Living by the beach had made you pick up the habit of carrying a bikini in your bag everywhere. You have got to thank Maki for giving you the advice in the first place, because now you could comfortably sit across Megumi in the tub.
He had an open balcony, offering a view of the beach. The hot tub was placed against one of the walls, a few feet of space between the railing. When you had followed him out to his balcony you only saw glimpses of the inside. It was decorated with plants, furniture that almost gave off a vintage vibe, and he seemed to prefer darker and neutral tones. The most attention you had paid to any room was when you were in his bathroom changing.
One thing you werenât expecting though, Megumi was surprisingly toned. He always tended to lean towards more loose and simple clothes every time you saw him at work. Oh how he had been holding out on you. The man had abs. While yes, he was slim, he was far from just skin and bones. You had to hold yourself back at first from just ogling him as the lights from the tub illuminated him.
They shaded your faces with a deep purple tint, the color leaning more towards blue than red. The sound of the water bubbling around you both, paired with music on low volume, filled the silence.
You werenât quite sure what to say or how to start up the conversation again. Talking about things on the way here seemed to just come naturally.
A few minutes ago he was on his phone, before he handed it to you, telling you to queue whatever song you wanted. Now he was just watching you, it almost intimidated you. Was he judging you? Were you just friendly with each other, and had you interpreted his actions wrong thinking he was into you beyond acquaintances?
"âŚYou look good,â he spoke up first.
His eyes traveled over you, although he tried not to make them linger on anywhere else but your face. You were a short distance directly in front of him, but it somehow managed to feel too much.
âYou donât look so bad either,â you replied. Megumi caught onto your gaze immediately, not that you were trying to hide it this time.
âThought you had called me a siren earlier.â
âCouldâve been referring to the ugly ones.â
âIsnât the whole point of being a siren being attractive?â
You replied by gently splashing water in his direction, causing him to scoff in response.
âEnjoying yourself so far then?â
You pretended to think about it for a moment, âWell⌠I suppose itâs nice. Better than my bathroomâs tub.â
You took another look around, really taking in the view for the first time since you had gone out here.
âI still think itâs insane you have this whole place to yourself.â
He shrugs, following your gaze that was focused past the balcony. âIâm not always alone, have some friends coming to spend time with me soon.â
âI thought you were giving total âdetached from society cool guyâ vibe.â
He leans back against the tubâs wall, crossing his arms against his chest. You didnât miss the way his arms flexed from the movement.
âNot old or rich enough for that yet. One day, sure.â
You see the slight smile on his face, making you decide to take the initiative and move closer to him. Megumi doesnât comment on it yet, just watching you before he moves closer as well.
It wasnât until your hands touched under the water that the distance seemed shorter. However he didnât move away, instead his hand started picking at your fingers, before placing it over yours.
"Needed to be closer to me?" he asked.
There was a teasing glint in his eye. You couldâve played into the flustered feeling that arose, but it seemed more fun messing with him back.
âItâs easier to kiss you now.â
A faint blush appears across his cheeks. Any doubt in your mind before vanishes with the gaze he gives you. Megumi wants to kiss you.
âYouâve been flirting with me for a bit now.â
âWeâve been flirting with each other for a bit,â you correct him. âI donât see you offering any of your other co-workers to come home with you.â
âGuess youâre right.â
The opportunity was perfect now. Here was Megumi, only a few inches away from your face, and when he saw you didnât break eye contact or move away, he took a chance.
A few seconds later your lips met.
You pressed harder into it, silently celebrating after feeling megumi kiss you back more intensely. Between the slight splashes of the water at your bodiesâ movements, and his lips moving against yours, he pulled you onto his lap.
It felt amazing, and it was hard not to love how your hands felt against his skin, tracing over the muscles you were eyeing before. His lips slightly parted, and it almost felt like he licked yours quickly, pushing the boundaries that you werenât even sure had existed in the first place.
His hands held you closer, moving to wrap his arms around you, one on the back of your neck, the other slightly above your hip, tracing the waist band of the bottom of your swimsuit.
You trailed your own hands over him, from chest to his shoulders, and finally in his hair. It was soft against your fingers, slightly damp. Playing around with certain pieces had him reacting by making soft sounds against your lips.
His chest pressed further against your top, continuing to kiss you, taking small breaks only for your lips to find each otherâs once again after a few seconds. The hand on your neck trailed further down your back, and his thumb brushed against your topâs tie, yet he seemed to hesitate.
You noticed him holding back, but wasnât in a way that makes you think heâs being shy or nervous, instead he's giving into you. In this moment, heâs willing to go as far as you let him.
Finally, you fully break apart after some minutes, both regaining your breath. You open your eyes to already meet his half lidded ones.
Megumi looks at you almost tenderly, hands massaging where they were previously placed. âYou wanna get out now?â
You huffed, your fingers tracing the back of his shoulders. âWe havenât even been in here for that long.â
âWell iâm not a fan of water being in the way.â
Gently, yet playfully, you tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck, âOh⌠so this isnât your first time doing it in a hot tub?â
He scoffed, pulling you closer as if he had been offended by your statement.
âDonât make me sound like some playboy. I never said that.â
You tug at his hair again, yet this time he only responds by leaning in and kissing along your jaw.
"You really wanna go inside?" you ask him, moving to almost cradle his head with one of your hands, the other moving down to trace against his chest. He grumbles against your skin, expression seeming as if he was starting to get sleepy, before helping lift you out, along with himself.
Itâs felt colder once you got out, colder than it had been when you first sat into the tub. Not enough to be considered freezing, but enough to make you shiver as soon as you stand up. Megumi taking notice, lended you his towel he had laid out against a chair. You were thankful for his sacrifice, not that the coldness would matter to either of you in a few minutes.
By the next morning, you woke up wrapped in unfamiliar silk sheets. Finding the sight of a tuft of black hair poking out to your right, and to your left, most of your bag spilt out on his night stand.
For a minute you had concluded you had gone all the way with him, but moments from the previous night flashed in your memory making you correct yourself.
It was around 4 am when he brought you back inside. You had changed into a shirt he let you borrow and dried off in his bathroom, then made out on his bed. You couldâve gone further, but he was barely awake when he started kissing your neck and shoulders, and you almost felt like passing out the moment he laid you down against the soft sheets.
Turning back to the nightstand, on the edge of it you spotted your camera, causing you to remember what happened right before you both fell asleep together. How he had lazily mumbled against your collar bone, asking you for it and recorded the conversation that followed.
You picked it up, turning it on and pressing the buttons on the side of its screen to see the videos saved onto it.
In the lastest one, you had his shirt on and his top was only covered by his duvet. It showed Megumi quietly laughing and snorting at whatever sleep deprived thoughts you had let slip out. It was clear the two of you were disheveled and exhausted, yet something about it felt heart warming.
NOTES
yea i got carried away writing it became its own chapter đ
omg yall the last three chapters have all been the same day đđ but itâs okay bc itâs like in phases
was inspired by the hot tub scene in tatbilb
how will yuji find about this⌠will he ever find out about this⌠đ¤ˇđťââď¸
tiny side note detail, i wanted to give megumi his 2 demon dogs as pets like regular dogs, will do it they just donât show up this time oops
okay luv u all take care xx
TAGLIST - open! comment on story masterlist or dm to be added, if your tags not working pls change your settings!
satoru gojoâcorruption kink. power imbalance. filming you. > this man wants to ruin you psychologically. he gets off on knowing you were once innocent, once someone âgoodâ, until he touched you. heâd whisper, âyou were such a sweet girl before me, huh? bet no one ever made you cry from just one finger.â he records everything. not just the sex, but the after. the red-rimmed eyes. the broken moans. you, whispering his name like a prayer. and he watches it back, over and over, while he fists his cock to the memory. he doesnât even try to hide it. âyou look better when youâre mine. bruised up and fucked out. what, you embarrassed now, baby?â
suguru getoâreligious kink. mind control. absolute worship. > exorcism sex. call him father geto and mean it. geto would have you kneeling in prayer, hands clasped together as he unzips his pants behind you. his voice low, dangerous. âconfess to me, little lamb.â but his darkest desire? to make you addicted to him, like a cult. he wants you brainwashed, whispering his name when you touch yourself, even in your dreams. âno one else can save you. you belong to me now. body, mind, and soul.â heâd chant curses into your skin while fucking you, like a blessing and a curse in one.
toji fushiguroâsomnophilia. breath play. predator-prey. > toji is the monster in your bed. he wants you limp, soft, unaware. the idea of you passed out, or too overstimulated to think, makes him feral. sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, sees your thighs twitching under the covers and just helps himself. âdonât worry, baby. iâll put you back to sleep after iâm done using you.â he also loves the sound of your breath stuttering when he tightens a hand around your throat. just until you panic a little. just until he sees that sparkle in your teary eyes.
choso kamoâblood kink. knife play. emotional sadism. > choso wants to see you bleed. heâs not just into rough sex, he wants the visuals. the dripping red. the trembling lips. heâll suck on your cuts. lick your blood off his fingers and moan. heâll eat your cunt on your period. and if you cry? thatâs his trigger. âyouâre so pretty when youâre scared. itâs okay. iâll kiss it better after.â heâll make you love the pain. heâll praise you while dragging the edge of a blade over your thigh, saying âgood girl, taking it so well for me.â
sukunaâhumiliation. overstimulation. body horror. > sukuna doesnât just want to fuck you, he wants to ruin your identity. multiple hands. multiple mouths. cursed energy that makes every orgasm feel like your brain is short-circuiting. heâll fuck you until you donât remember your name. until youâre sobbing, chanting his, not even knowing how many times youâve come.âyouâre not a person anymore. just a hole for me. say thank you.â he makes you beg to be degraded. makes you thank him for wrecking you. and you do, every time.
kento nanamiâvoice kink. formal degradation. slow, sinister control. > you thought nanami was the safe one. the gentle dom. think again. his kink? making you degrade yourself with perfect diction. heâll stay clothed while you kneel naked, voice calm and clinical. ârepeat what i just said. slower. i want to hear you say youâre nothing but a filthy, needy slut who exists to serve me.â and if you stutter? he starts again. he doesnât yell. he whispers the filthiest things in a quiet, measured tone. and somehow, thatâs so much worse.
The week had gone by faster than you expected, and you felt somewhat disappointed about no longer having the excuse to see Megumi everyday.
The past few days you had spent with him had been surprisingly enjoyable. Despite how much he was perceived as ânonchalantâ or preferred to keep to himself, he wasnât boring. You found out he lived further down the same street as you and Maki, allowing you both to walk home together after your shifts. Along with that, you appreciated how surprisingly easy he had been to get along with.
He wasnât aware, but by the end of your shift Thursday night, you had left with a list of his recommendations in movies, music, and places to visit that youâd built throughout the week.
âWhatâs got you pondering off?â
You looked up to meet Makiâs eyes, her usual glasses replaced with a more stylized version of those typical when you think about the 60âs.
âNothing⌠just reminiscing about my first week.â
âReminiscing?â
You sighed dramatically, and proceeded to help her fix the bumpit on her head. âYeah, no more easy shifts.â
She rolled her eyes, and once satisfied with her hair, walked out the girls bathroom with you following behind. âYou sure thatâs all youâre gonna miss?â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âWellâŚâ she started, nodding her head in the direction towards the hostess stand.
Your gaze followed, and landed on Megumi. If it hadnât been for his slicked back hair, you wouldâve assumed he had just thrown on one of his usual outfits and called it a day. Especially standing next to Yuta, who had really gone all out tonight. Bandana, button up shirt, shorts, shoes and all.
âWhat are you hinting at?â
âI think you like my cousin.â
âOh, Maki shut up-â
âIâm being serious, donât lie to my face y/n. Youâve spent the whole week with him, and iâve seen how you try to get his attention.â
âIâm not trying to get his attention-â
Yet maki cut you off a second time, continuing, âYou mess around with him, take your breaks at the same time, youâre into him.â
She looked back at Megumi and Yuta, before sighing. âHonestly iâm more surprised itâs working than anything.â
âWhat?â
âI mean iâm surprised heâs⌠reciprocating whatever you two have, guess the beachâs air finally created some chemical balance in his brain.â
âOkay? So heâs handsome, doesnât mean im gonna go after him, plus heâs your cousin soâŚâ
âSo? Heâs a grown man, he knows what heâs doing and what he gets himself into. I couldnât care less what he does. Heâs not my responsibility just because we happen to be related.â
She nudged your shoulder gently, watching as the two boys attended the first few dressed up guests that started showing up.
âI mean, obviously unless you did something insanely evil to him. But even then, iâm closer to you than iâll probably ever be to him, or even would want to be.â
You wrapped your arms around her neck, smiling over her shoulder. âAw MakiâŚâ
She scoffed and gently pushed you off, but she couldnât hide the smile that passed her face. âAlright donât push it. Just if anything ends up happening, know I warned you that no man around here is conventionally attractive and normal.â
Maki tied her apron around her waist, and proceeded to put a few extra straws in the pocket, âI feel it in my tits he has a secret account where he thirst traps to lana del rey for attention.â
NOTES:
they ainât got a clue in the fucking world rn
megumi lore drop
will slowly reveal what happened between yuji and yn throughout the story
and i just wanna say thank you to everyone thatâs commented or like or reblogged you guys rlly do motivate me like tysm babes i appreciate every single one of you!! kisses xx đŠľ
TAGLIST - open! comment on story masterlist or dm to be added
i will defend that fictional teenage girl with my life. i literally donât even care what she did. you wouldâve done it too if you were her sheâs probably handling things better than you would in her shoes
i love fic authors who are gooners with such closely held artistic sensibilities that it nearly eclipses the goon. we shall goon, but first we shall follow 70k minimum of a meticulously-plotted and spectacularly-executed character arc replete with several devastating psychological portraits and some trenchant political commentary on what it means to be a human in this world.
reallllly feel like some of you have to start understanding people are sometimes going to make mistakes and not understand something and not know things and it's going to slot them in a perfect place for you to scoff and call them problematic and evil and they're not even going to know why.
not everyone is chronically online, or online at all. don't act like everyone who's ever enjoyed harry potter is a cartoon villain, when most of them barely know who jkr is and definitely don't know what she's done, or know what the actual symptoms of schizophrenia are, or understand what a neopronoun is. like, yeah, okay, you can get frustrated when people don't listen or when they willfully ignore you, but don't pretend everyone on earth is supposed to know already. my life advice.
my friend is a cishet white guy who's entire knowledge of schizophrenia was "yeah that's the thing people have in horror movies that make them kill people." he didn't even know hallucinations were involved. after meeting me, he googled it. like, while we were hanging out, he pulled out his phone, took two minutes to read up on it, and went "oh, so it's like autism, but scarier for you." i told him about neopronouns, and therians, and objectum, and a bunch of other chronically online bullshit, and he nodded along. later he messaged me with a couple questions, which i explained, and he thought it was all very cool. he has a snapchat and an instagram, both of which are exclusively for hunting and fishing friends, he didn't even know why the r slur wasn't okay to say. im not saying you have to educate everyone you meet on the street, but for the love of god, you need to recognize when someone's actually trying to hurt you and when someone is just not really sure what's going on.
I still kinda want to one day write a story featuring a small town that has two barbers - one of them is black and the other is white. The white one is the one who's specialised in doing afro texture hair, and the black one does straight and wavy texture white people hair. They're both self-taught, lifelong friends, and learned to cut hair by practicing on each other.
about. After hours, the library is supposed to be quiet. Peaceful. Safe.
But ever since you found him â wounded, dangerous, and far too tempting for your own good â silence became a luxury. Now he keeps showing up. And tonight? Heâs not leaving without a reminder of who you belong to.
pairings. Yakuza!Toji x Librarian!Reader
words. 17.09k
content. mentions of drugs, blood, violence, guns, swearing, multiple rounds, both receiving. library sex (multiple locations), semi-public, size kink, oral (f receiving), creampie, overstimulation, filthy dirty talk, possessive!toji, jealousy, phone sex but itâs accidental, toji being so in love he brings you flowers, playful ending w/ interns (yuuji & nobara), aftercare-ish, 18+ only, unprotected sex, manhandling, rough sex, dom!toji but soft touches, mild possessiveness, mention of canon character (naoya) as a rival/date, yuuji & nobara being nosy AF, some explicit language, minor marking/bruising, reader gets absolutely ruined
notes. gosh i hope i dont bore you guys with a fuckass 17k word oneshot, i hope i made up with the sex part at least.
