad. Now let go of her wrist, you're cutting off her circulation.â
âIâm not,â Hugh says, but his thumb rubs a soft, apologetic circle over your skin anyway. He doesn't let go. âAre you going to make me move?â
âRight, thatâs it,â you snap, yanking your legs out of Patrickâs lap and ripping your wrist out of Hughâs grip.
Both of them blink, staring up at you like a pair of stunned puppies.
âIâm not an object, you absolute eejits,â you say, crossing your arms and glaring down at them. âIâm sitting right here. I can hear every word youâre saying.â
Patrick raises his hands in mock surrender, âWe were justââ
âYouâre sitting there acting like you own the place. I know it's literally your family's farm, Pa, but that doesn't mean you own me too!â
Hugh lets out a snort. âExactly! Thank you.â
You whip around to face him. âAnd you! Wipe that look off your face, Hugh Biggs. You walked into his barn looking like someone spat in your tea, and then you start pulling at my arm like a child fighting over a toy.â
Hughâs cheeks flush pink. âI wasn't pulling at you. I was just... you looked cold.â
âI was perfectly fine until the pair of you started marking your territory. Itâs quite frankly pathetic. Weâve known each other forever, and you're acting like youâve never seen a girl before.â
âYouâre very loud when youâre angry, you know that? Proper terrifying.â
âShut up, eejit,â Hugh mutters, looking scolded now. He rubs the back of his neck. âLook. We're both very sorry, alright? We were just messing around.â
âWell, mess around with each other and leave me out of it.â
âCome back here then,â Patrick says, tapping beside him. âI promise to keep my hands to myself⊠mostly.â
âDon't listen to him,â Hugh says quickly. âSit here. I won't touch you at all if it makes you mad.â
Patrick rolls his eyes at Hugh. âOh, you're a saint, Biggs. Goody two shoes, huh?â
âIâm not sitting with either of you,â you say, checking your phone. âIn fact, Iâm leaving. I have to go get ready anyway.â
âGet ready for what?â Patrick asks.
âIâm going out tonight.â
Hugh bounces off the hay bale so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. âGoing out? Where? With who?â
âDonât get your knickers in a twist, Hugh.â
âHold on a second,â Patrick says, swinging his legs around and standing up. âItâs a Wednesday. Who are you going out with in Ballylaggin on a bleedin' Wednesday?â
âThatâs none of your business.â
âIs it a date?â Hugh asks.
âAnd if it is?â
Hugh looks like heâd just swallowed a lemon. âYou can't go on a date.â
âWhy not?â
Patrick walks over, looking between you and Hugh with a scowl. âBecause you didn't mention it. And because it's raining. It's miserable out.â
âI have an umbrella, so it's all grand!â
âWho is he?â Hugh demands. âIs it someone from school? A rugby lad? Tell me the name.â
âWhy do you care so much? I thought you two were too busy fighting.â
âWeâre not fighting anymore,â Patrick says, stepping closer. âWeâre united in thinking this is a terrible idea.â
âA shocking idea,â Hugh agrees, nodding seriously. âStay here. We'll buy you all the chips youâd like.â
âRelax, Iâm just going out with Claire, you absolute lunatics.â
Hugh lets out a massive sigh of relief. âJesus. You nearly gave me a heart attack.â
âYouâre a cruel girl, letting us sweat like that,â Patrick grumbles.
âYou both deserved it. You looked like two dogs fighting over a bone.â
âWe were just looking out for you,â Hugh mutters, his cheeks adorably pink.
âBy trapping me in a barn?â
âExactly,â Patrick muses. âItâs a dangerous world.â
âItâs Cork, Pa.â
âPoint stands,â he grins. âWhere are you two going?â
âBiddies.â
Patrickâs eyes gleam. âHugh and I might pop in for a pint later then.â
âDonât you dare,â you warn. âItâs a girls night!â
âThereâs only two of you. Thatâs a meeting, not a night out,â Hugh points out.
âItâs a night away from you two eejits.â
He laughs, finally opening the barn door for you. âGo on then. Text us when you get there.â
âIâm not texting you.â
âYou will,â Patrick calls out as you step into the drizzle. âYou love us really!â
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader whoâs used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. heâs so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
â â â
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the processâ a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated âmovie night pajamasâ, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfectâ
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadnât ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing âxâ on ads urging you to âtext hot, single ladies in your areaâ, and âai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!â), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didnât even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna werenât that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for⊠everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little⊠nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. âsorry for showing up unannounced.â
he didnât sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
âcan i come in?â
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. âmovie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?â
âhow did you know?â you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on viewâ
âitâs your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.â he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. âi listen, you know.â
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. âdonât tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.â
you paused. âwellâŠâ
âare you serious?â sukuna scoffed. âyouâre my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.â
âwhat?â you mumbled back, more confused. âyou always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didnât even know my last name.â
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. âyou really are oblivious, huh?â
âheyââ
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. âhereâs the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.â
âoh. you didnât have toââ
âi wanted to.â he immediately stated, face serious. ââll leave you to it, canât have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.â
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasnât different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chattedâ something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
âmy favorite customer,â he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didnât pay any mind to it. âi wonder what you will order this time.â
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. âyeah, i wonder too.â
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. âwell, you know your total.â
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukunaâs signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. âmake it two.â
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. âof course.â
before you could register it, sukunaâs card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. âhere. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?â
ââŠhow the fuck do you even know that?â you mumbled, utterly confused. âwhy are you here? how did you find meâ did you even know what you orderedââ
âeasy there, angel.â he murmured, calm. âyou always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. âm here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.â
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. âare you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?â
ââŠdid you just call me angel?â
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. âabsolutely not. hallucinations. letâs go.â
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shokoâs bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. ââm so screwed.â
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. âyou quite literally could not be more not screwed.â
âi have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing âhisâ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.â
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didnât. âhe wonât kill you. kiss you? maybe.â
âstop being delusional.â you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. ââm so fucked.â
she sighed. âyouâre delusional too if you donât realize whatâs happening. anyways, isnât it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?â
you jumped up, gasping. âit is! fuck!â you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquariumâs instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
âcouples only day!â
âoh, fuck my fucking life.â you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. âshoko, be my aquarium date.â
âcouples only, huh? if only these werenât the conditions,â she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
âyes.â
âask sukuna to go with you.â
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. âgood idea. âm asking gojo or geto.â
âthat is quite literally not what i said.â
âyouâre a genius.â
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldnât, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple âheâs almost thereâ, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck âheâ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. âletâs go.â
ââŠwhere?â
he raised an eyebrow. âthe aquarium. date night. letâs go.â
ââŠare you sure?â you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. ââm, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.â
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. âi know what âm getting into. letâs go.â
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. âsuguru could have just said he couldnât come. iâm sorry he sent you instead.â
âoh, he could come.â sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didnât even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. âthis is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?â
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you donât become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didnât expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didnât expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didnât expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
âthank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.â you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
âof course, angel.â he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. ââŠsleep well, goodnight.â
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towelâ
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
âdonât stare at the fucking sun.â
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. âswitch towels. mine is dry.â
âhi.â you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. âdonât you need your towel dry?â
ââm not going into the water this late.â he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. âthat dumbass.â
âi spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.â you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. âthank you, kuna.â
âdonât mention it.â he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, âyou rub sunscreen on him?â
âoh, no, itâs a spray.â you hummed, pulling it out. âisnât it cool?â
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. âmhm. it is. can you spray me?â
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldnât feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. âtry to rub it to make sure itâs even.â
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
ââŠyou went early, huh?â
ââŠyeah.â you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
âtell me next time. âll go with you.â he sighed. âthese idiots always come when itâs already too cold.â
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. âyour lips are pale. still cold?â
you grimaced. ââll be okay. thank you for the towelââ
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you werenât malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasnât you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in checkâ you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studyingâ having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojoâs treat, and he grinned excitedly. âoh, this will be so good. you go first.â
âyou donât have to tell me twice.â you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. âfuck. this is so good.â
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. âoh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.â
âthank you,â you mumbled, grabbing another one. âyouâre the one spoiling me with these. youâre, like, my dream man right now.â
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. âdo not let sukuna hear you saying that. heâll have my head.â
âwhy would he have your head for that?â you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you werenât even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. âfuck. try this one.â
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. âten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.â he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. âand he will because heâs, like, in love with you.â
âyou flipping liar.â you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. âhe doesnât. heâs just a good friend.â
âheâs not a good friend,â gojo snorted. âhe almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.â
you did not believe him the slightest. âuh-huh. wanna try the red one?â
âyes, please.â
later that night, you were curled up in bedâ going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his âsecretâ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everythingâ
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
âdonât say anything.â you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didnât speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. ââm so sleepy.â
âuh-huh. letâs get some caffeine in you.â he murmured, turning more serious. âdonât overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?â
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. âi did. ate and drank and slept well.â
he hummed. âgood.â
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. âthank you, kuna.â
he clicked his tongue. âdonât mention it.â
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. âgojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.â
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. âi love gojo.â
his lips immediately formed a scowl. âyou love him?â
ânot like that,â you snorted. âheâs just⊠he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.â
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. âgood. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you⊠mean a lot to me.â
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. âyou mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.â
âdonât mention it, angel.â
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadnât just endedâ leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldnât even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleepâ the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukunaâs lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. âyou okay, angel?â
âmhm. sleepy.â you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. âthank you for watching over me, kuna. youâre, like, my angel.â
ââŠdonât mention it.â he whisperedâ although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. âi⊠yeah. donât mention it.â
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
ââŠthe stars are pretty.â
âmhm.â
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasnât pointed at you. âweâre, uh, done with the semester.â
ââŠmhm.â
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like heâs restarting. ââŠweâre good friends.â
âwe are.â you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
âfuck.â
ââŠkuna?â you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. âi like you too.â
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. âyouâre not fucking with me, right? you like me?â
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. âi like you.â
he didnât hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. âsay that again. please.â
âi like you, kuna.â you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. ââŠyou have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.â when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. ââm marrying the fuck out of you one day.â
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. âtake me on a date first, at least. we havenât even kissed yet.â
his eyes lit up at the mere thoughtâ before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. âright. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.â he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. âbest dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriendâ wait, fuck, not that yetââ
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. ââŠ.fuck.â
âdinner sounds good.â you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. ânext week?â
âyou think âll make it to next week?â he let out a sharp laugh. âyou have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.â
âokay.â you murmured, voice soft. ânow, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.â
ⶠdean tries to act unbothered by the growing relationship between you, so you kiss his best friend as payback.
002. WARNINGS !
ⶠno actual smut, but some suggestive stuff happens. beau is used but heâs right where he wants to be, donât feel too bad.
word count : 2,8k
gif by @luke-thompsons
Dean has a problem.
Heâs always been good at acting nonchalant. Keeping things casual. Avoiding the emotional side of hookups altogether. Usually, it works out pretty well.
He makes it a point not to get involved with the same girl for too long. Everyone on campus knows about his reputation, and if he suddenly seemed devoted to one person, people would start getting the wrong idea.
So how has he become the one with the wrong idea?
Somewhere along the way, Dean caught feelings for his fuckbuddy. Friend with benefits. Whatever label you wanted to slap on it, heâd broken the one sacred rule: donât catch feelings.
You blew into his life like a tornado.
You tore apart his carefully maintained routine andâbefore he even realized it was happeningâmade everyone else seem considerably less interesting.
At first, Dean didnât mind. Heâd found a girl who could match his energy, someone who wanted the same uncomplicated physical release he was more than happy to provide.
But then things started changing.
Sometimes, after sex, you stayed.
Youâd lie in bed talking about classes, his hockey practices, your bizarre family dilemmas, campus gossipâanything and everything. Neither of you ever intended to fall asleep together, but somehow it kept happening. More than once, you woke up with Dean wrapped around you, his arm draped across your waist as if it belonged there.
Which was honestly very nice.
The problem was that Dean had always been excellent at avoiding things. Yet heâd never felt this way about a girl before.
At least not since high school, and heâd be a senior in a matter of months. The whole thing felt strange. Too serious. Too grown-up. It didnât fit the effortless, unbothered persona he'd spent years perfecting.
You werenât much better.
Youâd tried to bring up the subject more than once, testing the waters carefully, only to abandon it whenever Dean gave you nothing to work with. Every conversation seemed to end with him brushing things off or changing the subject before it could become real.
Of course youâd caught feelings too.
Because beneath all the flirting, the confidence, and the reputation, Dean was kind. Thoughtful in ways most people never got to see. He was gentle when it mattered, attentive without making a big deal out of it, and he'd never once made you feel disposable.
Not like certain frat boys or other athletes, who only cared about themselves.Â
Dean Di Laurentis is boyfriend material.
The problem is that he doesnât seem to realize it.
Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesnât want to admit it.
Which brings you to your current dilemma.
Dean is sprawled across the couch, a girlâs hand resting on his chest as she gazes up at him like he hung the stars himself. And heâs entertaining it.
Youâd never explicitly asked for exclusivity, but the two of you had established one rule from the beginning: if either of you wanted out, or wanted to be with someone else, youâd say so.
For the past few weeks, youâd seen each other almost every day. You werenât seeing anyone else, and youâd gotten the impression he wasn't either. In fact, campus gossip had been practically buzzing about the fact that Dean Di Laurentis hadnât hooked up with anyone at a party in weeks.
It shouldnât have made you jealous.
You werenât together. You werenât anything.
So why did it feel like you were everything? Why did it feel like he was breaking your heart without even realizing it?
The noise of the party faded into the background as you chugged the drink in your hand and headed for the kitchen in search of something stronger.
You wanted to curse Garrett for hosting this stupid party. For practically forcing you to come, knowing Dean would obviously be here.
Grabbing a bottle of tequila, you started pouring.
Your eyes kept flicking back and forth between Deanâs hand resting on the girl's thigh and the way their faces seemed just a little too close together.
âWhoa, there.â
A voice beside you pulled you from your thoughts.
Beau Maxwell.
Deanâs best friend gently took the bottle from your hands before you could continue.
âRough night?â He asked, glancing at the alarming amount of tequila youâd managed to fit into one cup
âYeah,â you said with a tight smile. âYou could say that.â
His expression softened. Without a word, he grabbed a random mixer from a nearby shelf and handed it to you.
âHere,â He twisted off the cap and passed it over. âUnless your plan is to drink four tequila shots at once.â
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You poured some into the cup and took a sip. Immediately, you coughed.
âThat bad?â Beau asked, amused, patting your back lightly as you struggled to swallow.
âIt's really strong,â you managed.
âCan I try?â
You looked up at him and held out the cup. âBe my guest.â
Beau took a sip and a second later, he grimaced.
âDamn.â He lowered the cup. âWho hurt you?â
You tried to laugh but the joke landed a little too close to home.
Had Dean talked to Beau about whatever this thing between you was? Did Beau even know you'd been sleeping together?
Your eyes drifted back toward the living room.
Dean now had two girls caressing his face and chest. Logan and Tucker were sitting nearby with girls of their own, laughing about something. Still, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen.
Beau followed your gaze, understanding immediately flashed across his face.
Before you could look away, his hand settled on your waist. He gently turned you around until your back was resting against the kitchen island, blocking your view of Dean entirely.
âHe's really dumb sometimes,â Beau said.
You hummed in agreement, taking another small sip.
Then, before you could think better of it, you asked, âWanna do something maybe even dumber?â
His eyebrows lifted.
âLike what?â
You tilted your head slightly. âLike helping me forget what his name even is.â
For a moment, Beau said nothing, but he didnât remove his hand from your waist. Instead, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your top, moving back and forth.
His gaze flickered down to your lips.
âHeâll be pissed,â Beau said quietly.
âI doubt he cares.â Your voice came out softer than intended. âJust look at him. Not a care in the world.â
He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you, his jaw tightening. Then he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.
âYou sure?â
âYeah.â
The word barely left your mouth before the space between you seemed to disappear. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension hanging between you. Then Beau closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and careful, nothing like Dean.Â
Dean kissed like everything was urgent, like he was always one second away from losing control. Beau, meanwhile, seemed content to take his time.
You found yourself kissing him back anyway, driven by a messy combination of hurt, anger, and the lingering hope that Dean might finally show that he cared.Â
The kiss deepened, and for a moment you let yourself get lost in it. It was nice. Beau was nice. A few weeks ago, you mightâve even considered going back to his place, letting the night unfold into something more. But now, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the boy kissing you, your thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.Â
Now, all you could think about was a certain blond hockey player.
Despite the warmth spreading through your chest, despite the attention and the distraction, there was no real desire to take things any further.
Still, even if youâd wanted to, you never got the chance.
Youâd barely noticed how much time had passed when a loud clearing of a throat cut through the moment. A heavy hand landed on Beauâs shoulder, the interruption sharp enough to make both of you freeze before slowly pulling apart.
And there stood Dean. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful, his entire body rigid with tension. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch, blazing with a fury that left little doubt heâd seen far more than enough.
âHaving fun?â He asked through gritted teeth.
âHey, Dean,â Beau said breathlessly, moving his hand away from your jaw.
You took a deep breath, glancing between the two men.
âDidnât realize you two knew each other,â Dean said.
âYeah, weâve crossed paths a few times,â Beau answered. âWe have a business course together too, right?â
âYeah, right,â you stammered out, suddenly acutely aware of Beau's hand on your waist and Deanâs eyes burning into your profile.
Dean hummed, his jaw still tightly clenched.
âI think one of your teammates was looking for you,â he said to his friend.
âWho?â
âI donât fucking know. He was just asking around for where you were.â
You knew it was a lie. You could tell by the bored tone of his voice and the way he seemed far more interested in staring at you than looking at Beau. Dean had never been a particularly good liar.
âOkay...â Beau trailed off. âIâll see you around?â
You looked up at him and nodded, âSee you.â
Dean watched him walk away to search for his supposed teammate.
âYou wonât be seeing him around,â he all but growled.
Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the staircase leading up to his room. You stumbled after him, startled by the sudden movement.
You barely had time to process what was happening before you were standing in his bedroom, the door locked behind you while Dean paced in front of his bed.
âDean, what the fuck?â You finally asked, breaking the silence as you frowned at the man in front of you.
âMe what the fuck?â He shot back, turning to point at you. âYou what the fuck?â
âHuh?â
Your brows knitted together as you stared at him in confusion.
âWhy the fuck would you kiss Beau?â
A sharp laugh escaped you, completely devoid of humor.
âYou think itâs funny to mess around with my friend? Thatâs so fucked up.â
âOh, thatâs rich coming from you.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âIt means you have no right to act like this or throw accusations around when youâre not any better.â
You let out a deep breath and rubbed at your eyes, trying to gather yourself.
âYou don't get to practically entertain a threesome on the couch and then get mad because I kissed someone.â
âIt's not just someone. Thatâs my friend,â he snapped. âAnd what threesome? I havenât slept with anyone since we startedââ
The words died on his tongue, and you caught it immediately. The hesitation. The way he suddenly seemed unable to finish the sentence.Â
Because the truth was, even Dean couldn't figure out what exactly the two of you were. Or, perhaps more accurately, what the two of you weren't.
âYouâre gonna act like you didn't have two girls all over you?â You huffed. âBecause you looked really comfortable.â
âAll over me?â He looked genuinely offended by the accusation, as if it couldnât have been further from the truth.
âI know weâre not exclusive or anything, but really? You had to do it right in front of me?â
âI donât know what you think happened, but I didnât even kiss them.â He shook his head. âI mean, one of them tried, but I just didnât...â
âDidnât what?â
For a moment, he stayed silent.
Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, dragging a hand over his face as he searched for the right words. His elbows rested on his knees, his head dipping briefly into his hands before he finally looked back up at you.
The anger had vanished, replaced by something far more vulnerable, something pained enough that it made your chest tighten just looking at him.
âI couldnât kiss someone else.â
You let out a shaky breath at his words, watching as he waited for your reaction.
âDean, that doesnât make any sense.â
âWhy?â He asked, genuinely puzzled.
âBecause...â Your mind flashed back to all the times youâd carefully tried to bring up whatever this thing between you was. The times heâd thanked you for being so chill about your arrangement. The times heâd said he didn't have time for a girlfriend. How much he enjoyed his freedom.
âIs it so crazy that I could feel something between us?â He asked, a frown creasing his brows.
âYou told me you didnât want a girlfriend,â You replied.
âAnd you said you wanted a casual relationship.â
âYeah, because you said you didnât want to be tied down,â you shot back. âIâm not going to ask for something serious from the same guy whoâs with a different girl every night.â
âYou shouldâve told me that,â he muttered.
Taking a deep breath, he stood and closed the distance between you.
âI've done casual before. It wasnât an issue for me,â you explained. âBut then you started doing things⊠You remember my friendsâ names. You cuddle me. You kiss my forehead when I leave in the mornings...â
His expression softened.
When he gets closer to you, he takes your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your palm.
âDid you like kissing Beau?â
âWhat?â You asked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic when it felt like the two of you had almost finally admitted your feelings.
âDid you like kissing Beau?â He repeated, his gaze darkened now, one hand lifting to cradle your cheek.
âIt was nice,â you admitted softly, watching the way he couldn't stop looking at you. âBut I couldnât stop thinking about you.â
âYeah?â
His face was closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.
âIt wasnât fair to Beau, to just... use him.â
âYou feel guilty, then?â
âI think he knew it came from jealousy, but it still wasnât right.â
Dean slid a finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up until your eyes met.
âBeau can handle himself,â he said quietly. âHe knew what he was doing.â
âSo you're not mad?â You asked, the gentleness in his voice was making it difficult to think straight.
âI'm furious,â he admitted, a humorless laugh escaped him. âBut Iâll deal with him later.â
His thumb brushed across your jaw.
âYou, on the other hand, are another story.â
Before you could even react, Dean slid his hand to the side of your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. The frustration that had been simmering between you all night seemed to collide at once.Â
One hand settled at your waist before drifting lower to your ass, drawing you closer as his other arm wrapped around you, hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs around his waist.
He backed you against the door, kissing you like he had a point to prove. When he finally pulled away, it was only to press a trail of kisses along your jaw, his forehead resting briefly against yours as both of you fought to catch your breath.Â
His hand moved toward the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your panties and finding the evidence of just how affected you were. The corner of his mouth twitched as his gaze flickered up to meet yours.Â
âThis for him or me?â Dean asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.Â
âYou,â you whispered immediately, your pulse racing as his heated gaze locked onto yours. âAlways you.âÂ
Those three words were all he needed.
Dean pulled away from the door and guided you toward the bed, dropping you on it before leaning over you. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer now, stripped of some of the jealousy and frustration that had fueled it moments before.
Then you suddenly broke away.
âWait,â you gasped, catching his wrist before things could go any further. âBefore we do this, I need to know what we are now.â
For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of both your breathing.
âWhatever you want us to be,â he said finally.
âSeriously? Youâd just give up your womanizer ways for me?â You stared at him, a skeptical look on your face.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
âBaby, if you wanted to get married tomorrow, Iâd do it.â
âLetâs not get ahead of ourselves,â you laughed, feeling him press a soft kiss to your cheek.
âToo soon to talk about children, then?â
âTake me on a proper date first.â
Dean's smile widened, âThat can definitely be arranged.â
NOTE : sorry for the abrupt ending i just didnt really know how to end it without making it too long... also please donât ask for a part two i wonât be doing one! reader was a bit of a hypocrite in this one but letâs support messy female characters đ
ROOM FOR RENT â ONE FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED
Cheap rent, expensive consequences, first come, first served, unless you're too busy getting railed to answer the text!
No refunds!
RULES ON THE FRIDGE:
-Panties banned after 8 p.m.
-Movie nights on someoneâs lap.
-Counter sex while dinner cooks.
-Daily spankings, gropes, throat-fucks, and creampies like itâs rent payment.
INSPIRED BY 'YOUR TURN' STARRING @mssishipi!
pairing: roommates!hyungline x reader !
warnings: poly relationship strong language possessiveness jealousy alcohol mild power imbalance crashing dates fights slight drama between the guys porn with plot
warnings (smut): read if you're okay with filthy shit (mama them men are real big idiots) free use spit roasting gangbang creampie breeding kink cumplay degradation size kink squirting overstimulation edging spit play choking unprotected sex double penetration anal sex aftercare cumplay titjob titplay blowjob handjob cunnilingus oral (both f and m rec) mean doms choking manhandling rough sex recording overstimulation aftercare heavy
playlist: High for This by The Weeknd [] Friends by Chase Atlantic [] Oxytocin by Billie Eilish [] Swim by Chase Atlantic []
likes and reblogs for a cookie!
â WORD COUNT: 24.9K!
(Masterlist)
THE FLYER WAS TAPED CROOKED TO THE COMMUNITY BOARD in the lobby of your old building, curling at one corner like it had tried to escape and given up halfway through. The corkboard itself was a graveyard of desperation, lost cats with blurry photos, guitar lessons from a man named Reginald who swore he toured âalmost professionally,â a babysitting offer written in glitter pen. But this one, this violently neon pink rectangle, felt different.
Black Sharpie, pressed hard enough to dent the cardstock.
ROOM FOR RENT â ONE FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED
- 5-bedroom apartment downtown. Utilities split 5 ways. No pets, no drama, no bullshit.
- Must be clean, chill, and okay with guys. Serious inquiries only.
- Four guys already here, all employed, clean(ish), no drama. Serious inquiries only.
- Text 82-10-XXXX-XXXX. First come, first served.Â
Don't waste our time.
No photos. No bullet points about ârespectful boundariesâ or âshared Netflix password.â Just that blunt, cocky little block of text, like they knew exactly what kind of person would bite anyway. The rent figure was unreal, half what you'd been paying for your shoebox studio that smelled faintly of regret and yesterday's takeout. You stared at it for a full minute, thumb hovering over your phone screen, heart doing that stupid flutter thing it does when you're about to make a decision that's either genius or catastrophic. Â
And then there was the line written in red pen, scrawled untidily, looking like a disastrous attempt at cursive.
âShe better be hot lolâ
Crossed out once, aggressively. Then underlined twice, like whoever wrote it had second thoughts about the shame and decided to recommit. You stared at that part the longest.
Your current apartment smelled like damp carpet and stale air no matter how many candles you burned. The windows rattled every time the train passed. Your landlord had the audacity to send out a mass email about a âmaintenance fee adjustmentâ that was definitely just code for I bought a new car and youâre helping pay for it.
Rent had started to feel like a chokehold. And this, four guys, one girl, big downtown apartment, utilities split five ways, was a stupidly good number. Too good. Which should have been your first red flag.Â
Your reflection in the lobby mirror looked tired. A little reckless. The kind of girl who was one bad decision away from either ruining her life or improving it dramatically. You took a picture of the flyer. You hesitated.
You zoomed in on the red scribble. You told yourself you were an adult. That you could handle four random men in a shared space. That this was just housing, not a horror movie opening scene. Then you texted the number before your common sense could wrestle your thumbs away.
You: Hi, saw the flyer for the roommate spot. Still available? Interested if the details match up. What's the move-in date?
The three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Your stomach did that awful, fluttery dip it does before you step into something you canât undo.
Unknown: yeah it's open. u got a name sweetheart?
Sweetheart. You actually rolled your eyes. You told yourself you rolled your eyes. But something warm slid low in your stomach anyway. Casual ownership. Teasing. A test.
You: Y/N. And yeah, I do. When can I come see it?
The typing bubbles came back. Stayed. Disappeared. Came back again. Then your phone vibrated with a voice note instead of text. You stared at it for a full second.
Who the fuck sends voice notes to strangers?
You slipped in one earbud like you were about to overhear something you werenât meant to. You hit play. Chaos. Not the polite kind. Not the muffled, distant kind. The kind that sounds like bodies moving and furniture scraping and too many voices in one space.
ââtold you the flyer was too obvious, dumbassââ
âShut the fuck up, she texted, didnât she?â
âBet sheâs mid. Fifty says sheâs mid.â
âFifty says sheâs a freak whoâll cry after one night.â
Explosive laughter. Low and rough and layered. Someone swore. There was a thud like someone got shoved into a couch. Another voice yelling, âGive me the phoneââ
Your pulse was in your throat. It felt intrusive. Intimate. Like you were already inside their space, hearing something raw and unfiltered. Then the chaos snapped. Cut clean. A different presence took over. Closer to the mic. Lower.
â...Y/N, right?â Your name sounded slower in his mouth. Like heâd rolled it around once before saying it.
âThis is Heeseung.â
The way he said it wasnât introduction. It was declaration. The background noise dimmed, not because the room got quieter, but because he stepped away from it. You could picture it without trying: him turning his back to the others, leaning against something, one hand braced on a counter, phone lifted close enough that his breath ghosted the mic.
The kind of voice that didnât rush. The kind that didnât need to. âPlace is still open. Come by tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. Weâll be here.â
Weâll be here. Not Iâll be here. A collective. A warning. There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Deliberate. âBring your shit if you like what you see. We donât do second viewings.â
And then it ended. No goodbye. No emoji. No softening. Just the click of the recording stopping, leaving his voice hanging in your ear like smoke in a closed room. You sat on your sagging futon with the cheap springs poking through the cushion and replayed it. Twice.
The arguing in the background. The laughter. The careless comments. The way he had cut through all of it like a knife sliding into silk. You told yourself they sounded like idiots. You told yourself this was exactly the kind of environment youâd sworn youâd never put yourself in. But your thighs pressed together anyway, tension curling low and restless, not quite fear and not quite excitement.
You imagined the apartment. Exposed brick. Too much space. Music playing too loud. A kitchen that actually had room to breathe in. Four men who moved through it like they owned it. And one empty room.
Waiting. You should have blocked the number. Should have deleted the thread. Should have found a nice, quiet girls-only share in the suburbs where the biggest drama would be someone stealing your almond milk. Instead, you typed back.
You: 7 p.m. tomorrow. Address?
The reply came faster this time.
Heeseung: [pinned location]Donât be late, sweetheart. We hate waiting.
You read that last line more than once. We hate waiting. It sounded less like a preference and more like a rule. You packed that night with a strange kind of calm. One duffel bag. Just enough clothes to rotate for a few days. Toiletries. Charger. The essentials. You folded each item slowly, like you were preparing for something bigger than just a new address.
Your studio looked even smaller with your things missing. The walls felt closer. The air heavier. You stood in the middle of it and imagined tomorrow. The elevator ride up. The door opening. Four sets of eyes. The apartment smelling like expensive cologne and something darker. Smoke, maybe. Leather. Ego.
You imagined him. Them. All four of them. Either unfairly good-looking men who were complete assholes, or unimpressive men who were still complete assholes. The asshole part was a constant. The hotness was the only variable.
Not that it mattered. Of course it didnât.
You didnât know his face, but you knew the voice. Low. Steady. Amused. The kind of voice that didnât rush for anyone.