The rain had been threatening all afternoon. It loomed behind the windows in heavy gray waves, each low rumble of thunder sounding like it was clearing its throat, waiting for the exact moment the sky could justify breaking open.
Inside the library, it smelled like old paper, polished wood, and the faintest hint of citrus from your linen spray. You moved between the aisles in your soft cotton dress, hem brushing your ankles, sleeves rolled just below your elbows. It was the kind of dress that whispered instead of shoutedâno frills, no bold colors. Just you, in your quiet, elegant orbit.
You were checking through the cart of returns, fingers moving lightly across worn spines, sorting them instinctively. You didnât need the barcode scannerânot when you knew every section and every call number like muscle memory. History to the left. Philosophy to the top right. The language dictionaries always got stuck behind the self-help books for some reason.
âMiss Y/N!â came a call from across the stacks.
You turned just as Yuuji popped his head out from behind the oversized encyclopedias like a prairie dog.
âWhere do we shelve books about marine biology again?â he asked, holding up a thick hardcover titled The Living Sea with an octopus mid-ink attack on the cover.
You blinked. âYouâve been here for four months, Yuuji.â
âI know, but thatâs science, right? And science is... everywhere.â
âThird shelf in the science bay, just before botany. Itâs labeled,â you said, trying not to smile.
From the front desk, Nobara chimed in, not looking up from the return logs.
âTell him biology isnât the same as space. He put a book about the solar system next to the reptiles last week.â
You raised a brow.
âSeriously?â
âHe said âtheyâre both coldâ,â Nobara deadpanned.
âOh my god,â you muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you took the next book from the cart.
The quiet rhythm of the end-of-day shift resumed: the sound of books sliding into place, the occasional sigh from Nobara when she had to fix someoneâs misfile, Yuuji humming a One Piece opening from the history section.
The air conditioner clicked off with a final wheeze. Almost closing time.
You started your final sweep of the east wing, fingers trailing the spines of the classicsâdusting, straightening, pausing to flip over one copy of The Old Man and the Sea that someone had shelved upside down.
The rain outside had finally begun. It tapped against the windows in bursts, steady and heavy, filling the quiet building with the rhythm of a ticking clock. A perfect backdrop to a peaceful end of shift.
Thenâ
the front door creaked.
Not the smooth automatic swoosh of someone arriving during business hours. This was deliberate. Slow. Someone pushing open the old wooden emergency door that hadnât been used since the power outage last semester.
You frowned.
âNobara?â you called out softly, moving around the shelf.
âStill here!â she answered from the desk.
You rounded the corner toward the main entrance.
And your heart stuttered.
Because it wasnât a student. Not a professor. Not even the weird local guy who liked to sit in the non-fiction section just to read outdated cookbooks.
No.
It was a man.
A bleeding man.
Tall. Broad. Shirt clinging to him like a second skin, black and soaked through from the rain, his muscular frame hunched as he leaned heavily against the wall. One arm clutched tightly to his side. Blood soaked the lower left of his shirt, trailing along his white pants in ugly streaks. His jaw clenched. His green eyes were dull but alert. Black bangs stuck to his forehead, framing a face that looked carved out of war stories.
He looked like heâd walked out of another lifeâand bled all over the pages.
Your breath caught.
You knew those tattoos.
Youâd seen them on crime reports, on back pages of tabloid photos, flashing behind grainy camera shots and pixelated mugshots.
A Yakuza.
In your library.
Bleeding. At 7:59 PM. On a Sunday.
The man didnât speak at first.
You didnât either.
You just stood there, fingers frozen mid-reach for your phone, lips parted like your brain couldnât quite catch up to what your eyes were telling you.
He looked up at you.
Sharp green eyes. Too sharp. Too aware.
You froze.
The silence was loud. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. Thenâ
âYouâneed to leave. N-Now,â you hissed, keeping your voice low and stern. âIâll call the cops.â
The man huffed a laugh.
You could see the tattoos curling along his armsâold, rough lines from a life that didnât play by civilian rules. Youâd read enough newspapers. Seen enough warnings. That ink meant something. He wasnât a lost drunk. Or some desperate college student.
He was something worse. A yakuza.
And now, bleeding in your library.
âOh yeah?â he drawled, still leaning against the wall. âThatâs cute, sweetheart. But I donât think youâre gonna do that.â
Your breath hitched. âIâm not kidding.â
âYouâre scared,â he said, eyes lazily dragging over your figure. Not in a way that made your skin crawlâbut in a way that made your stomach twist. He was... calculating. âSmart girl. But scared.â
âYouâre bleeding all over the goddamn carpet,â you snapped, still keeping your voice low. âAnd this is a public building. You canât just walk inââ
âI was expecting an old man,â he interrupted, flexing his jaw as he slowly slid down the wall to crouch, wincing. âSome wrinkled, half-blind staffer I could bribe for a rag and a phone call.â
His lip twitched up at the corner. A smile.
âBut instead,â he muttered, glancing up at you, âI get you.â
You took a step back.
âStay there,â you warned.
He lifted a hand, mock-innocent. âHey, donât worry. I ainât in any shape to chase you. Not today.â
âYou shouldnât be here at all.â
âAnd yet,â he exhaled, head tipping back against the wall, âhere I am.â
You watched as he repositioned himselfâtucking his injured side behind a rolling cart of textbooks. His posture was casual, almost lazy, but the way he moved was too precise. A trained body. A man whoâd been hurt worse than this before.
âIâve got two interns here,â you said, softly but firm. âTeenagers. If they see youââ
âI clocked âem,â he murmured, looking past you toward the main hall. âSpotted the pink one stacking dictionaries. Loud little shit.â
You stiffened. âDonât talk about themââ
âI ainât here for them,â he cut in, voice sharpening just a touch. âIâm not here to hurt anyone. Just need to stop the bleeding. Catch my breath.â
âAnd then what?â you whispered. âYou walk out like nothing happened?â
He smirked, eyes half-lidded, jaw flexing again as he sucked in a breath and adjusted how he was sitting.
âYouâre not dumb,â he said quietly, eyes locking on yours again. âYou know what I am.â
You didnât reply.
âGood,â he murmured. âThen you know Iâve got no reason to lie.â
You stared at him for a beat. Still six feet away.
Phone still in your pocket.
Your mind raced: What if he has a gun? What if he canât walk? What if he passes out? What if Yuuji comes around the corner and sees himâ
And then his voice cut through your thoughts. Calm. Low. Almost... amused.
âHelp me out, yeah?â
He was bleeding. He was dangerous. He was watching you like a wolf in a corner who still had all his teeth.
But that toneâSo casual. So confident, like he already knew you would.
Your hand hovered at your side.
One librarian, one bleeding yakuza, and one extremely poor decision waiting to happen.
The second you stepped back into the main hall, you were hit with two things:
The sound of Yuuji humming from behind the returns desk.
The intense awareness that you were now actively hiding a criminal in your library.
You took a deep breath, brushed invisible dust off your dress, and approached them with a smile you had to force into place.
âAlright,â you said gently. âBoth of you clock out.â
Yuuji blinked at you. âHuh? But we didnât finishââ
âIâll take care of the rest,â you said quickly. âItâs past closing. Go home. Itâs storming.â
Nobara narrowed her eyes. âYou never send us home early.â
âIâm feeling generous.â
âAre you dying?â
âYes. Of stress. Go.â
They exchanged looks. Suspicious ones. But they shrugged, grabbed their bags, and made their way to the door.
âBye Miss Y/N,â Yuuji said, hoodie half-zipped and hair a mess. âSee you Tuesday!â
âDonât die alone in here!â Nobara added, half-teasing.
You smiled tightly. âIâll do my best.â
When the doors finally clicked shut behind them and the silence returned, it came louder than before. Your breath escaped you in one long sigh.
You turned on your heel.
You already knew where you were going.
There, just barely visible along the floorâa trail of blood. Still fresh, dark and glossy, leading away from the wall where he first appeared, and vanishing behind the door to the storage room.
Heâd listened.
Of course he did.
You told him to hide, and he hadâlike a predator beneath the surface.
You gathered what you needed quickly: first aid kit, antiseptic, towels, gloves. Your hands were steady, but your heart wasnât. Every part of you screamed this is so, so stupid.
But a smaller voice whispered: If I donât help him, who will?
Maybe you were too kind. Maybe you were too curious.
Or maybe youâd just never seen a man who looked like that fall into your world and bleed all over your polished floors.
You pushed open the storage room door.
And there he was.
Leaning against the wall like he owned it. One hand still pressed to his side, shirt pushed up just enough to reveal a canvas of muscle and ink. His green eyes flicked up lazily as the light hit himâand for one long, electric moment, he just looked at you.
âTook you long enough, sweetheart.â His voice was low, rough. Like gravel soaked in honey.
You swallowed. âYouâre lucky I didnât let you bleed out.â
âMm. Donât feel very lucky.â
A grin. Sharp. Dangerous. Almost smug.
He didnât look like he was in agony. Noâhe looked like he was comfortable.
Comfortable bleeding out in your storage room like it was a five-star suite.
Your eyes dropped for a split second.
The scar.
It sat just above his right hipâa thick, pale slice healed over long ago. A different story. A different time.
And near it, curling around his side and crawling toward his ribs, were inked waves and smoke, thick black lines forming serpents and clouds across his skin. A mark of the clan.
He watched you watch him, and his grin widened. âLike what you see?â
You snapped your eyes back up. âShut up.â
âIâm wounded,â he said, mock-offended.
âYouâre a criminal.â
âYouâre observant.â
You knelt beside him, unzipping the kit. âLift your shirt.â
He smirked, then compliedâpulling the drenched fabric up and over the gash.
Your breath caught.
Not just because of the woundâthough it was nasty, clean but deep, the kind of thing you werenât technically trained to deal with. No.
It was everything else.
Toji was built like a sin. Solid muscle. V-shaped torso. Abs so defined you couldâve run your finger along each one and never miss a beat.
His skin was a battlefield: scars, ink, tension. And he smelled like rain and gunmetal.
You reached for the gloves.
He reached for your wrist.
âRelax,â he said. âYouâre shaking.â
âIâm not a nurse,â you replied, brushing his hand off and dipping gauze in antiseptic.
âI can tell,â he murmured, amused. âBut youâre doinâ fine.â
Your fingers grazed his absâtrying to clean the woundâand his breath hitched.
You looked up. He was watching you now with something different in his gaze. Still teasing. Still unreadable.
But... interested.
âYou always help out strange men bleeding in your back room?â he asked.
âOnly the ones who donât bleed on my books,â you muttered.
âLucky me,â he said, tilting his head. âWhatâs your name?â
You hesitated.
â...Y/N.â
âToji,â he offered back. Like you hadnât already figured that out. Like you hadnât heard it whispered through every true crime article in the back of your mind since he walked in.
âI know.â
âOf course you do,â he smirked.
You pressed the gauze a little harder. He didnât flinch.
âYouâre not gonna tell me how this happened, are you?â
He shrugged with one arm. âWhat, ruin the mystery?â
You met his gaze. âIâm helping you. I deserve to know if Iâm gonna die because of it.â
He leaned forward, slow, like he was tasting your fearâor maybe your stubbornness.
âYou sure your pretty little head is ready for it?â
His voice was lower now.
Closer.
You didnât realize how close he was until you were looking up, your faces barely inches apartâhis head tilted, mouth near your cheek, green eyes dark and... amused. You could feel the heat off his body. The tension between your knees.
You could also feel your common sense shriveling up and dying a painful death.
Yakuza or not, Toji Fushiguro looks stupid good in pain.
The antiseptic stung.
You could tellânot because he flinched (he didnât), but because his nostrils flared just slightly, and his jaw set tight like heâd been trained not to react.
Toji had the kind of pain tolerance that made you question if he even registered it as pain anymore.
You dipped the fresh cloth into warm water again, wrung it out, and continued dabbing around the wound, cleaning off the dried blood. Your face was calm, your movements delicateâbut your mind was screaming. Not just because he was massive, shirt now fully lifted over his stomach, his tattooed side on full display like something out of a noir crime fantasyâ
âbut because he was talking.
âYou ever do business with assholes who smile too much?â he muttered, voice low, head still tilted back against the wall.
âI work in a library,â you replied dryly, not looking up.
He snorted. âYeah, well. I had a deal. Real clean. Fast in, fast out. Nothinâ loud.â
You pressed gauze to the cut gently. âClearly that didnât happen.â
âBastards ganged up. Greedy little rats,â he said, voice gruffer now. âDidnât like how I handled distribution. Thought they could jump me, take the product, pocket the cash.â
You swallowed.
Product. Cash. Blood.
âAnd this is what you chose?â you asked softly, eyes still on the wound. âThat kind of life?â
There was a pause.
âI didnât exactly get a PowerPoint presentation of options, sweetheart.â
You looked up at him, finally.
Toji looked down at youâreally looked. His green eyes werenât as sharp now, but there was a pull to them. Heat. Calculation. Curiosity.
âWhy? You offerinâ a better one?â he asked, mouth tilted in a lazy smirk.
You pressed the bandage down a little too firmly.
âMaybe Iâll read you a brochure,â you muttered.
He laughedâquiet and deep in his chest, like it surprised even him.
When you finally finished bandaging the wound, you stood to your full height, brushing your skirt down and meeting his gaze once more. You didnât say anything at firstâjust met him, face to face, stomach still fluttering at the ridiculous fact that you had just patched up a very wanted and very muscular yakuza in your storage room.
âAll done,â you said softly.
Toji, like a menace, lifted his shirt again and looked at your work.
Neat. Tight. Clean.
He exhaled, impressed.
âShit,â he murmured, âyou really got hands on you, donât you?â
You flushed.
âDonâtâstart.â
âCâmon,â he teased, eyes dragging across your face slowly. âYou gonna tell me no oneâs called you pretty before?â
Your heart did an Olympic-level backflip.
âPlease stop calling me that,â you mumbled, looking away.
âWhy?â he grinned, stepping closerâjust enough to make you feel the shift in space. âPrettyâs what you are.â
His hand didnât touch you, but his voice wrapped around your neck like silk.
âYou stitched me up like a pro. Looked real good doinâ it, too. All gentle in that little dressâŚâ
Your eyes shot back to him. âTojiââ
ââMmh,â he interrupted, voice velvet. âSay it again.â
âWhat?â
âMy name. Like that.â
You opened your mouth to retortâbut he leaned in before you could.
And kissed your cheek.
Not a brush. Not a thank-you peck.
A kiss.
Warm, slow, and low. Just next to your lipsâhis palm barely grazing your hip. His lips lingered like he wanted to leave something there.
He pulled back half an inch, enough for you to see the smug glint in his eyes.
âI owe you now.â
You were frozen. Still bent slightly forward, lips parted in shock. Heat rushed to your face so fast you felt dizzy.
A yakuza just kissed you, and not just any yakuza. Him.
He chuckled, shifting off the wall with a soft grunt, stretching his neck until it cracked, then rolling his shoulders and flexing his knuckles like he was about to fight God himself.
You watched, absolutely unable to stop fanning yourself with your own breath.
Toji walked to the door casually, glancing around like he hadnât just threatened your sense of safety and sexual identity in the last ten minutes.
He paused at the threshold.
Glanced over his shoulder.
Smirked.
ââm so hurt,â he rasped, voice like smoke, âyouâre not begginâ me to stay, pretty.â
And thenâhe winked.
âSee you soon.â
The door shut behind him before you could even curse his name.
And you stood in the storage room, heart thudding like it wanted out of your chest.
Maybe Nobara had a point.
You were going to die alone in here.
Youâve been kissed by a yakuza once and now youâre a changed woman. Probably. Maybe. Shut up.
There were thirty-four books in the returns bin, alphabetized and logged.
The desk was polished. The register was balanced. Not a single overdue tab still hung.
So whyâwhyâwere you still gazing into the middle distance like your brain was buffering?
You blinked, snapped out of it, looked down at your own handsâthen immediately brushed your fingers up against the edge of your cheek.
Right where he kissed you.
That voice again. Smooth. Dangerous. Too close.
âI owe you now.â
God.
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
âThis is so stupid,â you whispered to no one, glaring at the computer monitor like it betrayed you. âGet it together.â
Because you were notârepeat, notâthe type of woman who fawned over criminals. You recycled. You alphabetized non-fiction by subject and subcategory. You owned slippers.
You were a sophisticated woman.
You had standards.
You did notâ
âLooked real good doinâ it, too. All gentle in that little dressâŚâ
You slapped your palm against the desk.
âNOPE.â
ââNOPE what?â came a voice behind you.
You jumped out of your chair like it had tried to electrocute you.
Nobara stood there, already halfway through the staff entrance, raising a perfect brow at you with her tote bag slung over one shoulder and her hair swept into a messy clip that still looked editorial.
She blinked once, then twice. â...You good?â
You cleared your throat and slapped on a tight smile.
âYep! Totally. Normal. Great. Not hallucinating men or anything. Hi.â
Nobara stared at you for a long beat.
âOkayâŚâ she said, â...Iâm gonna pretend that wasnât a sentence.â
You nodded. âThank you.â
She stepped in, dropping her bag beside the returns counter. âBy the wayâYuujiâs gonna be late. He got roped into helping the art class paint some giant wall thing.â
âOh,â you said, blinking. âRight.â
âYeah. Donât know why they keep asking him. Kid can barely draw a straight line.â
You tried to smile. Tried to act normal.
And thenâ
âY/N-san.â
You looked up.
Her face was blank.
Her gaze lowered.
ââŚAre you wearing a dress thatâs above your knee?â
You felt your entire soul leave your body.
You looked down. Slowly. As if youâd somehow forgotten what you were wearing.
Oh. Right. The dress.
It wasnât even that short. It was tasteful. Soft. A light fabric that hugged your figure just barely. The neckline was modest. The sleeves capped. But yesâ
It ended mid-thigh.
And it was pink.
Not beige. Not navy. Not librarian-core. It was... flirty.
You swallowed.
âItâs hot,â you said defensively. âThe forecast said humid. Plus ventilation back here sucks andââ
ââIs that perfume?â
âI ALWAYS wear perfume.â
âMaâam, you smell like vanilla and intention.â
âI just wanted to try something different.â
âDid something happen?â
âWhat? No.â
Nobara squinted at you.
âYouâre acting weird.â
âIâm not.â
âYou reorganized the manga shelf by protagonist hair color.â
âThatâsâfunctionally viable.â
âYou alphabetized the tea packets in the staff lounge.â
âI was bored.â
âYouâve been whispering âNopeâ to yourself every ten minutes.â
You glared at her.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head.
âWho is he?â she asked plainly.
You froze. âWhoâwhatââ
Nobara stepped closer, eyes narrowed like a hawk. âYouâre glowing. Youâre jumpy. Youâre dressing like the main love interest in a K-drama. Youâre not fooling anyone. Spill.â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Rubbed your temples. Considered confession. Considered fleeing the country. Considered swearing her to secrecy and then lying anyway.
After several seconds, you took a long breath and said:
â...I donât want to talk about it.â
Nobara gasped like you slapped her.
âYOU ABSOLUTE TEASE.â
âI swearââ
âWas he hot?â
Your face gave you away instantly.
âOH MY GOD,â she screamed, grabbing you by the shoulders. âHE WAS HOT??â
âLower your voice!â
âIS THIS WHOLE âDRESS ABOVE THE KNEEâ THING FOR HIM??â
âI justâfelt cute today!â
She stared at you.
You stared back.
A moment passed.
You flopped back into your chair, groaning into your hands.
Because deep down, under all the panic and guilt and confusion, one undeniable truth still lingered.
You liked it.
And somehow, you knewâ He knew it too.
You werenât expecting him. But your heart still leaped. Stupid.
It was cold in the basementâlike always. The stone walls down there held onto the chill of fall like they hoarded it, refusing to give way to the heavy warmth of summer. The lights buzzed overhead, old and faint, and you moved slowly along the long wooden shelvesâcarefully.
These were the precious books. Rare copies. Out-of-print editions. A first edition Mishima with gold edging. A soft-leather-bound medical tome from 1890. A handwritten poetry book in a glass case that smelled like a grandfatherâs attic.
You always did your rounds down here with both reverence and a quiet joy.
Today, though, your mind wasnât on the books.
It was somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere more dangerous.
You traced your fingers along the spines, slowly heading toward the stairs again, your shift nearly over, when the sound of footsteps thudded faintly above you.
Then, a voice. Nobaraâs.
âY/N-san! Someoneâs looking for you!â
Your heart dropped. Then soared. Then panicked.
Him?
Was itâ
Your feet carried you faster than they should, thudding softly up the stairs, your breath catching in your throat like a dam about to break.
What was wrong with you? Were you seriously hoping heâ
You were.
You hated it.
But you were.
Toji.
The way he smirked. His voiceâlow and playful and dangerous. The kiss on your cheek. The heat of his body so close you could feel your skin buzz beneath your dress.
You had replayed it in your head so many times now it was practically a daydream.
And nowâhe was here?
He came back?
You smiled. You were smiling, already smoothing your dress as you reached the top of the stairs, already preparing yourself, already crafting a joke or a quip or something to hide the fact that youâd beenâ
Not Toji.
Your smile dropped the second your eyes met the man by the door.
It wasnât him.
It wasnât him at all.
And something in your chest wilted. Heavy. Sharp.
Standing by the front deskâwas Naoya.
You stopped walking.
He hadnât noticed you yet. He was leaned on the edge of the counter, talking to Nobara about something, head slightly tilted, that smug expression on his face like he owned the building.
You used to know that look. You used to see it in the university halls, back when you were both younger and he thought he had charm. When he tried to flirt with you at study tables, at cafĂŠs, at late-night eventsâalways smooth, always well-groomed, always sharp-tongued and just short of kind.
And now here he was. Hair slicked back as usual, designer shirt a little too fitted, one hand stuffed in his pocket. Polished. Presentable.
Your smile was long gone.
Nobara spotted you over his shoulder and nodded. âSheâs right there.â
Naoya turned.
You took a slow breath and walked forward. Calm. Professional. Blank-faced.
âNaoya,â you said, polite.
âY/N,â he said, that half-laugh in his voice, eyes already raking over you like he was looking for something to comment on. âBeen a while, hasnât it?â
You gave a small smile. Neutral.
âMm. It has.â
âI was nearby,â he said, waving a casual hand. âThought Iâd stop by. You still working yourself to death down here?â
âStill running this place like it wonât fall apart without me.â
He grinned. âSome things never change.â
You wanted to leave. Already, your shoulders felt tight. Already, you were too aware of how different he felt than the man you were expecting.
How strange that youâd wanted a yakuza to walk through the door. And how even stranger it was that when he didnât, you felt⌠disappointed.
Naoya was still talking. His voice smooth, sure of itself. The kind of man who had never had to wonder if he was charming.
But you werenât listening anymore.
Your mind drifted againâback to the storage room.
Back to green eyes. Bloodied hands. That voice.
âSee you soon, pretty.â
And your fingers brushed your cheek againâabsent, remembering.
Youâd take the bleeding yakuza over this any day.
Naoya had always been like this.
The conversation had barely started, and already he was speaking with that effortless, overfed confidence that could only come from someone who had never been told no in his entire life.
âI gotta say,â he was rambling, ânever thought youâd stay in something like this long-term. The library, I mean. Not exactly fast-paced, but youâve always been good with quiet things, huh?â
You blinked.
âThatâs one way to put it.â
âI meanâstill!â he said, laughing like he hadnât just insulted your entire career. âYou always did have that⌠what do they call itâfeminine touch? Everything soft and put together. Not like most girls now. All loud and aggressive.â
You smiled with your teeth.
Nobara, at your side behind the desk, slowly turned her head toward you like a wind-up toy.
You ignored her.
âI suppose you could say the libraryâs still a good fit for me,â you said lightly.
Naoya leaned a little closer. âNot that you donât have options, though. You always were smart. You couldâve gone corporate. Or married rich,â he added, with a chuckle like he was the punchline.
Nobara coughed.
You pressed your lips together, praying for strength.
Naoya didnât stop.
âAnyway, it's great youâve kept it all together. I mean, you look good. Really good. Honestly surprised youâre still single. You are single, right?â
Nobara full-on snorted at that.
You didnât respond, still holding your polite-librarian smile like a weapon.
Naoya, oblivious, pushed on. âBack in college, I remember telling the guys youâd be married by, like, twenty-five. You just had that energyâyou know. Wifey material.â
Nobara leaned in beside you and whisperedâwithout breaking eye contact:
âI hate this man.â
You whispered back without moving your lips: âItâs fine.â
âItâs not fine. Iâm going to strangle him with a charging cable.â
âNobaraââ
âYou deserve better. You could date a felon and Iâd still root for you harder.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âNothing.â
Naoya clapped his hands together suddenly. âAnyway! I should get going. Iâve got dinner with some of the guys. Real estate dinner. You know how it is.â
You nodded like you had a clue what that meant.
He grinned again, gaze skimming over you a little too long. âReally good seeing you, Y/N.â
âYou too, Naoya,â you lied beautifully.
And just like thatâhe turned, adjusted his collar, and walked toward the exit with all the pomp of a man who thought he had left an impression.
The second the door closed behind him, you exhaled so hard it knocked your bangs loose.
Nobara slapped both palms on the desk and howled.
âWHAT THE ACTUAL HELL WAS THAT?â
You cracked a smile, covering your face. âThat was... college nostalgia gone wrong.â
âHe called you quiet and soft like he was describing a teacup poodle.â
âHeâs always been like that,â you muttered, dragging your palms down your face.
âHe said wifey material, I almost punched him.â
âI handled it.â
âYou deserve financial compensation.â
You laughed again, leaning against the desk. âThank god itâs over.â
Nobara smirked. âSo... any other ex-classmates I should be aware of?â
You snorted. âNo. Just a real estate misogynists this week.â
She gasped. âPut that on your resume.â
He didnât come back. You told yourself that. Over and over again. Until he did.
It was closing time again.
The city hummed low outside the library windows. Pale orange streetlights bled through the blinds in soft strips across the wood floor, and the overhead fluorescents clicked faintly like they were catching their breath. Another long day was done.
Nobara was packing up her bag, muttering darkly as she tightened the drawstrings.
âYouâre late again tomorrow,â she snapped, âand I swear to god, Iâm going to stuff that wall paintbrush down your throat, Itadori.â
Yuuji, still trying to untangle his earbuds, flinched.
âI said sorry! That mural was like three stories high!â
âYou were at the snack stall.â
âThat was after!â
âStill counts.â
You stood at the desk, keys already in your hand, letting the two of them bicker as usual. It was familiar. Background noise. Like the AC or the soft creak of the stairs. They always did thisâand for once, you were grateful for it.
It distracted you.
From the disappointment.
He hadnât come back.
You didnât know why you expected him to. Why your ears pricked up at every footstep outside. Why you kept checking the security mirror by the front desk, hoping to see a flash of dark hair or green eyes or that stupid confident walkâ
You swallowed.
What were you hoping for? That heâd show up again? Bleeding again? Half-dead again?
Flirting again?
It didnât matter. Because he didnât. And instead, youâd had to entertain Naoya.
God.
Life was a little cruel sometimes.
Nobara shouted a final âGood night!â as she and Yuuji clattered out the front door, still bickering.
The library fell quiet.
You sighed, heading toward a table near the middle of the main floor where two books had been left behind. Probably someone who thought theyâd checked them in. You scooped them up, turning them in your hands.
One was a book on knife forging. The otherâan old collection of translated yakuza memoirs.
Of course.
You snorted under your breath. âFunny.â
You headed toward their sections. Nonfiction, organized by criminal history. Your heels clicked quietly on the floorboards as you slid between the narrow aisles, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling the air like incense.
You moved slower this time.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that reminded you that you were alone. That even the bickering was gone now. That the fluorescent lights buzzed a little too loud when you really listened.
You shelved the first book.
Then turned to place the second one.
Thenâ
Movement.
Behind you.
A brush of air. A shadow. Something big.
You turned.
Too late.
He was right there.
Towering.
The shelf hit your back.
You didnât scream. You didnât even breathe. Just staredâmouth parted, eyes wide, frozen in place like your body knew him before your brain caught up.
His hands werenât caging you in. He didnât need to.
His presence alone was doing it.
Close. Heavy. Heat radiating off his chest through his shirt, through your dress. You could smell rain and sweat and something smoky. He didnât touch you, but his closeness pinned you tighter than any grip could.
He looked down.
You looked up.
Toji.
His green eyes didnât smileâbut something sharp gleamed behind them. His bangs were damp from the air outside, falling loose over his forehead. He didnât move. Didnât blink. Just stared down at you like he had every right to be there. Like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you.
Your lips parted to say somethingâbut no words came.
You couldnât think.
His head tilted slightly.
Your heart hammered.
You were shocked. More than shocked. How was he even here? How had you not heard him come in? What did he want? Was he hurt again?
No. He didnât look hurt.
He looked dangerous.
Dangerous in that whole way. Not bloody. Not desperate.
Intentional.
His eyes flicked from your lips to your cheek. You knew where. The place heâd kissed you. A slight smirk pulled at his mouthâjust a twitch.
Then, his voiceâlow and sinful:
âMissed me?"
For a man who says he owes you, he sure acts like he owns the room.
You stayed pinned.
Not because he held you thereâhe hadnât even touched youâbut because your body didnât quite remember how to move when he was this close. Every inch of space between you burned like a live wire, and Toji⌠Toji was standing like he had all the time in the world.
His mouth curled slightly, teasing.
You stared. And blinked.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â
Toji leaned back just slightlyânot to give you room, no, just enough to really look at you. His gaze dropped down your body, slow and smooth, not in a disrespectful way, more like someone admiring something⌠just for themselves.
âI know what you were doing,â he said, voice low. âEnd of shift. Picking up stray books. Following your own damn routine like clockwork.â
Your brows lifted slightly.
âStalking me now?â you asked, trying to sound unimpressed, even as your heart thundered in your ears.
He huffed something like a laugh and stepped just a little closer again, mouth brushing a smirk.
âCall it reconnaissance. Gotta know what Iâm paying back.â
You shook your head, trying not to smileâbut failing.
And then Toji added, like it was the most casual thing in the world:
âOhâand sorry âbout my dumbass relative dropping by.â
You blinked again.
âWait. Naoya?â
âUnfortunately,â he said, grinning. âYeah. Heâs one of them."
Your jaw dropped. âYouâre related to that guy?!â
Toji tilted his head, looking deeply unbothered by the horror on your face.
âDistant. I donât claim him.â
You snortedâloudly, before you could catch it. And Tojiâs eyes lit up. He looked... pleased to have made you laugh. Like he liked the sound of it. Too much.
You straightened again, attempting to recover. âStill canât believe it. Out of everyone in the worldâNaoya.â
Toji looked at you again, slower this time. His voice dropped to something dark and warm.
âStill canât believe you wore this.â
Your body stiffened slightly.
âWhat?â
He looked pointedly down. âThis little thing. Dress like that, late at night, all alone in here? Might give a guy the wrong idea.â
You looked down tooâat the hem brushing above your knee, your bare legs under soft lightsâand your face immediately flushed.
âIâItâs not that shortââ
âItâs short enough,â Toji muttered, almost under his breath. His eyes dragged along your legs. âFuck. Youâre lucky Iâm not a worse man.â
Your heart pounded.