You imagined the smirk youâd heard through the speaker, lazy, confident, practiced. Probably rich, too. Not new-money loud, but old-money careless. Daddyâs money had a look. It looked like never checking price tags.
You zipped the duffel closed. This was reckless. Stupid, even. The kind of decision that looked sensible only from far away, like a bruise that passed for lavender in low light. Rent had been pressing in for months, a dull gray weight at the base of your skull, constant as weather. You told yourself that was all this was. Survival. Logistics. Math.
But that wasnât the whole truth. There was something about his voice. Not the depth of it, not even the amusement. It was the contrast, the velvet laid carefully over something serrated. Chaos humming behind glass. Control presented like a gift.
It had sounded dark blue through the speaker. Not navy. Not midnight. Something electric and expensive. The kind of blue that didnât apologize for swallowing light. You should have been afraid of it.
Maybe you were. But the risk didnât feel like falling. Falling was abrupt. Colorless. Final. This felt different. It felt like stepping across the gold line in a painting, the one the artist never meant anyone to cross. Like touching wet paint just to see if it would stain. Like walking into a story that had already decided what to do with you.
7 p.m. Sharp. You arrive at 6:58 p.m.
Not because youâre punctual by nature, but because something about Donât be late. We hate waiting. lodged under your skin and stayed there all day.
The building is taller than you expected. Glass-fronted. Industrial. The kind of place that tries to look effortless and ends up looking expensive instead. The lobby smells faintly of artificially scented cleaner, probably lemon, and polished concrete. Exposed brick climbs one wall in a deliberate, curated way that says urban charm instead of structural compromise.
You stand in front of the elevator with your duffel bag hooked over one shoulder and a medium-sized suitcase at your side. You told yourself youâd bring only what you needed for a week.
You lied.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft metallic sigh. You step inside. Your reflection in the mirrored walls looks smaller than you feel. Lip gloss reapplied in the car. Hair brushed back into place. A quiet, deliberate choice in your outfit, effortless enough to pretend you didnât try, fitted enough to know you did.
The numbers climb. Your pulse climbs with them. You tell yourself this is housing. Just housing. Four men sharing rent in a five-bedroom apartment isnât unheard of. This isnât a cult. This isnât a frat house. This isnâtâ
The elevator dings. The doors part. And the first thing you hear is laughter. It spills into the hallway like it lives there. Low, overlapping, careless. The door to their unit is already open. You donât knock. You step inside.
The apartment is bigger than the pictures couldâve shown. High ceilings with steel beams running across them. Floor-to-ceiling windows pouring in late afternoon light that turns everything gold. A massive sectional couch in charcoal gray dominates the living space. Thereâs a long dining table made of reclaimed wood, scuffed in places that look intentional.
Music hums low from somewhere, bass-heavy, lazy. And then, you see them. All four of them. Shirtless. You stop walking. Theyâre scattered across the living area in a way that suggests they were doing something physical, lifting, maybe, but not something that required shirts. One is crouched by a stack of flattened cardboard boxes. Another leans against the kitchen island with a bottle of water tipped to his lips. Someone else stands near the couch, forearms flexed as he adjusts the hem of his joggers.
They notice you at the same time. Conversation dies. Itâs not dramatic. Not loud. It just⊠stops. Four pairs of eyes land on you. And stay there. You feel it before you process it. The weight of being looked at. Not glanced. Not politely assessed. Looked at. Slowly. Thoroughly. Like youâre an answer to a question theyâve already been debating.
The one by the kitchen island lowers his bottle first. Heâs tall. Lean muscle, not bulky. Collarbone sharp under the light. Damp hair pushed back from his forehead like heâs just showered or run a hand through it too many times. His gaze drags over you without apology. From your shoes. Up your legs.
To your waist. Your chest. Your mouth. Your eyes. He doesnât look away when you meet his stare. That has to be Heeseung. The voice fits.
âY/N.â
It isnât a question. Your name sounds different in the open air of the apartment. Deeper. Warmer. More tangible. âYeah.â Your voice comes out steady, which surprises you.
He pushes off the island and walks toward you. The other three follow slower, not crowding but not retreating either. You become aware of everything at once. The quiet click of your suitcase wheels settling. The way your fingers tighten around the strap of your duffel. The faint sheen of sweat along their collarbones.
They mustâve been moving furniture. Or maybe they just wanted an excuse to be shirtless when you arrived. The thought hits you uninvited. And then, you realize youâre staring, too. One of them, broader shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes, lets out a low whistle.
âNot mid,â he mutters.
The guy beside him elbows his ribs. A cocky grin already spreading over his lips nonetheless before he disrupts it by caging his lower lip between his teeth. âShut up.â Heat crawls up your neck.
Heeseung stops about three feet in front of you. Close enough that you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to smell something clean and subtle, soap, maybe, or skin warmed by movement. He tilts his head slightly.
âYouâre on time.â
âI said I would be.â
A corner of his mouth lifts. Behind him, one of the others steps forward and grabs your suitcase handle before you can protest. âWeâll take that.â
Itâs said casually, but thereâs something about the way he says we again that makes your stomach dip. The fourth one finally speaks. âYou bring everything?â
âJust enough to survive a week,â you reply.
He laughs. âSmart.â They move around you with unsettling ease. Not touching you. Not yet. But close enough that the air shifts when they pass. You step fully into the apartment as your suitcase is rolled toward the hallway. The door shuts behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. You turn slowly, taking in the space.
The kitchen is massive, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, open shelving that somehow looks organized despite the presence of four men. There are plants near the windows. A guitar propped casually against the wall.
This isnât a mess. It isnât chaotic. Itâs lived-in. Comfortable. Dangerously comfortable. âRoomâs down the hall,â Heeseung says. âLast one on the right.â
You nod, but you donât move yet. Because theyâre still looking at you. Not in a way that feels crude. But undeniably⊠interested. Assessing. One of them, taller than the rest, sharper features, leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. His eyes crinkle, âSo,â he says slowly. âYou cool living with guys?â The question isnât innocent. You lift your chin slightly.
âI wouldnât be here if I wasnât.â
His gaze flickers, approval, maybe. The broad-shouldered one smirks.
âYou get easily offended?â
âNo.â
âYou snore?â
âNot that I know of.â
âGot a boyfriend?â
The question lands differently. You glance at Heeseung. He hasnât spoken. Heâs watching you. Waiting. You meet his eyes and answer evenly, âNo.â
The silence that follows is subtle, but it shifts something. Like a door quietly unlocking. Heeseung gestures down the hall. âCome see your room.â
You follow. The hallway is lined with closed doors. Music grows fainter as you move away from the main space. Your suitcase wheels roll softly against polished concrete. He opens the last door and steps aside to let you in first. The room is bigger than you expected.
Large window. Soft gray walls. A queen-sized bed frame already assembled. A desk near the corner. Closet doors sliding open to reveal empty hangers. It doesnât feel like someone just left it. It feels like it was waiting.
You step inside. He follows. The others hover at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like theyâre watching a show. âWell?â one of them asks. You set your duffel down on the bed.
âItâs⊠really nice.â Heeseung walks to the window and pulls the curtain slightly, letting more light in.
âTold you. No bullshit.â He turns to face you fully. Thereâs something different now that youâre in a smaller space. More contained. More charged. You can feel the other three just outside the room. Listening. You cross your arms loosely.
âWhatâs the actual catch?â
One of the guys snorts from the hallway. Heeseungâs lips twitch. âNo catch.â
âFour guys, one girl, cheap rent, no second viewings. Thereâs always a catch.â
He steps closer. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to make you aware of proximity. âWe donât like flakes,â he says quietly. âWe donât like drama. We donât like people who pretend theyâre chill and then arenât.â
âAnd if Iâm not?â
âThen you wonât last.â
The words arenât cruel. Theyâre factual. You swallow. âIs that a threat?â
His gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Then back up. âItâs information.â
The other three laugh softly behind him. âYou scared?â someone calls.
You step closer instead of back. âNo.â And thatâs the truth. Youâre not scared. Youâre wired. Thereâs a difference. He studies you for a long second. Then nods once.
âGood.â He steps back, creating space again. âYou can move in tonight if you want.â Your heartbeat stutters.
âThat was the deal.â One of them pushes off the doorframe. âGuess weâve got a new roommate.â The broad-shouldered one grins. âWelcome to the madhouse.â
They disperse slightly after that. Not fully. But enough to let you breathe. You kneel on the bed to unzip your duffel, aware of eyes tracking the movement. A shirt comes out. Toiletry bag. A pair of heels you probably wonât need but packed anyway.
From the hallway, a voice says quietly, âSheâs staying.â
âObviously,â another replies.
You pretend not to hear. But your skin hums. Because beneath the jokes. Beneath the cocky questions. Thereâs something else. A tension that hasnât snapped yet. An understanding that this isnât just about splitting rent. You donât know the rules. You donât know the lines. But you feel them. Drawn. Invisible. Waiting. You stand and smooth your hands down your sides.
âIâll bring the rest tomorrow.â Heeseung leans against the wall now, arms crossed. âTake your time.â
Your gaze locks again. The eye contact lingers too long to be accidental. Too steady to be polite. Itâs not crude. Itâs not rushed. Itâs slow. Deliberate. Like heâs memorizing you.
And maybe, youâre memorizing him, too.
Friday night settles in outside the window, the sky deepening from gold to blue. You came here for cheap rent. For square footage. For practical reasons. But as the music in the living room turns louder and someone calls your name like youâve always belonged here, you realize something quietly, dangerously simple. This wasnât just a listing.
It was an invitation. And you accepted it. The kitchen island becomes your first battlefield.
Someone, Jay, you learn later, has already spread out a chaotic spread of takeout: greasy fried chicken in red-and-white buckets, japchae tangled in sesame oil, bulging containers of tteokbokki still steaming, a few lonely mandu that look like they've been fought over. Plastic forks and chopsticks clatter. No plates. No pretense of civility.
You slide onto one of the high stools, thighs sticking slightly to the leather from the heat still clinging to your skin after the move. Your thin white tank clings in all the wrong-right places, damp from nerves and the apartment's lazy, cold thermostat. No bra underneath because you'd changed into "comfy" clothes after unpacking the bare minimum. Big mistake.
Or the best one you've made all week. They circle like sharks who've already scented blood. Heeseung claims the stool right beside you without asking. His bare knee knocks yours under the island the second you settle. He doesn't move it. Neither do you. Jay drops onto the one across from you, broad shoulders taking up too much real estate. He leans forward on his elbows, forearms corded, watching you like you're the next thing on the menu.
Jake sprawls next to him, legs spread wide under the counter, one foot hooking casually around your ankle like it's always belonged there. He grins, pretty, boyish, filthy.
Sunghoon perches at the end like a king on his throne, long legs stretched out, one hand already tearing into a chicken wing. He licks sauce off his thumb slowly, eyes never leaving the front of your tank.
"Alright," Heeseung says, voice low and amused as he pops open a beer and slides one toward you without asking if you drink. "Introductions, since you're staying."
He drags a knuckle down your bare arm, slow, deliberate, like he's testing how soft you are. Goosebumps erupt instantly. "I'm Heeseung." His fingers linger at your wrist, thumb pressing your pulse point. "You already knew that." You nod, throat dry. Take a sip of the beer. It's cold. Sharp. Does nothing to cool the heat pooling between your legs.
Jay jerks his chin up. "Park Jongseong. Jay." He reaches across the island, grabs a piece of tteokbokki with his fingers, holds it out to you. "Open." You hesitate half a second. He raises one brow. "Don't make me feed you like a baby, sweetheart."
Your lips part. He pushes the sticky rice cake inside, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he pulls back. Sauce smears. He doesn't wipe it off. Just watches it glisten there.
"Jake Sim," the one with the foot around your ankle says. He leans in, elbow on the counter, chin in hand. His gaze drops blatantly to your chest. Your nipples have pebbled hard against the thin cotton, traitorous little peaks begging for attention. He bites his lip, lets out a soft, appreciative hum. "Fuck, you're not wearing a bra. Bold move, roomie."
Heat floods your face. Also lower. Sunghoon doesn't bother with words at first. He just stares, cold, assessing, predatory. Then he speaks, voice velvet and mean.
"Park Sunghoon." He drags a fry through sauce, offers it to you the same way Jay did. When you lean forward to take it, he pulls it back at the last second, makes you chase. You feel ridiculous. Wet. "Good girl." The praise lands like a slap. Your thighs clench.
Heeseung chuckles low beside you. His hand finds your knee under the island, big, warm, possessive. Slides up your inner thigh slow enough that you could stop him. You don't. His fingers stop just shy of where your shorts end, thumb stroking the crease where thigh meets hip. Back and forth. Lazy. Teasing the edge of your underwear.
"So," Jay says around a mouthful of chicken, eyes locked on the outline of your nipples like they're speaking to him personally. "What's your deal, Y/N? You always this easy to read?"
Jake snorts. Leans closer. "Bet she's already soaked just from us looking."
"Shut up," you mutter, but it comes out breathy. Weak.
Heeseung's thumb presses harder. "She is," he says quietly, like it's a fact he's confirming for the group. His other hand reaches up, casual, like he's reaching for more food, and brushes the side of your breast through the tank. The pad of his thumb grazes your nipple. Circles once.Â
You gasp. Small. Involuntary. Sunghoon smirks. "Told you. Instant slut for attention." Jay exchanges a look with Jake, dirty, conspiratorial. They both laugh under their breath.
"Pass her the spicy one," Jake says. "See if she cries."
Heeseung finally pulls his hand from between your legs, only to slide it around your waist instead. Tugs you closer until your side is flush against his bare chest. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. "Eat," he murmurs against your ear. Breath hot. "You're gonna need the energy."
You pick up a piece of chicken with shaking fingers. They watch every bite like it's porn. Sunghoon leans forward. "Question." You meet his eyes. Dark. Unblinking.
"You gonna pretend you're not dripping for us all night, or can we skip the bullshit and get to the part where you spread on the counter?"
Your chopsticks freeze halfway to your mouth. Jake groans softly. "Hyungâ"
"What?" Sunghoon shrugs. "We're all thinking it. She's sitting here with her tits out, clit probably throbbing, acting like she didn't come here to get fucked stupid by four guys who don't even know her last name."
Heeseung's hand slides higher again, this time under your tank. Palm flat against your bare stomach. Fingers splay wide. Claiming territory. Jay licks sauce off his lips. Slow. "Rent-free, remember? That pussy's been ours since you texted back."
Jake's foot slides higher up your calf. "Bet she clenches just hearing that." You do. They know. Heeseung's thumb finds your nipple again, pinches lightly through the fabric. Rolls it.
"Finish eating," he says, voice deceptively gentle. "Then we're gonna show you how we collect rent around here."
The words are disgusting. The way your body responds is worse. You swallow hard. Sauce still sticky on your lip. They wait. Patient. Filthy. Certain. Because they already know, you're not leaving this island until every inch of you is marked.
And the food? It's barely started getting cold. The takeout disappears faster than it should, mostly because your mouth is never empty for long.
Jay keeps tearing off pieces of chicken, dipping them in sauce, holding them to your lips like it's his personal mission to keep you full. His fingers linger every time, brushing your tongue, smearing gloss and grease across your chin until you're sticky and flushed. "Good girl," he murmurs once, low enough that only you hear it, but loud enough that the others smirk.
Heeseung never stops touching. His hand starts at your knee again, then climbs, slow, shameless, until it's high on your inner thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles over the damp cotton of your shorts. When you shift, trying to close your legs, he just spreads them wider with his knee. Casual. Like adjusting furniture. His other hand stays under your tank, palm flat against your stomach, fingers occasionally drifting up to pluck at your nipples like he's testing how hard they can get before you whimper.
They do get hard. Painfully so. The thin fabric does nothing to hide it.
Sunghoon leans back, legs spread, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweats while he watches. "Bet she's clenching every time Jay feeds her," he says, voice dripping. "Like a little hungry bird. Open wide, princess, here comes the next load."
Jake laughs, soft and filthy, leaning so close his breath fans your ear. "You're so fucking cute when you're pretending not to like it, baby. Look at you, your body is begging, thighs shaking. You gonna come just from us looking at you like the slut you are?" He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear. "Say 'please' and maybe we'll let you grind on the stool till you soak it."
You don't say please.
You just swallow another bite Jay pushes past your lips, choke a little when Heeseung's fingers slip under the leg of your shorts and graze the edge of your folds, wet, swollen, traitorous. They all hear the tiny, broken sound you make.
Sunghoon groans. "Fuck. That's the sound I wanna hear when she's choking on my dick later."
Dinner ends like that, messy, humiliating, electric.
When the last container is shoved aside, you mumble something about needing to unpack. Your voice is wrecked. Legs unsteady as you slide off the stool.
Heeseung's hand finally leaves your body, but not before he gives your ass a firm, possessive squeeze. "Go on, sweetheart. Get settled."
Their laughter follows you down the hallway, low, overlapping, knowing. "She's dripping down her thighs, I can smell it from here."
"Bet she locks the door and fingers herself thinking about us."
"Door stays unlocked from now on. House rule."
You shut yourself in the bedroom anyway. Heart hammering. Cheeks burning. Cunt throbbing so hard it hurts. You tell yourself you're just going to unpack. You don't.
The apartment feels smaller now, the air thicker, like the walls themselves are breathing. Youâre still sprawled on the edge of the mattress, knees wide, thin cotton shorts shoved down just far enough that the waistband bites into the tops of your thighs. Your tank top has ridden up under your breasts, nipples stiff and visible through the damp fabric. Two fingers are buried inside you, knuckle-deep, curling, pumping, while your thumb mashes frantic, messy circles over your swollen clit. Every stroke pulls a slick, obscene sound from between your legs. You canât stop. You donât want to stop.
The apartment is quiet for maybe ten minutes. Then you hear it. From the living room, muffled at first, then unmistakable. Low grunts. Wet, rhythmic sounds. Skin on skin. "New roommate's pussy looked so fucking tight," Jake's voice, breathy. "Bet she'd cry if I went in raw."
Jay, rougher: "I'd make her ride me reverse so I could watch that ass bounce while Heeseung fucks her throat."
Sunghoon, colder, meaner: "I'm breaking that little cunt open first. Gonna make her squirt all over the couch before the night's over."
Heeseung's voice cuts through, low, controlled, dangerous. "We're breaking her in slow. Let her think she has control for a day or two. Then we take turns stretching her till she forgets her own name."
More groans. Faster strokes. Someone swears. Someone moans your name, your actual fucking name, like it's already theirs. Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers at the memory. A fresh gush of wetness coats your palm. Youâre dripping onto the sheet now, dark spot spreading beneath your ass. You try to muffle the next whimper by biting the inside of your cheek, but it still leaks out, high and broken.
You come hard. Silent at first, then a choked whimper slips out when your fingers push inside, chasing the aftershocks. Your thighs shake. The bed creaks. The apartment has been dead silent for thirty seconds.
Then, floorboards creak. Not fast. Not rushed. Slow. Measured. One deliberate step after another. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently youâre sure they can hear it through the thin walls. You freeze, fingers still stuffed inside you, walls fluttering helplessly around them. You donât dare pull them out. Donât dare move. Every nerve feels peeled open, raw, screaming.
The footsteps stop right outside your door. You hold your breath. The knob turns. No knock. No warning. The door swings inward on silent hinges. Heeseung fills the frame.
No shirt. Sweatpants slung obscenely low, the thick ridge of his cock still half-hard and outlined against the gray cotton like itâs trying to tear through. A faint sheen of sweat glistens along his collarbones, down the cut of his abs. His hair is wrecked, fingers-raked, damp at the temples. His eyes are black, pupils blown, and the corner of his mouth curls in something that isnât quite a smile. Itâs possession wearing amusement like a mask.
He doesnât step inside. Not yet. He just leans one bare shoulder against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, and lets his gaze drag over you, slow, deliberate, filthy. From the way your thighs tremble, to the hand still buried in your shorts, to the wet spot darkening the sheet, to your bitten-raw lip and glassy eyes.
âCaught you,â he murmurs. Voice so low it vibrates in your chest. Your fingers twitch involuntarily inside yourself. A tiny, helpless pump. You canât help it. His voice alone is enough to make your cunt spasm. He notices. Of course he notices. His head tilts. âYou didnât even lock the door, baby.â
The endearment lands like a slap and a caress at once. Your mouth opens, maybe to deny, maybe to beg, maybe just to breathe, but nothing comes out except a shaky exhale.
He takes one step forward. The floor creaks under his weight. Another step. Your pulse is in your throat, your clit, your fingertips. Youâre so wet itâs obscene, every tiny shift of your hips makes a slick sound youâre sure he can hear.
He stops at the foot of the bed. Close enough that you can smell him, clean sweat, faint cologne, the dark musk of arousal still clinging to his skin from whatever they were doing out there.
âLook at you,â he says softly. Almost tender. âLegs spread like you were waiting for an audience. Fingers stuffed in that greedy little hole while you listened to us talk about ruining you.â His eyes flick to where your hand disappears into your shorts. âDid you come thinking about Sunghoon splitting you open? Or Jay making you bounce on his cock while I fucked your throat raw?â
You make a sound, half sob, half moan. Your hips jerk up without permission, chasing your own fingers. Heeseungâs gaze darkens. âDonât stop.â
Your breath hitches. âKeep fucking yourself,â he orders, voice dropping into something darker, quieter, more dangerous. âLet me watch how desperate you got listening to us plan all the ways weâre gonna break you.â
Your fingers move before your brain catches up, slow at first, then faster, wetter, louder. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your other hand claws at the sheet. Your thighs shake so hard the bed frame rattles. Heeseung doesnât touch you. He just watches.
Eyes heavy-lidded. Breathing slow and controlled while yours comes in ragged little pants. The outline of his cock has thickened again, straining harder against the sweats. A dark spot blooms at the tip. "You were moaning our names," he says, tilting his head. "Heard you clear as day."
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He walks closer. Stops at the edge of the bed. Looks down at you, spread, flushed, fingers still glistening.
"First rule of the house," he says, voice velvet and final. He reaches down, grips your chin, tilts your face up so you have to meet his eyes. "If we hear you moaning our names, if you touch that pretty pussy thinking about us, you don't get to come alone anymore."
His thumb drags across your bottom lip, collecting the spit and gloss there. "You finish with one of us inside you. Or on you. Or watching. Your choice."
He leans in until his mouth is a breath from yours. "But tonight?" He smirks, slow, filthy, victorious. "Tonight you go to sleep wet and aching. No more touching. That's rule two."
He straightens. Steps back. "Get some rest, sweetheart."
He turns for the door. Pauses. Looks over his shoulder. "And tomorrow?" His smile is all teeth. "Rent's due."
The door clicks shut behind him. You lie back on the bed, heart slamming, thighs slick, body screaming. You don't touch yourself again. Not because you don't want to. But because you know, he's right outside. And they're all waiting for the next time you break.
Your gasp rips through the dim bedroom like a blade, but itâs not fear that claws up your throat, itâs the raw, electric shock of Jakeâs iron grip clamping around your upper arm, yanking you upright so violently the mattress squeaks in protest. Your eyes fly open to the sight of his wicked grin, teeth flashing white in the pale morning light filtering through half-drawn blinds. The sheets are torn away in one savage sweep, cool air slamming against your overheated skin like a slap. Your thin tank top is already bunched uselessly under your tits, the fabric twisted tight around your ribs, while your tiny sleep shorts have ridden so high they barely cover the swell of your ass cheeks, the crotch seam digging intently into your folds.
âMorning, roomie,â Jake purrs, voice dripping with mock sweetness and pure venom. He drags you out of bed like a ragdoll, your bare feet scrambling for purchase on the icy concrete floor, toes curling against the chill. His free hand instantly mauls your left tit, thick fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh, squeezing so hard your nipple hardens between his knuckles like a ripe berry. His thumb flicks it once, twice, three times, fast and brutal, like heâs punishing a disobedient little button. Pain blooms hot and sharp, shooting straight to your clit, and you hiss through clenched teeth, back arching involuntarily, pushing your chest further into his greedy palm.
He laughs, low, filthy, delighted, and crashes his mouth against your cheek in a wet, sloppy kiss thatâs all tongue and teeth. The flat of his tongue drags slow and deliberate across your flushed skin, leaving a thick trail of spit that cools instantly. He pulls back with a loud smack, lips shiny, eyes glittering with mischief.
âBreakfastâs waiting, princess. And youâre the main fucking course.â
He hauls you down the hallway, your legs stumbling, tits bouncing freely under the ruined tank, shorts still tangled around one thigh. The living room hits you like a fever dream: thick with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, printer ink, and the unmistakable musk of four horny men whoâve already been stroking themselves thinking about this exact moment. Jayâs lounging like a king on the massive sectional sofa, legs spread wide in nothing but gray sweats that do nothing to hide the monstrous bulge tenting the fabric, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, the other lazily palming his cock through the material. He doesnât even stand. Just crooks two fingers at you, slow and commanding, a lazy smirk playing on his full lips.
Jake shoves you forward hard. You stumble straight into Jayâs waiting hands, rough, calloused palms gripping your hips like vices, and he yanks you down onto his lap in one fluid, possessive motion. Your bare ass cheeks land flush against the scorching heat of his massive morning wood, the thick ridge of it nestling perfectly between your cheeks through the thin sweats. He groans deep in his chest and rocks up once, grinding his fat cock against you so you feel every throbbing inch, every vein, the blunt head nudging right against your folds like a promise.
âSit pretty for me, slut,â Jay growls hot against the shell of your ear, breath smelling like mint and sin. One thick arm snakes around your waist, locking you down like a seatbelt made of steel. His other hand shoves up under your tank top, claiming your right tit fully, squeezing, kneading, rolling the nipple between rough fingers until itâs swollen and aching. You squirm helplessly, already leaking slick down your thighs, but he just chuckles darkly and pinches harder. âThatâs it. Feel how hard you make me first thing in the goddamn morning?â
Heeseung leans against the kitchen island like a statue carved from ice and hunger, arms crossed over his broad chest, black tank stretched tight across his muscles, sweatpants slung low enough to show the deep V of his hips. His dark eyes drink you in with that calm, terrifying amusement, lips curled in the barest smirk. Sunghoonâs perched on the arm of the couch like a predator in repose, long legs dangling, one hand already shoved inside his boxers, slowly fisting his long, pretty cock, tip flushed angry red, leaking precum in shiny beads that he smears down the shaft with lazy twists.
A single crisp sheet of paper is taped to the stainless-steel fridge, bold black Arial bullet points screaming authority.
Roommate Rules.
Jake claps once, sharp and theatrical, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. âNew roommate orientation, baby! Time to learn the house rules. Stand up, oh wait.â He grins viciously as Jayâs arm tightens, keeping you impaled on his lap, grinding slow circles so the ridge of his cock drags deliciously against your dripping cunt. âNever mind. Stay right there.â
Jay doesnât let you move an inch. Jake rips the paper free and slaps it into your trembling hands. âRead it. Out. Loud. Every word.â
Heeseungâs voice cuts through like velvet over steel. âAnd donât you dare stop.â
Your fingers shake so badly the paper rattles. Jayâs free hand dives straight down, past the waistband of your shorts, two thick fingers spearing into your soaked cunt without mercy, no teasing, no warmup. They curl viciously against your G-spot instantly, pumping in and out with wet, filthy squelching sounds that echo obscenely. Your walls clamp down greedily, sucking him deeper, and you choke on the first syllable.
âR-Rule⊠oneâŠâ Your voice cracks into a broken moan as Jay adds a third finger on the next thrust, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally. âN-No panties⊠in the apartment⊠after 8 p.m. Fuckâahh!â
Sunghoon hums low, shoving his boxers down to his thighs, his long cock springing free, veiny, curved slightly, glistening as he strokes faster, thumb swiping over the leaking slit. âLouder, whore. Let us hear how wet that rule makes you.â
Jake drops to his knees between your spread thighs like heâs worshipping at an altar. He rips your shorts down your legs in one violent yank, tossing them across the room, leaving you completely bare from the waist down on Jayâs lap, pussy lips puffy and shining, clit throbbing visibly. He spreads your thighs wider with both hands, thumbs digging into soft flesh, and leans in. His tongue, hot, flat, and obscene, drags from your dripping hole all the way up to your swollen clit in one long, sloppy stripe. He sucks your clit into his mouth like itâs candy, tongue flicking rapid-fire while Jayâs fingers keep moving.
âRule two,â you sob, hips jerking wildly, trying to ride both sensations at once. âYou⊠sit on someoneâs lap⊠during movie nights, oh god, Jake, pleaseâahh!â
Jake pulls back just enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit, watching it drip down to mix with your juices coating Jayâs knuckles. âGood fucking girl. Keep reading while I eat this sloppy cunt like breakfast.â
Your voice is pure wreckage now, high, breathy, broken. âRule three⊠Whoever cooks⊠the others get to fuck you⊠on the counter⊠while dinnerâs in the oven, fuck, Iâm gonnaââ
Jay slams his fingers deeper, adding a fourth, stretching you to the burning limit. Your pussy gushes around him, slick squirting out in messy pulses that soak his sweats and the couch beneath you. The wet sounds are pornographic, schlick-schlick-schlick, loud enough to drown out your whimpers.
Heeseung is stroking himself now, thick, heavy, perfectly shaped, veins pulsing as he strokes slow and controlled, eyes locked on your face like heâs memorizing every twitch of humiliation and pleasure. âAlmost there, sweetheart. Finish it. Then we give you the welcome gift youâve been dripping for since you moved in.â
Jake stands, shoving his shorts down. His cock slaps heavy against his abs, thick, girthy, the head red and angry, already drooling precum in long strings. He strokes himself right in front of your face, the wet sound of his fist mixing with Jayâs fingers destroying your cunt. The tip keeps brushing your cheek, smearing precum across your skin like war paint.
You force the last words out between guttural moans, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaking your face. âFirst⊠official use⊠read the rules out loud⊠while being usedânnngh! And⊠and it ends with all four⊠cumming on your face⊠and tits⊠as welcome gift, please, I canâtâ!â
Silence crashes down for half a second, only the obscene sounds of fingers plunging into soaked pussy and four men stroking their cocks. Then Jay rips his fingers out with a wet pop. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness, pussy clenching around nothing, a gush of your own slick dripping down your thighs onto the carpet.
Heeseung steps forward first, voice calm as death. âOn your knees, cumdump.â Jay lifts you like you weigh nothing, strong arms tossing you onto the floor between them. The rough carpet bites into your knees as you kneel, back straight, tits heaving, cunt visibly throbbing and empty. They circle you like wolves, four towering, muscular bodies, cocks hard and leaking, surrounding you in a filthy halo of dominance.
Heeseung speaks, low and final. âWelcome to the house, sweetheart. Open that pretty mouth and take what you earned.â They donât ask permission. They just ruin you.