You swallowed. âWhy are you here, Toji?â
He lifted a brow. âStill figuring that out.â
You blinked. âFiguringâŚ?â
âWhat Iâm gonna give you.â
You looked up at him, dumbfounded. âYou donât have to give me anything.â
Toji grinned again. âYeah? That little kiss did it for you, huh?â
You opened your mouth, flusteredâand then shrugged with a slightly bashful glare. âIt wasnât even on the lips.â
He smirked again, low and satisfied. âDidnât need to be.â
You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, heart still refusing to slow down.
Toji leaned just a little closer, brushing his breath across your cheek again as he murmured,
âCanât really come out during the day. Too many eyes. Too many assholes with nothing better to do than try to stab me.â
You turned toward him slightly. âThat sounds⌠healthy.â
âIâll try to come at night. If I can. Once I figure out what I owe you.â
You met his gaze, and for onceâyou didnât flinch.
ââŚAlright,â you said quietly.
His expression softened just a hair. Something quiet passed between youâsomething not quite as sharp as before. Not lust. Not wit. Something that felt⌠almost like care.
Then, without a word, he leaned down once moreâand pressed a soft, slow kiss to your cheek.
The same spot.
You didnât move.
His mouth lingered, then left.
He didnât say goodbye.
Didnât explain where heâd come from.
Or how, even now, you didnât hear him leave. Just the fading scent of him. Rain. Smoke. Warmth.
What you didnât knowâ
âwas that once he stepped out that door, one of his menâa man dressed like a night-shift courierânodded discreetly at him from across the street.
Eyes always on you.
For the last three days, things had settled into a strange rhythm.
Youâd be there, alone in the library at the close of another shift. Quiet. The sound of rain against the windows or a gust of wind sending a cool breeze across your skin. Youâd finish your workâstoring away books, cleaning up the desk, making sure everything was in its place. You didnât mind the silence, and the stillness helped you think, helped you relax.
But then, just before you could slip into the hum of your thoughts and turn off the lights for the night, the door would open. And every time, just like clockwork, Toji would be thereâstepping into the quiet space, the soft echo of his boots on the wooden floor the only sound.
Heâd always have that same sharp, almost cocky smile on his face as he greeted you. Sometimes heâd just stand at the doorway, letting the air settle before walking toward the shelves. No need for fancy words. No need for pleasantries. Just the shared silence of two people in a room, sharing an unspoken understanding. He never let his presence overwhelm youâbut it always did.
At first, you tried to keep up the casual distanceâtelling him about your day, ranting about some of the more absurd parts of your job, sharing bits of personal history. You didnât expect him to care, but somehowâhe did. It was funny. How, despite all the roughness of his exterior, his quiet listening made him stand out among the other men youâd met in your life.
Of course, his comments always carried a bit of edge, a lot of teasing, and there was always the lingering sense of tension. But those moments between the two of you werenât about the danger or the dirty jokes. No, it was something moreâit was a connection. A strange, unexpected bond.
And as the nights rolled on, Toji always left the same way: with a kiss to your cheekâsoft but always laced with something deeper. It was a small thing. A fleeting gesture. But it always felt like more. Like he wasnât just leaving the libraryâhe was leaving something behind every time.
The office was nothing like the picture of a grand yakuza hideout youâd expect. It was rusted. Aesthetically raw and a bit grimy, the air thick with the smell of tobacco, ink, and something metallic. Old furniture. Unpolished. A small desk was piled with papers and phone bills, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on a coaster.
This was Toji's world. No glittering gold or flashy decor. Just the bare essentials. A place for work and survival. A place where he could think and decide without too many distractions.
The walls were adorned with a couple of old, weathered portraits of men and women who looked like theyâd been here far too long, watching the world change while staying the same.
And then, as expected, a man walked in. His face was lean, eyes sharp but tired. His dark hair was short, cropped close to the scalp, but he had a certain weight to himâlike a man who knew exactly how far his influence could reach.
This was Suguru Geto, Tojiâs trusted associate. A former ally of Toji, now walking the delicate line between the old days and whatever future theyâd carve out for themselves.
He walked in, not bothering to knock.
âEverythingâs going smoothly. As usual,â Suguru said, sounding indifferent as he took a seat across from Toji.
Toji grunted in response, taking a long drag of his cigarette and staring out the window. He didnât say anything right away, the silence stretching out as Suguru settled in, flicking a few papers over on the desk.
Then, Suguru let out a sharp breath, flicking his gaze toward Toji. His tone shiftedâbecoming more pointed, more serious.
âYou know, itâs getting dangerous,â Suguru said, his voice turning cold. âThe rats from the east are making moves. Drugs, mostly. Theyâre pushing, and it's getting worse.â
Toji glanced over at him, but there was no real reaction. Suguru continued.
âTheyâre pushing hard, Toji. Weâre not just talking about the low-level guys. Theyâre coming for us now. We gotta be careful.â
Toji leaned back in his chair, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray. His eyes didnât leave Suguruâs.
âMm. I know,â he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. âIâve already got a few guys out checking on the perimeter. Nothing we canât handle.â
Suguruâs face tightened. âThatâs not the point. Weâre talking about full-on war now. If we donât start striking, weâre going to get caught.â
âI know,â Toji repeated, his voice a little more tense now. âWeâll handle it. Get me the list of their suppliers and Iâll make sure we have leverage.â
Suguru nodded, but before he could leave, he paused. His gaze slid over to the side where Tojiâs desk was littered with papers and books. He followed the trail to the windowsill, where an open book rested in the dim lightâone that was entirely out of place in Tojiâs rough surroundings.
Toji caught Suguru's eye and followed his gaze.
âThat book?â Suguru asked, raising an eyebrow.
Toji rubbed his face and let out a sigh. âYeah. Itâs⌠uh. Itâs nothing.â
âNothing?â Suguru smirked, clearly unconvinced. âWhatâs that? A romance novel? One of those cheesy ones? Or maybe youâre a poetry man now, huh?â
Tojiâs lips twitched slightly, but he didnât respond to the jibe. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his voice suddenly serious.
âYeah, well, donât worry about that.â He glanced out the window, eyes darkening slightly. âIâm more concerned about something else.â
Suguru waited, arms crossed, before giving Toji a knowing look. âWhatâs that?â
Toji finally looked up at him. His gaze was sharp. Cold. But there was a hint of something⌠softer in his eyes that Suguru hadnât seen in years.
âSheâs dangerous,â Toji muttered, his voice low. âI didnât expect her to be there. I was just looking for somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one could bother me. And thenâŚâ
Suguruâs lips quirked. âAnd then what? You found a pretty librarian in the middle of nowhere?â
Toji let out a frustrated grunt. âShe wasnât just pretty. She was different. I didnât expect to see someone like that there. All soft, you know? Not⌠rough like me. I donât know, Suguru, but I canât get her outta my head.â
Suguruâs expression became a little more serious.
âTojiââ he warned, his voice low, âyouâre a yakuza. You know what happens when you get attached. Anyone close to you becomes a target. Anything that touches you gets dragged into your shit.â
Tojiâs eyes narrowed. He knew this. Knew the rules.
âI donât need reminding, Suguru.â
Suguru raised his hands in mock surrender. âJust saying. Itâs a little librarian, man. Think about it. If youâre gonna get that close, itâs gonna be hell for her.â
For a moment, Toji didnât speak. The weight of the words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, he felt a pull in his chestâsomething he couldnât control.
His gaze flickered to the window once more. The quiet street below, rain still falling gently. Her face flashed in his mind.
âYeah,â Toji finally said, his voice rough. âI know. But I canât help it.â
The library was quiet. Far too quiet.
The kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes you question your thoughts, your decisions, your life. The lights flickered, casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. The evening had stretched on longer than usual, and Toji hadnât shown up. The thought lingered like a weight in your chest, and despite your best efforts, you couldnât push it away.
You waited.
The clock ticked steadilyâits hands creeping forward in a way that felt mocking. Your fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, but you werenât looking at anything. Not really. Your gaze kept darting back to the door, every creak of the old wood, every gust of wind rattling the windows, making your heart jump just a little, even though you knew it was just the weather.
Where was he?
For the past week, youâd grown used to seeing him stand in the doorway, that familiar smirk on his lips, the lean, muscular build in his black compression shirt, his eyes scanning the room like he owned it. Youâd grown used to the way heâd walk in, sit across from you, and listen to your ramblings about books, about life, about anything and everything. His teasing comments. His flirtation. Those lingering, soft kisses he left on your cheek before leaving.
But tonight⌠nothing.
It had been hours since youâd closed up the books, well past the time you shouldâve left. You had work to doâanother round of inventory, tidying up the shelves, reordering thingsâbut youâd been waiting for him. Foolishly, you told yourself. Foolishly, because you couldnât figure out if you were waiting for him to show up again just for the comfort of his presence or if it was something more.
What was wrong with you?
You scoffed at yourself, shaking your head. What was this? Why were you waiting? You had never been the type of woman to get so caught up in someone like this, especially not someone like him. Toji was a yakuza. The things he did, the world he lived inânothing about it was safe.
You cursed under your breath, standing up abruptly from the desk. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent library. You glanced at the door once more, as if willing it to open and for Toji to walk through. But nothing happened.
âGet a grip,â you whispered to yourself, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair. The fabric was soft, heavy, a welcome warmth against the chill of the evening air. You buttoned it up, securing it tightly around your body as you made your way toward the exit.
You had never closed the library early before, but tonight felt like it was the right thing to do. A cold sense of realization settled over you.
You had been waiting for a man who had no place in your life.
A yakuza. A killer. Someone who played by rules you didnât understand, in a world you didnât belong to.
With one last glance around the roomâeverything still in place, just as it should beâyou turned off the lights and locked the door behind you. The click of the lock sounded too final, like the end of a chapter you werenât quite ready to close.
You stepped out onto the street.
The night was colder than usual, the kind of cold that wrapped around your body like a second skin. Your breath misted in front of you as you walked down the quiet street, the sounds of the small town settling for the night. The dim streetlights cast long shadows, the soft hum of the wind carrying the scent of rain that had just passed through.
The path home was familiar. Youâd walked it every night for years, the little Japanese house nestled among the narrow streets and traditional homes of the town. Your neighborhood was small, and most of the people here knew each other by name.
But tonight, as you walked, something felt different.
You tried to shake the feeling off, but it stuck to you like the chill in the air. Your thoughts drifted back to Tojiâhis words, his teasing, his presence. What had you become? Someone who waited for a man like that? A dangerous man who wasnât even here tonight?
The pace of your steps quickened as you reached the small, quiet street that led to your home. The houses here were old, but charming. You could already see the outline of your house at the end of the streetâthe soft glow of the porch light flickering like a welcome beacon.
You sighed in relief. The warmth of your little house, the quiet comfort of it, was a relief. At least here, you could forget about Toji for a little while.
But just as you were about to turn the corner toward your house, you heard it.
A slight noise.
A faint creak from behind you.
The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.
You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as you slowly turned your head.
And there he was.
A figure, emerging from the darkness, standing in the shadows. The man was tall, his face partially obscured by the night. You couldnât see his expression, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He was standing just a few feet away, close enough that you could hear the faint rustle of his clothing as he shifted his weight.
You instinctively reached for your phone in your pocket, but before you could pull it out, the man took a step closer. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly turned your back to him, trying to walk faster.
And then it cameâa sharp pressure against your back, cold steel pressed into your spine.
A knife.
Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, the icy tip of the blade threatening to push further into your flesh. The man was so closeâhis body just inches away from yours, the blade a clear threat.
âYouâre quite a sight,â the man whispered, his voice low and gruff. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint scent of cologne mixed with something elseâsomething sharper, like metal.
Your mind raced. What was happening? What did he want from you?
But then, as quickly as the threat appeared, the manâs voice softened. He pressed the knife a little harder, just enough to remind you of its existence, before he spoke again.
âYouâre alone tonight.â
A strange shiver ran down your spine, and you felt the sudden, dangerous realization hit youâthis was no random encounter. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what he was doing.
And worse, you didnât know what the hell to do about it.
The man behind you was breathing heavily. His presence was suffocating, an oppressive force that stole all the air from the night. You could feel the cold steel of the knife still pressed against your back, just enough to send a shock of fear racing through your veins. Your breath hitched, and you froze, trying to steady your pulse, but panic was quickly taking over.
The knife didnât budge, but his breath became more erratic. Your hands trembled, and your heart pounded wildly in your chest as the manâs presence pressed closer.
He chuckled darkly. âThink you can walk around here unscathed, princess?â The words were spat like venom, harsh and rough, and you could feel the mockery in his tone.
You tried to hold yourself together, trying to hold on to the fleeting sense of control. This wasnât supposed to happen. You didnât want to scream. You didnât want to provoke him, but every part of your body was screaming for help.
With a sudden movement, his hand shot out, striking your cheek with a harsh slap.
The force of the hit sent you staggering sideways, your skin burning from the sting. You barely had time to react before the heel of his boot was driven into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you.
You gasped, hands clutching at your middle as the pain radiated outward, your knees buckling beneath you. The world spun, and the searing pain in your abdomen made everything feel dizzy and out of reach. Your vision blurred. The taste of blood was suddenly in your mouthâyour lip cut from the force of the slap.
The man was muttering to himself, as though he was slowly getting more enraged, more unstable.
"You're just another piece of trash to me. But, hell, I like watching pretty things break."
His voice was unhinged, and the sound of it made your skin crawl. You tried to stand, your legs unsteady beneath you, but the fear that gripped your chest made you feel weak, vulnerable.
You could feel him raising the knife once more, ready to finish what heâd started.
Then, suddenly, a loud, sharp noise shattered the airâa gunshot.
You froze. Your heart skipped a beat.
The world tilted sideways. For a moment, your mind went blank. It was as though time had stopped. You felt the adrenaline surge in your bloodstream, but it wasnât the kind you could control. It was the kind that made your limbs heavy, your body shaking.
And then, like a distant echo, the man who had been threatening you collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud.
You flinched, instinctively covering your ears, but the ringing of the gunshot still reverberated in your skull. The sound of the shot was still too fresh, too sharp. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, but all you could do was kneel there, trembling.
Your hands were shaking uncontrollably. Your cheek burned where he slapped you. The cut on your lip stung every time you moved your mouth. The pain in your stomach was a heavy, nauseating pressure.
Tears welled up in your eyes as you glanced up, trying to understand what had just happened.
And then you saw him.
A manâdressed in dark, nondescript clothesâwas standing over the body of the would-be assailant, his gun still smoking in the night air. His face was stoic, detached, as if he was used to this kind of violence.
âStay down,â he commanded in a low, cold voice. You didnât even have time to react as he crouched beside you, speaking into a phone. His words were low and urgent, but they barely registered in your dazed mind.
"She's alive," he muttered into the phone, his voice firm. "Get the car ready. Weâre bringing her in."
You tried to speak, tried to move, but everything felt wrong. You were frozen, your body numb from the terror, from the shock of it all. Your entire body felt like it was shutting down, your limbs too heavy to move.
"Please," you whispered, barely able to get the words out. "Whatâs happening? Who are you?"
But before you could process anything, the man stepped back, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. His movements were smooth, practiced. Efficient.
âDonât worry about it,â he said, his tone too calm. âWeâre just getting you out of here.â
You didnât understand what was happening. You didnât know who this man was or why heâd shot the other man, but your mind was spiraling. The pain in your stomach had spread, but you couldnât even feel the bruise on your cheek anymore. All you felt was cold, dread, and the overwhelming pressure of what was about to happen.
You tried to gather yourself, but the shock was too much. Your body felt like it was shutting down, and you couldnât stop shaking.
Another car pulled up, and the man helped you into the backseat, his grip firm on your arm. The lights were harsh as they shone down on you, and you felt a wave of nausea surge through you. You barely registered anything as the car doors slammed shut and the vehicle lurched forward.
You leaned against the seat, your face aching, your stomach still burning with pain. Your mind raced as you tried to piece together what had just happened. Had you been saved? Or had you just been dragged further into something darker, something far more dangerous?
Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of it all crashing down on you.
The car drove off into the night, the world outside passing by in a blur. You didnât know where you were going. You didnât know what was happening. But the only thing you knew for sure was that this wasnât just some random attack.
This was his world. Tojiâs world.
And you had just been pulled deeper into it.
The world outside the car blurred as it sped down winding roads, the headlights illuminating the darkness in brief flashes. The carâs interior was cold, and despite the warmth of the vehicle, your body was shivering, still in shock from everything that had happened. Every bump of the road made your stomach churn, and the pressure on your chest felt like it was suffocating you.
You tried to breathe, but it felt impossible. It wasnât just the fearâit was the unknown. The feeling of being completely out of control. Of having no idea where you were going or why this was happening.
The car turned sharply and slowed to a stop, its tires crunching over gravel. For a brief moment, the silence in the car was deafening, the only sound your shallow breaths and the distant hum of the engine.
When the door opened, the same man who had been holding you earlier reached inside and pulled you out with practiced ease. He didnât speak to you as he guided you through the front gates, his grip firm around your arm.
Your eyes scanned the surroundingsâthe first thing you noticed was that this place wasnât as polished as you imagined a yakuza estate would be. The sprawling grounds were quiet, the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl. It wasnât a grand estate with marble pillars or gold statues. It was more⌠subdued. The buildings were large but not ornate. They looked expensive, but not in an obvious way. There was an understated luxury about everything here, like it was designed to intimidate without trying too hard.
As you walked past several men standing near the entrance, you could hear the low murmur of voices, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional burst of laughter. They were laughing at something, some kind of inside joke, and their voices echoed against the cold, stone walls. You caught glimpses of their faces, some smiling, others with looks that told you theyâd seen far too much in their lives. They wore dark suitsâwell-tailored but not overly flashy. Guns were tucked into holsters under their jackets, some visible, some hidden beneath layers.
Everything about this place felt wrong.
You couldnât help the shiver that crawled down your spine.
One of the men, the same one who had brought you here, was still talking on his phone, his voice low but insistent. He was giving coordinates. A location. Something about a âcleaning crew.â You couldnât catch all the words, but the tone in his voice made it clear that this was just another task. Another body to clean up. Yakuza things. It was all too familiar to them, all too casual.
As you were escorted through the halls, the realization began to hit youâthis wasnât just some random thug who had come after you. This was his world. This was Tojiâs world. The one he had dragged you into without warning, without mercy.
You passed more menâsome of them nodded at you, others didnât even spare you a glance. Their eyes were too focused on the mission at hand, whatever that was. But they all had the same cold look in their eyes, a look that made you feel like you were the prey in a room full of predators.
The air smelled faintly of smoke, whiskey, and something metallic that made your stomach tighten in fear. You could feel the weight of the place pressing down on you, suffocating you.
Finally, you came to a stop in front of two large, double doors. The man who had been escorting you gave you a push, his hand firm on your back as he led you inside. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you had no choice but to follow.
The doors opened with a heavy creak, revealing a large room. The walls were decorated with dark wood, thick carpets covering the floor. It was luxurious, but in a different wayâa darker, more oppressive kind of luxury. The kind of place where power and danger were palpable in the air, where every piece of furniture, every art piece, was meant to make a statement.
And there he was.
Toji.
Standing in the middle of the room, his body leaned slightly against the desk in front of him. His broad shoulders and muscular build filled the space with an undeniable presence. He wasnât sitting, and he wasnât pacing. He was just there, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture was clear.
He had heard you coming.
He could feel the shift in the air, the energy of the room changing the moment you walked in. His sharp eyes snapped to you, taking you in with that same intensity he always had. But tonight, it was different. There was something in his gaze. Something deeper.
You stood there in the doorway, unsure of whether to step forward or turn and run.
You didnât know what to do.
What could you do?
Your pulse was racing, the silence between you both thick and suffocating. He didnât move. He just stood there, his gaze locked on you, his expression unreadable. The weight of the moment stretched out between you like a rope taut with tension, and for the first time, you realized just how dangerous it was to be in his world.
You swallowed hard, the taste of fear still in your mouth. You could hear the soft thud of your heart as it pounded in your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you stood frozen in place, waiting for him to make the first move.
But Toji didnât move.
He just watched you.
And in that moment, you knew something had changed between you.
This wasnât just some game anymore.
This wasnât just a chance encounter.
He was involved now.
And you?
You were in deeper than you ever thought possible.
The silence between you and Toji hung heavy, thick like smoke in the air. You stood in the room, your body still trembling from the fear and anger that had built up over the past hour. Every part of you wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something. But all you could do was stand there, fists clenched by your sides, staring at him.
Tojiâs eyes softened slightly when he saw the bruises on your faceâthe handprint on your cheek and the cut on your lip. But there was no apology, no remorse in his expression. Instead, there was that same, familiar coolness.
He stepped toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. As he approached, he raised a hand, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to touch the bruise on your cheek, to make sure you were okay. But when his fingers neared your skin, you jerked away, the anger flaring up inside you like wildfire.
âDonât touch me.â You spat the words out, your voice trembling with fury. His hand paused mid-air, but he didnât flinch, didnât even seem phased.
He looked at you, confused, almost as if he didnât understand why you were reacting this way. âWhatâs your problem?â he asked, his voice still low and calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that were swirling inside you.
You stepped back, anger bubbling up like a pot left to boil over. Your chest heaved with the effort to contain it. "You fucking coward," you snarled, your words sharp and cutting. âYou think Iâm angry âcause you brought me here? No, Iâm pissed off because you werenât here when I needed you the most.â
Toji blinked, the confusion still etched on his face. His sharp eyes searched yours, and for a brief second, you could see the weight of the situation hit himâbut only for a moment. It was clear: he hadnât expected this kind of response from you. Toji was used to being the one in control, the one who decided what happened, when, and how. You werenât playing along. You were making him feel something he wasnât used to.
You were tired of the calm, cool demeanor that he always wore like armor. This man wasnât some mythical creature, some untouchable gangster with an unshakable hold over everything and everyone. He was just a man. A man who let you get hurt.
Your chest tightened, and for a brief second, all you could think about was that moment. The man with the knife. The sound of the gunshot. The terror that surged through you. And Toji? Where the hell was he when you needed him? You didnât care about his world, his rules, his so-called control.
He was right there, but he wasnât there for you.
You felt a sharp pain in your throat as the words left your mouth. âI was scared. I thought I was gonna die tonight, and youâyou werenât even here.â
Toji didnât say anything for a beat, and when he did, it was a soft exhale, like heâd come to some kind of realization. His gaze softened, but only slightly. âI repaid you already, didnât I?â His voice was low, gravelly. âI saved your life, didnât I? My men were watching you, making sure you were safe.â
The words struck you like a slap.
He had men watching you? That was his way of keeping you safe?
Your head spun as anger flared up again. The audacity of this man. You thought you had been wrong about him, but now, all you could feel was disgust.
The nerve on this guy. After everything heâd done, and what he hadnât done, he had the fucking audacity to say that?
Your hand shot up before you could even think, and with a sharp crack, you punched him in the chest. Your fist landed with a dull thud, but it didnât make him move an inch. He just stood there, his broad chest unmoving beneath the blow, like he hadnât even felt it.
You were trembling with rage, your entire body on fire, and yet he was still as composed as ever. That pissed you off even more.
âYou really think Iâm gonna thank you for saving my life?â Your words came out like venom. âFuck you, Toji. I didnât ask for your help. I didnât ask for any of this.â
Toji didnât react to the punch. He didnât flinch, didnât even seem phased. Instead, he stared down at you with that same, unwavering gaze, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He took a step forward, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud about to break.
âYouâre gonna get lost in this place, yâknow.â His voice was smooth, low, and that trademark smirk of his returned, even as the tension between you crackled.
Your hands were shaking, but not from fear. It was from frustration. From anger. From all the emotions you were trying to bottle up but couldnât.
âI donât care.â The words spilled out before you could stop them. You took a deep breath, standing your ground despite the raging fire inside you. âI donât care if I get lost. I donât care if I never see you again. Just go, Toji. Iâm not gonna sit around here and play your games.â
You turned away, your pulse thumping in your ears.
The night had settled in much colder than usual, the chill from outside creeping through the libraryâs large windows. The rain had been relentless, a soft tapping sound in the background of your thoughts as you sat behind the front desk. It had been two days since you had been dragged into that estate by Tojiâs men, two days since he had saved youâif you could even call it thatâand kissed your cheek like nothing was wrong. That man⌠Toji⌠you hated him. But, damn it, you couldn't stop thinking about him.
The way he had pressed you against the bookshelf, his smirk never wavering, even when your entire body was trembling. His voice, calm and unwavering, saying that you owed him now. That he would come back. Heâd come back. And now, here you were, trying to forget him, trying to erase his touch from your mind.
But you couldnât. How could you?
You werenât that naĂŻve. You knew youâd never see him the same way again. It wasnât just the danger he brought with him, or the fact that he was a part of a world you didnât belong to, a world you could never understand. It was him. The way he was, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel even when you wanted nothing to do with him.
You shook your head, trying to shake the thoughts away.
But here you were, stuck in the library, your mind still swirling with everything that had happened.
You hadnât meant to let things get to this point. You hadnât meant to get involved with someone like him, and you certainly hadnât meant to let him invade your life this much. But you couldnât deny it anymore.
Fuck him.
Thatâs what you kept telling yourself as you stared at the clock. It was nearing 9 p.m., and Naoya had told you heâd pick you up right after your shift. You didnât particularly want to go out with him, but you knew you needed to get your mind off everything that had happened. Naoya was persistentâtoo persistent, reallyâbut you figured if he could give you a few hours of distraction, you might be able to get your life back in order, if only for a little while.
So, you pulled out a short, tight dress from the back of your closet, something you would never wear for work. You didn't like the idea of it at first, but something inside you urged you to just get out, to do something different. You didnât want to be the same woman who had been held in that mansion, who had let herself get lost in thoughts of a yakuza.
You stared at yourself in the mirror as you applied a thin layer of makeupâjust enough to hide the dark circles under your eyes. You brushed out your hair and let it fall loose around your shoulders. You didnât recognize yourself anymore, not since that night. The woman in the mirror looked a little too sad, a little too tired.
But youâll get through this.
You spritzed on a bit of perfume, just enough to make yourself feel a little more presentable, a little more you. And yet, as you inhaled the scent, something nagged at you. A memory. His scent. The warmth of his breath against your skin, the whisper of his lips, the feel of his body so close to yours. You cursed under your breath.
Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts.
Naoya was running lateâsurprise, surprise. You sighed, glancing at the clock again. At least you had time to breathe, to clear your mind, before dealing with him.
But as you waited, the night seemed to drag on, the clock ticking ever so slowly. You crossed the room and glanced out of the window. The rain had softened, but the chill still lingered, the kind that made you pull your coat tighter around your shoulders. Your fingers traced along the edges of your purse as you waited for Naoyaâs call, your heart hammering in your chest for reasons you couldnât explain.
You tried not to think about Toji.
But it was hard.
You were so caught up in your thoughts that you barely noticed the footsteps until they were right behind you.
A familiar creak of the door echoed in the silence. You froze.
Your breath hitched in your throat, and your eyes widened.
It was him. The door had opened, and there was no mistaking the silhouette standing in the doorway.
Toji.
For a split second, you didnât know what to do. Your body was frozen in place, your pulse racing as you turned slowly toward the sound. He was standing there in the doorway, a dark figure, the glow of the outside streetlights casting shadows around him. He didnât move, but you could feel his eyes on you. His gaze was heavy, sharp, and inescapable.
The tension that had been building inside of you suddenly surged, a familiar heat rushing to your face. Your heart beat in your chest, fast, too fast, and your skin tingled at the thought of him being hereâright here. In your library. After everything that had happened.
You stood there, caught between fear and something elseâsomething you couldnât explain. You didnât want to see him, you didnât want to feel him, but there he was, taking up all the space in the room, as if he owned it.
And, damn it, he knew it.
The air between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and the oppressive weight of his presence. Toji stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of him, as though he owned the entire space. And, in a way, he probably did. His gaze never left you, his eyes dark and intense, like he was reading you with every flicker of his gaze.
âGetting ready for someone else, huh?â Tojiâs voice cut through the silence, smooth and seductive, every word carefully chosen, like he was toying with you. "You look beautiful, though." His eyes lingered on you in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, no pretense. He was blunt. Direct. And it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you, like the temperature in the room had just risen by ten degrees.
Your heart raced. The words heâd just spokenâthe way he made them soundâmade something stir inside you. You knew you should be mad. You should be angry at him for showing up like this, for making everything more complicated. But damn it, you couldnât help it. He was Toji. He was tall, commanding, and impossible to ignore. And it pissed you off that you couldnât stop thinking about him.
âI donât need you here,â you said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. âYou figured out what you owed me, so why are you still here?â Your voice was shaky despite your attempts to sound confident, but you couldn't hide the nervousness crawling under your skin. You took a deep breath and stepped away from the desk, crossing the room toward the towering bookshelves.
You needed space. You needed distance from him. But of course, Toji wasnât going to let you have that. Not when he could see the way you were affected, even if you were pretending otherwise.
âCome on, babyâŚâ His voice was low now, dripping with that casual confidence that you hated and loved all at once. "You're really mad about that?" He followed you, his heavy footsteps soft against the floor, but his presence was everywhere. You could feel him getting closer, feel the heat of his body like an unseen flame licking at your skin.
You ignored him at first, fingers running along the spines of books, as if they could somehow provide the answers to the mess heâd created. But every time you reached for one, the movement felt too forced, too... calculated. He was distracting you. You knew it. He knew it. You hated that he knew.
âStop following me.â You said it with as much authority as you could muster, but the irritation in your voice betrayed you. You were tense, wound up, ready to explode.
But he didnât stop. Of course, he didnât. Toji was never one to take a step back.
"Make me," Toji purred from behind you, his voice an intoxicating mix of amusement and something darkerâsomething predatory. His words were like a physical caress, his voice sliding under your skin in a way you couldnât ignore.
Something inside you snapped. You spun around, facing him head-on, your fists clenched at your sides. âYou shouldnât be here. You donât get to do thisâthis game of yours. I told you I donât need you.â The words came out more forcefully than you intended, but your anger flared again. You didnât want to admit that he had gotten under your skin.
Toji tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was studying a puzzle. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips. He was enjoying this. You could see it in his eyes. He was savoring every second of your frustration.
Before you could react, Toji moved. He crossed the distance between you in two strides, his large frame towering over you. Before you knew it, you were pressed against the shelf, the books digging into your back as he pinned you there with the sheer force of his presence. You gasped at the suddenness of it, the pressure of his body against yours, his breath warm against your ear.
âListen, baby,â he said, his voice now a husky whisper, right against your ear. âIâm not here to play games. But I donât think you really want me to leave, do you?â
Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt his hand come up to rest on the shelf beside your head, his fingers brushing against the wood just inches from your face. His other hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. You couldnât breathe. He was so close. Too close.
âTell me you donât want this,â Toji murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âTell me you donât want me.â
The heat of his body radiated against yours, making it impossible to think straight. You felt his breath against your neck, his scent overwhelming your senses. He was teasing you, pushing you to the brink, but you couldnât find the strength to push him away. Everything about himâhis voice, his presenceâwas pulling you in. Even the anger you felt was starting to burn out, leaving only that raw, needy desire that you couldnât suppress.
You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to speak. âYou⌠youâre so insufferable,â you whispered, though you knew it was a lie. The truth was, you wanted him. But you were too proud to admit it. Too scared of what it meant.
Tojiâs smirk deepened. His thumb brushed across your waist, a touch so light, so deliberate, that it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left yours, and in that moment, you could see the dark amusement, the satisfaction of having you right where he wanted you.