Jake goes first, groaning loud and theatrical, fist flying as thick, ropey jets of cum erupt across your face. One stripe lands right across your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat. Another paints your left cheek, dripping down to your jaw. A third splatters across your forehead, sliding into your hair. He milks every drop, slapping his spent cock against your lips. âSwallow what you can, baby. The rest stays.â
Sunghoonâs next, quiet, intense, eyes dark as midnight. He aims low, long powerful spurts painting your tits in pearly white. Thick globs land on your left nipple, sliding down the curve of your breast like icing. Another heavy rope coats the valley between them, dripping down your stomach. He keeps stroking through it, smearing the head of his cock through the mess on your skin, marking you deeper.
Jay growls your name like a curse, âFuck, look at youââand unloads across the right side of your face. Hot cum hits your cheekbone, your eyelid, your lips, mixing with Jakeâs in sticky rivers that drip off your chin onto your cum-glazed tits. One stray shot lands directly on your tongue and you moan, swallowing reflexively.
Heeseung saves the best for last. He steps closest, tipping your chin up with two fingers so your teary eyes lock onto his. âEyes on me while I paint my new toy.â His strokes stay slow, deliberate, until the first powerful pulse shoots straight across your lips, forcing you to taste him, thick, bitter-sweet, coating your tongue. The next stripes your chest, adding fresh layers over Sunghoonâs mess, dripping off your nipples in heavy rivulets. He keeps coming, pulse after pulse, until your entire face and tits are a glistening, ruined masterpiece of four loads, cum sliding down your body in obscene trails, pooling in the hollow of your throat and between your thighs.
When they finally step back, youâre a trembling, kneeling wreck, face and chest absolutely drenched, lips parted, tongue still out like a good little cumslut, thighs shaking, pussy clenching and dripping onto the carpet in desperate need.
Heeseung crouches, thumb scooping a thick glob of mixed cum from your bottom lip. He pushes it deep into your mouth. âSuck. Clean every drop like the rules say.â You do, hollowing your cheeks, sucking his thumb clean with a wet pop, eyes fluttering as the salty, musky taste of all four of them floods your senses. He smiles, slow, dark, satisfied. âRules are rules, baby.â
Jake laughs, tucking his cock away with a satisfied sigh. âShowerâs down the hall, princess. But we wonât mind if you donât shower today. Or ever again.â
Jay leans down, pressing an almost tender kiss to the top of your cum-matted hair. âWelcome home, roomie.â
Sunghoon just stares, licking his lips as you instinctively drag your tongue across them, chasing every stray drop. âRentâs cheap as fuck now, huh? But you are gonna pay every single day.â
You canât speak, voice wrecked, body owned. But your cunt is already fluttering, aching, dripping for the next rule theyâll break you with. And they know it. They always will.
The rest of the day unravels like a slow, deliberate fever dream, every ordinary second laced with the kind of casual, relentless violation that makes your pulse thunder and your cunt throb like a second heartbeat. You try so fucking hard to pretend itâs just another lazy Saturday. That the thick, salty ghosts of their cum arenât still drying in flaky trails across your tits and cheeks no matter how hard you scrubbed in the shower. That the taste of all four of them, bitter, musky, addictively filthy, doesnât coat the back of your throat every single time you swallow. Â
The shower is a war zone. Scalding water pounds against skin still blooming with faint red handprints and fingertip bruises, steam thick enough to choke on. You soap yourself raw, trying to erase the evidence, but every glide of your own hands over your sore nipples, your swollen clit, your tender skin just reminds you how easily they marked you. When you finally step out, the oversized black tee you pull on clings to your still-damp skin like a surrender flag, hem barely skimming the bottom curve of your ass, nipples already stiff and obvious against the thin cotton, pussy lips puffy and exposed every time you move. No bra. No panties. Itâs not even close to 8 p.m., but the rule is already branded into your brain like a collar. You tell yourself itâs just comfort. Practicality. Not the first step in learning to live with your holes on permanent display.
They let you cling to that lie for exactly twenty-three minutes.
Youâre in the kitchen, stretching up on tiptoes to grab a glass from the top shelf, the tee riding all the way up to expose the full, bare globes of your ass and the slick shine already coating your inner thighs, when the first crack lands.
Jakeâs palm connects with your right cheek like a gunshot, sharp, loud, viciously playful. The sound ricochets off the marble counters. Your whole body jolts forward, glass clattering against the shelf, and a hot bloom of pain explodes across your skin. Before you can even gasp, heâs right there, chest pressed to your back, hips grinding his half-hard cock against the cleft of your ass through his sweats.
âCareful, princess,â he drawls, voice syrupy and mean. Both hands shove up under the tee from behind, claiming your tits like they were built for his palms, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh until it bulges between his fingers, thumbs and forefingers rolling your nipples in tight, cruel pinches that send lightning straight to your clit. âWouldnât want you breaking shit on your first full day. Or maybe we should make you clean it up on your knees.â
You white-knuckle the counter, breath sawing out of you, thighs pressing together uselessly as fresh slick drips down your legs.
Heeseung strolls past like heâs fetching orange juice, not even sparing you a glance, until his arm snaps out mid-stride and his open palm cracks across your left cheek so hard the sting blooms white-hot and immediate. Your knees buckle. He keeps walking, cool as ever, but you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jayâs waiting when you bend over to grab a yogurt from the bottom drawer of the fridge. The oversized tee flips up completely, baring your dripping cunt and the pink handprints already decorating your ass. His bare foot hooks your ankle, yanking your legs apart with zero warning. Then his hand comes down, once, twice, three brutal, stinging slaps in rapid succession, each one harder than the last, the wet smack of skin on wet skin echoing obscenely. Your pussy clenches visibly with every impact, a humiliating string of slick stretching from your hole to the floor.
âGood reach, roomie,â he mutters, already back to scrolling his phone like he didnât just turn your ass into a throbbing, cherry-red masterpiece. âKeep bending over like that and I might have to test how deep that pretty throat is before dinner.â
Sunghoon doesnât bother with words. He simply appears behind you while youâre loading the dishwasher, hips slamming forward to pin you bent over the open rack, his massive erection grinding slow and filthy between your spread cheeks. One arm bands around your waist, the other shoves under the tee to grope your tits with lazy, proprietary thoroughness, palms rolling the soft mounds like ripe fruit, fingers tugging and twisting your nipples until theyâre swollen, aching peaks. He pinches so hard you cry out, then releases you with a low whistle, walking away like he just checked the mail.
It never stops.
Every single movement is an invitation they cash immediately. Reaching for the remote? Jakeâs fingers plunge between your thighs from behind, two thick digits sliding through your soaked folds just long enough to coat themselves before he pulls away, sucking them clean with a wink. Bending to pick up a dropped spoon? Jayâs palm cracks down again, then stays, middle finger dipping into your cunt, pumping once, twice, curling against your G-spot until your knees shake, then withdrawing with a wet pop and a casual âoops.â Stretching up to dust the top shelf? Heeseungâs mouth finds the back of your neck, teeth grazing, one hand sliding between your legs to flick your clit in rapid, teasing circles until youâre whimpering, then heâs gone, leaving you edged and gasping.
By late afternoon youâre a walking wreck, skin flushed scarlet, ass a lattice of overlapping handprints burning with every step, nipples raw and hypersensitive against the cotton, cunt so swollen and empty it aches like a bruise. Your thighs are shiny with constant slick. Your brain is fogged with need. Youâre trying, failing, to fold laundry on the living room couch when Jake decides heâs done playing.
He doesnât ask. Doesnât warn. He simply drops to his knees in front of you like a man starved for weeks, hooks your trembling legs over his broad shoulders, and buries his face in your dripping pussy with a guttural groan that vibrates straight through your clit.
No warmup. No mercy.
His tongue is everywhere at once, broad, flat, filthy laps from your clenching hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, then sucking the swollen bud between his lips like heâs trying to pull your soul out through it. He alternates, hard, punishing suction that makes your back bow off the cushions, then soft, fluttering licks that leave you sobbing. Two thick fingers spear into you without resistance, curling viciously against that spongy spot inside while his tongue flicks your clit in rapid, relentless strokes. The wet sounds are deafening, your slick gushing around his knuckles, dripping down his chin, soaking the couch beneath you.
You grab fistfuls of his hair, half trying to rip him off, half grinding your cunt against his face desperate for release. âJ-Jake, fuckâtoo muchâahh!â
He growls into your pussy, the vibration making your vision spark white. Three fingers now, stretching you wide, pumping brutally, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while his tongue spears inside you, fucking you in shallow, messy thrusts. Your thighs clamp around his head like a vice. Your back arches so hard you nearly levitate. The orgasm rips through you like lightning, violent, shattering, squirting messily all over his face as you scream, walls convulsing, vision whiting out completely.
He doesnât stop. He rides you through it, through the aftershocks, through the oversensitive whimpers and the frantic pushing at his head, tongue and fingers relentless until youâre a sobbing, twitching wreck, another smaller orgasm crashing over you before the first even fades.
Only then does he pull back, face glistening, lips swollen, chin dripping with your cum like he just won a war. He climbs up your body slow, caging you against the cushions with his powerful frame, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh through his sweats. Then he kisses you. Not the brutal, claiming way you expect after he just devoured your cunt like a starving animal.
Sweet. Devastatingly soft. His mouth moves against yours like a promise, gentle, coaxing, tongue sliding in lazy, velvet strokes that taste like your own slick and his spit. One hand cups your cheek with shocking tenderness, thumb stroking your jawbone like youâre fragile, precious. The other rests low on your belly, warm, possessive, fingers splayed like heâs claiming the space where his cock will eventually live.
It breaks something in you. Filthy-sweet. Disorienting. Dangerous. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling, eyes half-lidded and shining. âGood girl,â he whispers, so soft it feels like a secret. âTasted so fucking sweet. Could eat this pussy for every meal.â
Then heâs gone, standing, wiping his shiny face with the back of his hand, flashing that boyish, wicked grin like he didnât just ruin you twice in five minutes. You lie there panting, legs still hooked open and shaking, lips tingling, cunt still fluttering and leaking onto the ruined couch. The others donât even pretend to look away anymore.
Heeseung glances over from the armchair, dark eyes gleaming, one brow raised in quiet approval. Jay keeps scrolling, but his free hand is palming the massive bulge in his sweats. Sunghoon licks his lips slowly, deliberately, like heâs already tasting his turn. You yank the tee down over your trembling thighs with shaking hands, trying to catch your breath, trying to remember how to be a person.
The clock on the wall glows 7:42 p.m. Eighteen minutes until the first rule locks in for the night. And every single one of them is watching the seconds tick down with hungry, patient eyes.
The day was ânormal.â
But normal in this house means your body is their favorite toy, teased, slapped, groped, eaten, and edged until youâre dripping and desperate. The night hasnât even started.
The apartment is shrouded in that heavy, post-midnight hush, only the low, constant hum of the AC and the faint, faraway pulse of city traffic bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The clock on the wall glows 12:34 a.m. Your panties have been gone for hours, the rule now a permanent, throbbing law between your legs. Every step you take reminds you: bare, slick, exposed, owned.
Youâre trying to ghost down the hallway like a shadow, bare feet silent on the cool hardwood, oversized tee clutched in one fist to keep the hem from riding up, when Heeseung materializes out of nowhere. His long fingers wrap around your wrist like a steel cuff, firm but not cruel, and he yanks you sideways without a single word. The door to his room swings open, swallows you both, and clicks shut with the finality of a prison gate. The lock engages with a soft, damning thunk.
The second the bolt slides home, the mask drops. Heeseung spins you around and slams you back against the door so hard the wood rattles in its frame. His mouth crashes into yours, teeth clashing, tongues battling, no sweetness, just raw, starving hunger. One big hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so he can devour your throat, sucking bruises into the skin while the other shoves up under your tee and finds your already dripping cunt.
âFuck, youâre soaked,â he growls against your pulse point, two thick fingers spearing straight into you without warning. âBeen walking around all night with this greedy little hole empty? Bad girl.â
You moan brokenly, hips jerking into his hand. He adds a third finger instantly, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally while his thumb grinds hard circles on your swollen clit. Your knees buckle; he doesnât let you fall. Just pins you to the door with his body and finger-fucks you so viciously the sound echoes louder than your gasps.
He rips the tee over your head in one motion, leaving you completely naked. Then heâs spinning you again, bending you over the edge of his massive bed, face pressed into the black silk sheets that smell like him, dark, expensive, masculine. He kicks your legs wider, slaps your ass once, twice, hard enough to make the flesh jiggle and bloom pink.
âLook at this pretty cunt clenching for me,â he snarls, lining up the fat, leaking head of his cock and slamming in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The stretch burns so good you scream into the mattress. He doesnât give you time to adjust, just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and starts pounding.
Skin slaps skin like thunder. His heavy balls smack your clit with every savage thrust. The bed creaks violently under the assault. He fucks you like heâs trying to split you in halfâdeep, punishing strokes that drag against every sensitive ridge inside you, the thick head battering your cervix on every inward slam.
âTake it,â he grunts, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back, the other reaching around to slap your clit in time with his thrusts. âThis is what you signed up for, roomie. This cunt belongs to the house now, belongs to me tonight.â
Youâre sobbing, drooling onto the sheets, pussy gushing around his cock so loudly itâs embarrassing. He reaches down and spreads your ass cheeks wider, watching his thick shaft disappear into your stretched hole, the creamy ring of your arousal coating every inch.
âFuck, look at that. Greedy little slut sucking me in.â
He pulls out suddenly, flips you onto your back, and hooks your legs over his shoulders. The new angle lets him drive even deeper. His hips snap forward like a machine, relentless, punishing, perfect. Your tits bounce wildly with every thrust. He leans down and sucks one swollen nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to make you wail, then soothes it with his tongue before moving to the other.
You come first, hard, screaming, walls clamping down on him like a vice, squirting messily around his cock as your whole body seizes. He doesnât slow. Just fucks you straight through it, growling praises and filth into your ear.
âThatâs it, milk my cock, baby. Give me another. Come on this dick again like the house whore you are.â
You do, second orgasm ripping through you even harder, vision whiting out, nails raking bloody lines down his back. Heeseung follows with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulse after pulse until itâs leaking out around his cock, dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets.
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, both of you heaving, sweat-slick bodies glued together. Then he pulls out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum pours from your ruined hole in a creamy waterfall.
But the brutality ends there.
Heeseung rolls off you with surprising grace, chest still rising and falling hard. He sits up, runs a hand through his wrecked hair, then stands, completely naked, still half-hard and shining with your combined mess. You lie there boneless, thighs trembling, cum leaking steadily onto the bed, mind completely blank.
He disappears into the attached bathroom. You hear the faucet run, the soft clink of glass. When he returns, heâs carrying a warm, damp cloth and a small bottle of something. You flinch when he kneels between your spread thighs again, instinct, not fear, but he just shushes you softly.
âEasy, baby.â
The cloth is blissfully warm. He starts at your inner thighs, wiping away the sticky trails of cum with slow, careful strokes. Then higher, between your folds, dabbing gently at your swollen, puffy entrance. You hiss when the fabric brushes your oversensitive clit; he pauses instantly, waiting until you relax before continuing. He cleans every inch of you with the patience of a man whoâs done this before, thorough, reverent, almost worshipful. When heâs satisfied, he sets the cloth aside and pours a small amount of cool, soothing lotion onto his fingers, massaging it gently into the red handprints on your hips, your ass, the bite marks on your breasts.
You can only stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with the orgasms.
Heeseung meets your gaze, those dark eyes steady, unreadable for a heartbeat, then the corner of his mouth lifts in something softer than a smirk. âI may be an asshole, baby,â he says, voice low and gravel-rough from how loud heâd moaned your name, âbut I know how to treat whatâs mine right after I break it.â
He finishes with the lotion, then grabs a clean, fluffy towel from the dresser and drapes it gently over your hips like a blanket. Pulls the black silk sheet up to your waist, tucking it around you with careful hands. Finally, he leans down, brushes sweat-damp strands of hair off your forehead with his knuckles, light, almost sweet, and presses the softest kiss to your temple.
âGet some sleep,â he murmurs against your skin. âYouâre gonna need every ounce of strength for what the rest of them have planned tomorrow.â
He doesnât stay. Just stands, flicks off the bedside lamp with a soft click, and pads out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough that a thin, golden line of hallway light spills across the floor like an invitation⊠or a warning.
You lie there in the dark, body aching in the most delicious, ruined way, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks, skin tingling from his gentle hands, mind spinning in dizzy circles.
Because he is an asshole. A cruel, rule-making, cum-painting, pussy-destroying asshole. But tonight, for the first time since you moved in, youâre terrifyingly certain thatâs not all he is. And that single, dangerous crack in the armor?
It scares you more than every filthy rule theyâve written on that fridge. Because if Heeseung can fuck you like a toy and then care for you like something preciousâŠ
What the hell are the other three capable of? You get your answer somewhere around an hour after Heeseung leaves.
The apartment has gone quiet, city lights bleeding through the blinds in faint orange stripes, the distant hum of traffic like white noise. Youâre half-asleep in your own bed again, body still humming from earlier, skin too sensitive, mind too full of everything thatâs happened since you walked through the front door. The sheets feel cool against the faint bruises blooming on your hips.
You donât hear the door open. Just feel the mattress dip behind you, slow, careful, like whoever it is doesnât want to startle you awake. Then warmth. Jayâs chest presses to your back, not crowding, not possessive in the usual way. Just⊠there. Solid. His arm slides around your waist from behind, palm flattening low on your stomach. Fingers splay wide, covering as much skin as they can without gripping.
He doesnât speak at first. Just breathes, slow, even, against the nape of your neck. His nose brushes the baby hairs there once, twice. Then his thumb starts moving.
Slow circles. Lazy, deliberate swirls over the soft skin just below your navel. The kind of touch that feels like heâs tracing something fragile. Like youâre made of blown glass, or spun sugar, or something that might crack if he presses too hard.
Itâs nothing like the way theyâve touched you all day. No slaps. No gropes. No mocking whispers or filthy promises. Just this. Quiet. Steady. Almost reverent. You tense for half a second, waiting for the punchline, the shift into something meaner.
It doesnât come. Instead, his lips find the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Not a kiss. Just a resting place. Warm breath fanning over your skin in time with the slow rub of his thumb. âYou okay?â he murmurs eventually. Voice low, rough from sleep and whatever else heâs been doing in the dark. Not demanding an answer. Just⊠checking.
You donât know what to say. Your throat feels tight. You nod once, small, barely there. His hand keeps moving. Same rhythm. Same gentleness. Circles widening a little, then tightening again, like heâs memorizing the shape of you under his palm.
âTell me if itâs too much,â he says against your skin. âAny of it. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever.â
The words hang there, simple, quiet, sincere in a way that doesnât match the asshole roommates who printed rules on the fridge and came on your face like it was a housewarming tradition. You swallow. âIâm⊠okay,â you whisper. Itâs the truth, mostly. The rest is too tangled to name.
He hums once, soft, approving. His arm tightens just enough to pull you closer, back flush to his chest. No grind. No wandering hands. Just holding. The circles donât stop. Slow. Soothing. Like heâs trying to rub the tension out of you molecule by molecule. You feel your breathing start to match his, deeper, slower. The ache between your legs dulls to a low throb instead of a sharp pulse. Your eyelids grow heavy again. Jay doesnât move to leave.
Doesnât push for more. Just stays. Palm warm on your waist. Thumb still drawing those endless, careful circles. Like youâre something worth being gentle with. Even here. Even now. You fall asleep to the rhythm of it, his heartbeat steady against your spine, his breath even against your neck, the soft scrape of calluses on your skin.
And for the first time since you moved in, the apartment doesnât feel quite so dangerous.
Sunlight slices through the half-open blinds in thin, golden bars across your bare back. You wake slowly, first to the sensation of heat, then weight, then the unmistakable press of something thick and heavy sliding past your lips before your eyes are even open.
Heeseung. Heâs already there, kneeling at the edge of the mattress, one hand braced on the headboard, the other cradling the back of your skull with surprising care. His cock is hard, morning wood, thick and flushed, veins prominent under the skin, and heâs feeding it to you slowly, not thrusting, just⊠settling. Like heâs been waiting for you to wake up around him.
Your lashes flutter. A soft, sleepy sound escapes your throat, half protest, half surrender, as your mouth stretches to accommodate him. He doesnât push deeper than you can take. Just holds still once the head bumps the back of your tongue, letting you adjust.
âShh,â he murmurs above you, thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw. âMorning, baby.â
His voice is gravel-rough from sleep, softer than it has any right to be. You blink up at him through damp lashes. Heâs shirtless, hair a wreck, eyes dark but not cruel. Thereâs something almost apologetic in the way he looks down at you, like he knows exactly how many times heâs already used this mouth, this body, in the last forty-eight hours and still canât stop.
You donât pull away. Instead, you flatten your tongue along the underside, hollow your cheeks just enough to make him hiss quietly. His hips twitch once, small, involuntary, then still again.
âGood girl,â he breathes. Not mocking. Quiet. Almost reverent.
Thatâs when you feel the mattress dip on either side. Jake slides in behind you first, warm chest pressing to your back, knees nudging yours apart. His cock, already leaking, slides between your thighs, not inside yet, just rocking slow and lazy along your folds. He kisses the nape of your neck, open-mouthed and gentle, like heâs tasting sleep-warmed skin instead of claiming territory.
âMorning, princess,â he whispers against your ear. One hand slips under you, cupping your breast, not squeezing, just holding. Palm warm. Fingers splayed. Thumb brushing the nipple in slow, soothing circles.
Sunghoon appears on your other side, long limbs unfolding gracefully. He doesnât speak at first. Just watches your face while Heeseung rocks shallowly into your mouth. Then he leans in, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches around Heeseungâs length.
Sunghoonâs hand finds your hip. Strokes down the curve of your waist, then back up. Like heâs memorizing every dip and swell. Like heâs sorry for every bruise heâs left there. Jayâs the last to join.
Heâs fully dressed, gray sweats, black tee, hair still damp from a shower, sitting in the armchair across from the bed with a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. Vertical hold. Red recording dot blinking steadily.
He doesnât say anything filthy. Doesnât bark orders. Just watches. Sips. The corner of his mouth lifts when your eyes meet his over Heeseungâs shoulder. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Almost fond. âPretty,â he mouths. No sound. Just the shape of the word.
Heeseung starts moving then, slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Never deep enough to choke you. Just enough to fill your mouth, to let you taste the salt and musk of him. Your hands come up instinctively, fingers curling around the base he canât fit, stroking what your lips canât reach.
Jake shifts behind you. Lines himself up. Presses in, slow. So slow. The stretch is lazy, unhurried, like he has all morning to sink into you. When he bottoms out, he stays there. Doesnât thrust. Just grinds in tiny, rolling circles, letting you feel every inch pressed against that spot inside that makes your toes curl.
Sunghoonâs hand slides between you and the mattress. Finds your clit. Circles it with the same gentle pressure Jakeâs using on your nipple. No frantic rubbing. No pinching. Just soft, steady friction that builds slow and syrupy.
You moan around Heeseung, muffled, needy. The vibration makes him groan low in his throat.
âFuck,â he breathes. âThatâs it.â
They move like theyâve rehearsed it. Like theyâve agreed, silently, somewhere in the dark hours after Jay held you last night, that today they wonât break you. Not more than they already have.
Jake rocks into you in time with Heeseungâs shallow thrusts. Sunghoonâs fingers never falter, patient, coaxing. Your body starts to tremble, not from overstimulation, but from the slow, relentless climb theyâre building together.
Jayâs phone stays steady. He tilts it slightly, capturing the way your back arches, the way Jakeâs hand splays protectively over your stomach, the way Sunghoonâs lips brush your shoulder every few seconds like he canât help himself.
Heeseungâs breathing grows ragged first. âGonna come,â he warns, voice strained, almost pleading. âWhere do you want it, baby?â You canât answer with words. Just tighten your lips around him, suck harder, look up at him with wide, glassy eyes.
He swears under his breath. Pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and spills across your tongue in thick, warm pulses. You swallow what you can; the rest drips from the corner of your mouth. Heeseung catches it with his thumb, pushes it back between your lips.
âGood girl,â he whispers again. This time his voice cracks. Jakeâs rhythm falters behind you. His forehead drops to your shoulder. âFuckâcan Iâinside?â
You nod frantically, around Heeseungâs softening cock still resting on your tongue.
He groans, long, low, broken, and buries himself deep. Comes with a shudder that rocks through both of you. Hot. Thick. Filling you until it leaks out around him, down your thighs. He doesnât pull out right away. Just stays seated, grinding lazily through the aftershocks, letting you clench around him like heâs trying to keep every drop where it belongs.
Sunghoonâs fingers speed up just enough, still gentle, still careful, and you come like a wave breaking slow. No scream. No violent shaking. Just a long, trembling release that leaves you boneless, whimpering softly into Heeseungâs thigh.
They donât rush to move.
Jake stays inside you, softening but not leaving. Sunghoon keeps petting your clit through the aftershocks, light, soothing touches now. Heeseung strokes your hair back from your face, tucking strands behind your ear.
Jay finally lowers the phone. Stops recording. Sets the mug on the side table. Walks over. He kneels on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, and cups your cheek. Thumb swipes away the last trace of Heeseung from your lip.
âYou okay?â he asks quietly. You nod. Eyes heavy. Body humming. He leans down. Kisses your forehead, soft. Lingering. Then he looks at the others. âGroup chat,â he says simply. âSheâs gonna want to see it later.â
Jake chuckles, soft, breathless, against your neck. âSheâs gonna come again just watching.â Sunghoon finally pulls his hand away. Presses one last kiss to your shoulder blade. Heeseung helps ease you onto your side, careful, like you might shatter. Jake slips out slowly, both of you hissing at the loss. Cum leaks immediately, thick, white, obscene. Jay grabs a clean towel from the nightstand, wipes between your thighs with the same gentle care Heeseung used last night.
No one speaks for a minute. Just breathing. Skin cooling. Hearts slowing. Then Heeseung breaks the quiet. âWe were⊠a lot,â he says. Voice rough. Eyes on yours. âYesterday. The day before. If itâs too muchââ
You shake your head before he can finish. Reach up. Curl your fingers around his wrist. âIâm here,â you whisper. âIâm staying.â Something flickers across his face, relief, maybe. Guilt, definitely.
Jayâs hand finds yours. Squeezes once. Jake presses his lips to the back of your neck, soft, apologetic. Sunghoon just watches you. Then leans in. Kisses the corner of your mouth. Slow. Sweet. âBreakfast,â Jay says eventually. âIn bed. No rules for the next hour.â
You laugh, small, wrecked, real. They move like theyâve been given permission to be soft. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself believe they might actually mean it. The rest of the day unfolds like something borrowed from another life.
No one touches you. Not in the hungry, claiming way youâve come to expect. No wandering hands under your shirt while youâre making toast. No casual spanks when you bend to pick up a stray sock. No one pins you against the counter or drags you onto a lap. The rules, those printed, obscene bullet points on the fridge, might as well be written in invisible ink for how irrelevant they feel in the soft, lazy hours that follow breakfast.
They just⊠stay.
All four of them orbit you without crowding. The living room becomes this strange, sunlit island: blankets dragged from bedrooms, pillows piled into a makeshift nest on the sectional, takeout containers from last night still scattered like evidence of a truce. Someone puts on music, low-fi beats, nothing aggressive, just enough rhythm to fill the quiet without demanding attention. Jake sprawls across the floor with his head in your lap, scrolling memes on his phone and reading the funniest ones out loud in increasingly ridiculous voices until you snort-laugh and accidentally knee him in the ribs.
âOw, princess, you trying to murder me?â he whines, but heâs grinning, grabbing your hand to press a dramatic kiss to your knuckles before going right back to his phone.
Jay sits cross-legged at the other end of the couch, one of your feet in his lap. He massages your ankle absentmindedly while he argues with Heeseung about whether the new season of some crime drama is trash or genius. Every time you shift, he squeezes your calf once, gentle, grounding, like a silent check-in.
Heeseungâs on the armchair opposite, legs kicked up on the coffee table, nursing the same lukewarm coffee from this morning. He catches your eye every so often and just⊠holds it. No smirk. No heat. Just a small, almost shy tilt of his mouth, like heâs still surprised youâre still here.
Sunghoon is the quietest. Heâs tucked into the corner of the sectional, long legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest behind you. He doesnât say much, just watches. Watches you laugh at Jakeâs dumb jokes. Watches the way your shoulders slowly unclench. Watches the way the afternoon light turns your skin gold.
You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time someone shifts closer, every time a hand brushes your arm or knee, your body tenses on instinct, bracing for the grab, the grope, the inevitable slide into filth. But it never comes.
Instead: Jake starts a pillow fight that lasts exactly thirty five seconds before Jay declares himself referee and tackles Jake into the cushions. Heeseung orders fried chicken and insists on feeding you the first piece, holding it to your lips like Jay used to, but this time thereâs no sauce-smeared thumb, no dirty promise in his eyes. Just a soft âOpen up, baby,â and when you do, he smiles like youâve given him something precious.
Sunghoon eventually migrates closer. Not crowding. Just enough that his thigh presses warm against yours. You glance at him, skeptical, guarded, still half-expecting the mask to slip. He notices. Of course he does. His hand lifts, slow, telegraphing every movement so you can pull away if you want. You donât.
Fingers gentle, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers there, knuckles grazing the shell lightly, before he lets his palm cup the side of your face for half a heartbeat. You freeze. He smiles. Not the cold, cutting one he usually wears. Something smaller. Softer. Almost sad.
âYou are our friend, sweetheart,â he says quietly. His voice is low enough that the others have to strain to hear, but they do. The room quiets around the words like theyâre something fragile. You blink. Throat tight. Sunghoonâs thumb brushes your cheekbone once, barely there.
âWe fucked this up from the start,â he continues, softer still. âWe saw you walk through that door looking like you were ready to bolt at the first wrong move⊠and we made sure every move was wrong. On purpose.â His gaze drops to where his hand still rests against your skin. âThought itâd be easier if you hated us. If you left on your own. If we never had to admit we wanted you to stay for more than justââ
He stops. Swallows. ââfor more than just the easy parts.â The confession hangs there, heavy and unpolished. Jakeâs head is still in your lap; heâs gone unnaturally still, staring up at the ceiling like heâs afraid to interrupt. Jayâs thumb has paused on your ankle.
Heeseung sets his coffee down. Slowly. You look around at them, all four, and for the first time you see it: the guilt. Not performative. Not a tactic. Real. Raw. Sitting under their skin like a bruise theyâve been ignoring. Sunghoonâs hand finally drops from your face, but he doesnât move away.