âTell me Iâm wrong, then,â he challenged softly, his lips inches from yours, the heat of his breath mixing with yours. "Come on, pretty. Tell me I'm wrong."
Your lips parted as you searched his eyes, your chest heaving with the breath you couldnât take. For a split second, you were almost afraid to speak, afraid to let him know the truth. But before you could say anything, Toji closed the gap.
His lips were on yours, claiming you in an instant, with a kiss that was as hot and possessive as everything he had ever said. It was raw, desperate, and full of intent, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and dizzy. He didnât give you a chance to pull away, his hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His other hand cupped the back of your head, tilting it just enough to deepen the kiss.
Everything else disappeared. There was no library, no shelves, no frustration. There was only him. And you.
Tojiâs kiss was everything you had been trying to resist, everything you knew you shouldnât want. But in that moment, you didnât care. You were already lost.
You were done pretending.
He slammed you back into the shelf with a thud that sent books shivering from their spines. His mouth crushed yours, hot and furious, stealing every breath youâd saved for arguing. One hand gripped your jaw. The other slid down â greedy â to cup your breast over the thin fabric of your dress.
âYou wanna forget about me?â he growled between kisses, yanking the neckline down to expose you. âIs that it, sweetheart? Thought a pretty little dress and some other manâs attention would help you erase me?â
His mouth descended, teeth grazing your neck, tongue hot and slick as he devoured the skin he once claimed. You gasped when he bit down lightly at your pulse, his hands roaming, kneading, possessive and rough.
âTojiââ
âYouâre mine,â he snarled against your throat, dragging your leg up around his waist before dropping to his knees. Toji Fushiguro on his knees. A sight hell itself couldnât imagine.
He tossed your panties to the floor with a low whistle. âFuck, this pussy missed me, didnât it? Look at her,â he groaned, spreading you open with a thumb. âAll dressed up for another man but dripping for me.â
Your back hit the bookshelf hard as he hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue flicking against your clit with a slow, devastating pace. His tongue was hot. Hungry. Each stroke was wickedly precise â drawing shapes only a sinner could spell.
You moaned his name, breath hitching as your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking. His eyes flicked up, dark and amused.
âYou try to fuckinâ forget about me but your bodyâs got no loyalty, sweetheart.â
He dove back in â deeper, tongue curling inside you, groaning against your heat like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He gripped your thighs like a man possessed, dragging you closer, messier, wetter.
The shelf behind you rattled, a book falling with a loud thud, but neither of you cared.
He slid two fingers inside, crooking them just right, his mouth still latched to your clit. âYou gonna cum on my tongue while that smug bastardâs running late?â he smirked against you, voice hoarse and thick. âYou think he could make you feel this fucked out? You think he could have you shaking like this, baby?â
You couldnât even respond. Your vision blurred, hips twitching, thighs quivering around his head. He groaned when you tugged harder on his hair, the vibration sending you straight to the edgeâ
âToji, IâfuckâToji!â
Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, hard and fast, his name a chant from your lips as your body trembled against the shelf. He didnât stop. Not until you were gasping, breathless, legs like jelly.
And then he stood, fingers wet, mouth glistening.
âStill think Iâm forgettable, baby?â he rasped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, smirking as he leaned into your ear.
âIâm gonna fuck you so good youâll forget how to spell his name.â
Your breath was still shaky, your thighs slick and trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you like a fucking symphony â loud, messy, unforgettable.
Toji stood over you now, towering, broad chest rising with each heavy breath. The way he looked down at you? Like you were prey. Owned. His.
He wiped his mouth with his thumb, then sucked the taste of you off it with a slow groan. âMmm. You taste like you missed me,â he muttered, voice thick with desire, gravel and hunger soaked into every word.
You were dizzy â from the high, from him â but there was one thing clearer than anything else in that moment: you needed more.
So you sank to your knees. Right there. Between the stacks of the classics section. Dust and forgotten titles above you, sin between you.
Tojiâs dark brow cocked, smug as sin. âOh? Look at you,â he murmured, voice low like a growl. âPretty thing just canât get enough, huh?â
Your fingers reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, teasingly, but he didnât have the patience. He let out a dark chuckle and shoved his pants down for you, underwear and all, his cock springing free â thick, veiny, already hard and heavy.
âOpen up, baby,â he said, tapping the tip against your lips. âYou wear that tight little dress for another man, but now you're on your knees for me. What would that bastard Naoya say if he saw you like this? Huh?â
You didnât answer. Couldnât. You were too busy wrapping your lips around the thick, hot length of him, eyes fluttering shut as his scent hit your nose â musk, cologne, and just a hint of smoke and danger.
âFuuuuck,â Toji groaned, tilting his head back slightly, one large hand immediately sinking into your hair, gripping. âThatâs it, sweetheart. Goddamn, that mouth was made for me.â
You bobbed your head slowly at first, sucking, tongue swirling around the head, feeling him twitch against your tongue as you sank deeper. The stretch of him was obscene, your jaw already sore, but the way he moaned â the way he looked down at you like you were his salvation â made it worth it.
His other hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw. Then, without warning, his hips rolled forward. He thrust into your mouth â shallow, careful at first â then a little deeper, a little filthier.
âYou take me so well,â he hissed through clenched teeth. âThat bastard wouldnât know what to do with a mouth like yours.â
He looked down at you â eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted. âFuck, I could cum just watching you look up at me like thatâŚâ
You moaned around him â vibrations that made his hips jerk. His grip in your hair tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know he was holding back.
âYouâre so fuckinâ beautiful like this,â he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face to watch your lips stretch around his cock. âAll that sass earlier, all that attitude â and now? Just my good little slut on her knees.â
You gagged just a little as he hit the back of your throat, and Toji groaned deep â the kind of sound that made your thighs press together again despite the orgasm you just had.
âShitâgonna make me lose it,â he breathed, pulling back for a second to look at the mess you made of him. Your lips were wet, spit trailing down your chin, eyes glassy. âGoddamn.â
He cupped your jaw, smeared his thumb over your lips, then shoved his cock back into your mouth with a growl. âNot done yet, baby. You wanted more â take it.â
You did. Willingly. Obediently. Loving every second.
Your hands braced on his thighs as he fucked into your mouth now, slow but filthy. âThis mouth belongs to me,â he grunted. âYou hear me? Doesnât matter who you say yes to. This right here? Mine.â
And you wanted it to be. Every part of you.
You moaned again, feeling him twitch, his abs flexing as his head fell back and his voice dropped into something feral.
âFuckââm close. Wanna paint that pretty face, sweetheart. Want you dripping in me when he shows up. Let him see who you really belong to.â
You moaned again, looking up at him through lashes wet with tears from the stretch. He swore loudly, pulled out just in time andâ
Hot ropes of cum hit your lips, your tongue, your cheek. It was filthy. Messy. Possessive.
And you loved it.
He breathed hard above you, still staring down at the mess he made of you, eyes dark with something primal. âThere you go. Look at you,â he murmured, brushing some of it off your cheek with his thumb and pressing it into your mouth. âTaste me. Good fuckinâ girl.â
You sucked it off his thumb, chest rising, lips swollen, completely ruined.
But Toji?
Toji smirked down at you, cock still half-hard, a dangerous glint in his eye. âWeâre not done, sweetheart.â
The shelves were cold beneath your palms, wood biting into your skin as you tried to breathe â tried to think â but everything in your body screamed for one thing:
More of him.
Toji didnât even give you time to wipe the cum off your chin. He had you turned around, bent over the damn shelf like a girl in some late-night fantasy, your hands struggling to find purchase on the wood while he stood behind you, big and burning and starving.
âBend that ass for me, sweetheart,â he growled, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise as he hiked your dress up over your hips. âYou let that fuckinâ dress hug your ass for him?â
His palm smacked across your cheek â not your face, the other one â and you gasped, a moan curling from your lips like a prayer.
âToo fuckinâ bad,â he hissed. âThis ass belongs to me.â
You felt the thick head of his cock sliding through your folds â teasing, soaking, coated in your slick â and you whimpered, legs shaking already from anticipation. But he just kept grinding, letting you feel every inch before he even gave it to you.
âFucking dripping,â he muttered, like he couldnât believe it. âYou gonna take all of me, baby? You remember how fuckinâ big I am?â
You nodded frantically, voice gone, knees weak.
He leaned in close, his massive body draped over your back, breath hot against your ear. âThen say it,â he growled. âTell me how big I am.â
You whined, arching your back, desperate. âT-Toji⌠youâreâfuckâyouâre too big, I canâtââ
He cut you off with a deep thrust.
Your cry echoed through the library, sinful and sharp, as the air was punched from your lungs.
âOhhh fuck,â you gasped, nearly collapsing over the shelf as your fingers clawed at the edge. âTojiâ!â
âThatâs it,â he groaned, dragging out slowly, letting you feel every ridge, every vein. âThis pussyâs so fucking tight, baby⌠trying to squeeze the life outta me.â
He grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you back onto him as he thrust again â hard. The sound of skin slapping echoed like thunder in the quiet space.
And Toji? He was fucking gone.
âGod, I missed this pussy,â he grunted. âYou think anyone else can stretch you like this? Huh? You think any other man can stuff this perfect little cunt the way I do?â
You were a mess â bent over the shelf, hair clinging to your face, tears in your eyes from the intensity. One of your shoes had slipped off. Your dress was around your waist. You didnât care.
All you could feel was him.
His cock was thick â almost too much â and every thrust had your walls fluttering, your legs trembling, your body begging for more even as it struggled to take it.
He slid a hand up your back, palm pressing between your shoulders, forcing your chest to the shelf as he pounded into you from behind.
âLook at you,â he groaned, eyes glued to the way his cock disappeared into you over and over. âGripping the shelf like your life depends on it. That tight little pussy canât get enough, huh?â
He slapped your ass again, harder, and the sting only made the heat grow worse between your legs.
âSay it,â he demanded. âSay youâre mine.â
âIâIâm yours,â you sobbed, cheek pressed to the cool wood, barely able to speak.
âLouder.â
âIâM YOURS, TOJI.â
âFucking right you are.â
He was breathless now, grunting with every thrust, his rhythm faster, rougher. He was losing it â drunk off the feel of you, the sound of your whimpers, the way you clenched around him like your body was molded just for him.
âYouâre takinâ me so fuckinâ good, baby,â he rasped, dragging his fingers down your spine. âThis pussy⌠fuck⌠I could stay buried in you for hours.â
Your legs buckled again, body going limp, but he caught you â big arms locking around your waist, pulling you back to him so your spine arched and your ass met his hips with every sharp snap.
âToo much?â he smirked, licking the shell of your ear.
You whimpered. âN-Noâdonât stopâpleaseâ!â
He chuckled. Low. Dark. Filthy.
âDidnât plan to, sweetheart.â
But then⌠he pulled out.
You cried out at the sudden emptiness, turning to look at him with wide, teary eyes.
Tojiâs jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple. His cock twitched, thick and glistening, standing proud as he looked down at you with a possessive gleam in his eye.
âTurn around,â he ordered, voice rough. âLay back. Legs open. I wanna see this pretty face while I fuck you stupid.â
The library floor was cool against your back. Dust clung to the hem of your dress. The tall shelves surrounded you like towering shadows, like they were hiding your sin from the world â but nothing could hide you from him.
Tojiâs body hovered over yours, all heat and muscle and controlled fury. One hand gripped your thigh, holding your leg open like it was his right. His cock pushed inside again, slow, devastating, like he had nowhere else to be but here, splitting you open inch by inch.
âDonât look away,â he murmured.
You couldnât. His eyes â dark, quiet, consuming â pinned you to the floor harder than his weight ever could.
âYou look too damn pretty like this.â
Your moan broke between clenched teeth, legs trembling as he rolled his hips deeper, slower.
âYou werenât supposed to be here tonight,â you whispered.
âI didnât plan to be,â he said simply, not stopping. âBut then you put on this dress⌠and said yes to him.â
He didnât even say Naoyaâs name. He didnât need to.
âI wasnât gonna show up.â Another thrust. Deeper. âBut the thought of him looking at you like this? Talking to you like he deserves you?â
He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. âI couldnât stomach it.â
Your head tipped back, hand gripping the back of his neck. âTojiââ
Buzz.
Buzz.
The sound cut through the tension, sharp and intrusive. Your phone lit up near the mess of your bag.
You froze.
Toji didnât.
He stilled inside you, reached for the phone, and glanced at the screen.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
âNaoya,â he muttered, voice flat. âOf course.â
You panicked. âDonâtââ
But he answered.
He didnât pull out. He didnât stop. He just leaned down, set the phone next to your ear, and said nothing.
And then â he started to move again.
Slow, deep thrusts that had you choking on your own breath.
âY/n?â
Naoyaâs voice crackled through the speaker, too loud in this sacred, shameful moment.
âWhere are you? Iâm outside⌠it looks like the libraryâs locked. Are you okay?â
You whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as Tojiâs cock dragged in and out of you with surgical precision.
His head dipped to your shoulder, voice low. âBe quiet,â he whispered, not mocking â warning. âDonât give him anything.â
You nodded desperately, hand covering your mouth.
âIâve been knocking for like ten minutesââ Naoya kept talking. âIt doesnât even look like anyoneâs inside.â
Toji looked down at you, sweat at his brow, lips parted just slightly as he watched your body shake under his.
Still so quiet.
Still so deep inside you.
âYouâre not gonna answer him?â he asked, voice like a quiet bruise. âNot even gonna tell him you changed your mind?â
You could barely breathe.
Tojiâs eyes never left yours as he rolled his hips forward with one hard thrust.
Your lips parted, trying to form words, but your throat locked up. Tojiâs hand curled around the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, gentle â so gentle â as if to mock the way he was breaking you from the inside out.
And then, without looking away, he picked up the phone.
âYou should go home.â
Silence. Thenâ
âToji?â
A pause.
âYeah,â Toji said calmly. âSheâs busy.â
Another thrust. Hard. Your gasp punched the air.
âWhat the fuckââ
Toji hung up.
No smirk. No insult. Just a quiet shake of his head as he tossed the phone aside like it was trash.
âYou always talk about not wanting this life,â he murmured, eyes heavy as he leaned over you again. âBut your body keeps saying otherwise.â
You trembled beneath him, legs twitching, cunt soaked and stretched, your moans spilling freely now, raw and shameless.
âYou wanted him to be gentle, huh?â Toji whispered, mouth brushing your temple. âYou thought maybe if you dressed nice, smiled soft, youâd forget what it feels like to be ruined.â
His thrusts sped up, hips snapping against you with a force that sent echoes between the shelves.
âYou were never gonna let him touch you.â
His voice turned breathless, raw with something deeper.
âYou were always gonna end up right here.â
You wrapped your arms around him, nails dragging down his back, too far gone to fight.
He kissed your neck once â slow, reverent â before pulling out.
You whimpered, aching from the loss.
Toji grabbed your waist, lifted you gently, and flipped you over onto your stomach, guiding you up onto your knees.
âHold onto something,â he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes burning.
âWhy?â
He slid back inside with one hard thrust that made the shelf in front of you rattle.
âBecause Iâm not done.â
The library was unusually quiet.
Not because it was empty â it wasnât. Nobara was restocking the new arrivals shelf with a scowl. Yuuji was sneakily eating chips behind the desk like you didnât see him. But it was quiet because you were quiet.
You stood by the checkout counter, trying to look composed. Professional. Normal.
But your lower back ached, your thighs still felt like jelly, and every time you moved, you remembered the sound of your moans echoing between those tall wooden shelves.
And of course, right on cueâ
ding-a-ling
The little bell above the door rang.
You looked up â and froze.
There he was.
Toji Fushiguro.
Wearing a black button-up (the sleeves rolled to his elbows, naturally), tattoos on full display. One hand in his pocket. And the other?
Holding a bouquet.
Not just any bouquet. One of those overly wrapped, overly expensive, one-hand-could-barely-carry-it type of bouquets.
Toji looked⌠pissed.
Like he couldnât believe he was standing there holding them. Like heâd tried to not come here and ended up in front of the library anyway.
And when his eyes met yours?
They softened.
Just a little.
âYou gonna come get âem,â he muttered, âor am I standing here like a goddamn idiot all day?â
You blinked. Stared at the flowers.
Thenâ â...are those peonies?â you said, suspicious.
He shrugged. âLady said they meant somethinâ about apologies. Or romance. Whatever.â
You smiled despite yourself, cheeks warm. âYou⌠brought me flowers?â
Toji muttered something under his breath.
âWhat was that?â you asked.
âI said donât make it a thing.â
But thenâ
âWAIT.â
Yuujiâs voice pierced the heavens from across the room.
He stood slowly behind the counter, eyes wide, a chip half-hanging out of his mouth. Nobara emerged from the shelves at full speed, her stare deadly.
âOh my god,â she said. âYouâre the guy.â
âWhat guy?â Yuuji asked, still stunned.
âThe guy. The one who made her wear short dresses.â
Toji raised an eyebrow. âYou two always this nosy?â
âYes,â they said in sync.
Your hand slapped to your face. âIâm so sorry, Tojiââ
But he didnât look mad. In fact, his lips curled into that slow, wicked little grin â the one that always came before trouble.
âDidnât know I had competition,â he said, stepping forward, placing the bouquet gently on your desk⌠before slipping a hand around your waist, palm splaying against your lower back.
You jolted. âTojiâ!â
But he just leaned in, lips brushing your ear. âRelax, sweetheart. Just saying hi.â
Nobaraâs jaw dropped. âOh my god. Is he grabbing your ass?!â
âCanât help it,â Toji said, unbothered. âItâs a good ass.â
âSir this is a public institutionââ Yuuji started, half-horrified, half-impressed.
Toji just smirked and kissed your cheek. Lingering. Hot. Too hot.
âDonât work too late,â he muttered low, voice dark and soft. âUnless you want another late-night visit.â
Your face burned. Your knees nearly gave.
And then he turned on his heel and walked out â leaving behind the faint smell of cologne, cigarette smoke, and wild, unspeakable memories between the shelves.
The door shut.
Silence.
You blinked.
Yuuji blinked.
Nobara slowly turned to you and said:
ââŚYouâre so getting railed on that desk tonight, arenât you?â
You said nothing.
But the bouquet wasnât the only thing he left you with.
Your lips still tingled from the ghost of his kiss.
And somewhere deep inside?
You were already looking forward to closing hours.
i <3 you reader with an intricate personality that's nothing like mine, i <3 you reader with a detailed backstory that has nothing to do with mine, i <3 you reader that would say and do things i would never do, i <3 you reader that is actually the writer's projection, i <3 you reader that isn't me and never will be me, i <3 you reader that i get to self-insert into and finish the fic and love it just the same as i would if the reader was very similar to me, i <3 you reader that the fic is centered about more than the character, i <3 you reader like you are the character the fic is about, i <3 you reader i <3 you reader's fic i <3 you writer for writing reader
interlude(iii): separate and ever deadly | prev track< | setlist
hot gossip and headlines
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
a/n: art by @baobei-bu and divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more <3
Satoru Gojo never thought he'd see the day he'd be watching Sukuna get fucking dog walked.
Or that he'd wish he was on the leash instead.
"The soda's flat," You were pouting, pushing your drink in front of you before Sukuna just switched yours with his.
"Just take mine," He grumbled.
"So, um, how long have you known each other?" Gojo asked, brows furrowed together as he swirled his straw around in his drink.
You readjusted anxiously in your seat, although it was harder to tell with the way Sukuna's hoodie swallowed you. Despite the small diner the latter has chosen, he'd still pulled the hood over your hair, insisted on you sitting on the inside of the booth so it'd be harder for anyone to see you. Gojo had assumed for a second that he was just being a territorial asshole until it hit him that Sukuna was just trying to shield you whatever way he could.
He refused to say much, letting you take the lead and keeping his mouth shut most of the time. Only sparing the occasional rare glance at Gojo to remind him how much bad blood there still was between them even outside of their bands.
"I dunno, since we were like, in diapers?" You looked over at him, your chin propped in your hands. The man next to you huffed, scrunching his nose up as if he was annoyed, but his shoulder kept brushing against yours, too close and too comfortable even for childhood friends.
Sukuna hadn't stopped staring at you since you sat down.
Barely took his eyes off you in his passenger seat either. Listened to every word you said like he couldn't stand to miss a single syllable, a tattooed hand resting on your headrest that you didn't seem to notice while you leaned back to pass Gojo some of his CDs to choose what to listen to from.
As if giving the tension a sound track would make it go away.
It was still probably the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. Forced to sit in the back like a little kid watching his parents pretend that everything was fine.
Honestly, the whole thing made his head fucking hurt.
His best friend's ex-girlfriend he definitely didn't have a crush on was best friends with their biggest competition. In the charts and in your bed.
"Suguru doesn't know," Gojo slowly said, less of a question and more of an observation.
Knowing Suguru?
He probably would've sent that stupid sex tape to Sukuna himself if he just saw the way your 'best friend' was looking at you.
And if he found out now?
Suguru was going to fucking lose it.
He'd been spiraling since your breakup already. He didn't say anything. But it showed. In the exhausted rings under his eyes and the sheer number of cigarettes he'd smoke in the evenings after rehearsal and recording, despite him insisting that it was under control, that he only ever did it when the girls weren't around. His fatigue was in the permanent frown etched in his face, the snarky remarks and fights he'd been picking over the stupidest shit.
He acted fine when his daughters were there. The same old Suguru. Reserved and responsible. But the second they were asleep or being babysat, some switch flipped, his carefully crafted guard cracking and breaking around the edges.
But this wasn't something a few smooth words could fix.
"I tried telling him like ten times," You shrugged, but any idiot could see that you were struggling to talk about it too. Picking at your nails and studying the knots in the wooden table. "But you know him. Too busy."
You couldn't hide that kind of hurt.
It was ridiculous that he felt the tiniest bit responsible for it. If he hadn't pushed you to get together, hadn't texted you or stolen that stupid pick, would any of it had even happened?
A tiny voice in the back of his head suggested the slim possibility that maybe he might've had a chance if he hadn't shotten himself in the foot by trying to put Suguru's happiness first. Convinced you were too good for him, too cool to give him a chance - so why should he try when you would just choose Suguru like everyone else?
"You two are just friends though?" Gojo hesitantly posed the question as if the immediate shift in the air didn't answer it.
If you weren't having sex now, you definitely had before.
"Yeah," You answered, to Sukuna's obvious disappointment? Irritation? Annoyance?
"Yeah?" Gojo repeated.
"I mean, we used to fuck before me and Geto started dating," You freely admitted, your eyes flitting over to the pink-haired asshole by your side, searching for some reaction. It was almost impressive how fast his face softened, the crease between his brows and the lines by his lips disappearing when your focus was on him. And Gojo realized what it was before written in his eyes, a feeling he unfortunately was well-acquainted with. Anxiety. "But we got in a big fight a few months ago and stopped talking until, uh, recently."
It was Sukuna's turn to shuffle uncomfortably in his seat.
"Oh," Gojo swallowed hard. Another complicated history that he wouldn't stick his nose in if he had any sense.
It was hard enough to compete with Suguru. Sukuna?
"Can we talk about something else?" You sighed, glancing back out in the dim restaurant, probably looking for the waiter.
Your phone started ringing, and you sucked in a sharp breath before you even checked it. Chewing on the edge of your lip while you stared at the screen while you glanced over at Sukuna again.
"Everything okay?" He grunted.
"It's the maintenance guy," You mumbled. "I'm just gonna take it outside."
Sukuna had to shuffle out of the booth to let you through to answer.
But the second your figure slipped out the front door, Sukuna's harsh stare was focused on him.
"What the fuck do you want with her?"
"I don't want anything from her," Gojo frowned. And it was true. Pretty much.
He liked you. Liked talking together. Trying to get a giggle out of you. When your hand would brush against his or you'd scrunch your nose up at him. Finding new details to memorize in your smile and learn all your little mannerisms.
You didn't judge him. Would listen to him ramble and sometimes laugh at his shitty jokes. Understood him in a way no one had ever bothered to.
Gojo didn't want to let go of you. Didn't want to not have some small place in your life, whatever it might be.
"We might not be together, but I swear to fucking God, if it's about sex and you hurt her, you'll have to buy yourself a new face," Sukuna warned, shoulders stiff and tense, knuckles white and condensation from his drink dripping over them. "Or maybe your dad will just pay for that too."
He'd probably grab his collar and throttle Gojo if he knew he already finished on your face. If he saw the image of you that had been burned into his mind, glossy cum on your parted and panting lips, all fucked out and full, wide-eyed with fluttering lashes while your pretty tits bounced in time with every thrust.
It was easy to assume you hadn't exactly told Sukuna about what the three of you had done at the party. Shit. What the hell had the two of you talked about there?
Gojo didn't even remember texting him. Only had his number through other mutual contacts in the music industry. It wasn't like he'd ever consider the chance Sukuna would show up.
But you were worth making an exception for, he supposed. He'd do the same in his shoes.
"We're just friends," Gojo gritted his teeth. He was trying to be, at least. Trying to ignore the faint flutters in his own stomach when he saw you. How the sound of your laugh you made something in his heart stir, left him empty and aching just waiting to hear it again. It was wrong.
And anyway, he didn't need Sukuna and Suguru ready to strangle him over you.
Sukuna scoffed at him, jaw locked like he was considering biting his head off for putting himself in the same category.
"You think I buy any of your or his bullshit?" He practically growled, but it wasn't so intimidating when he glanced through the thick glass window behind him to make sure you were still fine outside before looking back at Gojo. "If it was up to me, I'd punch you again just for showing up at her door after that asshole friend of yours broke her heart, but for some fucking reason, she actually likes you."
Gojo hated himself for how much he liked hearing that.
Someone showed up with the food, dropping off plates and asking about refills.
It wasn't really a truce. And they weren't allies. But they still ate without shouting or fighting, so it was close enough.
"She won't tell me what he did," Sukuna eventually grumbled, wiping away a smear of sauce from his lips with a napkin.
"He was a dick," Gojo admitted, on accident, really, his big mouth speaking before his sometimes tiny brain could shut it up. "Pretty much accused her of calling the paparazzi to take those pictures."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sukuna snarled, dropping his food and glaring at him like he did it.
"That's what I said," He threw his hands up in annoyance. "I mean, like, I get that he's overprotective when it comes to Nana and Mimi, but if she was my girlfriend-"
He stopped talking the second he saw you walking back, unhappy and flustered.
"What happened?" Sukuna immediately asked, rough and raw, but reaching out to touch your wrist. Out of habit, instinct.
You swallowed hard, on edge still and tapping your feet.
"They want to do more work inside my place so they told me to stay out for the next few nights but don't want to pay for a hotel," Your voice cracked. Frustrated and fed up with everything, clearly.
"You can stay at my place," Sukuna muttered, but you shook your head.
"They don't even want to let me back in to get my stuff," You protested.
"They can't do that." It only took him approximately four seconds to get even more irritated than you were.
"Can you yell at him?" You huffed, an arm wrapped around your waist and a cute pout pushed together on your lips. Your other hand held out your phone, and Sukuna was quick to snag it from you, standing up to let you back in.
"Why don't you tell me what you told her?" Sukuna snapped into the speaker, walking out front and leaving you alone in the booth with Gojo.
"So," He awkwardly chuckled. "You and Sukuna?"
"I know he seems like a dick," You sighed, sipping your drink. "He is one."
Gojo couldn't help but actually laugh at that, cracking a grin at your easy shrug. "Yeah."
"But he's working on his stuff," You murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his, softer, letting some of that shield down. "I just, um, appreciate you being cool about this, I guess."
"Sure," Gojo flushed, face heating up more than he'd like. "Anything for you."
He meant it more than he should.
More than a friend should.
"Can I ask why all of you hate each other anyway?" You tilted your head to the side, curious and anxious all at the same time.
"Yeah, it's, uh, kind of embarrassing," Gojo admitted, ruffling his hair. His palms were sweaty, had been since he made the drive to your apartment for the second time. The first? He'd followed Suguru up to your door, just to drag him away before he could make an idiot of himself.
"I'm listening," You laughed a little, but it just sounded like you were getting ready to be disappointed.
"It happened a long time ago," Satoru hesitated, the puzzle pieces of the memory in his head and what was happening now snapping together a little too cleanly to be comfortable.
"Just tell me," You groaned.
"It was my idea for us to go their show. But we'd been drinking like, a lot," He muttered, sheepish already. "There was this after party, and I went up to him, I swear, just trying to talk about the show, but it started an argument."
Even your grimace made his stomach flip, the small breath that slipped between your lips like you expected as much before he continued.
"It was mostly just insulting each other and shouting until Suguru saw the lock screen on his phone and said he was probably just jealous and then, he, um, sorta said he'd fuck his girlfriend," Gojo muttered the last part quietly, swallowing hard and averting your stunned gaze. But he peeked back up, painfully aware how hard you were second-guessing Suguru even more than you already had.
"Sukuna didn't have a girlfriend then," You muttered.
He wondered if you'd already came to the same conclusion he had.
"I didn't see who it was," Gojo shook his head. "I only remember what Suguru said because two seconds later, Sukuna punched him."
"Oh," You breathed, looking kinda like you'd been punched yourself.
"If it was you-"
"I doubt it," You interrupted. "He, um, was sleeping with other girls back then."
You picked listlessly at your food before waving over a waiter to ask for a to-go box. It only took a minute for him to bring it, Sukuna still outside probably cussing your poor maintenance guy out.
He wasn't sure what to say. How to help you. Words were something he was usually clumsy with. He'd force them out and laugh too loud and fill the air with chatter just to hear himself speak.
But he didn't want to do that with you.
Gojo wanted to say something that would make you smile, that would erase even a fraction of how fucked up it all was.
"I'm just trying to say Suguru probably doesn't remember either way," Gojo frowned. If he did, he surely would've said something by now to him, if not to you. "He was pretty wasted."
"Okay," You mumbled, closing the lid on the to-go box and reaching to grab the check on the table.
Gojo beat you to it, pulling out his wallet next and getting out of the booth. "I've got it tonight."
It wasn't much. But maybe it was a start.
Sukuna got off the phone a few minutes after he paid, what was left of the food boxed up and bagged, glaring at Gojo once again when he said he paid for everything, grumbling under his breath about not wanting to owe him shit before insisting on carrying the food for you.
The car ride back to your apartment was at least less excruciating. He only wanted to throw himself out the car twice when he caught the way you glanced at Sukuna, unsure how to feel about how you were comfortable around him in a completely different way than what it was like when you were with Suguru.
The air was charged. Every glance felt like it dragged on forever. The little brushes and grazes that meant nothing and everything.
They both followed you up to your floor though, Sukuna glancing around like your guard dog when you pushed open your front door to see one of the water stains on your ceiling leaking onto your plastic-covered coffee table.
"Shit," You groaned. "Can you guys just help me grab some of my stuff?"
"Sure," Gojo volunteered first, earning a pointed eye roll from your friend. "Mind if I just use the bathroom first?"
"Yeah, it's that first door there," You distractedly nodded, pointing down the hall before turning your attention to Sukuna to ask him to grab a suitcase from the shelf in your closet.
Gojo had just shut the door behind him, already pulling down his zipper when he saw what was on the counter.
Two pregnancy tests.
RIVAL ROCKSTARS SETTLING A SCORE OVER DINNER?
Suguru was fucking sick of getting blindsided by headline after headline.
Yet another betrayal.
His best friend sitting across from the biggest jackass he'd ever met. Casually eating a fucking cheeseburger. Dated last night.
"What the fuck is this?" Suguru gritted his teeth, shoving the blurry photo in Satoru's face.
"It's nothing, Suguru," He lied. Staring at his guitar and tuning it soberly between recording songs, just sitting there as if having a meal with Sukuna could mean nothing in any universe.