âWeâre not asking for forgiveness,â he says. âWe donât deserve it. Not yet. But weâre not gonna keep treating you likeââ He exhales through his nose. ââlike youâre disposable. Not anymore.â Silence stretches. Then Jake, sweet, chaotic Jake, breaks it by pressing the softest kiss to the inside of your wrist.
âFriends can still cuddle, right?â he mumbles against your skin. âBecause Iâm not moving. My headâs too comfy.â A tiny, surprised laugh bubbles out of you. Jay squeezes your calf once. âWeâve got time,â he says simply. âNo rush. No rules today.â
Heeseung leans forward, elbows on his knees. âTell us what you want,â he says. âRight now. Anything. Weâll listen.â You look at them, really look. The assholes who printed rules on the fridge. The ones who marked you, used you, laughed while they did it. The ones who just spent an entire day proving they know how to be gentle when they choose to be. You swallow.
âI wantâŠâ Your voice is small at first. Then steadier. âI want to believe you.â Sunghoonâs eyes soften. âThen weâll keep showing you,â he says. âUntil you do.â
Jake nuzzles closer into your lap like a cat claiming territory. Jay resumes the slow massage on your ankle. Heeseung picks up the remote, queues up some mindless comedy youâve all seen a hundred times.
And Sunghoon, quiet, beautiful, regretful Sunghoon, leans in just enough to rest his forehead against your temple. âFriends,â he whispers again. Like a promise.
Like a beginning. The afternoon bleeds into evening. No one fucks you. No one even tries. They just stay. Laughing. Joking. Touching you like you matter. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself lean into it.
Just a little. Just enough to see what happens when the rules stop mattering and the people start to.
The apartment feels different when the others are gone, quieter, yes, but not the hollow kind of quiet that echoes off the walls. Itâs softer, warmer, like the whole space exhales once Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon finally slip out the door with their jackets half-zipped and promises of âreal foodâ still lingering in the air. Twenty minutes ago they each pressed a kiss to your forehead, Heeseungâs lingering the longest, his thumb sweeping slow circles over your cheekbone as if he still couldnât quite believe you were letting all four of them stay, Jayâs quick and teasing with a wink, Sunghoonâs almost shy, lips brushing your skin like a secret. They told Jake to behave, and the second the door clicked shut behind them, Jakeâs grin turned wicked, golden-retriever energy dialed up to eleven, like the instruction itself was foreplay.
Heâs been orbiting you ever since, turning half-hearted chores into an excuse to stay glued to your side. Youâre folding laundry on the couch, and he keeps âhelpingâ by snatching shirts out of your hands just to hold them up like trophies before tossing them back in a messy pile. In the kitchen he hip-checks you every time you reach for a dish towel, laughing low and bright when you swat at his chest. The late-afternoon sun pours through the big windows in thick golden slabs, catching on the fine hairs of his arms, turning his skin warm and honeyed. Youâre both a little sweaty from moving around, the faint scent of his cologne, something clean, mixing with the laundry detergent and the leftover smell of last nightâs fried chicken still clinging to the air.Â
âYouâre terrible at this,â you say, watching him wrestle a fitted sheet into something that vaguely resembles a rectangle. The elastic corners keep snapping back at him like they have a personal grudge.
Jake flashes that devastating, all-teeth smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. âIâm excellent at distractions. Watch this, baby.â
Before you can protest, he shakes the sheet out with dramatic flair, like a matador taunting a bull, then whips it over both your heads in one smooth motion. The world narrows instantly to white cotton filtered sunlight, the fabric draping around you like a private tent. Youâre both laughing before you can stop it, deep, helpless belly laughs that make your ribs ache and your eyes water. The sheet muffles everything, turning the sound intimate and close. Jakeâs body is right there, heat radiating off him, chest brushing yours with every breathless chuckle. He tugs you deeper under the fabric, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, and suddenly the playful game shifts. His nose nudges yours. You feel the brush of his lashes against your cheek. The laughter fades into something heavier, warmer, the air between you thickening like honey.
âSee?â he murmurs, voice low and rougher now. âMasterclass in procrastination.â
You roll your eyes, but your hands are already sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You donât push him away. You pull him closer.
The sheet eventually slips to the floor in a crumpled heap, forgotten. You move down the hallway together, the basket of clean clothes balanced on your hip, Jake trailing so close his fingers keep ghosting the small of your back. You bend over to grab a stray sock thatâs escaped onto the floor, nothing exaggerated, just a natural lean, your thin cotton shorts riding up just enough to expose the curve where thigh meets hip. Behind you, Jake sucks in a sharp, punched-out breath, like the sight physically winds him.
You freeze.
His hand settles on your hip, palm broad and hot, fingers spreading wide over the soft flesh through the fabric. Not a slap, not a grope. Just⊠claiming. Resting there with deliberate weight, thumb stroking a slow, lazy circle that makes your skin prickle. You feel every callus on his fingertips, the faint tremble in his touch like heâs fighting the urge to squeeze harder. Heat blooms low in your belly, liquid and slow.
You straighten up slowly, deliberately, and his hand stays glued to you, sliding with the motion so it ends up cupping the full cheek. He turns you around with the gentlest pressure on your hip, like youâre made of glass heâs terrified of cracking. Your back meets the cool wall of the hallway with a soft thud. Jake crowds in immediately, but not aggressively, his body cages you without trapping, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand still kneading your ass with slow, possessive squeezes that make your breath hitch.
His eyes have gone dark, almost black, pupils blown wide. Not the usual playful hunger. Something deeper. Hungrier. Worshipful.
âHey,â he breathes, voice gravel-rough. âYou good? Still with me?â You nod, small and shaky, because the air has turned thick, syrupy, every inhale dragging like molasses. Your nipples are already tight against your shirt, and you know he can see it. He leans in like heâs giving you every chance to stop him. The first kiss is feather-light, barely a brush of lips, testing, asking. You answer by tilting your head, parting your mouth just enough, tongue flicking out to taste him. Thatâs all the permission he needs.
Jake kisses you like heâs been starving for it since the day you moved in, like every shared glance and late-night movie marathon has been foreplay leading to this exact second. Slow. So fucking slow. His lips are plush and warm, sliding against yours with wet, deliberate pressure. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing the seam until you open wider, then he licks inside, deep, lazy strokes that map every inch of you like heâs memorizing the taste. You moan softly into his mouth and he answers with a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight down to your clit. His hand on your ass tightens, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he already is, thick, heavy ridge straining against his sweatpants, pressing right against your lower belly.
One of his hands cradles your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone while the other slides up under your shirt, palm flat and scorching against the bare skin of your stomach. He doesnât rush. His fingers splay wide, stroking up your ribs, tracing the underside of your breasts with reverent touches. When his thumb finally brushes over your nipple, already pebbled and aching, he circles it slowly, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp and arch into him. He swallows the sound, kissing you deeper, tongue fucking into your mouth in filthy, rhythmic strokes that mimic exactly what you wish his cock was doing somewhere else.
Youâre grinding on his thigh now, small, helpless rolls of your hips that drag your soaked pussy along the hard muscle. The thin fabric of your shorts is useless; you can feel how wet youâve gotten, the slickness coating your inner thighs, probably leaving a damp spot on his sweats. Jake breaks the kiss only to drag his open mouth down your jaw, sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. He bites down gently, then soothes it with his tongue, leaving faint red marks that bloom under his lips. You tilt your head back against the wall, exposing more of your throat, and he takes full advantage, licking a hot stripe down to your collarbone, sucking hard enough that you know thereâll be bruises tomorrow, little purple galaxies only the four of them will see.
âFuck, you taste so fucking good,â he groans against your skin, voice wrecked. âSweet. Like youâve been waiting for me to do this all day.â
His hand leaves your breast only to slide down, cupping your pussy through your shorts. He doesnât push inside, just rubs the heel of his palm in slow, firm circles right over your clit, feeling how soaked the fabric is. You whimper, hips jerking, and he chuckles darkly into your neck.
âYeah? That feel good, baby? Youâre dripping for me already.â
You canât answer with words, just a broken moan as two of his fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, tracing your slick folds without pushing in, spreading your wetness up to your clit and rubbing tight, teasing circles. Your hands are frantic now, one fisted in his hair, the other palming the thick length of his cock through his sweats, squeezing and stroking him until heâs panting against your mouth, hips twitching like heâs fighting not to rut into your hand.
You kiss for what feels like hours, messy, spit-slick, tongues tangled and sliding. Your lips are swollen and tingling, jaw aching in the best way. He keeps breaking away only to come right back, sucking on your tongue, biting your bottom lip, whispering filthy little praises between kisses.
âSo fucking pretty when youâre desperate like this⊠making those sweet little sounds for me⊠gonna ruin me, baby, you know that?â
Your legs are trembling. He notices, always notices, and presses his thigh harder between yours, letting you ride it properly now, the friction perfect and relentless. His fingers keep working your clit in lazy strokes, dipping just inside your entrance to gather more slick before sliding back up, never giving you enough to come, just keeping you right on the edge, trembling and whimpering into his mouth.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, both of you are breathing like youâve run miles, chests heaving, lips shiny and red, his hair a complete mess from your fingers. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, cock throbbing visibly against your palm.
âShit,â he laughs, breathless and shaky. âI didnât mean to⊠fuck, I justââ
You cut him off with another kiss, slow, deep, pouring everything youâre feeling into it. When you pull away, you whisper against his swollen lips, âI know. I wanted it too.â
He smiles, that crooked, boyish, heart-stopping smile, and kisses the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then pulls you tight into his chest. His arms wrap around you completely, one hand still cupping your ass possessively, the other stroking soothing circles up and down your spine. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, his cock still hard and insistent between you, but he doesnât push. Doesnât grind. Just holds you there in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge and the faint city traffic the only sounds left.
You stay like that for a long, indulgent stretch of minutes, bodies pressed together, breaths syncing, the ache between your legs still pulsing but somehow perfectly satisfied by the simple fact of being wrapped up in him. His lips brush your temple.
âFriends can make out, right?â he murmurs, echoing the joke from earlier, voice warm with affection and something deeper.
You laugh softly against his chest, the sound muffled and content. âYeah, Jake. Friends can definitely make out.â
And for now, for this golden, sun-drenched afternoon, thatâs more than enough. The others will be back soon, but right now the apartment is yours and his, and he just keeps holding you like he never wants to let go.
The hallway still smells faintly of Jakeâs cologne, clean and warm skin, and the soft, powdery scent of laundry detergent clinging to the crumpled clothes you never quite finished putting away. His lips are swollen and glossy from the long, lazy make-out against the wall, cheeks flushed a deep pink, pupils blown so wide the pretty hazel is almost gone. Heâs breathing hard through his nose, forehead pressed to yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded, hands still shoved up under your shirt, palms hot and broad against the small of your back, thumbs tracing slow, idle arcs that make your spine tingle.
âFuck,â he whispers, voice wrecked and soft all at once, raw like heâs been shouting your name for hours even though he hasnât. âI need you on me, princess. Need to feel that pretty pussy sliding down my cock right fucking now.â
The words drop straight into your belly, heavy and molten. You swallow hard, thighs pressing together on instinct, and he feels the tiny clench, grins against the side of your neck, boyish and filthy at the same time.
He doesnât beg. Doesnât grab. Just brushes his mouth over the shell of your ear, hot breath ghosting, voice a low rasp that curls straight between your legs.
âRide me. Please. On the couch. Slow. Let me feel every inch of you taking me like you own it.â
Your cunt throbs at the plea. You nod before you even realize youâre doing it.
Jake laces his fingers through yours, gentle, almost sweet, and leads you back down the hall like youâre going for a Sunday stroll, not about to fuck him stupid in the middle of the living room. The late-afternoon light has shifted, pouring across the big sectional in thick, golden rivers; the cushions are still dented from earlier folding sessions, the air warm and lazy. He drops onto the couch first, sprawling wide, legs splayed, grey sweats already tented, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric like itâs trying to escape.
He then hooks his fingers against the edge of your shorts and drags them down, along with your panties. His eyes darken as he gulps and looks up at you.
He pats his thigh once, slow, inviting, eyes locked on yours with that crooked, heart-melting grin.
You donât hesitate. You climb on, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, and the first slow grind of your bare, soaked cunt against the hard, hot length of him through the thin material rips a twin hiss from both your throats. Youâre dripping, have been since he pinned you to the hallway wall, and the fabric is already darkening under you, slick. Jakeâs hands settle on your hips, not guiding yet, just holding, thumbs stroking the skin right above the waistband of your shorts like heâs memorizing the feel of you.
You start slow. Torturously slow. Tiny, rolling rocks of your hips that drag your swollen clit along the rigid ridge of his cock again and again. The friction is perfect, wet, hot, teasing. Every pass makes the fabric cling tighter, the head of his dick bumping right where you need it. Jakeâs head falls back against the couch, throat working on a low, broken groan, Adamâs apple bobbing.
âGoddamn, baby⊠look at you. Already so fucking wet youâre soaking through my sweats. That little pussy weeping for me.â
You giggle, breathless, giddy, almost embarrassed at how turned on you are, and lean down to kiss him. Soft at first, just lips brushing, then deeper: tongues sliding lazy and messy, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the sweetness of the iced americano he had earlier. His hands slide back under your shirt, palms scalding against your ribs, thumbs circling the undersides of your breasts in slow, reverent strokes until your nipples are tight, aching peaks. He pinches them gently, rolls them between thumb and forefinger, and you arch into his touch with a whimper that makes him smile against your mouth.
âYouâre so fucking soft,â he mumbles between kisses, voice thick. âSo perfect. Been dreaming about this tight little cunt wrapped around me since the second you walked through that door and smiled at all of us like we hung the moon. Gonna let me feel it now, princess? Gonna sit on my cock and ride me nice and slow?â
You lift just enough to shove his sweats down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, veins standing out, the tip already glistening with a fat bead of pre-cum that streaks down the shaft when you wrap your fingers around him. One slow, firm stroke from base to head has him groaning, hips twitching up into your fist. You line him up, notch the blunt head against your dripping entrance, and sink down.
The first inch is heaven.
You both moan, long, filthy sounds, as he stretches you open, thick and hot and perfect, splitting you so deliciously slow you feel every ridge, every vein. Your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut. He bottoms out with your ass flush to his thighs, balls pressed tight against you, and the fullness is so overwhelming your walls flutter around him like youâre already close.
âFuuuuck,â Jake breathes, hands flexing hard on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. âThatâs it. Take every fucking inch, princess. Look at you, swallowing me like you were made for it. So goddamn tight and wet and perfect.â
You start riding him properly, long, deliberate lifts and sinks, rolling your hips on every downstroke so your clit grinds against his pelvis. The sounds of your cunt taking him echo in the quiet apartment: slick, filthy squelches every time you drop down, his cock glistening with your arousal when you rise. Jakeâs eyes are glued to where youâre joined, watching himself disappear inside you over and over with something like awe.
âListen to that,â he groans, voice cracking. âThat sloppy little sound every time you take me. Youâre dripping down my balls, baby, making such a pretty mess all over me. Gonna stain the couch and I donât even care.â
You bury your face in his neck for a second, flushed and turned on beyond words, then bite down on the skin there, light, teasing. He jolts, cock twitching hard inside you, and groans louder.
âFuck, do that again. Mark me up, princess. Want the others to see who got to have you first.â
You do, sucking a faint pink bloom into his throat while you ride him harder, faster, breasts bouncing under your thin shirt. His mouth finds your nipple through the fabric, sucking hard, teeth grazing, soaking the cotton until itâs transparent and clinging. You cry out, high and needy, hips snapping down faster now, chasing the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.
Jakeâs losing it beautifully, head thrown back, throat exposed, hands gripping your ass and spreading you wider so he can watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your greedy cunt.
âShit, ride it harder, baby. Fuck yourself on me. Use my cock like the greedy little slut you are. Come all over it, wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.â
The filthy words spoken in that sweet, reverent tone send you spiraling. You slam down harder, clit grinding relentlessly, thighs burning. He slides one hand between you, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, firm circles.
âCome on, princess. Give it to me. Soak my cock. Make it messy. Wanna feel you gush.â
You shatter with a broken cry, head thrown back, back arching, clamping down around him in hard, pulsing waves. Your vision whites out. Thighs shake violently. You gush around him, slick flooding out around his base, soaking his balls and the couch beneath you. Jake swears, low and guttural, hips stuttering up once, twice, burying himself to the hilt as he comes, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls, filling you so full it leaks out immediately around his throbbing length.
He holds you flush against him through every aftershock, arms banded tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your collarbone, breathing ragged and shaky. You stay like that, sweaty, trembling, his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum slowly trickling out, while he kisses your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth with soft, lazy presses.
âBest fucking ride of my life,â he mumbles, voice hoarse and sated, nuzzling into your hair.
You laugh, soft, spent, glowing, and nuzzle back. âFriends can do that too, right?â
He chuckles, kissing your temple. âFriends can do whatever the fuck they want.â Youâre still seated on him, his cock twitching occasionally inside your cum-filled pussy, when the front door clicks open.
Neither of you moves fast enough. Sunghoon steps in first, grocery bags dangling from one hand, keys in the other, the faint scent of fresh produce and restaurant takeout wafting in with him. He freezes mid-step. Eyes lock on the scene: you straddling Jake on the couch, shirt rucked up to your collarbones, thighs spread obscenely wide, Jakeâs cock still half-hard and buried inside you, thick white cum already leaking in slow, creamy rivulets down his balls and onto the cushion.
The bags hit the floor with a heavy, forgotten thud. A carton of eggs probably cracks, but no one cares. Sunghoonâs jaw tightens so hard you hear the sharp click of his teeth. His eyes, usually cool and calm, go black, dangerous, glittering with something possessive and furious.
âWhat. The. Fuck.â
His voice is ice wrapped in velvet. Low. Deadly calm. Jake startles, arms tightening around you protectively, but he doesnât dare pull out. Doesnât even try to cover you.
âHyungâwait, itâs notââ
Sunghoon crosses the room in three long strides, towering over both of you. He doesnât yell. Doesnât shove Jake. Just reaches down, grips your chin between thumb and forefinger, firm, not bruising, and tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb drags slow and deliberate across your bottom lip, then presses inside. You suck instinctively, tongue swirling around the digit, tasting the faint salt of his skin.
His eyes flick to Jake, cold as winter.
âGet out from under her. Now.â
Jake hesitates half a second. Sunghoonâs voice drops even lower, lethal.
âI said now.â
Jake lifts you carefully with a wet, filthy sound that makes Sunghoonâs nostrils flare. The moment he slips free, a thick gush of his cum pours out of you, sliding down your inner thighs in white trails. Jake stays seated on the couch, chest heaving as he watches warily.
Sunghoon never looks away from you. He steps closer, one hand sliding to the nape of your neck, thumb pressing right over your racing pulse, while the other grips your hip hard enough to anchor you. âYou let him fuck you the second we walked out the door?â he murmurs, voice velvet and venom, lips brushing your ear. âSpread this pretty pussy for whoever was home first? Without waiting for me? Without even texting?â
You shake your head, small, instinctive, breath caught in your throat. âNo?â
He leans in closer, breath hot against your skin. âThen why the fuck are you stuffed so full of him, hmm?â
Two of his long fingers dip between your thighs without warning, sliding deep into your cum-slick cunt with a wet squelch. You gasp, knees buckling. He curls them slowly, deliberately, scissoring, feeling the warm, sticky mess Jake left behind, pushing it deeper before dragging it out again. When he pulls his fingers free theyâre coated thick and white. He holds them up between you, shiny, dripping, then brings them to your mouth.
âClean.â
You open obediently. Suck his fingers clean, tongue swirling, tasting yourself and Jake and the faint metallic tang of Sunghoonâs skin, moaning around them while he watches with dark, unblinking eyes.
âGood girl,â he praises, voice low and rough. Then, suddenly, he yanks you forward by the neck and kisses you, hard, possessive, teeth clashing, tongue fucking into your mouth like heâs erasing every trace of Jakeâs kisses. When he pulls back his lips are wet, eyes blazing with jealousy and hunger.
âBedroom. Now.â
He doesnât wait for you to walk. Just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, cum still dripping down your thighs and onto his shirt. Jake scrambles up and follows, sweats tugged up haphazardly.
Sunghoon kicks the bedroom door shut behind the three of you with a bang that rattles the frame. He drops you onto the bed, gentle enough not to hurt, rough enough that you bounce, thighs splaying open automatically. He looms over you, tall and broad and radiating controlled fury.
âStrip. Everything off. Let me see exactly what he got to play with while I was gone.â
You obey instantly, tugging your shirt over your head, shoving your shorts down, kicking them aside until youâre completely bare, pussy puffy and glistening.
His gaze rakes over every inch of you, slow, possessive, furious, hungry. He licks his lips. âYouâre mine tonight, princess. All fucking mine. And youâre going to feel exactly who this cunt belongs to until you canât remember anyone elseâs name.â
He glances at Jake, standing frozen by the door, eyes wide and cock twitching in his sweats.
âYou can watch,â Sunghoon says coldly, voice like a blade. âBut you donât touch. Not until I say so. You sit there and watch me take back whatâs mine.â
Jake swallows hard. Nods once. Sinks into the chair in the corner, hand already palming himself through his sweats like he canât help it.
Sunghoon turns back to you. Grabs your thighs in both hands and spreads them wide, wide enough that your folds spread, dripping. He lowers his head slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
The first long, vicious swipe of his tongue through your folds is punishing, hot, wet, claiming, licking every drop of Jakeâs cum straight out of you like heâs erasing the evidence. You arch off the bed with a sharp cry, hands flying to his hair. Sunghoon doesnât stop. He eats you like a man starved, tongue fucking deep inside your cum-filled hole, sucking noisily, swallowing every filthy mix of you and Jake with low, possessive growls that vibrate straight to your clit. He sucks your swollen folds into his mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit, then dives back in to lap at the creamy mess still oozing out of you.
Youâre moaning, loud, broken, shameless, hips grinding against his face while he devours you, chin and lips shiny with cum and your fresh slick. He pulls back just long enough to growl against your thigh,
âGonna lick every last drop of him out of this pussy until it only tastes like me. And then Iâm going to fuck you so deep youâll still feel me tomorrow when the others take their turns.â
His mouth seals back over your clit, sucking hard, two fingers plunging deep, and the jealousy is only just beginning.
The bedroom is thick with the sounds of Sunghoonâs mouth devouring you, long, filthy drags of his tongue through your cum-slick folds, sucking Jakeâs release out of your fluttering hole like heâs personally insulted by every drop. Heâs relentless, humming low against your clit, two fingers curled deep inside you, scissoring and stroking that spongy spot that makes your thighs quake around his ears. Your back is arched off the bed, hands fisted in his dark hair, moans spilling out broken and shameless as another orgasm teeters right on the edge.
Then the door bangs open.
Heeseung fills the frame like a storm cloud, broad shoulders tight, jaw locked, one hand fisted in the back of Jakeâs t-shirt. Jake looks wrecked already: lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed crimson, cock still half-hard and shiny with your slick, the cocky little grin from earlier completely wiped away. Heeseung doesnât even glance at you at first. His voice is low, calm, the kind of calm that makes the air feel heavier.
âLiving room. Now.â
Jake opens his mouth, probably to whine, to joke, to try and charm his way out of it, but Heeseungâs grip tightens, fabric stretching across Jakeâs shoulders. Jake stumbles forward instead, casting one last wide-eyed look at you before they disappear down the hall. The living-room door shuts with a soft, deliberate click that somehow feels louder than a slam.
Youâre left panting, chest heaving, Sunghoonâs tongue still lazily circling your clit like the interruption was nothing more than background noise. He presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your dripping pussy, then pulls back slowly, lips glossy, chin glistening with a messy mix of you and Jake. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slow and deliberate, eyes dark and glittering with dark amusement as he rises to his knees between your spread thighs.
âLooks like someone earned himself a timeout,â he murmurs, voice velvet-rough, thumb brushing a lazy stripe up your inner thigh to collect the fresh slick still leaking out of you. His gaze flicks toward the hallway, then back to your flushed, trembling body. âGuess that leaves the three of us to remind you exactly how this works, princess.â
Jay appears in the doorway a heartbeat later, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against the frame, eyes raking over you with that cool, assessing hunger that always makes your stomach flip. He takes his time stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick, the lock clicking into place like a promise.
You try to push yourself up on your elbows, instinct, nerves, the sudden awareness of how exposed and messy you are, but Sunghoonâs large hand plants flat on your sternum and pushes you right back down into the mattress. Firm. Unyielding. Possessive.
âStay right there,â he says softly, almost sweet, but the edge underneath it makes your cunt clench around nothing. âWeâre not done with you yet.â
Jay stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at the obscene picture you make: completely naked, skin flushed pink, thighs shiny with slick and cum, nipples tight and begging, pussy puffy and still leaking. He reaches out, fingers threading through the hair at your scalp, tightening until your breath hitches. He yanks your head back just enough to expose the long line of your throat, thumb stroking once over your racing pulse.
âYou let him fuck you raw the second we left,â Jay says, voice low and dangerously even. âWithout asking. Without waiting. Without even a text to let us know our pretty little slut was getting her cunt filled.â
His free hand slides down your body, possessive, claiming, cupping your soaked pussy like it belongs to him. Two thick fingers push inside without warning, rough and deep, curling hard against that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes. You cry out, hips jerking, walls fluttering greedily around the intrusion.
Sunghoon watches with a mean little smile, one hand lazily stroking his own thick cock. âThis pussy,â Jay continues, voice dropping to a growl as he pumps his fingers faster, âis ours. All of ours. You donât get to decide who fills it first when weâre not here. Understand?â
You nod frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure already pricking your eyes. âY-yesâfuckâyes, itâs yoursââ
Sunghoonâs hand replaces Jayâs on your throat, long fingers wrapping around the column, squeezing just enough to make the edges of your vision sparkle and your cunt gush around Jayâs fingers. Not cutting off air. Just reminding you whoâs in control.
âGood girl,â Sunghoon breathes against your ear, leaning down to bite your earlobe. âNow prove it.â
They move like theyâve choreographed this a hundred times in their heads.
Jay flips you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, face pressed into the sheets that already smell like sex, ass up high, back arched deep. He keeps one hand fisted tight in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bends in that perfect, aching curve. Sunghoon shoves your thighs wider apart, knees sinking into the mattress as he kneels behind you. His cock is flushed dark, angry, veins throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip as he lines up and slams in, deep, brutal, one single punishing thrust that punches the air straight out of your lungs.
You scream into the sheets, the stretch burning so good it borders on too much. Sunghoon doesnât give you time to adjust. He sets a ruthless pace immediately, hips snapping forward, balls slapping wetly against your clit with every brutal drive, the wet squelch of your cum-filled pussy echoing obscenely. Jay releases your hair only to wrap his hand around your throat from the front instead, squeezing in perfect time with Sunghoonâs thrusts, thumb pressing under your jaw so you feel every heartbeat.
âTake it,â Jay growls, voice rough with arousal. âEvery fucking inch. You wanted cock so bad you couldnât even wait for all of us? Then youâre gonna take everything we give you, princess. Gonna let us ruin this greedy little hole until you remember who it belongs to.â
Sunghoon leans over your back, chest slick with sweat against your spine, one hand fisting your hair now while the other reaches around to slap your clit, sharp, stinging little taps that make you clench and sob. Jayâs free hand comes down hard on your ass, once, twice, three times, each smack leaving a bright red handprint that blooms hot across your skin.
âWhose pussy is this?â Jay demands, voice low and filthy.
âYoursââ you sob, voice cracking. âYoursâfuckâyoursâSunghoonâJayâpleaseââ
Sunghoon yanks your head back harder, lips brushing your ear as he pounds into you. âSay it louder. Let the whole fucking apartment hear who owns this cunt.â
The rhythmic slap of skin on skin, your choked moans, Sunghoonâs low possessive growlsââThis tight little pussy is fucking mineââcarry clearly down the hallway.
In the living room, Heeseung has Jake pinned against the wall by the collar, fist raised, knuckles white with restraint. The first muffled scream from the bedroom makes them both freeze. Then another, higher, broken, needy. The unmistakable wet slap of Sunghoonâs hips. Jayâs dark chuckle. Your desperate, gagged whimpers around whatever theyâre doing to your mouth now.
Heeseungâs fist slowly lowers. Jakeâs eyes go wide, cock twitching visibly in his sweats.
Heeseung turns toward the bedroom door, expression unreadable but eyes burning.
Then theyâre both moving, fast.Â
They burst through the door just as Sunghoon buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. Youâre a complete wreck: face down, ass up, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, tears streaking your cheeks, ass glowing red from Jayâs handprints, cunt stretched obscenely around Sunghoonâs thick cock, creamy cum from Jake and your own slick coating your thighs.
Heeseung stops at the foot of the bed, takes one long, possessive look at the scene, then climbs on without a word.Â
âMove,â he tells Sunghoon, voice low and lethal.
Sunghoon slows just enough to pull out with a wet, filthy pop, thick strings of cum and slick connecting his cock to your gaping hole. Heeseung grabs your hips, flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing, and hooks your legs over his arms, folding you in half until your knees are by your ears. He lines up and slams in, harder, deeper, angrier than Sunghoon, bottoming out in one brutal thrust that makes you scream his name.
Jay pulls back from where heâd been feeding you his cock, letting you gasp for air, then moves behind you. Sunghoon shifts to your side, hand wrapping around your throat again, thumb stroking your pulse almost tenderly now.
Jay presses the blunt head of his cock against your ass, already slick from the mess dripping down, and pushes in slow, relentless, the burn intense and overwhelming as he stretches you open around him. Heeseung stays buried to the hilt in your pussy, holding perfectly still while Jay sinks deeper, until both of them are fully seated inside you, rubbing against each other through the thin wall, filling you so completely you can feel them in your throat.
Youâre sobbing, overwhelmed, stretched to your limit, pleasure so sharp it hurts, in the best possible way.
âBreathe, baby,â Sunghoon murmurs, voice softer now, fingers loosening just enough on your throat. âYouâre taking us so fucking well. Such a good girl for us.â
They start moving, slow at first, testing, letting you adjust to the impossible fullness. Then harder. Deeper. Alternating thrusts, Heeseung driving in while Jay pulls out, Jay slamming home while Heeseung retreats, until the rhythm syncs and theyâre both fucking into you at the same time, stretching you open on two thick cocks with every synchronized thrust.
Jake stands frozen by the door, cock rock-hard again, hand wrapped tight around it, stroking himself slow and desperate, eyes wide and glassy with guilt and raw arousal. Sunghoon notices. His voice cuts through the wet sounds of flesh. âWatch, Jake. You started this. Now you get to watch how we remind her exactly who she belongs to.â
Jayâs fingers find your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing fast, rough circles that make your vision spark white.
âCome,â he orders, voice rough. âCome on both our cocks. Milk us. Show us who this perfect body belongs to.â
You shatter harder than you ever have, screaming, back bowing, spasming violently around both cocks, gushing slick down Heeseungâs shaft as your orgasm rips through you in endless waves. Heeseung comes first with a deep, broken growl of your name, flooding your pussy with hot, thick pulses. Jay follows seconds later, burying himself deep in your ass and filling you with rope after rope until it leaks out around his base. Sunghoon strokes himself twice, fast and rough, then spills across your stomach and tits in long, creamy stripes, marking you visibly.
They donât pull out right away.
Just stay buried deep inside you, panting, sweating, chests heaving, holding you between them like something precious and thoroughly, beautifully ruined.
Heeseung leans down first, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your tear-streaked cheek. âMine,â he whispers against your skin.
Jay echoes it against your shoulder, lips brushing the fresh bite mark Sunghoon left earlier. âMine.â
Sunghoonâs fingers loosen completely on your throat, turning into gentle strokes along your jaw. âMine too, princess. Always.â
Youâre trembling, wrecked, full to overflowing, claimed in every possible way. And Jake, still standing by the door, cock leaking in his fist, eyes shiny with regret and desperate need, looks like heâs never wanted forgiveness more in his life.
The entire room smells like sex and sweat and something deeper, something dangerously close to devotion. None of them move to let you go. Not yet.
The room is thick with the aftermath, sweat, sex, the faint metallic tang of overstimulation hanging in the air like smoke. Your body feels liquid and heavy, every muscle spent, every inch of skin marked in some way: fingerprints blooming on your hips, faint red lines from Sunghoonâs grip on your throat, the slow leak of them all still inside you, warm and obscene between your thighs.
No one moves right away.
Heeseung is the first to shift. He eases out of you carefully, slow, deliberate, hissing softly at the drag. Jay follows, pulling out with the same measured gentleness, both of them watching your face for any flicker of pain. Sunghoonâs hand leaves your throat last, fingers trailing down your sternum in a soothing path before he sits back on his heels.
Youâre trembling, small, involuntary shivers that ripple through you like aftershocks. Jay notices first. He reaches over the side of the bed, grabs the soft throw blanket thatâs been kicked to the floor sometime in the last hour. Drapes it over your lower half, tucking it around your waist like heâs wrapping something fragile.
âEasy,â he murmurs. Voice low, rough from use. âWeâve got you.â
Heeseung slides off the bed, still naked, still glistening, and disappears into the en-suite bathroom. Water runs. A minute later he returns with two warm, damp cloths. One for your face, one for between your legs.
He kneels beside you. Presses the cloth to your cheek first, gentle swipes over tear tracks, then your swollen lips. You lean into it without thinking. Heeseungâs free hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking the base of your skull in slow circles.
Sunghoon moves to your other side. Takes the second cloth from Heeseung when heâs done with your face. Parts your thighs carefully, murmurs a soft âshhâ when you flinch at the cool air, and cleans you with careful strokes. Between your folds, down your thighs, over the sticky mess on your stomach and chest. Heâs thorough. Patient. Every pass of the cloth feels like an apology he doesnât know how to say out loud.
Jake is still hovering near the door, shirtless now, sweats low on his hips, looking like heâs not sure heâs allowed to come closer. Heeseung glances at him once. Sharp. Then softer.
âWater,â Heeseung says. Not an order. Just a word. Jake nods, quick, grateful, and bolts. Heeseung turns back to you.
âCan you sit up a little?â You nod, weak, but willing. Jay helps, arm around your shoulders, easing you against the headboard. Pillows get rearranged behind your back until youâre propped comfortably. The blanket stays tucked around your waist; someone (Sunghoon) pulls the sheet up to cover your chest without smothering you.
Jake returns with a tall glass of water and, somehow, a small tray he must have grabbed from the kitchen. On it: a bowl of cut fruit (strawberries, mango, grapes, someoneâs idea of ârecovery foodâ), a few pieces of the chocolate they keep stashed in the fridge, a packet of electrolyte powder already stirred into a second glass.
He sets it on the nightstand. Doesnât try to climb on the bed yet. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you might vanish if he blinks.
Jay picks up a strawberry first. Holds it to your lips.
âOpen.â
You do. The fruit is cold, sweet, bursting on your tongue. Jay feeds you slowly, another strawberry, then a piece of mango. His fingers brush your bottom lip each time, wiping away juice with his thumb.
Sunghoon takes over with the chocolate. Breaks off a small square, places it on your tongue. Watches you melt it slowly, eyes dark but soft.
âYou did so good,â he says quietly. Almost to himself. âTook everything we gave you.â
Heeseung handles the water, holds the glass to your lips, tips it carefully so you can sip without spilling. When youâve had enough, he sets it aside and wipes your mouth with the edge of the sheet.
Jake finally moves closer, slow, like heâs approaching something skittish. He perches on the very edge of the mattress.
âIâm sorry,â he says. Voice small. âFor earlier. For not waiting. Forââ Heeseung cuts him off with a look. Not angry. Tired.
âLater,â Heeseung says. âShe needs rest now.â Jake nods. Swallows hard. Jay reaches over, squeezes Jakeâs shoulder once, firm, forgiving, then turns back to you.
âMore?â he asks, nodding at the tray.
You shake your head. Full. Heavy-lidded. The ache between your legs has dulled to a low, satisfied throb; your limbs feel like warm honey.
Sunghoon takes the tray away. Sets it on the dresser.
Heeseung pulls the covers up higher, tucking them around your shoulders, smoothing the fabric over your chest. Jay adjusts the pillows again so youâre lying flat but elevated just enough. They surround you, four bodies, four sources of warmth, without crowding.
Heeseung lies on your left. Arm draped loosely over your waist. Not possessive. Protective. Jay on your right. Hand resting on your hip under the blanket. Thumb stroking idle arcs. Sunghoon stretches out at the foot of the bed, long legs hanging off the edge, head pillowed on your thigh like itâs the most natural place in the world.
Jake curls up against your legs, face tucked into the crook of your knee, one arm thrown over your shins like heâs anchoring himself there. No one speaks for a long minute. Just breathing. Slow. In sync.
Heeseungâs fingers find yours under the blanket. Laces them together. Squeezes once. âSleep,â he murmurs against your temple. âWeâre not going anywhere.â
Jay presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft, lingering. Sunghoonâs hand strokes down your calf, slow, soothing.
Jake mumbles something sleepy against your skin, too quiet to catch, but it feels like âthank you.â Your eyes flutter closed. The room smells like them, all of them, mixed with clean sheets and the faint sweetness of fruit. Just warm bodies. Gentle hands. Quiet promises. And the steady rhythm of four heartbeats lulling you under.
The idea starts innocently enough.
Itâs been three days since the jealousy the three had that they claimed was just âheat of the momentâ but you knew better, and the apartment has settled into something dangerously close to domestic. Mornings are soft now, coffee passed hand-to-hand, lazy kisses traded over toast, rules quietly ignored unless someoneâs feeling particularly mean. The fridge note is still taped up, but no oneâs enforced them. Itâs almost⊠normal.
Almost. Jay is the one who brings it up first. Youâre sprawled across his lap on the sectional Sunday afternoon, legs tangled with Sunghoonâs, Jakeâs head pillowed on your stomach while Heeseung scrolls through takeout apps from the armchair. Jayâs fingers are tracing idle patterns on your bare thigh, higher than friendly,lower than any action, when he says it.
âI want to take you out.â
The room stills. You lift your head from Jakeâs hair. âLike⊠a date?â Jayâs mouth quirks. âYeah. A date. Just you and me. Dinner. Somewhere nice. No roommates crashing.â
Sunghoon snorts without looking up from his phone. âGood luck with that.â
Heeseung glances over the top of his screen. âYouâre asking permission?â
Jay shrugs. âIâm telling you. Friday night. Sheâs mine for the evening.â
Jake sits up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes. âWaitâsolo? Like, no sharing?â
Jayâs hand tightens on your thigh. âNo sharing. One night. My rules.â
You feel the shift immediately, the air thickening with something possessive and unspoken. Heeseungâs jaw ticks once. Sunghoon finally looks up, eyes narrowing. Jake just pouts. But no one argues. Friday comes fast.
Jay picks the restaurant himself, small, upscale Italian place downtown. Dim lighting, velvet booths, candles that cost more than your old rent. He texts you the address at 6:45 p.m. sharp.
Jay: Wear something pretty baby ;) preferably no panties sweetheart
You roll your eyes at the winky face and the last obligation, but you obey anyway.
The dress is black, silk, short enough to make you nervous when you sit. Heels that click satisfyingly on the pavement. Hair down, lips red. When Jay arrives to pick you up, he stops dead in the doorway.
âFuck,â he breathes. Steps close. Cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow, deep, claiming, tasting like mint and want. âYouâre killing me.â
The drive is quiet. His hand rests high on your thigh the whole way, thumb stroking the inside seam, never quite reaching where youâre already wet. He doesnât speak. Just smiles every time you squirm.
The restaurant is perfect.
A corner booth. Wine list thicker than a novel. Jay orders for both of you, pasta, seared scallops, tiramisu for later. His knee presses against yours under the table. His fingers brush yours when he passes the bread. It feels⊠romantic. Normal. Like youâre a real couple on a real date.
Youâre laughing at some stupid story heâs telling about Sunghoon trying to cook once when the first text comes through.
You snort. Show Jay. He rolls his eyes. âIgnore them.â
Another buzz.
Sunghoon: timestamped selfie, him shirtless in the kitchen, knife in hand, looking bored Â
Sunghoon: hurry up. foodâs getting cold here
Jay exhales through his nose. âTheyâre children.â Heeseungâs text is last.
Heeseung: Enjoy your date. Weâll behave. Â
Heeseung: âŠmostly.
Your not sure what that means, youâre not sure if you want to find out. You laugh, soft, nervous, and slip your phone face-down. Jay reaches across the table. Takes your hand. Laces your fingers. âI meant it,â he says quietly. âTonightâs just us. No crashing. No rules. Just you and me.â
You believe him. For about seven more minutes. The scallops arrive. Perfectly seared. Youâre mid-bite when the restaurant door opens. And four familiar silhouettes step inside. Jake first, grinning like he invented mischief. Sunghoon behind him, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. Heeseung last, calm, collected, scanning the room until his eyes land on you.
Jayâs fork pauses halfway to his mouth.
âMotherfuckers,â he mutters.
They donât hesitate. Jake slides into the booth beside you first, arm slung casually over the backrest, fingers immediately finding the nape of your neck. âHey, princess. Fancy seeing you here.â
Sunghoon takes the seat next to Jay, long legs stretching out, forcing Jay to shift. âNice place. Bit pretentious, though.â
Heeseung pulls up a chair from a nearby table, unapologetic, sits at the end like he owns the booth. âWe were in the neighborhood.â
Jayâs jaw is so tight youâre worried itâll crack.
âYou said you would behave.â
Heeseung shrugs. âWe are. Weâre not fucking her on the table. Yet.â
Your face burns. Jake laughs, bright, delighted, leans in and kisses your cheek. Loud. Wet. âYou look so pretty. Red lipstickâs a nice touch.â
Sunghoon reaches across Jay to steal a scallop off your plate. âHeâs right. You do look fuckable.â Jay slams his fork down.
âThatâs enough.â The table goes quiet.
Jayâs voice is low. Dangerous. âI said one night. Just me and her. You had your turns. Back off.â
Heeseung leans forward. Elbows on the table. âWeâre not here to take her. Weâre here to watch you try to have her all to yourself.â His gaze flicks to you, dark, heated. âAnd see how long it takes before sheâs begging for the rest of us.â
Jakeâs fingers tighten on your neck. âCâmon, hyung. Donât be dramatic. We can share the appetizer.â
Sunghoon smirks. âOr the main course.â
Youâre throbbing under the table. The silk dress feels too tight. The wine too warm in your veins. Jay looks at you, really looks. âAre you okay with this?â
You swallow. Meet his eyes. Then glance at the others. Then back to him. âIâm okay,â you whisper. âBut⊠maybe we skip dessert here.â
Jay exhales, half-laugh, half-snarl. âBathroom,â he says. âNow.â He stands. Pulls you up with him. The others donât move. They just exchange knowing glances. Jake just grins. âWeâll keep watch.â
Jay drags you through the restaurant, hand firm on your lower back, past the bar, down the narrow hallway, into the single-stall bathroom at the end.
He locks the door. Spins you around. Pushes you forward until your palms slap the sink. The mirror is huge. You watch your own reflection, lips parted, chest heaving, dress already rucked up to your hips.
Jayâs behind you, fly open, cock hard and leaking. He doesnât speak. Just yanks your dress higher, notches himself at your entrance, and thrusts in, hard. Deep. One brutal stroke that makes you cry out.
âQuiet,â he growls against your ear. Hand clamps over your mouth. âThey can hear.â He fucks you like heâs proving a point. Fast. Rough. Hips snapping. The sink rattles. Your tits bounce with every thrust. His other hand fists your hair, yanks your head back so youâre watching yourself in the mirror.
âLook at you,â he pants. âTaking it so good. Even when they crash. Even when I try to keep you to myself.â
You moan into his palm, muffled, desperate.
He reaches around. Finds your clit. Pinches. Rolls. Hard.
âCome,â he orders. âCome on my cock before they barge in.â
You do, fast, violent, clenching around him so hard he swears. He follows seconds later, burying deep, spilling hot inside you with a choked groan.
He doesnât pull out right away. Just holds you there, chest to your back,breathing ragged. Then he kisses your shoulder. Soft. Apologetic. âSorry,â he murmurs. âCouldnât help it.â You laugh, shaky, wrecked.
He pulls out slowly. Fixes your dress. Wipes between your thighs with paper towels from the dispenser. When you open the door, Jakeâs leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed. Smirking. âTook you long enough.â
Jay glares. Jake pushes off the wall. Steps close. Kisses you, quick, filthy, tasting Jay on your tongue. âMy turn to watch the door,â he says. âGo wait in the car. Round twoâs on us.â
Jay takes your hand. Leads you out, past the hostess who definitely knows what just happened, into the cool night air.
The car is parked in the back lot, tinted windows, engine already running. Sunghoonâs in the driverâs seat. Heeseung in the passenger. Both turn when you climb in the back. Sunghoonâs eyes drop to the wet spot on your dress. Smiles, slow, predatory.
âMissed the show?â Heeseung reaches back. Pulls you onto his lap. âPlenty of time for round two,â he murmurs against your neck. Jay slides in beside you. Jake climbs in last, locks the doors. The engine starts. And the night? The night is far from over.
The black SUV idles in the shadowed back lot behind the restaurant, engine a low, steady rumble beneath the distant pulse of music leaking from the outdoor speakers. Tinted windows seal the interior into a private world, leather seats already radiating warmth, the air heavy with Jayâs cologne, the sharp bite of expensive whiskey on their breath, and the unmistakable, intimate musk of sex that still clings to your skin.
Youâre straddling Heeseung in the center of the back seat, silk dress shoved up around your waist, thighs spread wide over his hips. His dark jeans are damp where your leaking cunt has pressed against him. Heeseung doesnât flinch. His hands are beneath the fabric, broad palms cupping your bare ass, fingers spreading you open with deliberate care, holding you exposed and vulnerable in the dim glow filtering through the windows.
Jay sits to your left, shirt untucked, collarbones still flushed, lips swollen and red from the way heâd fucked you against the marble sink in the bathroom minutes earlier. Sunghoon occupies the right side, long legs stretched out, one hand already working the thick outline of his cock through tailored slacks, eyes fixed on the sight between your thighs. Jake has twisted around in the front passenger seat, forearm braced on the headrest, gaze dark and unblinking.
For several long seconds, no one speaks.
Only the rhythm of heavy breathing, the soft creak of leather as bodies shift, the faint metallic tick of the cooling engine. Then Heeseungâs voice, low, gravel-rough, breaks the silence against the shell of your ear.
âYouâre still dripping him,â he murmurs, one hand sliding from your ass to slip between your legs from behind. Two fingers push into the slick, swollen heat of your cunt, gathering Jayâs release and pressing it back inside with slow, unhurried strokes. The wet sound is obscene in the confined space. âCan feel it leaking out. Canât let that go to waste.â
Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, inner walls fluttering, a soft, helpless whimper slipping past your lips as your hips twitch forward. Jayâs hand joins Heeseungâs without hesitation. Four fingers now, stretching you wider, scooping the thick cum deeper, curling against the front wall until your breath hitches sharply.
âHeâs right,â Jay says, voice quiet but edged with something darker, more possessive. âWe should keep you full. All night. Every time one of us finishes, the next one pushes it right back in.â
Sunghoon leans in closer, breath ghosting hot along the side of your neck. His voice is velvet and steel. âFull until it takes. Until youâre so thoroughly bred thereâs no question who put it there.â
The words hit like a physical blow, low in your belly, sharp and electric. Your cunt clenches hard around their fingers, a fresh gush of slick coating their knuckles.
Jakeâs eyes widen in the front seat. âFuckâdid you justââ
âI said,â Sunghoon repeats, slower, darker, each syllable deliberate, âfull until it takes. Until this perfect little cunt is swollen and leaking and carrying exactly what we give it.â
Heeseungâs free hand slides up to cradle the front of your throat, not squeezing, simply holding, thumb resting over your racing pulse. âYou like that thought, donât you?â he asks softly, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. âAll four of us pumping you full, one right after the other. No pulling out. No wasting a single drop. Just letting it stay deep until your body has no choice but to keep it.â
You nod, frantic, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes because the fantasy is suddenly too vivid, too real, too close to everything your body has been silently begging for.
Jayâs fingers crook harder, pressing ruthlessly against that spot that makes your vision blur. âUse your words.âÂ
âI want it,â you gasp, voice cracking. âWant you to, to breed me. Fill me until I canât take any more. Until itâs all inside me. Pleaseââ
A chorus of low, guttural groans fills the car. Heeseung lifts you just high enough to shove his jeans and briefs down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He doesnât tease. He simply guides you down onto him in one long, controlled descent, stretching you open around his length until your ass meets his hips and heâs buried to the hilt.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearms.
âThatâs it,â he hisses through clenched teeth. âTake every inch. Take every fucking drop Iâm about to give you.â He begins to move, deep, rolling thrusts that grind the head of his cock against your cervix with punishing precision. Jayâs hand stays between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while Heeseung fucks up into you with measured force.
Sunghoon has already freed himself completely, long, elegant fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking slowly, eyes never leaving the place where Heeseung disappears inside you over and over. âMy turn comes next,â he says, voice low and certain. âIâm going to add to it. Make sure nothing escapes.â
Jakeâs hand is inside his own pants now, stroking himself in perfect time with Heeseungâs rhythm, breath coming in short, ragged pants. âLook at her,â he mutters, almost reverent. âSo fucking desperate to be filled. Greedy little thing.â
Heeseungâs pace builds, hips snapping up harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the car. âIâm going to come inside you,â he warns, voice strained. âGoing to flood this tight cunt until itâs overflowing. You ready for it?â
âYesâpleaseâHeeseungââ
He buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a long, broken groan, hot, thick pulses painting your walls, filling you so completely you feel the pressure build behind your navel. Even as you clench down hard, trying to keep it all in, the excess begins to leak out around his base, coating his balls and dripping onto the leather.
He doesnât pull out. He simply holds you there, still hard, still buried deep, while Jay shifts.
Jay moves to kneel on the seat beside you, one knee braced against the cushion. He nudges Heeseungâs softening length aside just enough to press his own cock against your already-stretched entrance. The stretch is immediate, two thick cocks forcing their way inside the same slick channel, rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls. You scream, muffled against Heeseungâs shoulder, body shaking violently.
Jay fucks into you with short, brutal thrusts, the friction almost unbearable. âThis pussy is going to take all of us tonight,â he growls, voice rough with possession. âGoing to be so full of cum youâll feel it moving inside you every time you breathe.â
Sunghoon reaches over, fingers finding your clit again, pinching, rolling, tugging, pushing you higher and higher while Jay pounds relentlessly.
The orgasm crashes through you without warning, sharp, blinding, walls spasming so violently around both cocks that Jay swears under his breath. His hips stutter, then slam forward one last time as he comes, hot spurts mixing with Heeseungâs release until youâre overflowing, thick rivulets running down your thighs and soaking the seat beneath you.
Sunghoon doesnât give you time to recover.
He yanks you off both of them, strong hands manhandling you onto all fours across the wide back seat, ass presented high, face pressed into Heeseungâs lap. He lines up and drives in with one punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single motion that forces the air from your lungs.
âThis cunt is getting bred tonight,â he snarls, voice low and dangerous. âIâm going to pump you so full youâll be leaking for days. Every step you take tomorrow, youâll feel us still inside you.â
He fucks like itâs a claiming, like he needs to imprint himself deeper than the others. One hand fists your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arches sharply. The car rocks with the force of his thrusts.
Jake climbs over the center console into the back, kneeling in front of your face. He guides his cock to your lips. You open for him immediately, taking him deep, sucking with sloppy, desperate hunger while Sunghoon rails you from behind.
Sunghoon comes with a guttural sound, hips locked flush against your ass, flooding you with another hot load until it spills out around his base and runs in sticky trails down your inner thighs.
Jake pulls free from your mouth, strokes himself twice, and spills across your lower back in thick, warm ropes, marking your skin. They rotate again, Heeseung sliding back in, then Jay, then Sunghoon, each one adding more, fucking it deeper, pushing it against your cervix with every thrust until youâre trembling, sobbing, body overwhelmed and exquisitely full.
When the final round ends, Sunghoon pulling out with a wet, filthy sound, a fresh gush of cum following, your legs give out completely. You collapse forward onto Heeseungâs chest, shaking, panting, utterly spent.
Jay reaches into the center console and withdraws a small black velvet pouch. Inside are three plugs, smooth black silicone, flared bases, graduated sizes. Heeseung selects the largest, coats it generously in the creamy mess still leaking from you, then presses the blunt tip against your swollen entrance.
âGonna keep every drop where it belongs,â he murmurs, voice soft now, almost reverent. He works the plug in slowly, watching your face the entire time, until it pops past the rim and settles deep, the weight immediate and grounding.
Jay takes the smaller one, slicks it with the same care, and presses it gently but firmly into your ass. The dual fullness is overwhelming, possessive, complete.
Sunghoon cleans between your thighs with a packet of wipes from the glovebox, slow, careful strokes that feel almost tender after everything. Then he helps you sit up, smoothing your dress back down over your hips, fingers combing gently through your tangled hair. The car falls quiet again. They surround you, Heeseungâs arms wrapped securely around your waist, Jayâs hand resting warm and steady on your thigh, Sunghoonâs fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, Jake leaning over the seat to press close from the front. After a long stretch of silence, Jake speaks, voice quieter than youâve ever heard it. âWe donât want anyone else,â he says simply. âNot ever. Not like this.â
Jay nods once. âYouâre not just something we fuck. Youâre ours. Completely. For everything.â
Sunghoonâs fingertips brush the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward him. âWe thought we could keep it light. Keep some distance. Pretend it didnât matter.â He exhales, the sound almost pained. âWe were wrong.â
Heeseungâs hold tightens, lips brushing your temple. âNo one else touches you. No one else fills you. No one else gets to love you the way we do.â The word, love,lands soft and heavy, undeniable. You turn your face into the warm curve of Heeseungâs neck, feel the first tear slip free, not from pain, not from overwhelm, but from the sudden, terrifying certainty that this is exactly where you want to be.
âI donât want anyone else either,â you whisper against his skin. They exhale as one, like theyâve been waiting weeks to hear it. Jake leans farther over the seat, presses a gentle kiss to your temple. âGood.â Jay draws you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.
Sunghoon drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, still warm from his body, carrying his scent. Heeseung climbs over the console, settling in the driverâs seat, he glances up at you through the rear view mirror, starts the engine, and pulls out of the lot with careful precision. The drive home is quiet. The plugs shift inside you with every turn, constant, heavy reminders. Their hands stay on you, gentle now, grounding.
When you reach the apartment they carry you inside, Heeseungâs arms strong and sure, straight to the largest bed. They undress you slowly, silk peeled away, heels slipped off, every movement careful and deliberate. They clean you again, warm washcloths, soft touches that linger.
Then they slide into bed around you, skin on skin, bodies fitting together like they were made for it. Heeseung at your front, chest pressed to yours, one leg thrown possessively over your hip. Jay at your back, arm wrapped securely around your waist, lips brushing your shoulder. Sunghoon curled lower, head resting on your thigh, long fingers tracing soothing circles. Jake pressed to your side, fingers laced tightly with yours.
No words. Just the slow, even rhythm of their breathing syncing with yours. Until the plugs feel less like possession and more like quiet promise. Until sleep finally claims you, safe, full, irrevocably claimed. Your dreams arenât about running. Theyâre about staying.
you would just be another notch in Suguru Geto's bedpost - but he'd only be another one in yours
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna
content: MDNI, band AU, rivals, multiple endings (happy ofc!!), angst and fluff and smut, friends with benefits, jealousy, pining, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, piv sex, toxic relationships, falling in love, Jin + Sukuna are twins, baby Yuji lol, Sukuna is terrible at feelings, threesome, sex tapes, soft dom Geto, sukuna is YEARNING and suffering, more tags to be found in individual chaps <3
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day [tw: MDNI, angst/comfort/smuÈ, porĆ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his đ, nıpple sucking, humpıng, Ăłral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press] word count: 15k
Sukuna isnât the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never wouldâve thought that youâd break it like that.Â
The promise? That youâd be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years oldâ all eight year olds are dramatic.Â
Exactly how did you break said promise?Â
You ghosted him.Â
You fucking ghosted him.Â
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poofâ gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the manâs imagination.Â
Now thatâs dramatic.
Heâs texted and called you multiple times, no response. Heâs asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
Heâd never admit it, though.Â
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.Â
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasnât just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.Â
He still cares for you, sorta, but itâs been so long, heâs not sure if heâd even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .Â
âAre you excited?â
âNo,â you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. âUgh, Iâm sorry. Itâs just been forever since Iâve seen everyone.â
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the roadâ thereâs not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.Â
The GPS says youâre nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.Â
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. âItâs like what I saidââ
What didnât she say?Â
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didnât go with her to Kentoâs surprise birthday party.Â
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
âDo you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesnât even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated heâd be if I just randomly popped up, too?â
âIf you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, heâd probably like the distraction from it.âÂ
âYeahâ probably,â you murmured.Â
âCan you please get out of your fucking head for once?â she scoffed. âYeah, itâs been years since youâve seen everyone, but itâs not like itâs because of a falling out. I donât know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!âÂ
âWhoâs them?â you stubbornly responded.Â
âSuguru, Satoru, Yuki, Chosoâ even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.âÂ
As much as youâd love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years thatâve passedâ how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.Â
The most youâve done is get the job. Youâd include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but itâs been a year since you bought it and you havenât even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you wantâ it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.Â
Itâs too many decisions to be made for someone that didnât want to make them. You often wonder if youâve simply just become someone that couldnât make them.Â
Youâre well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didnât make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?Â
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hellâ honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.Â
You know what you like, donât you?Â
No, not really.
You are sharp, thereâs no doubt about it. Itâs what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say youâre valuable to the company, too. Itâs a nice feeling for a while.Â
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and theyâd eventually reach the point where theyâd have to backtrack with a little âwellâ or âhoweverâ, before giving credit where it was due.Â
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the companyâs ever seen.Â
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and heâd easily drink gallons of it.Â
Having you at the company isnât a matter of life or death, thereâs thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.Â
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.Â
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. Youâre not always like that either, youâre great with the clients and stakeholders.Â
Itâs a talent, reallyâ remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places theyâve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.Â
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isnât likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.Â
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and youâll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.Â
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates wouldâve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.Â
The decision took months.Â
In that time, he realized a few things.Â
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. Youâre not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the ânewâ him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.Â
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.Â
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasnât personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didnât see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.Â
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed âdonât ask me how my dayâs going or what I have planned for after workâ, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.Â
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.Â
Youâre respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as âeffortlessâ. Theyâre not wrong, it is effortlessâ always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. Theyâre never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.Â
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how âcleanâ you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, heâd find something to be grumpy and complain about.Â
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible âI dunnoâ from the way heâd mumble it. So, you always led the way.Â
Now itâs you mumbling that same exact âI dunnoâ when youâre all alone.Â
Youâre tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time theyâve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.Â
Maybe itâs better off that way.Â
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirsâ not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.Â
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think theyâd eventually lose theirs?Â
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.Â
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like youâre stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.Â
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.Â
You canât even choose yourself on most days.Â
âYou have arrived at your destination.âÂ
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.Â
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment buildingâs parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesnât say anything this time, figuring youâll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasnât a pity invite. Itâll settle half of your nerves.Â
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably wonâtâ everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they havenât fully left it.Â
One moment, youâre sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoruâs apartment. Thereâs already chattering, which stops once she announces your guysâ arrival.Â
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguruâs peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind thatâs accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.Â
Heâs obviously changed, itâs been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
âHey stranger.â
Your lips thin into a shy smile, âHey.âÂ
âWell?â Suguru asks, holding his arms out. âI know itâs been ages but thereâs no need to be shy.â
âSorry,â you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.Â
He lets out another laugh. âDonât beâ itâs nice to see you.â
âWhereâs mine?!âÂ
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesnât seem to have changed much. Heâs still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.Â
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.Â
Itâs funny, you told her that theyâd eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.Â
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, itâd be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyoneâs last choice.Â
Today should be enough to prove that.
âYeah, noâ at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.â Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots heâs already taken. âPfftâ he doesnât even like his birthday. Iâm sure heâd be happier to see her, tooââ
âHeâs coming up the elevator,â Suguru cuts him off.Â
âSHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,â Satoru suddenly yells, as if he werenât just talking shit just seconds ago.Â
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows thereâs something up.Â
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, thereâs a loud wave of people yelling âSURPRISEâ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.Â
Kentoâs eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows thatâs the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him whoâs here.Â
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.Â
âNo, Iâm serious!â she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. âThere she isâ come say hi.â
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, whoâs already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.Â
âSee? Surprise!â
âYeah, surprise!!â Yuki says right after.Â
âHoly shit.â Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. âItâs been ages!âÂ
âI know!â You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. âHappy birthday!âÂ
And for once, heâs a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didnât have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.Â
âI said no!â
âCâmon, Nanamin!â Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. âYouâre not getting any younger.â
âI donât want to get any youngerâ Iâm a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.âÂ
âI do! Iâm just fun,â he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.Â
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldnât stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. Youâre sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.Â
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
âWhat is your problem?!â he asks through a clenched jaw.Â
âSukunaâs here?!âÂ
âYeah?â He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. âI thought itâd be a nice surprise!â
She looks at him like heâs stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. âA nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldnât have brought her here if I knew he was coming!â
âOw ow owâ No he doesnât?! Do you actually believe that?!â he groans in between each sentence.Â
âYes! He says it every time someone brings her up!â
âOw ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimesâ fuck, Shoko, please, youâre breaking skin.â
âYou deserve it!â she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.Â
âJesus Christâ you canât just assault people like that,â he pouts, rubbing his arm. âItâll be fine! Itâs been years, he canât hold a grudge that long.â
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.Â
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.Â
At first he thought you were just one of Satoruâs new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.Â
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be. Â
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought heâd do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look thatâs able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.Â
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.Â
Sukuna didnât stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didnât know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.Â
Shoko didnât think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.Â
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
âAre you sure he didnât say anything to you?â Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.Â
âNahâ my stomach just started to hurt. I donât drink alcohol that much.âÂ
She still didnât believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didnât want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.Â
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. âAlright, what did you say to her?â
âWho the fuck are you even talking about right now?â
Sukuna knows exactly who heâs talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because heâs just a bullshiter at the end of the day.Â
âShoko thinks you said something to herâ she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.âÂ
âSo you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?âÂ
âYeah, I saw her. Doesnât mean I said anything to her though, you fuckinâ moron.â
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.Â
âWhat? Is looking at her a crime now?âÂ
âWith the way you look at people? It should be.â Itâs clearly not the first time Sukunaâs managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoruâs end.Â
âWhy do you even care?âÂ
âDonât turn this back around on me?!â
âThen quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriouslyâ she comes back and you all are fuckinâ babying her like sheâs some victim. Itâs not that serious.â
âWell Shokoââ
âShoko can fuck off.â Sukuna cuts him off. âDonât bother me about something stupid like this again. If she canât handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesnât like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckinâ room.âÂ
âIâ she already did!â he tries to come to your defense. âShoko wonât tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesnât go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldnât listen.â
Thereâs a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. âShe was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?â
âNot literally,â he scoffs. âLook, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now sheâs all anti-social because of it.â
âShe shouldâve fuckinâ said something then.âÂ
âWell, she fuckinâ didnât.âÂ
âThatâsââ
âIf thatâs an opinion, it doesnât matter,â he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhdâ the severe, annoying kind. Thereâs only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. âIâm just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.â
âI donât want her nââ
âYES YOU DO.â Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. âI just sent it. BYE.â
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesnât know it. He knows he definitely wouldnât tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.Â
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.Â
He hates that he remembers it.Â
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isnât as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.Â
. . . . . .
In the three weeks heâs had your number, he hasnât tried reaching out. He also hasnât accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.Â
His old manâs been taking more time off under the guise of letting him âtake over for the dayâ. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. Heâs essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
Youâd think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesnât regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly shouldâve taken more.Â
Itâs been months since heâs gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.Â
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock thatâs two minutes away from 10:00 pm.Â
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. Itâs been days since heâs jacked off, realizing it doesnât even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.Â
Except when his head hits the pillow, heâs wide awake. It doesnât help that he ends up scrolling through instagramâ there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.Â
Thereâs not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguruâs night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.Â
You were barely smiling.Â
Your lips curved just enough for the cameraâ nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. Thatâs how heâs always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? Itâs not like he couldâve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.Â
He taps the photo to see whoâs tagged. Just Shoko. You still havenât gotten back on social media, no profile to see what youâve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.Â
It didnât even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didnât need to text him or call him, you couldâve just shown up. Sure, he mightâve been annoyed at first, but he wouldnât have turned you away.Â
Youâve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. Thatâs his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didnât have a spare set with you.
Itâs just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. Itâs been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now itâs just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You arenât expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldnât blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kentoâs birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and youâre just about seven years too late for that.Â
He wasnât the same person you knew. You couldnât just go up to him expecting that youâd get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.Â
Itâs been years.Â
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. Heâs a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All thereâs left to do now is to stay out of his way. Youâre sure his temperâs the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.Â
Itâs not all bad. Toji couldnât come to Kentoâs birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since youâd get to meet them.Â
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that youâve heard about through Choso.Â
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Chosoâs stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didnât know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.Â
Jin apparently didnât know that was Chosoâs mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like theyâre a couple of fucking sickos for making him Chosoâs step-uncle.Â
The kidâs name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. Heâs the same age as Tojiâs son, whoâs turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.Â
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, âget your ass over here, NOW,â all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see himâŠ. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how heâs sorry and how he didnât know.Â
Megumiâs more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.Â
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than youâd imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.Â
Yuji didn't go very far.Â
â...esâcuse me?â
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who shouldâve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â You crouch down, getting at eye level. âAre you okay?âÂ
âNo,â he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. âI donno how to tie my shoes.â
âYou donât?â you ask, sounding just as concerned. âDo you want me to tie them for you?âÂ
He pouts. âYes, please.âÂ
Your heart melts at his little voice. âAw, okay.â
Like any other kid, Yujiâs amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.Â
âYay!â He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. âWe can play again, Gumi!â
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.Â
Then youâre startled by a scoff made directly behind you. âYou make a stranger tie your shoes and you canât even say thank you?âÂ
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. âUm.. ya I did..â
âNo you didnât?!â The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think heâs that stupid? âI watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.âÂ
âI donno how to tie my shoe!â Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.Â
âYes, you doâ now thank her, before I take your shoes away.âÂ
âOh no, not my shoes!â
âYeah. Bye bye, shoes.â Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. âYouâre a big boy now, remember? You donât need them.â
âYes, I do!â Yuji whines.
âThen have some manners and say thank you.â Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
âThank you for tying my shoe,â Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. âDonât eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!âÂ
Sukunaâs even more annoyed now at how specific that was. âWho said I was gonna eat them?!âÂ
âI dunno! You eat everything!â Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. âItâs all stuck in your big belly.âÂ
Sukunaâs face drops, as if he didnât see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
âI don't have a goddamn belly,â he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. âDo you want me to hit your Papa Jin?âÂ
âNo!!!â
âThen quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.â
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. âHeâs gonna hit my papa with his big belly.âÂ
âUh-oh. That's not nice,â you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.Â
âPapa gonna cry,â he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. âMy poor papa.âÂ
You giggle. âI donât think heâll hit your papa, though.â
âHeâs gonna EAT my papa!â Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. âThen his belly will be big like THIS.â
âStop it,â Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. âGet out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Tojiâs using.âÂ
âHey!â Yuji gasps. âYou canât do that!â
âYou can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.â he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. âYouâre next.â
âDAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.âÂ
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks itâs a game, but Megumiâs genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dadâs obviously confused as to why his sonâs crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumiâs able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.Â
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesnât stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
âMegumi says youâre not allowed to have any cake,â Toji yells out.Â
âIâm taking Yuji home if I donât get a slice.âÂ
Sukunaâs response has the two boys whining in the distance.Â
âNO barbecue me.â Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person heâs encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.Â
âGive me three slices and I wonât barbecue you.â
âBut Unkukuna, youâre belly!â Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.Â
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesnât find out.Â
âIâm not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.â
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, âNOOO.â
âNo? You donât want that?â he asks, fighting back a smile.Â
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. âNO.â
âThatâs what I thought,â he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. âNow ZIP IT.â
âKAYâ.âÂ
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.Â
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncleâs staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasnât moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like heâs better than him.Â
What kind of a sick game is this?Â
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isnât fair since heâs already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasnât mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.Â
He wasnât planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didnât believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it wouldâve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldnât tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasnât giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanamiâs birthday.Â
You werenât the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.Â
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.Â
âWhat? No, itâsâ thatâs fine,â he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. âHe just goes around annoying anybody he can.â
âOhâ donât worry, he didnât annoy me. He's adorable.âÂ
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying heâs anything but that.Â
âHeâs a pain in the ass,â he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. âWe passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and heâs still running around trying to convince people that Iâm a fatass.â
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that youâd make yourself look stupid again. âHe probably just likes your attention.â
âThatâs the problemâ heâs probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,â he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.Â
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. âHis poor parents.â
âThey have good life insurance, heâll be set.â
âOh, I'm sure,â you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. Youâve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. âHowâve your dad and Jin been?â
âJinâs been good, heâsââ he huffs out a laugh, âyou know he went and made Choso his fuckinâ stepson right?â He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.Â
âYeah,â you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.Â
âWell. Heâs still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,â he struggles to list things worth sharingâ aside from the mommy kink, his brotherâs pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. âOld manâs driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends heâs doing me a favor by letting me play boss while heâs gone, so now Iâm doing my job and his.âÂ
âYouâre working for the company?â
He sighs deeply. âYeah.âÂ
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting âsomething of his ownâ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddyâs company.Â
âI mean⊠itâs already there,â you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. âAll you have to do is maintain it once itâs yours.â Â
âExactly,â his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. âIâm not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.â
âDoes he pay you extra on the days heâs off, at least?âÂ
âFuck no.â He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. âYeahâ nopeâ he works me like a fuckinâ dog.âÂ
Hence why heâs been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old manâs wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so itâs not like he canât afford any of it, itâs just the principal.Â
Heâll take Wasukeâs toilet paper, too.Â
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.Â
âOld manâs been good, though⊠still kickinâ,â he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, âWhatâve you been up to?â
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didnât have much to share. âNothing reallyâ work usually has me pretty busy.â
Heâs well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. âYeah? Suguru says youâre in finance now.â
âMhm,â you nod, growing shy, âportfolio manager.â
âYou spend the day telling people what to do now?â he asks as if he were almost impressed.Â
âNot really,â you laugh. âA lot of itâs research, reporting, meeting with clients, Iâ yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hatâs on, itâs usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out whatâs going on with their teams if theyâre not performing the way they need to.âÂ
He nearly barks out a laugh.Â
You look at him with confusion. âWhat?âÂ
âSo instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?â
âI donât terrorize them,â you murmur, shifting in place. âItâs their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they arenâtââ
âYou ask them why they arenât doing their jobs,â he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. âThen they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.â
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. âWellâ kind of.â
You donât have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.Â
âListen, Lindaâ I,â you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, âIâm just asking why thereâs been a dip in the performance, I really donât need an entire life story for that. Why donât we take a few steps backâ how has your team been?â
âWell⊠uhm⊠well⊠theyâŠâ You nodded, thinking itâd encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. âAnd then Dave, heââ
âIs Dave a new hire?âÂ
Her eyes dried right up. âNo⊠Dave is my husband.âÂ
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
âOkay, letâs talk about your team right now⊠this is about workâ Dave doesnât work here.â You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. âI wanna know things like how everyoneâs been mentallyâ are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?â
She didnât know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so youâd let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
âThis isnât working,â you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. âIâm going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. Youâll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think thatâll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.âÂ
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
âThereâs no need to wait on me by the way, Iâll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.â
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk aboutâ which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. Heâd probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you couldâve been ten times worse.
Youâre just glad he didnât ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Lindaâs professional shoesâ god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you groundedâ normal people, that is.Â
You wouldnât consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yagaâ theyâre all fucking crazy. You couldnât just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
âDo you like it there?â Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.Â
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.Â
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didnât want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes toâ youâre sure itâd make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone wouldâve easily stayed by your side.Â
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.Â
âNot really,â you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. âThatâs kinda how I feel about most things, though.âÂ
It was true. You donât even know why youâre wishing for a job like Lindaâs, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.Â
He didnât know what to say to that, he wasnât even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. Itâs not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.Â
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortableâ
âDid anyone have to drag you here today?â he asks.Â
âNo.â
âSo you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?â he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. âI did.âÂ
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. âYouâre not doing too bad then.âÂ
âUncle-Kunaaaaaaa!â The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. âMy tummy growling!!â
âThis kidâs always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,â he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. âSo youâre hungry?â
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until heâs skipping towards the man. âYeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.âÂ
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. âYou mean skewers?â
âYeah, chicken sticks,â Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously donât know what theyâre talking about.Â
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how itâs an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.Â
âThat sounds yummy,â you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. âYou guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.âÂ
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since itâs true, but if anyoneâs taking those skewers home, itâs him.Â
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.Â
. . .Â
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.Â
Luckily for Sukuna, your carâs parked right next to his and youâre leaving at the same time heâs trying to get the little brat in his car seat. Heâs half asleep and wonât let goâ each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.Â
Heâs about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.Â
âBye.âÂ
It comes off as a little unnatural, but itâs in more of an awkward âI donât know if I should say goodbye to you right nowâ way.Â
Sukuna turns around. âOh, waitââÂ
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes itâs in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yujiâs on and wonât leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if heâs aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.Â
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing heâs about to give you a business card, because heâd rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didnât even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.Â
âHere.â He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised itâs not more broken down since heâs always leaving them in his pockets, even when heâs throwing his clothes in the washer. âYou donât have to of course, but feel free to reach out if youâre interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.âÂ
âYeah, thatâd be nice.â You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. âUm⊠I donât actually⊠need this, though.â
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.Â
âI already have it,â you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. âSatoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasnât sure if you wanted to hear from me.âÂ
âFair enough.â He shrugs, reluctant to say moreâ he might be down to catch up, but heâs still not apologizing for his face. âShoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldnât mind.âÂ
âYeah, I will.â You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. âAlright, wellâ it was nice seeing you.â
âYeah, you too.â
. . . . . .Â
âYouâre not doing too bad.â
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukunaâs mouth to actually start believing them.Â
Itâs not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.Â
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that itâd find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldnât.Â
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didnât even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they werenât good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you wouldâve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. Youâve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all. Â
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You canât remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didnât have the right tools. You probably donât.Â
It wasnât until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.Â
âThat brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?â
âNope.âÂ
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized heâd never get on his own. Â
âAre coffee stains some new trend I donât know about?âÂ
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldnât believe that youâd just buy something that was stained like that.Â
âNope, not a trend.âÂ
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. Itâs not like you couldnât afford it, heâs seen some of the shit you own and youâre clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.Â
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didnât get it, but that didnât really matter.Â
âHow cute,â he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldnât just tell him that in the first place. âYou didnât buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?âÂ
You shoot him an annoyed look. âI spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.âÂ
âYou probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People donât usually spill coffee on paintings.â he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.Â
You donât laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.Â
âMind me asking why youâre just now starting to furnish the place?âÂ
You shrug. âI was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasnât for work, I wasnât getting up,â you remind him. âToo many choices to make, too. Iâd get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.âÂ
âYeah, thereâs a lotta shit out there,â he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.Â
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room thatâs become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.Â
Heâs been helpful since Megumiâs birthdayâ at least he tries to be.Â
It never feels forced, most of the time itâs just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.Â
He also asks how youâre actually doing, a lotâ figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you werenât worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you couldâve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and thatâs probably just how it is when someoneâs spiritâs in the dumps.
Heâs far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your headâ pull you back to reality, without the reality check. Youâve obviously had more than enough of them. Itâs why he doesnât bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times heâs come off as more straightforward, you donât feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldnât give him a call.Â
Itâs probably why youâre so comfortable with having him come over and why you donât mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like heâs always had.
âSummersâ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?â he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.Â
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. âWhat would I even get?âÂ
Heâs mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. âSome seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if youâre feeling extra crazy.âÂ
You fight back a smile, âOh? Thanks, asshole.â
âYou might be a grandma, but I never said thereâs nothing wrong with it.âÂ
âIâm trying not to be, okay.â You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didnât take the last seltzer. Seconds later youâre cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when youâre offended. âIâm just fuckinâ with youâ youâre fine.â
âI guess,â you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.Â
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
âWhat do you mean you guess?âÂ
âI donât know,â you murmur. âKinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.â
âI bet,â he leans back in his seat. âYou ever considered making more time for yourself, now?â
âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âTaking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, Iâm sure you could get away with taking a break.âÂ
âOhâ yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. Itâs kinda why I havenât even tried to leave,â you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. âIâve been considering asking for a demotion, though.âÂ
Youâre not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. Youâve been coming up with different ideas all monthâ a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. Youâre sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but itâd be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.Â
âThatâd definitely be a lot less work,â he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.Â
âA lot lessâ Iâm hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.âÂ
âYeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone whoâs free, find a hobby, go on a dateââ
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. âYeah, right.âÂ
âWhat?â he smirks.
âI suck at dating,â you inform him. âI donât even know how to anymore.âÂ
He snorts. âThatâs a little dramatic, no?â
âItâs trueâ last time I went on one was three years ago.â
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, âThree?â
âDonât judge me,â you grumble.Â
âMânot. Itâs justâ 3 years of completely nothing?â
âGodâ obviously.â You hide your face in embarrassment. âYou are judging me right now.â
âIâm not,â he laughs, taking another sip. âJust a long time to go without having someone take care of you.âÂ
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,â you roll your eyes, annoyed at how heâd even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyoneâs help.
âYouâre awake right now, though.âÂ
âSo?â you scoff.
âI can take care of you, if you want,â he offers.
âNot funny,â you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.Â
At first, heâs confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of âbeing taken care ofâ.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where heâs sitting and thereâs a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think heâs just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
âWhat are you dââ
âI think youâre a little confused here,â he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
âListen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff Iâve helped you out with.â You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone heâs using on you. âI really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?â
âI donâtâ what are you even talking about right now?â Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.Â
âIâm talking about all the times Iâve caught you looking at my dick print.â
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.Â
âYeah, youâre not slick,â he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. âCâmonâ youâre not even at work right now and your mindâs still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Arenât you tired?â
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. âI meanâ yeah.âÂ
âLet me fuck you then,â he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. âYou wonât have to think about anything, wonât have to do anythingâ just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?âÂ
âI⊠I donât know,â you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
âI think you do know.â He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.Â
âIâll stop if you tell me to.â
You look like youâre about to have a panic attack and itâs adorable. âStop what?â
âThis.â He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.Â
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.Â
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until youâre desperately panting against each other.Â
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.Â
You shouldâve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.Â
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and youâre failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.Â
And itâs fucking hard.Â
Sukunaâs groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, heâd replace his mouth with his fingersâ rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so itâs not completely neglected while he works on the other one.Â
Theyâre now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and youâre trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans youâre struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukunaâs palm cracks down on your ass.Â
âCome here.â
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.Â
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath. Â
âBed?â
âYeah,â you nod, sounding more desperate.Â
âThought so,â he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.Â
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.Â
You donât even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.Â
âShitâ look at you,â he groans.Â
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. Thereâs a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.Â
âTold you this was fun.â
âShut up.â You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.Â
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and youâre sure heâs just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.Â
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. Theyâre long and thick, and heâs curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.Â
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. âOh fuuuck.âÂ
âYou like my fingers?â he asks with a low, amused hum.Â
You nod. âFeels so goodâ oh my god.â
âI betâ look at how fuckinâ soaked they are from you.â He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until youâre clenching and whining. âYeahhâ thatâs it, show me how good that feels.â
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.Â
âOh my godâ fuckâ wait!â you cry out.Â
âWhatâs wrong, baby? Gonna cum?â Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.Â
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
âFuuck yeah, there you go,â he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.Â
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.Â
âTired or you wanna keep goinâ?â he asks.Â
Youâre still trying to catch your breath as you answer. âYeah, keep going.â
âAtta girl.âÂ
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock thatâs bigger than you originally thought itâd be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.Â
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
âYou alright?â he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.Â
Taking your eyes off feels impossibleâ 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, heâs already long and thick.Â
âYeahâ I justâ holy shit.âÂ
âI know.â He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. âGonna be fun watching you take it.â
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing itâs from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether youâre excited or nervous. âYou ready?â
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.Â
âMhm.â
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. âAlright.â
Youâll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.Â
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.Â
Once heâs halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.Â
âYou doinâ okay?â he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.Â
âYouâre so fucking big,â it almost sounds like a complaint.
âI am,â he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. âIâm gonna push the rest in.âÂ
âHow much is there left?â
âYouâll be fine.âÂ
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, heâs humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
âFuckinâ tight,â he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while heâs at it since heâs not entirely an asshole. âRemember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.âÂ
You donât get a chance to respond before heâs pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.Â
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.Â
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them inâ something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.Â
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.Â
âMmmhâ you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.âÂ
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.Â
âDonât cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?â
Thrust.Â
âFuckâ okay,â you whine back.Â
âGood girl.â He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. âDonât try to hold out on me thinkinâ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.âÂ
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldnât stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
âSee? That wasnât so bad now, was it?â he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. âBet this feels good now, huh?â
âItâs been a while,â you say in an attempt to defend yourself.Â
âYeah, no kiddingâ pussyâs fuckinâ tight,â he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. âFeels good like this.â
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
âShitâ look at how much of a mess you made,â he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. âDid you squirt or somethinâ? Youâre fuckinâ soaked.âÂ
âNo. I donâtâ nghhâ who cares, just keep going.â
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. âIs this whatâs got you lying about squirting?â
âI didnât squirt,â you say with an airy laugh. âFuuckâ just feels good.â
âRight,â he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until heâs just grinding against you. âWhat about this?âÂ
Itâs a full blown mating press at this point.
âMhmâ yeahh.â Your lips curl into a small smile. âBetter, actually.â
âGood,â he hums.Â
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, itâs when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukunaâs going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back inâ the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
âF-fuckâ Kuna, thatâsââÂ
âWhat? Too much?â
âNo, noâ keep going,â you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. âDonât stopâ please, I think Iâm gonnaââ
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sightâs nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.Â
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â he asks, honeyed and condescending. âCanât take it?â
âI donâtâ fuckâ I donât know.â Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. Itâs not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.Â
âYou poor thing.â If you hadnât known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. âLook at you, getting fucked so good that itâs making you cry. Youâre probably close, arenât ya?âÂ
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukunaâs right and heâs letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.Â
âCum for me,â he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. âThaaatâs itâ câmon. Give it to me.â
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back inâ again and again and againâ pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and youâre breaking out into a cry.Â
Youâre gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like heâs trying to work as much as he can out of youâ just powering through it. This is the hardest youâve ever cum in your life, youâre fucking sobbing and heâs just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.Â
âOh my g-godâ I-I canâtâ ffuck itâs too muchââ your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.Â
âI knowâ Iâm so fuckinâ close,â he husks out, and you can tell heâs not entirely all here anymore. âShhiittt almost thereâ keep squeezing me like that, babyâ yeahh just like that,â his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. âFuckâ ffuuck.â
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.Â
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesnât even know where to start, youâre surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.Â
It eventually ends, though. Youâre the first to break it.Â
âDid you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?âÂ
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. âIf you donât mind me trying to fight them, then sure.â
. . . . . .Â
Six Months LaterÂ
You walk step inside Sukunaâs office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt heâs doing anything work related. But heâs the boss, whoâs going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.Â
Unfortunately, he doesnât get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.Â
âWhy is Yujiâs face crossed off in that photo?â
He rolls his eyes, âdonât worry, itâs whiteboard marker.âÂ
âBut why would you do that?â you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.Â
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father âDoes Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?â and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go âyou eat too much.â
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. âHe called me fat and bald, so I told him we werenât family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.â
Despite the words that come out of Yujiâs mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.Â
âSo you made him cry?âÂ
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. âNo,â he grimaces. âHe just pouted and said sorry.âÂ
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.Â
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. âHowâd your boss take the news?âÂ
âOh my god, he was distraught,â you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.Â
He waves a dismissive hand, believing itâs the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.Â
âYouâll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,â he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.Â
âYeahâ I,â you give a nervous laugh, âokay, so about that.âÂ
He stops chewing and just stares at you.Â
âIâm gonna stay with them.âÂ
âWhat?â he almost snaps. âWeâre going on vacation in a few weeks. Iâ what the fuck? What did you get a fuckinâ cake for then?!â
âWeâre still going! Heâs giving me that time off.â
âHow charitable of him.â He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. âI thought you hated that fuckinâ place?!â
âI did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.âÂ
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like heâs the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself heâll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.Â
âAre you listening?â
âWhat?â you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.Â
âTchâ nothing.â Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. âHe shouldaâ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hellâ he shouldnât have dumped all that work on you in the first place.â
âHeâs a greedy old man thatâs hungry for money,â you remind him. âWhat else would you expect from him?âÂ
Sukunaâs delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesnât, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you wouldâve eventually moved.
âWhatever,â he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. âIf Mr. Crabs calls you while weâre gone, Iâm ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?â
You suppress a laugh. âLoud and clear.âÂ
âGood,â he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. âProud of you.â
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. âThanks.â
He glances at the door, notices itâs locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.Â
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what heâs thinking.
âSeriously? You canât wait until we're at home?â
âșâ§âË àœàœČâ the heartbreak betâàœàŸ Ëââ§âș
[about] sorority girls hate fraternity boys, it's the natural cycle of the world. they think all brothers are nasty scum, who are incapable of love. cue ryomen sukuna and his heartless reputation. if he can make you fall in love with him and not just his dick, then the frat wins. only, you're making it a little tricky.
[tags] bet romance, friends with benefit, situationship hell, p in v, smut centered, fraternity/ greek life, nerdy! reader, crack, angst, eventual angst, humor, jock! sukuna, frat boy! sukuna, more tags to be added
synopsis: it was just supposed to be a routine mission. but when things start to go wrong and time starts slipping through his fingers, gojo realizes a little too late he might lose you too.
pairing: astronaut!gojo x f!reader x teacher!choso
wc: 14.8k
content: mdni. HEAVY ANGST. smut. character death. inspired by interstellar, time dilation, sad ending, hurt no comfort, unprotected piv sex, teasing, kissing, gojo is so incredibly in love and obsessed with reader, accidental pregnancy, twins, pining, yearning, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, choso is also a lovesick puppy dog, video messages, gojo cries and throws up, moving on, absolutely sadness and despair
art is by @to00fu !! div by @tsumiinum !! this was an incredible commission to write for @dayanim <333
âYouâre literally the prettiest girl on the planet.âÂ
You giggled, your mouth curving up into a painfully cute smile as his palms spread your soft thighs further apart. Perfect face tilting to the side as you arched an eyebrow, âJust this planet?âÂ
âAll of them,â he easily chuckled, pressing a peck to the inside of your exposed thigh, admiring the expanse of your bare skin, completely naked in his sheets. Sprawled out like his favorite feast, waiting for him to devour.Â
If he could, heâd swallow you whole and take you with him to space.Â
Pack you up and bring you with him.Â
But unfortunately, NASA probably wouldnât approve of him stowing you away on his final official mission before he moved to a different position.Â
âI donât want you to go,â you pouted at him, running your fingers through your hair as he returned to dotting more kisses up to your hips, down to just below your belly button, trying to memorize the way your skin felt on his lips.Â
âI know,â he sighed, struggling to justify why he was going to you when he could hardly convince himself these days. âItâs just six months.âÂ
A routine mission.Â
It was far from his first. He knew how it would play out. Shoko and Suguru would join him on the crew, so at least the time wouldnât totally drag by. He hadnât planned to join, but with what they promised to pay for it, it was sorta hard to refuse. Especially when he was still saving for a wedding and a house down payment.Â
Still, considering the fact that heâd only just gotten back from one less than a year ago, he knew that it wasnât just him it was hard on.Â
âIt feels like forever,â you complained, a crease between your brow as your hand shifted to cup his cheek, lift his face up to look at you. The cool band of your engagement ring resting on his skin reminding him of the promise he made to you when he popped the question. That heâd give up exploring the reset of the universe if youâd be his wife. âIâm so tired of missing you.âÂ
âBaby,â he frowned, heart slamming into his rib cage at the disappointment he detected in the lines of your face.Â
He didnât want to do this to you. Didnât want to be the guy that wasnât there for you.Â
But this was all just temporary. Soon heâd have secured a future where you could both permanently settle in a beautiful little house with a big yard for mini-yous and mini-hims to run and play.Â
Climbing back on top of you properly as you huffed at him, caging you in underneath his muscled arms, not stopping until your bodies were connected, skin-on-skin, his forehead resting on yours as your eyes met his.Â
âDonât baby me,â you defensively murmured.Â
âBut youâre my baby,â he pouted back at you. Your body shivered a little, thighs pressing together before he used his knee to nudge them further apart. âAnd youâre gonna be my wife when I get back.âÂ
He liked the ring of it.Â
His wife.
All his.Â
He proposed to you the day he got back from his last mission. Maybe he should make it a tradition and marry you the day he returned this time.Â
Skip the whole big wedding he talked you into the past few months in favor of a courthouse ceremony. Maybe drag Suguru back after the landing to be the witness.Â
You made a face, nose scrunching up and lips parting like there was something you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself.Â
âThis is my last mission,â he reminded you, a weak attempt at reassurance as his thick cock rubbed against your clit. Your breath hitched, getting caught in your throat as he dragged it over the sensitive bud.Â
âYou said that about the last one,â you reminded him, and he didnât have an argument to counter it.Â
âWell, I mean it this time,â he muttered softly. He wasnât particularly good at being soothing. Spectacularly bad, sometimes, actually. But you still stayed.Â
Still smiled at him when he sucked at being what you needed.Â
The moon hung heavy outside the window, a thick crack running across the glass pane as the night sky filtered through it and bathed the room in soft light. The apartment you shared wasnât much, pretty shitty honestly, but it was just a stepping stone. A way to save money for when youâd really need it.Â
Soon, youâd have the best.Â
âBesides, I canât leave again once you start having my babies,â he teased, moving a hand down to your stomach, feeling your soft skin. Dreaming of a future where youâd be waddling around his kitchen pregnant, trying to decide if heâd prefer a boy or a girl â only to land on wanting both.Â
âSo youâll be here for them and not for me?â You huffed.Â
âI just want to make sure I make a good life for all of you,â he replied, struggling to sound confident when you were looking at him with a faint hint of hurt shining in your eyes.Â
You wanted to believe him.Â
âUh-huh,â you exhaled.Â
He supposed heâd just have to remind you another way that you had his heart. That even if he left the planet for a few months, heâd always have to return back to you.Â
His home.Â
Your thighs opened up for him, letting him shut up all those awful thoughts with a kiss as he pushed the first few inches inside your pretty pussy. Felt you sucking him in, losing himself in your warmth as he pushed past that first ring of resistance. Filling you up until you were stuffed full, your head tilting back, lips parting in his favorite moan â his name falling from them in broken little gasps.
âSatoru,â you whined, wiggling under his weight as he leaned down to start trailing kisses across your jaw. Down the delicate skin of your throat, sucking greedily just to see what other sounds he could draw from you.Â
âMhm, sweetheart?â He hummed, pausing to drag his tongue over all the sore spots heâd left, tempted to sink his teeth back over them, to leave little bruises just so youâd have to keep thinking about him even when he was planets away.
âI donât want you to go,â you huffed, forcing the words out between little whimpers, your body shivering as his cock slowly thrusted in and out, deliberately taking his time to stretch you out. He hesitated mid-pump, lips still pressed just above your collarbone as he tried to come up with something that would make it better.
âI donât want to either,â Gojo softly admitted, kissing you again as if it would cure the ache in his heart or the one in yours.Â
There was a moment of silence, seconds slipping by with tension that wouldnât dissolve, and he wasnât sure if he should keep thrusting or pull out.
But then your hips shifted, and his cock twitched, and he was already readjusting, palms moving to push your soft thighs against your chest with his cock still keeping you plugged up.Â
And really, you couldnât blame him for how pretty you looked in a mating press.Â
Fucking you faster, the wooden bed frame creaking and bumping into the wall with every rough thrust, each harsh snap of his hips against your skin as he plunged his cock in and out, in and out.
Watching your face screw up in pleasure, lashes fluttering and nails scrambling for purchase in the sheets as his thumbs dug into your thighs. Holding onto you, keeping you firmly pinned between him and the bed, like he could imprint every ridge and vein inside you, supposing heâd just have to be satisfied with leaving the shape of both of you on the mattress.Â
âI love you so goddamn much,â he murmured, chest constricting, heart racing as the pressure built and mounted in the pit of his stomach. Some invisible thread being pulled tighter, or maybe it was just himself, wrapped around your finger without you even realizing it.Â
Ready to break just thinking about not getting to hear your voice every day, not getting to touch your skin, like he wasnât still buried inside you.
âI love you too,â you whispered back, your voice quivering as you looked up at him with glossy eyes.Â
He kissed you hard, teeth nearly bumping into each other as his tongue slipped past your lips. Tracing over your canines, tasting the hint of toothpaste on your tongue. The remnants of the candy-flavored lip gloss youâd been wearing earlier too.Â
You were returning his fervor, squeezing down on his cock like you were trying to suck him dry like he wasnât already struggling not to cum.Â
He had to hurry to shift his hand, fingers rushing to find your clit, rubbing rough circles over it just to swallow every cute moan of yours that tried to escape. Cock twitching and aching for relief that he refused to give it, keeping an iron grip on his restraint as he waited for that familiar tremble, for you to really clamp down on him as shudders wracked through your body.Â
Until you were crying his name in his mouth, whimpers muffled as he soothed you through your climax, rolling that sensitive bud between his thick fingers, only breaking the kiss to purr in your ears that it was all going to be okay.Â
âThatâs it, baby. Just cum for me, okay? Itâs gonna be fine,â he promised, his voice cracking on the final word as he came with you. Finishing with warm spurts of cum filling you up, each thrust pumping more into you as he groaned your name, head collapsing into the crook of your collarbone.Â
Sweat making your skin stick to his, your breathing mixing together as you both came back down to earth from your high.Â
âFuck,â you murmured, trying to shift underneath him, roll out from his heavy body.Â
But he refused to budge, burying his face deeper into your neck just to smell your soap and shampoo, nuzzling his nose against your neck.Â
He didnât want to let go.Â
And for a second, part of him considered cancelling. Backing out of the mission, coming up with an excuse or calling out sick. They had back up astronauts.Â
They had a few people, perhaps not as qualified as him, but still acceptable, on standby that could take his spot.Â
He might get fired. Shoved back to some bottom-tier desk position.Â
But heâd get to stay with you.Â
Would get to spend the next six months sleeping like this instead of alone in a spaceship compartment.Â
âSatoru,â you softly said his name, shifting as he finally released your thighs, letting you lay them back down more comfortably â but still kept you caged in.Â
âCanât I just lay here for a while longer?â He groaned, jaw tightening at the idea that this was the last night heâd get this. You.
Cock still twitching as the last of his cum leaked out, some of it starting to spill down your thighs as he refused to take it out.Â
You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching a spot behind his ears, sifting through the silky strands with a long sigh. âSure.âÂ
That was just who you were.Â
What youâd do.Â
You gave him what he wanted.Â
Even when you didnât like what he asked for.Â
âIâm sorry,â he muttered.
âDonât be sorry,â you replied gently. âJust be sure youâre coming home.âÂ
âThe stars canât keep me from you,â he promised, moving to leave another kiss on the tip of your nose as you rolled your eyes at him.Â
But you giggled, and that was good enough.
âLetâs get married when I get back,â he suggested.Â
âWe already-âÂ
âLike, the same day, sweetheart,â he insisted, lips curling up in a smile as he snagged your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss to your engagement ring. The big diamond glittering in the moonlight, accented with small gemstones that same shade as his eyes set in a white-gold band. One you picked out with him once upon a time.Â
âYouâre ridiculous,â you laughed, shaking your head like you werenât grinning at the idea too. âDidnât you want, like, the whole huge wedding?âÂ
âI just want you.âÂ
Gojo could make it six months if it meant youâd be waiting there for him when he got back. Â
He just didnât think everything would go to fucking shit in sixteen weeks.
Clinging to the same dream of you, the same memory his brain had chosen for comfort as he opened his eyes for another difficult day in a long line of them.Â
Waking up to a window that only overlooked the cold, dark expanse of space instead of the familiar city. Missing your warmth in bed â trading it for a sleeping bag and a stiff compartment that they somehow still hadnât figured out a better alternative for despite how advanced their rocketships had become.Â
Sure, they could figure out how to simulate gravity inside the living areas now. But no, getting a good nightâs rest was still impossible.Â
They were only supposed to be running a supply drop off. Sending equipment to a planet a few other astronauts were previously sent to, one theyâd recently started establishing a settlement on. Shoko was planning on staying behind there to be their medic â but he was supposed to return with Suguru.
It wasnât the only habitable planet that had been discovered. There were a few, all being explored, data being collected and catalogued by various astronauts like themselves, sent back periodically and retrieved by relief missions like the one they were on.Â
All just a galaxy away.Â
It meant going through a wormhole to get to them, but according to all the calculations and the previous voyages, it was safe.Â
Risky, sure, but itâd been done before.Â
And to be fair, getting through it hadnât been the problem.Â
The problem was they were just outside the orbit of the wrong fucking planet.Â
Whether one of them had bumped into the navigation system, inputted the wrong thing at the wrong time, or maybe some internal error was to blame, it didnât matter.Â
No, a more pressing issue had presented itself.Â
A distress signal was being sent up.Â
Someone was below â and begging to be rescued.Â
âI have a bad feeling about it,â Suguru murmured, scowling at the screen as if he could make the message go away just by glaring at it.Â
âYou always have a bad feeling,â Shoko hummed, dark circles under his eyes as she scanned the data on her screen.Â
âI think we should just continue to the correct planet. Itâll be a waste of fuel and time,â Suguru scoffed, ignoring her as his fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting either calculations or coordinates.
Satoru reclined back in his seat, fiddling with a pencil as his friend glanced up at him like he was looking for support here.
âArenât you supposed to be the one who wants to save people?â He asked, cocking his head to the side just to get a scoff. Heâd known Suguru most of his life. Went to school together, graduated from the same program just to end up colleagues too. Between both of them, Suguru was always the altruistic one. The guy who thought of everyone else before himself â even if he was looking down at them from his moral high ground half the time.Â
âNot if it means putting our mission at risk,â he argued, lips pressed together in a thin line. âOr us.â
âThe last reported conditions there seem fine,â Shoko shrugged as she directed their attention back to what little data had been collected so far.Â
Most of the planet was made of water, a massive sea dotted with a handful of islands, some mountain ranges that rivaled the highest peaks back on Earth. Two fellow astronauts were supposed to have been there for the last nine months.Â
âYou really want to just leave them?â Gojo asked, not sure how exactly to feel about it himself. Not wanting to totally throw away Suguruâs hesitation â but reluctant to just leave another astronaut stranded.Â
âThere are other people counting on us,â Suguru insisted, and Satoru knew he was right. Knew that you were counting on him to come back in one piece. âWe can just send a message back to Earth and let them decide.â
Suguru knew as well as he did that doing that would most likely mean death to whoever was sending the distress signal.
It would probably be months before they sent another ship up.
And given that they didnât have the data to know how fast or slow time passed below. No way to know when the signal they were receiving had started.
There was a heavy pause, all three of them weighing whether or not to take the gamble â and imagining what itâd feel like to be the one stuck on the planet praying for someone to come save them.
âI think we should check it out,â Satoru eventually spoke up, although he wasnât exactly excited about it.Â
He just wasnât sure he could stomach the alternative. If he could handle coming back home to you and telling you the truth.
Risk you leaving him like they were about to leave the stranded astronauts.
âThe extra data they have would be useful,â Shoko pointed out, tilting her head appraisingly. âIf we needed to, we could bring them back to the other settlement.âÂ
âTwo minutes,â Suguru begrudgingly gave in, irritation pricking in his voice as he stood up, rubbing his temple. âWe shouldnât spend more than ten on the surface when we donât know how much time we could lose. Get there, see whatâs salvage, get the fuck out.âÂ
Whether it was data or people, theyâd just take what they could and leave.Â
There was a chance that the relative time on the planet was off. That even just an hour on the planet could be the equivalent to a year back on Earth.Â
âYeah, agreed,â Satoru waved him off, watching him walk off, probably to start preparations for landing.Â
He told himself it was the right thing to do.Â
That it was what you would expect from him.Â
He stood up too, walking around to one of the communication terminals they set up â where they could send and receive messages.Â
Youâd sent a couple videos, unofficial ones, of course, something he arranged in advance when he agreed to join the mission â that heâd be able to contact you and youâd be able to do the same. They were short, just a few minutes of you updating him on life back on Earth. How you were doing, how wedding planning was going, murmuring that you missed him in a soft voice before leaning in to kiss the camera.Â
But a new one was waiting for him as he popped his headphones in to listen, leg bouncing nervously as it loaded, automatically smiling when your face popped up.Â
âHi, Satoru,â you greeted, but then you awkwardly looked down, fiddling with your fingers out of frame like you were shy all of a sudden. Biting your bottom lip, the skin there already broken like youâd been busy chewing it.Â
He wanted to touch the screen.Â
Caress your cheek and ask you what was wrong.Â
âI, um, was gonna wait until you came back. But, uh, I donât think I can keep it a secret that long,â you breathed, eyes glancing up at the camera like you were imagining him on the other side of it.Â
And then you were picking something up, holding it out in front of you as the camera refocused and-Â
Holy shit.Â
âSurprise,â you excitedly called out from behind the tiny onesie in your hand. âYouâre going to be a father.âÂ
A baby.Â
He was going to be a father.
His brain stopped working. Shock freezing him in place as you peeked out from behind the onesie like you could see his reaction. Pride glimmered in your eyes as you grinned, his entire world sitting in front of him a galaxy away. His future wife and child just waiting for him to return.
âI wanted it to be a surprise, but itâs been so hard holding it in,â you continued, and he craved you even more than he had in the past few months combined. Dying to pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your lips, your cheeks, your stomach.
Aching to wrap his arms around you and start talking about baby names and nurseries, to take you out shopping for baby furniture and be there for your appointments.Â
âThereâs something else,â you said, reluctance creeping in. Glancing down at your lap again before pulling up a second onesie.Â
No. You surely didnât meanâŠ?Â
âIâm having twins,â you announced, a little awkward like you started second guessing how heâd take it. âAre you surprised?âÂ
It didnât take his brain long to calculate the fucking odds of that, but his mind had a hard time accepting it, discomfort coiling in and mixing with the exhilaration in his stomach at the idea of you back in bed, carrying his babies, while he was up in fucking space.Â
Unable to be there for you. To rub the lotion on your stomach, to sing terrible impressions of lullabies to them, to drive you to the doctor and hold your hand throughout all of it.Â
You didnât seem too bothered, or maybe just too excited to show it, holding up the ultrasounds next, proudly showing him baby A and baby B, talking about how you should find out their genders in just a couple weeks.Â
âYou better be back before I have these two,â you murmured into the camera, fixing him in a serious stare, your eyes shining in the fading daylight drifting in through your window. âDonât make me go to the hospital alone.âÂ
Never.Â
Heâd fucking be there.Â
âI love you, Toru,â you spoke softer, hesitating over actually hitting the button to stop recording. âPlease donât do anything stupid.âÂ
Heâd already done something stupid by saying yes to coming here, hadnât he?Â
Still, he plastered on his best smile, sitting awkwardly in front of his own camera, recording you a message back. Making you a million promises, telling you how proud he was of you, how thrilled he was to be a dad. Selling you dreams of a life he was desperately trying to buy for your future family of four.Â
âWeâre, uh, about to go down to a planet to check out a distress signal, but, itâll be fine, baby,â he informed you, hearing how stiff the words came out as he forced his palm to press down on his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing. âItâll just be a quick pitstop before the supply drop, promise.âÂ
He paused, having to clear his throat, his tongue suddenly dry as he made himself look directly into the camera.Â
âIâll come back for you.âÂ
Gojo didnât want to admit Suguru might be right when he had to sit with the heavy feeling in his stomach after he shut the camera off and sent the message back â knowing it would probably be a couple days before you saw it.
But it would be fine, wouldnât it?
In a year, heâd be waking up in bed with you, laughing about how worried heâd been while you each held one of your babies. This would just be a memory.Â
He wasnât sure how long he sat there. Staring at the screen long after it shut off, replaying your voice in his head, itching to really hear it, to feel it on his skin, to touch you instead of just clinging to a digital copy of you.
âYou ready?â Suguruâs voice called out to him, and he snapped out of his daze.Â
Found his mouth opening, about to say no.
Tell him he changed his mind. Say he was wrong and that they should just save their fuel.Â
But if you knew, if they knew, that heâd left someone to die just to come home to them sooner, would they look at him the same way?Â
Would he be able to look his children in the eyes?Â
He swallowed hard as he glanced towards the doorframe Suguru was standing in, slowly nodding instead of saying what he really wanted to. âYeah.âÂ
Gojo wanted to believe that between their three-person crew, theyâd be able to handle it.Â
He just hadnât realized that only two of them would make it back to the ship.Â
đ„ Ę Ë
âYou should move on.â
It didnât matter how many people said it. How many times your therapist pleaded with you to put the past behind you.
You couldnât let go of him.
Six months turned into six years without Satoru.
The one thing you were terrified of had come true.
You lost him.
Didnât even have the fucking confirmation of his death. Just a gravestone with an empty casket, a plot picked out for you next to it â even if youâd never get to be buried by him.Â
Wasnât that the funny thing about taking risks?Â
You always know what could happen. You just never think it will happen to you.Â
Itâs always someone else.Â
Until itâs not.Â
Until youâre the one waiting for a phone call youâll never get or a knock on the door that will never come.Â
âItâs not exactly like men are lining up to date me,â you muttered into the phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you frowned at your reflection in the mirror, reaching up to fix a stray hair just for your still-shiny engagement ring to shimmer in the sunlight. Swallowing the lump in your throat before you turned away, nearly tripping on a toy. âWith the twins-âÂ
âGuys like MILFs,â your friend teased in your ear, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you bent over to pick up the stuffed bunny and toss it in an overflowing toy basket.Â
You doubted theyâd like one still in love with their babiesâ father.Â
Still holding out hope heâd show up with that stupid smile and wrap you in a crushing hug.Â
Even if the rest of the world thought he was dead.Â
When the government had declared his ship missing and him deceased. Cut you a check for it even though you werenât technically Satoruâs spouse yet since you had his babies. A little boy that could be his clone and a girl that looked a little too much like you. Â
Their check had been enough to get you out of your crummy apartment, to move the three of you in a small house in a quiet neighborhood.Â
Suguruâs mother had ended up moving next door, offering to babysit and watch them during the day so you didnât have to send them to daycare. Helping you raise your children while her child was still out there in space somewhere.Â
She didnât talk about Suguru with you. And you never spoke of Satoru.Â
But you knew she understood anyway. Coped with it the same way you did. Skirting around their existence like it would lessen the hurt.Â
âI know a guy who-â Your friend started, and your stomach lurched at the thought of being set up with someone who couldnât come close to the man you were supposed to marry.Â
âLook, Iâve, uh, gotta go get the kids. Their teacher wanted to discuss Apolloâs behavior. I guess he bit someone,â you muttered, heels clicking as you slung your purse over your shoulder and snagged your keys.Â
She was disappointed, mumbling a goodbye that you tuned out, hitting end and dropping your phone in your bag with a sigh.Â
You wondered what Satoru wouldâve thought of it.Â
If he wouldâve laughed at his son picking fights at school or if there was a stern side to him buried somewhere beneath his goofy grins and cheesy jokes.Â
You tried to pick out names heâd like. Even if sometimes it stung a little to think about.Â
Apollo and Artemis.Â
After the space missions. Heâd think it was cute. Probably dress them up like little astronauts and kiss their foreheads, promising that he loved them way more than just to the moon and back. Paint stars on their ceiling and hang planets up on strings in their nursery.Â
To be fair, you had done it in his place.Â
Worn one of his old t-shirts as you bit your lip and bent over your swollen belly to get all the corners, carefully standing on a ladder to hang everything on the ceiling, standing in a nursery full of furniture you built yourself a month after his return date came and went.Â
The last thing you heard from him was a video message where he promised heâd come back. If you shut your eyes, you could still see that look on his face, the flicker of nervousness that flashed across it as his mouth curled down into a frown before he admitted that they were about to go check out a distress call.Â
And then nothing.Â
NASA never told you if they had any additional information on it. But the conclusion they came to was obvious.Â
Their mission was a failure. And your husband was forever missing.Â
Somewhere youâd never be able to reach.Â
You snapped on the twins' first birthday. You hadnât even managed to bring yourself to throw them a party when Satoru wasnât there to take the photos, to pick them up and blow out the candles for them.Â
Carrying them next door to Suguruâs momâs place, asking for her to watch them for a few hours just to come back home and rip down every stupid space-themed piece of decor youâd once painstakingly picked out. Throwing them all in a big, black trash bag before running out to the store to grab tarps and more paint.Â
You didnât stop until the entire room was drenched in shades of blue and green, alien toys traded in for sea animals.
At least the ocean was on Earth.Â
It wasnât like they were old enough to understand.Â
But you couldnât fucking stand the idea of losing them too.Â
You had kept both their convertible cribs in your room since the day you brought them home from the hospital, unable to sleep without them in the same room. The crippling fear that youâd some intruder would sneak in and snatch them if you werenât right there to stop it didnât actually go away until they were big enough to toddle and talk.Â
Now they were old enough to be in school, no longer babies, no longer toddlers, big enough to ramble on about what they learned every day, bicker over their toys and pick them back up before they went to bed.Â
And Satoru had missed all of it.Â
Every first they experienced tainted by the never-ending reminder that he wasnât fucking here to see a single one.Â
And like an idiot, you just kept recording message after message, setting up a camera and trying not to cry as you recorded yourself talking about the twins, showing them off to someone who shouldâve been by your side every step of the way. You still had a few contacts with his old colleague, one who promised heâd send them all up anyway.Â
Just in case Satoru was still out there in space. Still trying to come home to you. Â
There wasnât a single day that passed yet where you didnât think about it.Â
Him.Â
But it appeared your attempts to keep him alive, to teach your kids about their dad, werenât going so well when you replayed the voicemail youâd been left an hour earlier requesting you come in for a meeting after school was over when you picked up the kids.Â
The soft voice on the other end apologetically explaining that Apollo had gotten in an argument with another kid to defend his sister, that no action was being taken, but that heâd still like to speak with you in person over it.Â
You stared at the brick building of the elementary school, readjusting your purse as you swiped away another message from your friend sending you contact details of a man you certainly were not going to contact, steeling yourself for an uncomfortable conversation as you walked through the door and went into the office to get a visitorâs pass before you started navigating through the halls to look for the twinsâ class.Â
Suguruâs mom handled most of the pick ups for you, kept them at her place until you got back home from work in the evenings.Â
Your boss had been annoyed that youâd taken off early, but you had to put them first. You were the only parent they had.Â
You heard Artemis first. Her soft giggle twinkling as your steps picked up, her brotherâs grumpy voice scolding her as you stopped just outside an open classroom door, pausing as you looked inside and saw sitting cross-legged on the floor with another boy who looked a couple years older, a bunch of toys dumped out between them on a carpet with the alphabet on it.Â
âAre you their sister? I thought their mom-â A low voice spoke up, your head snapping over to see a dark-haired man stepping out from behind a desk. Warm brown eyes scanning your face as you stiffly shook your head.  Â
âIâm their mom,â you interrupted him, swallowing hard as you pushed your sunglasses back up in your hair before holding your hand out to shake.Â
His hand was surprisingly soft when he took it, gently shaking it a few seconds too long before awkwardly letting go.Â
âIâm Choso, their teacher,â he said, and you forced a small smile.
âI, uh, know,â you muttered, averting your stare back to where they were playing.Â
âYujiâs my little brother,â he added, pointing out the boy playing with yours, plucking out a toy from the pile and handing it over.Â
You wondered if it would be awful to just ask him to go ahead and skip all the polite niceties, that you didnât need them.Â
âSorry for making assumptions,â he awkwardly apologized, his dark eyes dragging over you again. âYou just looked like youâre around my age, and I guess I forget sometimes that itâs normal for us to have kids of our own now.â
You blinked at him, trying to decide what to make of his slightly nervous rambling just for his mouth to open again.
âI wasnât trying to comment on your appearance or anything, I mean, youâre beautiful-â His lips abruptly shut, cheek flushing pink in a painfully familiar way.
Your chest hurt.
Ached at the thought that Satoru was no longer the last person to call you beautiful.
âUm, thanks,â you murmured, looking at your outfit a little self-consciously. Wondering if he was just saying that to make you feel better or if he really meant it. You didnât think you looked terrible. But without Satoru around, youâd sorta forgotten what it felt like to look in the mirror and see something pretty when you were struggling to survive most days.Â
âIâm sorry,â he apologized, glancing down to the ring on your finger. Your throat started to close, palms getting clammy as he ran his fingers through his hair. âI didnât realize you were married.âÂ
âIâm not,â you answered, a little too quickly as you folded your arms across your chest. Putting your left hand underneath your other arm as if it would make you stop thinking about it. Him.Â
âOh, um-âÂ
âI was engaged to the twinsâ dad,â you explained, watching them giggle and pretend to eat the plastic food with their new pink-haired friend. âBut, uh, he passed before they were born.âÂ
People usually asked too many questions if you told them the whole story.Â
âIâm sorry for your loss,â he apologized, face falling the way everyone elseâs always did. Regret etched into the soft lines of his face, nose scrunching up as the tattoo across his nose crinkled. âI had no-â
âItâs fine,â you lied, waving it off like Satoru didnât still cast shadows across your thoughts. âSo, um, what happened with Apollo? Is he in trouble?â
âNo, no, one of the other kids tried to take a toy from Artemis, and he stepped in to stop it. I actually wanted to speak to you about him having a hard time making friends outside of her,â Choso spoke softly, obviously trying hard to pick his words carefully. âI was thinking of recommending they get put in different classes next year to help them socialize.âÂ
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Torn between immediately shutting the idea down and trying to argue against it before second guessing whether or not your parenting was actually just fostering codependence.Â
Satoru would know what to do.
But he wasnât here.
And all the decisions were yours to make.
Artemis was the outgoing one, inherited her fatherâs personality even if she pretty much got your face. Bright and brilliant, easy charisma that shined even at her small size. Apollo was reserved. Serious.
Scowling if he wasnât with his sister, grumbling at the world like he already realized how it screwed them over.
âTheyâre just five,â you muttered, glancing over at where they were still distracted with his brother.
âWell, I guess we can see if there are any changes throughout the rest of the school year. I, uh, coach a boys soccer team on the weekends. Heâs welcome to join, if youâre interested,â he said, running his fingers through the ends of his hair.Â
You guessed if it meant your twins wouldnât be split up in school, youâd sit on the sidelines to watch little kids try and fail to kick a ball across a field.Â
Not that he was that happy about it when you told him heâd have to spend his Saturday morning in a soccer uniform with kids he barely spoke to before instead of playing with his toys at home.Â
Choso grinned when you first showed up, one of those crooked ones that gave away his surprise when he saw you setting up fold-out chairs for you and Artemis. Even jogging over to tell you he was happy you came, squatting down to get on Apolloâs level to ask him if he knew how to play.Â
He didnât.
To be fair, after watching a single game, it was clear none of the other kids did either.Â
Still, you left it with a schedule of practices and games stuffed in your purse, a couple of them circled and marked for your days to bring snacks and juice boxes for the team.
You told yourself that you were being an active parent.Â
Showing up to every single school event. Refusing to miss a single soccer game even when Apollo spent half of it plucking weeds from the field to give to you afterwards.Â
Taking him to play dates with his new soccer friends before taking Artemis to sleepover with her school friends, juggling their new social lives with your own work.Â
And somewhere along the way, you supposed youâd made a new friend in their teacher too.
He went out of his way to talk to you at every game, greeting you at their school stuff with a shy smile and considerate questions while he updated you on how they were doing.Â
The kids loved him, coming home chattering about what he planned and taught them during the day, complaining whenever he was out sick and they got stuck with a substitute.Â
Wasnât it normal to like someone if they made your children happy?Â
Smile back when they spoke to you?Â
Find your thoughts lingering a little on their dark-haired teacher when your son excitedly exclaimed that Choso promised to be his soccer coach next year too, your stupid heart stalling for a second when Artemis casually dropped that he helped her make a motherâs day card for you as she stuck it to the fridge with a magnet.Â
You definitely didnât pick them up from school yourself more often, swearing to Suguruâs mother that you were just trying to spend more time with them.Â
But eventually, the school year wrapped up.Â
You couldnât really comprehend why some sliver of you was disappointed by that.Â
Still, you suspected that it wasnât just because Satoru wasnât here to see it.Â
A strange flutter in your stomach stirring watching Choso pass out printed graduation certificates to the class, plastering on a bright smile as Artemis proudly bounded over to show you hers. Toothily grinning as you sat and clapped for her in a cramped chair, a paper plate with a tiny slice of pizza in front of you as the other parents tried wrangling their own kids.Â
Apollo was half-sitting on your lap, sneakily stealing your pizza after he polished off his own plate, enjoying their classroom party just to start bickering over which mini cupcakes they each wanted, eyeing the boxes Choso hadnât given out.
âAre you excited for next year?â You asked, barely able to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at their arguing.Â
âNo,â Artemis smiled immediately flipped into a frown as she flopped in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. âWeâll have to get a new teacher.âÂ
âDonât be a baby,â Apollo huffed at her.Â
âSânot fair, heâs still your coach,â she whined back, right in time for him to show up, holding out a plastic container with cupcakes to let them choose.Â
They were quick to snatch them, thank yous muffled when they stuffed their mouths the next second, but to your surprise, he held out the box for you to pick too.Â
âI, um, got enough for the parents too,â he awkwardly said, eyes hesitantly flicking up to meet yours as you chewed the inside of your cheek before accepting.Â
âThanks,â you murmured softly, selecting one with purple frosting as he smiled softly at you.Â
It was nice of him.Â
This was nice, actually.Â
A classroom of sugar-fueled kids and hastily strung up party streamers wasnât exactly where you pictured youâd be spending your afternoon a decade ago. Being a single mom had never been a part of your plans.Â
But it wasnât terrible.Â
You loved your children. Loved being their mom.Â
Maybe you could learn to love your life too.Â
You stayed behind once the party wrapped up to help clean the classroom with a few of the other parents, stuffing greasy and frosting splattered plates into trash bags while the twins excitedly caught up with Yuji after his teacher dropped him off after the bell rang.Â
âHey,â a quiet voice startled you, your head snapping back to see Choso stiffly standing next to you, nervously raking his fingers through his hair.Â
âHi,â you breathed back, just as awkward. âThe party was great. I think the twins will miss you next year.âÂ
You didnât want to consider if you would.Â
âTheyâre great kids. I know theyâre gonna succeed some day,â he earnestly said, your mouth curling up as you nodded.Â
You didnât really mind if they succeeded or not. Wouldnât hold them to the same standards their dad once held himself to.Â
All you really wanted was for them to be happy.Â
âThanks, um, seriously,â you swallowed hard, throat constricting as you thought about how much Apollo had started to come out of his shell thanks to him.Â
Chosoâs intense stare swept over your face, scanning over your features like he was searching for something there.
His eyes were dark.Â
Not blue. They didnât shimmer, didnât sparkle when the sun hit them.Â
But they were deep. Warm.Â
âIâm glad I got to meet you,â he started, speaking slowly like he wasnât sure if he should even say it. âGetting to know you, um, itâs been great.âÂ
âYeah, it has,â you agreed, actually meaning it too.Â
He stepped a little closer, taking a deep breath as his gaze settled on your face. âYou can like, slap me if Iâm out of line here-â
âIâm not going to slap you,â you intercut, biting back a laugh as his brows knitted together seriously.Â
âWould it be totally inappropriate to ask you on a date?âÂ
đ„ Ę Ë
Their mission was fucked.Â
Suguru was dead.Â
Body stuck on a planet of water and waves, left behind with the other astronauts that had died long before they even received their distress call.Â
Swept under a fucking tsunami, unable to make it back on the ship on time in an attempt to save a stupid fucking data recorder.Â
Now they had neither.Â
The ship had been damaged in the process too, fuel wasted and plans derailed as they barely managed to get it off the planet before all three of them ended up as corpses. Water corrupting important systems as Gojo slammed his fists against the hard metal frame of a door, throwing off his helmet as Shoko said something his brain refused to process.Â
Grabbing his arm to pull it back before he could fuck up his suit. Telling him to just take it off and cool down before he damned both of them too.Â
Like his best friend wasnât gone.Â
Heâd never get him back.Â
No one would.Â
Gojo just had to leave his body there for the tides to take. What the hell was he even going to say to his mom? How was he supposed to tell her that her son wasnât coming home?Â
He barely managed to get his suit off, stripping down and throwing it on the ground without giving a shit about proper protocol, storming off to his private compartment to stop himself from losing it in front of the only other person up here now. Shoko said something about getting everything back on course, but he wasnât listening as he turned his back from her.
God, he felt like he was going to fucking hurl.Â
The edges of his vision kept blurring, going in-and-out of darkness as he forced himself to change clothes, sitting hunched over the edge of his bed and burying his face in his hands, replaying the look on Suguruâs face when he realized he wasnât going to make it.Â
Rewinding and searching for some other way to change the past as he screwed his eyes shut.Â
But he couldnât save him then and there was no way to save him now.Â
He wished you were here.Â
Wished youâd wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair and promise him that it would still be okay. That Suguru wouldnât blame him.Â
That his best friend was somewhere better.Â
Even if everything scientific in his body swore that there was no better place waiting for him.Â
Gojo pushed himself back up to his feet, jaw locked tight as he walked back over to the one piece of you he still had access too, tapping away at the controls to see if you sent any videos while he was out there making the worse fucking mistake of his life.Â
Foot impatiently tapping against the floor as he reclined his head back against the floor, wishing that heâd never even come on this mission in the first place â if he hadnât, Suguru wouldnât have even answered the distress call, would he?Â
Heâd still be alive, and Gojo would be with-
The computer let out a beep, interrupting his thoughts as the screen came to life, loading everything up as he sighed with relief.Â
Seeing your smile, hearing your soft words might not heal him, but it was the only thing he could think of to help the raw wound of loss ripping through his chest.Â
Until the automated computer voice made an announcement right as he popped his headphones in.  Â
Loading messages from the past eleven years.Â
No. No no no no no.
It was wrong.
It had to be fucking wrong.Â
The computer had to be fried. Some water must have somehow gotten in it and fucked with the wiring and-
Before he could even hit a single button, try to troubleshoot, there you were in front of him, your hand on your swollen stomach, scowling in the camera as you asked where the hell he was. Fear creeping in your pretty voice that no one had heard anything from any of them â reminding him that he promised to come back.Â
He did. He would.Â
The small lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger as the video auto-played into the next one, where you were obviously about to pop, filming in a space-themed nursery, your anger twisted into worry, telling him that you didnât want to do this alone.Â
Begging him to not make you.Â
Gojo froze.Â
Shoulders stiff as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, stunned as his own brain short-circuited, the guilt swimming in his stomach threatening to drown him as you ended the message.Â
Part of him wanted to hit stop.Â
Like if he paused it now, he would be able to freeze time and somehow make it back to Earth in time to not miss any more of it.Â
But his fingers werenât fast enough.Â
And the next frame came with the audio of a baby crying.Â
Two babies. One swaddled in blue and the other in pink. Their names on knitted hats he already knew Suguruâs mom mustâve made, a strangled sob escaping him before he even realized he was crying.Â
The twins. His twins.Â
Sleepily yawning and opening their eyes just a peek, enough for him to see his son had the misfortune of inheriting his looks while his daughter came out like a miniature you. Someone else was recording you in the hospital bed, but you were talking to the camera like it was him, face soft as you giggled that he would probably bawling harder than the babies when he realized he missed this.Â
Suguruâs mom laughed behind the camera.Â
He was.Â
Tears falling freely as the videos just kept playing. One after another.Â
His children were growing up without him.Â
From tiny and fragile bundles to bumbling toddlers to fuck, full-sized little kids.Â
In what? Fifty minutes?Â
Five entire years of their life, condensed down to a handful of clips. The first steps he missed, the birthdays and holidays and fatherâs day heâd never get back.Â
They didnât even look at the camera half the time. Too busy playing and giggling and laughing while you did your best not to cry in front of them. They didnât know him.Â
Their father was barely more than a fucking video camera being pointed at them.Â
And you, god, his pretty, perfect you.Â
Still sending him these even when you had to think he was fucking dead.Â
Dark circles under your eyes and a hollowness to your face that only got worse over the years. Exhaustion in your expressions as you spoke to him like you didnât think he was listening.Â
You mostly updated them on the kids' life. Skimmed over the details of a job you obviously didnât like. Told him how Suguruâs mom had basically become their grandma. Sometimes Artemis would be on your lap, squinting at a book or playing with a toy while you talked.Â
His girls a wormhole away.Â
Gojo wanted to scream. Shout at the world to stop fucking spinning for a while so he could make it back to you.Â
But five years turned into six, and six turned into seven, and he watched in horror as it started to set in that he was losing you too.
What if it was too late?Â
What if you moved on? What if your life had no room left in it for him by the time he made it back to Earth?Â
The twins were already in school and playing sports and clearly didnât miss the man theyâd never met.Â
Would you stop missing him too?Â
He didnât know how many videos he watched. Guessing the time jump between each one based on how much the twins had grown in the background.Â
You looked more mature now too. More put together, hair styled differently, no longer bare-faced when you turned the camera on, in a different room that obviously belonged to a house that wasnât his home.Â
Toys werenât scattered around everywhere in the background anymore. But sometimes the twins would run through with one of their friends, some pink-haired kid that seemed to come over often judging by the way you barely blinked when they passed behind you.Â
Gojo felt like a stranger.Â
Some creep looking in the window of a happy family and thinking it should be his.Â
âMom,â Apollo whined, trying to tug on your sleeve as his shaggy white hair hung around his shoulders, attempting to drag you away while you were in mid-sentence. âMe and Cho made a cake. Come try it.âÂ
âSure, honey,â you softly said, cringing a little before glancing back at the camera apologetically before signing off.Â
Was Cho one of his friends? One of yours?Â
He didnât actually want an answer.Â
But the next video seemed to clue him in on one anyway.Â
You were wearing a shirt that was too big for you. The collar of it stretched out, your hair mused and down as you softly spoke, like you were trying not to wake someone up.Â
It wasnât Gojoâs shirt.Â
An awful feeling settled in his bones. One that etched deeper with every little off detail he noticed.Â
A pair of menâs shoes in the background. A watch left on your desk, barely in frame. The Cho the twins occasionally chattered about affectionately.Â
Who apparently was taking them to soccer games and science museums like he should be doing right now if he heard them correctly.
Gojo didnât want to believe that you were dating again. Even if he knew that it would be the normal thing to do.Â
Completely reasonable for you to move on after not hearing a word from him in nearly a decade.Â
But the idea of you loving another man, letting him into your life, letting him take his space-
He puked.Â
Head between his knees as he got sick on the floor, throwing up a mixture of salt water he swallowed earlier and the freeze dried breakfast he had this morning. Funny, wasnât it? Heâd lost over ten years with you and his best friends in just a day.
An hour on that horrible planet had cost him a decade.Â
Body wracking with shudders as he coughed and spit, wiping the back of his mouth just in time to look up at you while those pretty lips of yours pressed in a thin line. Sadness shining in your eyes, frustration and disappointment you rarely let show evident in your trembling frame.Â
âItâs hard to keep hoping for you,â you admitted, reaching out to shut off the camera, and he desperately wanted to scream for you to not give up, to just fucking wait.Â
But then the computer chimed in that there was one video left the second the screen went black after you ended it.Â
His hand reached out, desperate to touch you, desperate to stop you, but your world was spinning faster than his was.Â
And your face was back on screen, something inside him wilting and withering at the realization that another year had probably passed for you, maybe even two, more that he would never be able to get back.Â
A few more faint lines were etched by your eyes, subtle creases left as a sign of all the time he missed with you. But you looked healthier. Happier.Â
His beautiful girl sitting there and smiling at him instead of screaming like you shouldâve been. Cursing his name for not coming home sooner, scolding him for being a piece of shit that shouldâve stayed on Earth. Â
âHi, Satoru,â you spoke softly, fiddling with your hands. âBeen a while since Iâve made one of these.âÂ
He was terrified to know how long.
âThe twins are good. Theyâre gonna be ten next month,â you continued, not looking directly at the camera as you talked. âTheyâre both smart, like you. Apolloâs been more into soccer than school these days though.âÂ
He wanted to see him. See both of them.Â
Hold them too, know his children outside of the information you would tell some distant relative, even if that was all he felt like right now.Â
âArtemis wants to be a scientist when she grows up. She sits on the sidelines of his games with her nose buried in books,â you told him, a little smile reflexively curling up on your lips just from talking about them. âI wish you could see them. Wish you were here.âÂ
His chest hurt.Â
Gojo didnât know he stopped breathing until his body forced him to suck in a breath, lungs screaming for air as he stared at the woman he was supposed to marry.Â
This wasnât how it was supposed to happen.Â
The mission shouldâve been routine. Simple.Â
Suguru should be setting up the navigation. He should be begrudgingly agreeing to being his best man and coming to the courthouse to witness the rushed ceremony.Â
âSometimes,â you started, swallowing hard as your gorgeous eyes welled up with tears that threatened to spill out. âI dream of you. Us. Back in our old apartment in the creaky bed and the broken window. I wake up thinking Iâm still there.âÂ
The hard lump lodged in his throat was threatening to choke him entirely, the taste of bile still on his tongue as his nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he watched your mouth quiver.Â
âThe government declared you dead a few years ago. One of your old colleagues came by one day, said that no one really knew for sure what happened, just that you missed the supply drop. Used a bunch of big words like I was too stupid to understand that the bottom line was that you werenât coming home. Tried to make me feel better about it too,â you bitterly scoffed at the memory, resting your chin on your knees as you exhaled. On the brink of crumbling just recalling it, âTold me that you mightâve settled on a colony on a different planet or got stuck in some fucked-up time dilation. That you might still be alive out there somewhere.âÂ
If his throat wasnât already raw, he wouldâve screamed at the screen that he was.Â
Wanted to beg you not to fucking believe whatever bullshit everyone else was feeding you and believe in him.Â
âYou donât feel dead,â you added. Sniffling a little, using the back of your hand to rub underneath your eyes. âMaybe itâd be easier to move on if you did.â
Even his relief was tainted by guilt, ruined with his own worry that he was ruining your future by wishing youâd be stuck on him forever.Â
âMy therapist thinks Iâm wasting my life waiting on someone whoâs never coming back,â you murmured, speaking to him more like you were talking to your diary than truly believing he was going to hear any of it. âBut how am I supposed to tell her Iâm scared that some day you will, and I wonât be here?âÂ
Everything hurt.
His body, his heart, his soul.Â
Aching for everything heâd lost. Everything you lost because of him. His own kids growing up without a fucking father because he was an idiot who put a career before his family.Â
The life heâd spent years carefully building towards lost because he miscalculated.Â
âI know itâs not fair, but fuck, thinking about you moving on with another girl, or fucking starting some colony up in space and having kids with someone else, makes me wanna throw up,â you admitted, clueless that he had just puked at the idea of someone else being the stepfather to his twins.Â
You hadnât even confirmed-
âIâm being a hypocrite,â you muttered, burying your face in your hands to hide the fact you were crying â and thatâs when it hit him.
The engagement ring on your finger wasnât his.
Smaller. More subtle. A different cut and style.Â
No. You couldnât-
âIâve, um, been dating a guy for a few years. Heâs sweet. Everyone loves to tell me how much you wouldâve liked him,â you admitted, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously like you were confessing a sin. He didnât like him. Already hated whatever bastard had snuck in and swept you off your feet. âThey keep saying that youâd want me to move on.âÂ
What a load of fucking shit.
The last goddamn thing he wanted was for you to move on. The idea of you marrying another man was enough for him to gag again, bile rising from his stomach as he struggled to stop it.Â
âI still love you,â you shrugged a little, guilt of your own etched in your face as his eyes stung with more tears. âI just love him too.â
Gojo would take getting stabbed over hearing those words from your lips again.
âChoso said maybe itâd make me feel better to make another video for you, yâknow, get everything off my chest,â you exhaled. âIâm just so tired, Satoru.âÂ
Okay, well, that kind of felt like being stabbed.Â
Knowing that this was all his fault and you were the one bearing so much of the burden.Â
âI know youâre probably never going to see this, but youâd want me to be happy, wouldnât you?â You asked, eyes big and wavering as you struggled not to sob, reaching up to play with the silver chain of your necklace tucked under your shirt. âWould you hate me for choosing someone who cares about me and our kids?âÂ
He could never hate you.
Even if you married ten other men while he was gone.
He would just always hate the man who got to call you their wife. Jealous of whichever one got to take family photos with you and take you on vacation and sleep next to you every night.Â
Gojo wanted to be that guy. Wanted to get down on his knees next to you now and dry your cheeks, kiss your mouth and murmur anything you wanted to hear just to make you feel better.
âIâm getting married in four months,â you murmured, wiping the tears away from underneath your eyes, mascara smearing on the back of your hand as you sniffled. âAt that chapel we picked out. The one with the pretty hydrangeas out front.â
No no no.Â
He could still make it.Â
Couldnât he?Â
If they skipped the supply drop entirely and went straight back through the wormhole?Â
Hadnât he lost enough?Â
Gojo refused to let you slip through his fingers a second time. No matter how fast the hourglass was running out of sand.Â
You stood up, walking out of frame for a few seconds as he heard the sound of something unzipping. And then you came back, holding out something white and-
A wedding dress.Â
âYou never got to see me in one, so I thought-â You didnât finish your sentence, just swallowing hard as you draped it back down on furniture just out of sight.Â
The camera barely focused on your body as you peeled your clothes off, his breath hitching at the intimate sight of you slipping the dress on, struggling to zip the back by yourself before walking closer.Â
You looked like an angel.
And Gojo sorta wished he was dead.Â
Stuck in the stunned shell of his body as he watched the way the dress clung to your chest and flowed to the ground, his heart thrumming loud enough he was sure it was about to break through his ribcage.Â
And then a noise in the background startled you.Â
The thud of a door shutting. The excited clamoring of children, a girl giggling as a man said something he couldnât quite make out.Â
Your face scrunched up, a million different emotions flashing across it as you both heard it at the same time. âWeâre back, baby.âÂ
Another man was calling you baby.Â
Footsteps echoing down a hallway heâd never gotten to walk down, your own body rushing over to block the door before it could open.Â
âIâm trying my wedding dress on, Cho,â you called out, lips pressing together in a pretty pout. âItâs bad luck if you see.âÂ
âYeah? We brought back your favorite takeout, want me to put it in the fridge or-â he started asking, his voice deep, gravelly.Â
âYou can leave it out,â you replied, your voice softening as you spoke to him. âIâll be out in a minute.âÂ
You glanced back at the camera, guilt returning the second your stare hovered over at it.Â
And before Gojo could even really appreciate what a beautiful bride you made, you were rushing to get out of it, biting your lips before stuffing it back into a garment bag, putting your clothes back and returning to your seat.Â
âIâm sorry,â you said, fingers trembling as your hand reflexively reached for your necklace again. âI wish things were different.âÂ
But of course, he had to be annoyingly attractive, dark hair hanging around his shoulders and bangs that reminded him of the best friend he just damned as he casually walked over to you, concern etched into his sharp face as he leaned in to press a kiss on the top of your forehead.Â
âEverything okay?â He asked, but then his eyes shifted and he noticed what you were filming. âOh, baby.âÂ
The sound of someone who knew you were hurting. Who cared.Â
âIâm okay, really, Iâm just saying goodbye,â you murmured, like they both couldnât tell how close you were to breaking down.Â
âIâll give you a few minutes,â he spoke gently, his touch lingering on your skin like it really was his now. âApollo and Yuji want to go spend the night with one of their friends.âÂ
Gojo wanted to strangle him.Â
Fly through the space and stars just to give him a black eye for just how casually he spoke about his son.Â
Although some sliver of him was well fucking aware that Choso had probably been more of a dad to Apollo than heâd ever gotten to be.Â
âThatâs fine,â you shrugged, nodding a little as your body relaxed, tension lifting from your shoulders the longer you looked at him.Â
Gojo hated that he could see that you really did love him in your eyes.Â
See that familiar glimmer shining in them as you looked up at a stranger instead of him.Â
Choso left the room, but his presence didnât.Â
You stared at the door for a few moments after it shut, but you didnât say whatever you were thinking. Kept it bottled up before you eventually looked back at Satoru.Â
Not that you could even see him.Â
You thought you were talking to a ghost.Â
Thatâs all heâd become to you. To his children. A phantom haunting rooms heâd never entered. Lingering in empty spaces he shouldâve been. A spectre living in the shadows of your heads.Â
âI miss you,â you murmured, reaching for the button one last time to shut it off. âI donât think that will change. But I canât keep believing youâre coming home.âÂ
No. Please no.Â
He was.
âI love you, Satoru,â you half-whispered, choking the words out. âGoodbye.âÂ
The screen went dark.Â
His reflection staring back at him. Cheeks wet with tears that wouldnât stop, breaking down as he fell apart, nausea swirling as he forced himself to stand and step around where heâd thrown up, pacing the floor as his brain struggled to work through a problem he didnât know how to solve.Â
He went back to the console, frowning when he tried to start recording to send a message back out to you, to beg you to just give him a little more time, but nothing happened.Â
Body and brain barely working together to frantically tap buttons, staring at what data was available to see if he could find when the transmission was received.Â
A faint flicker of hope stirring when he realized it had only been two days ago.Â
You werenât married yet.Â
Maybe there was time.
And even if there wasnât, heâd do his damndest to get there and wreck your marriage if it meant winning you back.Â
He was a wreck, stumbling out of the room to rush to find Shoko, nearly tripping on his own feet as he found her by the controls, her neat brunette brows scrunching together in disgust when she saw the state he was in.Â
âWhat the hell-âÂ
Gojo wasnât sure he was even speaking in full sentences when he started rambling about time dilation, about how they already missed a goddamn decade, her mouth curling down into a tight frown as he got into the details of how they needed to go home now.Â
âWe donât have the fuel,â she deadpanned, drawing his attention to the data on screen. âWe can make it to our supply drop, but unless they have some there, weâll probably be stuck on their settlement until another crew comes along.âÂ
That wasnât a fucking option.Â
They had to make it.
But even when he spent the next forty-eight hours crunching the numbers and calculating different ways to return, he still came to the same conclusion â Shoko was right.Â
And still said âI told you soâ when he said fine to going to the planet for the supply drop, figuring that at least if the load was lighter, he might be able to make what they had left stretch.Â
He was barely showering.Â
Barely eating.Â
Manic energy getting him through the long days and longer nights to avoid the dreams that would only mock him for all his failures.Â
They were just filled with your face, with Suguruâs, of children that called another man dad.Â
Filling his notebooks with different calculations he was desperate to get right this time.Â
Skin crawling with the fear that heâd fuck this up and lose you forever.Â
He didnât get to mourn Suguru. Couldnât mourn the years he missed.Â
Not if he didnât want to miss the rest of them.Â
By the time they made it to the next planet, he was a wreck. Practically shoved in the shower by Shoko to get cleaned up before they landed, feeling ill when he was forced to get his suit back on, praying to whatever higher power might be out there to let there be fuel. Let him go home to his family.Â
This planet wasnât full of water. Wasnât one big ocean.Â
Landing in a lush green field, not far from real buildings, actual structures erected, fellow scientists rushing out to greet them as Shoko worked fast to unload the supplies with their help.
Gojo knew he probably sounded like a lunatic rushing to get his request for fuel out as soon as possible, counting the seconds in his head as he hoped that they werenât months passing for you back home.Â
âIâm sorry,â their de facto leader apologized, an astronaut he once grew up looking up to frowning at him as he glanced around at their simple setup to search for anything that could help him. âWe donât have any. Thereâs going to be another supply drop in a month, more people coming to live here. You could probably go back with them if-âÂ
âNo,â he accidentally interrupted, the word ripped from the back of his chest as he recoiled.Â
It couldnât end like this.Â
Heâd be too late if he stayed.
âSatoru,â Shoko hissed, pulling him back as his breathing got ragged, on the verge of a panic attack.Â
âShoko, they donât-âÂ
âI know,â she cut him off, swallowing hard as she fixed him with her steady stare. âLook, Iâll stay here. You take the lander back. Without me and all this stuff, the fuel should last.âÂ
âYou want me to leave you?â He asked, automatically shaking his head no at the absurd suggestion.Â
âI donât have anyone waiting for me back on Earth anyway,â she shrugged.
He didnât have the seconds to debate it.Â
âAre you sure?â He asked, his chest already aching at the idea of being alone on the ship.Â
âGo get your wife back,â she huffed. âName one of your next kids after me.âÂ
âDeal,â he breathed, throwing her arms around her in a rushed hug before he had to sprint back to the lander.Â
Both his best friends left behind on planets he knew heâd never get back to.Â
And still, he wasnât sure if heâd even be able to make it back to the one they came from.Â
He wasnât even meant to be the navigator.Â
Wasnât supposed to be the one frantically typing in coordinates and rushing through checklists to get back home.Â
Struggling and squinting at the consoles, breathing heavy when everything was inputted, running the numbers again and again.
He should make it.
Although, his current path put him at landing in some random field in the middle of nowhere, NASA would probably be rushing to get there once they realized it was one of their landers.Â
If only he could send out a fucking transmission.Â
He tried to figure out why it wouldnât work, fiddling with it almost every day in failed attempts to fix it and rewatching your videos when his energy threatened to run out.Â
Gojo hadnât cut his hair in months. That was something Suguru usually helped him with. It was nearly touching his shoulders, looking like a stranger in his reflection in the fogged-up mirror on the occasions heâd make himself shower and scrub his skin until it was practically red.
But maybe you liked men with longer hair now. Wouldnât mind the fact that he changed too.Â
When he slept, he made it to the chapel just in time, rushing through the double doors right when the officiant asked if anyone objected.Â
He would whisk you away, dip you down and kiss you, fingers sinking into the silk of your wedding dress as he begged you to still be his.Â
Some part of him felt like it was all light years away.Â
Up until Earth was outside his window, his heart thrumming at the thought of you down there, sharing a bed with someone else while he was fighting so hard to come back to you. Did he fuck you as good?
Make sure you finished every single time? Dot your face with kisses and carry you into the bathroom? Make all your favorite foods and worship the ground you walked on every day?Â
Gojo didnât know if heâd be able to handle knowing.
But fuck, if it meant heâd still get to have you, heâd share you with that asshole.Â
Gojo still couldnât send a transmission, had no way of actually notifying anyone when he got in the lander, flipping switches and changing settings as he got behind the controls.Â
Shutting his eyes for a few seconds as he set the coordinates, palms sweating as he clutched the controls. If his math was right, today would be the day you were supposed to be standing at the altar.Â
He could do this.Â
Failing wasnât an option.
Not after everything that had brought him here.Â
âIâm coming home, sweetheart,â he murmured, a little aware that he had probably lost it if he was talking to himself up here.Â
But he hoped you could feel him.Â
That even if you were wearing your wedding dress right now, you would be able to sense him somehow. Clinging to the hope that yours hadnât completely faded yet.Â
The landing fucking sucked.Â
Hitting the ground too hard, his head snapping forward fast enough he was pretty sure he had a concussion or whiplash, body bracing for the impact as it skidded to a stop in a corn field an hour from that chapel he just toured with you last year. Even if itâd been more like twelve to you.Â
It still didnât stop him from rushing to get out, nearly kissing the ground as he stumbled out. Sucking in the fresh air as he glanced around, his legs trembling as he forced himself to keep moving, well aware he definitely looked like shit even if he tried to clean himself up before his, ah, crash landing.Â
âAre you okay? What the fuck is-âÂ
Gojo grimaced as he glanced up to find someone who pulled over on the side of the road, a stranger squinting at him and the wrecked lander in disbelief.Â
âUh, could you give me a ride?âÂ
Maybe the universe had decided to cut him some slack. Give him a helping hand as he sat in the passenger seat of a beat-up truck, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes as he noticed the new phone in the cupholder.Â
âDo, uh, you mind if I make a couple calls?â He asked, the distant sound of sirens echoing as they put mile after mile away from the lander â and inched closer and closer to you.Â
âSure,â his new friend shrugged, using his face to unlock his phone at the next stoplight and passing it over.Â
Gojo still had your number memorized.Â
Even if you didnât pick up the phone for him.Â
No voicemail box set up either, just the generic âplease leave a message at the beepâ he didnât have it in him to oblige. He hurried to dial one of his old contacts from NASA he remembered, not sure if Ijichi would pick up either.Â
But they did.Â
âHello?â Ijichi croaked, almost sounding like he just woke up, or maybe was sick.Â
âHey, itâs, uh, me,â he said, tapping his fingers on the side of the window. âI sorta crash landed. You guys are gonna want to send someone out to take care of clean up.âÂ
âSatoru?âÂ
âYeah, itâs, um, been a bit, hasnât it?â He awkwardly chuckled, rambling off the coordinates twice, sure that Ijichi was scrambling to get them down before he exhaled. âLook, Iâve got a wedding to crash. Iâll check in later.âÂ
Gojo hung up before he could get caught up in any more stupid space bullshit.Â
He was finished.Â
Ready to spend the rest of his years devoted solely to you and his twins.Â
Would you be happy to see him?Â
Let him pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your mouth and promise that you missed him?Â
Heâd spent so long daydreaming about it that he didnât really know what to do when the truck pulled into the very much empty parking lot of the chapel.Â
Was he too early?Â
Too late?Â
Walking up to the double doors and pulling them open to find barren pews illuminated by stained glass windows. He walked around like an idiot, something pricking at the back of his brain that he wouldnât listen to as he looked outside at the cemetery next to it.Â
He didnât have a real reason for going back out there.Â
Just some invisible string tugging him there as he held his breath, searching for proof in the last place he wanted to find it.Â
And there it was.Â
Sitting underneath a willow tree waiting for him.Â
He stared at the gravestone. Your name etched into the stone â with another manâs last name attached to it.Â
His knees gave out. Collapsed underneath him as a broken sob racked through his body, hitting the hard ground as his body surrendered to the pain. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, sucking in shallow breaths as he cried for the life you had.Â
The one he hadnât been there to give you.Â
You couldnât be-Â
Someone tapped on his back.Â
He turned fast, shaking as his eyes landed on your face. His pretty girl, probably a good twenty years older than him, aged like a fine wine as your mouth fell open in a surprised gasp. He reached out, fingers trembling as he nearly touched your cheek from his position on the ground, but you froze.
âDad?âÂ
It wasnât you.Â
Artemis tried helping him up, tears springing up in her eyes as she immediately hugged him, his brain fractured as he realized that his daughter was here. His daughter was older than him. How much time had passed? How fucking off was he?Â
âOh my god, itâs actually you, when I got the call, I didnât think-âÂ
âArtemis?â He breathed her name, wishing heâd gotten the opportunity to say it to her a million more times. âYouâre-âÂ
âHoly shit, I have to call everyone,â she grinned, her smile hurting his chest when it looked so much like yours. âApollo isnât gonna believe it. You know, youâre already, like, a great grandpa thanks to him, by the way.âÂ
Every word was a fresh punch to the gut.Â
A great grandfather.Â
He never even got to be a father.Â
Missed his kids growing up, getting married, having kids of their own, and even them having kids.Â
âHow long has it been?â He asked, his voice raw, broken chords of disbelief as Artemis' face twisted up, looking behind him as it struck her that he hadnât known any of it. Â
âSince you left?â She awkwardly spoke, tilting her head as she scratched the back of her neck. There was a wedding band on her finger. Did your husband walk her down the aisle? âUm, about fifty years?âÂ
Four months had been forty years.Â
Gojo couldnât stop himself from crying again, wiping away his cheeks faster, ashamed of what heâd done.Â
A fool masquerading as a man.Â
Artemis awkwardly wrapped an arm around him, trying to soothe him as she used her free hand to send texts like he couldnât see through the tears.
Sobs wracking through him as the dam inside him broke, reduced to rubble as he fell apart. Painfully aware that he was only inches away from you, and still no closer at all.Â
Heâd never hold you again. Never touch you again.Â
Wouldnât get to see your smile or hear your laugh, feel the warmth of your affection.Â
His children wouldnât need him.Â
For a while, his daughter just sat there with him. Let him cry until he managed to halfway collect himself, his eyes swollen and sore as he struggled to breathe, body aching and stomach starving despite how sick he felt every time he looked up and saw your grave.Â
âShe passed away last year,â Artemis muttered. âSheâd been sick for a while.âÂ
God, he felt like he was going to die right now.Â
Figured it would hurt less than hearing about everything he missed.Â
âShe talked about you a lot. Made you out to be a big hero,â his daughter smiled softly, obviously trying to make him feel better. You shouldâve turned him into the bad guy. âI actually work at NASA. God, she was pretty pissed at me when she found out I even applied, but I promised that I wouldnât go to space so, uh-âÂ
It seemed like she inherited his ability to shove his foot in his mouth, her lips clamping shut as she realized that maybe this wasnât the time.Â
âApolloâs a teacher now,â she abruptly changed the subject, and he didnât know what to say.
Just staring at her in shock, unable to form proper sentences when he thought he was coming home to a preteen â not a fully grown woman who looked so much like you it hurt to breathe. âOh, there he is.âÂ
He looked over to see his son was walking down the path with an old man, talking between each other with furrowed expressions.Â
Watched the shock register on their faces when they saw Gojo there.Â
He didnât know what to say when they finally approached, the thick silence and tension simmering in the air as he stared at Apollo.Â
Strands of silver in his white hair, blue eyes burning with emotions he didnât blame him for. Resentment. Reproach.Â
âYouâre-âÂ
âIâm sorry it took me so long,â he heard himself say, voice cracking painfully.Â
âYeah,â his son huffed, arms folding across his broad chest. âUs too.â
âApollo,â the older man next to him scolded, giving him a fatherly look that seemed so natural on his face before throwing Gojo a look that was almost like âkids, right?â âItâs nice to finally meet you. Iâm Choso.âÂ
And despite the fact he had to be in his seventies now, Gojo still sort of wanted to hit him.
Rip the golden band off his finger and start a fight over the fact heâd gotten to spend decades with the love of his life.Â
âWas she happy?â He asked instead, hollowed out, no strength left in him to stand.Â
âShe was,â Artemis softly confirmed, patting his shoulder like he was a child. And he wondered if she had kids too, or if even his sonâs children were older than him now.Â
âShe missed you,â Choso added, more mature than Gojo suspected he would ever be.
Because right now, he was filled with hate.
Anger and rage boiling and burning under the surface at the injustice of all of it. At everything he missed. Everything that shouldâve been his that ended up in the hands of someone else because he was too stupid to hold onto you tight enough.
He hated Choso. Hated space. Hated the universe.Â
Mostly though, he hated himself.
âWe should go get some food,â Artemis artfully pivoted away, trying to tug him upright. âYouâre probably starving, right?â
Gojo thought he nodded, not that he was totally in tune with his body, dazed as he tried to sort through the thousand thoughts flooding through his mind.
Numbness creeping in now that he knew it had all been for nothing.
âBefore I forget,â she murmured, taking off a necklace he hadnât noticed her wearing. The thin silver chain weighed down by two rings dangling at the end. The engagement ring he once gave you â and a plain band of white-gold. âMom always wore it. She told me she bought the band for you before you were supposed to come back and could never bring herself to put either of them away.âÂ
She dropped it in his palm, his pulse pounding in his ears at the proof you never fully gave up on him. One last thread of you in his hands as he automatically unlocked the clasp and put it on himself, the weight of it sitting over his chest and tethering him back to reality.
To the two children he made with you standing in front of him now he was still lucky enough to meet.Â
Artemis interlocked her arm with her brother, laughing at something he said before immediately beginning to bicker about where to eat at, who to call next.
Giggling about their sister, his throat closing at the confirmation you had another baby after him. That you lived a full life heâd only get to see second-hand. Through photos and stories instead of in person.Â
Apollo grumbled something under his breath, throwing a glare back at Gojo, still protective over you after you passed. Artemis just elbowed her brother though, tossing the hair back over her other shoulder that reminded him of you.
And some depressing part of him wondered if thatâs what you and him wouldâve looked like together one day if he stayed.Â
He would never get to know.Â
His eyes drifted back to your grave. And then the one next to it.Â
His name etched next to yours. A plot you must have purchased for him back when you thought youâd never get his body back.Â