Everyone else was on a lunch break, papers scattered with lyrics and notes and sheet music and instruments still out.
"Since when do you hide stuff from me?" Suguru scoffed. A three-day-old headache was bursting behind his eyes, tension pounding and throbbing from the still-growing stress of being stuck as front page news no matter how hard he tried to get the photos taken down.
"Probably when you decided to treat your girlfriend like shit," Satoru scoffed. "Sorry, ex."
As if you weren't already fucking haunting him.
The conversation wasn't supposed to go like that. You weren't supposed to just leave. Weren't supposed to shut him out and break it off before he could even get everything out.
The whole thing was a blur. It wasn't meant to be a confrontation.
He was just hurt.
What was he supposed to think? No one knew but you about breakfast. You checked your phone like fifty times while eating a single waffle during it. Left his house two minutes after you got back. He'd been busy, okay, but you'd been pulling away from him for weeks.
If it was just a photo of the two of you? He'd probably think it was some braindead idea Manami or some other higher up had concocted. But his contract was supposed to protect his daughters. It was in the fucking fine writing that they couldn't use or publish any photos of them and they'd strike down anyone that did.
He wanted to believe you. Wanted to think all of it was some awful misunderstanding. That maybe you'd told a friend who called the paparazzi instead.
That Suguru hadn't somehow hurt you, one of the only people he trusted, so much that you'd feel so inclined to sell him out for a few bucks.
Anything other than it being you.
But he didn't have the fucking luxury of being soft when it came to his children. Couldn't risk putting them through any more than they already had been.
He expected you to deny it, to be as fucking baffled as him, to give him some straw to grasp at so he could focus the anger elsewhere. He'd gone about it wrong, yeah, said it the worst way possible, throwing the most terrible thought that crossed his mind out because he needed to hear you say no.
Wanted to hear you tell him you loved him just one more time so he could trust his gut.
Suguru hadn't once considered you'd break up with him. Block his number and cut him out of your life completely.
Gojo has chewed him out for it when he admitted what happened afterwards.
Called him a prick and a pussy and said he was goddamn moron for thinking for even a second you'd do something so shitty.
The girls didn't want to talk to him. Just asked about when you'd be back every other day. Nanami kept looking at him like he knew something he fucking didn't, offering to take the girls a few nights out of pure pity. Even Haibara was disappointed. The only people happy with him were the two people whose opinions he didn't give a fucking shit about.
"Why don't you ask your new girlfriend to fix it for you?" Satoru snapped.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Suguru scowled. Maybe you broke up with him. But there wasn't a chance he was going to risk losing you forever by laying even a single fucking finger on someone you told him you didn't like.
"Nah, I'm not," Satoru shrugged. "Sort your shit out."
"Why do you care so much about my relationship?"
Suguru knew. Had known ever since he caught the puppy dog eyes and sly flirts Satoru snuck in every time you were around. Clinging too close just to stare at the floor like he was considering killing himself when Suguru would kiss you.
"You're just not the kind of guy I thought you were," Satoru bluntly answered.
That stung almost as much as your silence.
"So you're hanging out with someone who hates me now?" Suguru retorted, a slimy, sinking feeling slowly making it's way to his gut at heading Gojo confirm all the terrible things he already thought about himself.
He wasn't the good guy. Hadn't treated you right and broke your trust despite whatever excuses he'd been holding on to. Turned on you instead of leaning on you.
"We just have a mutual friend," Satoru muttered. He looked uncomfortable, eyes shifting away as he sat the guitar back down, about to walk away before Suguru started following him.
"So what now? You're just not going to talk to me anymore either?" He was acting like the asshole he didn't want to be. But he didn't know how to get back to how things were a few weeks ago. Get back to being the guy that had the girl and his friends and everything handled.
"You made your bed. Sleep by yourself in it."
Satoru was chewing the inside of his cheek like it was candy, still clearly concealing something and stressed over it no matter what he said.
"I don't know what to do," Suguru heard himself say. "I want her back."
He hadn't expected Satoru to laugh at him.
"Good luck getting her," He scoffed, sliding his phone back in his pocket and heading towards the door. "I just don't really want to be around you right now either."
Who would Suguru lose next?
He needed proof. A plan. Some way to show you that everything had just fucking spiraled out of hand. That he didn't want to break up or be without you.
The tiniest seeds of an idea had sprouted from one of Gojo's comments. Although, he wasn't one he was particularly fond of.
He just needed Manami's phone to do it.
reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts !! also apologies for any typos >.< was it so mean of me to use that header art hahaha ;p we'll find out next chapter what exactly went on between sukuna/reader/gojo after dinner ;p
district fourâs only victorsâsatoru gojo, dazzling and deadly, and you, cunning and stubbornâare dragged back into the arena for the quarter quell. with the capitol watching and a rebellion brewing, the hunger games are no longer just about survival. theyâre about trust, betrayal, and the unresolved past that still burns between you.
â pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader
â tags: romance, angst, eventual smut, action, slow burn, hurt/comfort. the hunger games!au, dystopian!au, enemies to lovers!au. this chapter contains: profanity, mentions of forced prostitution, mentions of death & violence.
â word count: 9.1k
series masterlist â previous â next
The train was too clean.
Satoru hated it: the sterile shine of the floors, the glassy sheen on the windows, the faint scent of synthetic citrus pumped through the vents. Everything about it made his skin itch. It was nothing like the salt-slick wood of his old home, nothing like the creaky floorboards of Reiko and Renâs kitchen, where the kettle always screamed before boiling and the walls were yellowing from too much sun.
He didnât remember standing. One moment he was lying on the cot in his cabin, staring blankly at the ceiling, fingers wrapped tight around the mockingjay pin burning a hole in his pocket. The next, he was walking down the corridor, urged by some inexplicable forceâresentment, maybe. Or your voice in his head, sarcastic and furious, telling him to go ahead and starve if he wanted.
He didnât want to starve. But he didnât want to eat, either. His stomach roiled unpleasantly.
The dining car was draped in Capitol excess, down to the velvet curtains and the marble-effect table. You were already there, face drawn, picking listlessly at a piece of bread. Across from you, Coral was mid-sentence, droning about how dreadfully boring the off-season was in the Capitol. Satoruâs stomach turned.
âDo you never get tired of running your mouth?â he said, tone flat and venomous.
Coral blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. She sat reclined, long legs crossed elegantly, a half-finished glass of crimson wine in one hand. Her curls gleamed under the artificial lighting and her nailsâpainted a garish shade of turquoiseâtapped idly against the crystal. She didnât stop smiling.
âOh, Satoru,â she sighed. âDonât tell me youâre still sulking. Itâs so unbecoming. Youâve been given such a rare opportunity. You should be thanking us.â
He stared at her, blankly. âFor what, exactly? Watching a man get shot in front of his grandkid? Being yanked from our homes and shoved into this freak parade of a train like pigs on the way to slaughter?â
âYouâre so crude. No wonder your little tributes didnât get any sponsors last time, what with their mentor being so despicably uncultured. Itâs a shame even the Career districts donât seem toââ
âThatâs enough,â you interrupted, finally looking up from your untouched plate. Your voice was hoarse; Satoru suspected it had been all day.Â
âOh, youâre both so moody,â the escort drawled. âItâs a wonder they selected either of you. The Gamemakers wonât like that sulking thing you do.â
Satoru watched as you ladled some soup into a bowl and set it down across from you. He looked away. For a second, he thought he might actually lunge across the table and do something truly stupidâpunch Coral, maybe. Rip the wine glass out of her hand and shatter it against the floor.
âThey shot an old man in front of his grandson,â he said again, like it would make this air-headed Capitol bitch see sense.
âThey did,â Coral agreed coolly, dabbing at her lipsticked mouth with a silk napkin. âAnd now here you areâalive, handsome and controversial. The Capitol eats that up, you know.â
Satoru felt something ugly lurch inside his chest.
Alive. He was alive. And she wasnât.
Reiko and Renâs mother was a good woman. She was the only adult who had looked at him after his Games without flinching, who had given him second helpings when he was a child and scolded him like he was her own. She had given him the pin with shaking hands, and said it belonged to his mother. His mother. He hadnât even had time to ask her how she got it. Sheâd smiled at him, and then a Peacekeeper struck her so hard, her head hit the stone.
He hadnât seen her get up.
Satoru gripped the back of a chair hard, knuckles bone-white.
âYou should eat,â you said to him, not unkindly.
âIâm not hungry,â he muttered.
âThen donât eat,â you snapped. âJust stop acting like a whiny little piece of shit.â
Satoru scoffed, bitter and humourless, and dropped into the seat. The soup in front of him steamed faintly, rich and full of spices. He stared at it. Picked up the spoon. Put it down again. His hands wouldnât stop trembling.
âDo you children always argue like this, or is it just foreplay?â Coral said.
You stiffened. Satoru didnât bother replying.
âPresident Snow is going to love you,â she added. âSo tragic and rebellious. Just a hint of young, doomed romance. Itâs positively Shakespearean.â
Satoru grit his teeth. You hunched your shoulders, tearing the crust of your slice of bread to pieces, over and over. The air inside the dining car was stiflingâthe cloying smell of rich food, the hum of the train tracks, the faint perfume Coral wore that reminded him of expensive flowers left too long in stagnant water. He still hadnât taken a bite of his food.Â
Coral leaned back again, lazily inspecting her cuticles. âWell, youâd better find your spirit soon. We arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning, and it will be televised. And unlike your precious little fishing town, image actually matters there.â
Satoru stood up so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor, harsh and metallic. He didnât say anythingâjust took his bowl, still full, and dumped it into the disposal chute without a word. Then he turned and walked out, fists clenched at his sides.
The hallway felt colder now. He walked past mirrored panels and velvet-lined walls, down and down until he put as much distance as he could between himself and the dining car. The windows blurred past wilderness and darkness and nothing that resembled home. He didnât stop until the hallway ended, and even then, he simply stood there, staring at his reflection in the glass.
His face looked like his fatherâs, who had drowned in a boating accident when he was an infant. His eyes, bright and startlingly blue, were like his motherâs, or so heâd been told. Heâd never actually met her. She died while giving birth to him. Satoru had been raised by his neighbours until he was old enough to do odd jobs here and there, helping out the fishermen and earning a livelihood from it. Then, heâd been reaped, and he had to watch his fellow tributeâAmanai Riko, the smartest and kindest fourteen-year-old heâd ever knownâget shot through the head.
The Capitol was still miles away, but already, he felt like he couldnât breathe. The pin in his pocket dug into his thigh when he moved. He took it out again, and turned it over in his palm. It was an old thingâworn, with the gold a little tarnishedâbut unmistakable. A mockingjay in flight.
He remembered the way the pin had felt in his palm: warm from Midoriâs skin. And then the crack of the Peacekeeperâs hand across her face. And then the sound of his own scream.
He hadnât been able to save her. He wasnât going to be able to save anyone.
âSatoruââ
âDonât.â He didnât bother turning around. âYou told me to starve, so Iâm just following orders.â
You cursed under your breath. âI didnât mean that. You know I didnât.â
He heard you step forward anyway, the hallway narrow enough that even your silence felt like intrusion. Satoru didnât move, didnât flinchâjust kept his eyes on the blurred lights outside the train window like if he stared long enough, he could will himself out of this life and into another one.
âI was angry,â you said. âWeâre all angry.â
âThey killed her,â he said. âShe was the only person left who gave a damn about me, and they didnât even hesitate.â
âYou think I donât know what it feels like to lose people?â you said, shifting to stand next to him, hand tightening around the brass edge of the doorway. âTo watch them die and not be able to do a single thing?â
âThatâs not what I said.â
âNo, but itâs what you meant.â
He turned to you then, finally. His expression was thunderous, eyes rimmed red like heâd been cryingâor maybe like he wanted to and didnât know how. âYou think you know me? You think just because weâre stuck on this nightmare train together, you get to play therapist? Screw that.â
Your voice shook, but you didnât raise it. âYou think I want to be here with you? You think I want to be picked as some Capitol pawn, paraded around with a guy who hasnât said a kind word to me since I was reaped five years ago? Youâre not the only one who lost something.â
âDonât twist thisââ
âIâm not!â you snapped. âBut youâre not the only person in the world whoâs hurting, Satoru. We all are. Iâm just not throwing a tantrum about it every five seconds.â
He laughed, sardonic and joyless. âOh, Iâm sorry. Is my grief inconvenient for you? Maybe I shouldâve just smiled for the cameras, like a good little martyr.â
âThatâs not what Iâm saying.â
âYou sure about that?â he said, voice rising now. âBecause you sound a hell lot like Coral right now. âTragic and rebelliousââisnât that what she said? Maybe I should lean into the aesthetic. Sell myself to the Capitol. At least that way, someone might survive.â
You looked like heâd slapped you. âThatâs not funny,â you said, quieter now. âDonât talk like that.â
But he was shaking, eyes wild. âWhat else is there to talk about? Do you want to hear about the Games? About how I didnât sleep for months because every time I closed my eyes I saw Rikoâs face? Or maybe about how my best friend got reaped the year after me and I had to watch him die while you stood and did nothing? Or maybe about how Reiko and Renâs mom died simply because she gave me a pin?â
He was shouting now. You let him.
âI was a kid. I was a kid, and they made me kill for their entertainment. And now they want me back. Again. Again. And youâre telling me to calm down. To eat. To behave. To get it together because the Capitol doesnât like messy tributes.â
âFuck you, Satoru,â you said, and he didnât even realise tears were streaming down your face until he looked at you properly, chest heaving. âFuck you. They killed my parents, too. They used my body year after year, every single time I was sent with you to the Capitol as a mentor. President Snow made me coerce secrets from their mouths with the use of my hands touching their skin.â
Satoru frozeâno more words, no more rage. He simply stood, blinking like heâd walked into a wall.
You dragged in a shaky breath, shoulders taut, fists trembling by your sides. âI did nothing?â you repeated. âYou think I had a choice?â
Satoruâs mouth opened, but nothing came out. You pressed on.
âThey made me watch,â you said, your voice cracking. âThey made me memorise names, families, weaknesses. You were the golden boyâDistrict Fourâs prodigy, our great bloody hope. But I was the one they broke open, again and again, year after year, because I had pretty eyes and a warm touch and they liked how easily people talked to me.â
Silence fell like a blade. Only the dull hum of the train beneath your feet remained.
You wiped your face roughly with your sleeve, as though you were angry at yourself for crying. âI did everything I could to protect our tributes. I smiled for the cameras and kissed the sponsors and sweet-talked the Gamemakers. And every time I closed the door behind me, I screamed until my throat bled. But sure, Satoru, tell me again how I stood and did nothing.â
He swallowed hard. âI didnât know.â
âNo. You didnât ask.â
That hurt, and you knew it. He flinched like youâd thrown something.
âIâm not proud of what Iâve done,â you went on, quieter now, the rage ebbing to something exhausted and spent. âIâm not asking you to forgive me. But donât you dare pretend you were the only one who lost something.â
Satoru exhaled, long and slow. The silence between you stretched again, but it was different now. He was still breathing hard, eyes glassy, but the fury had dulled into something heavier.
âI justâŚâ He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the roots. âIâm scared.â
âI am, too,â you admitted.
Satoruâs shoulders dropped a little. He looked away, ashamed. âI didnât mean what I said. About you doing nothing.â
âDidnât mean what I said either,â you said, shrugging. âAbout starving.â
His laugh was dry. âWeâre a pair of fucking disasters.â
âPresident Snowâs favourites,â you agreed.
The train slowed to a crawl the next morning.
Satoru felt it before he saw it, like the very oxygen shifted the moment the Capitol came into view. The glass of the windows shimmered under the harsh gaze of too much light, too much colour, too much control. He didnât realise heâd stopped breathing until the screech of metal on metal echoed down the tracks, and the train eased to a halt.
He didnât move.
Outside the Capitol sprawled like a wound that refused to scab. Towers of glass and gold cut into the sky like knives, their angles too clean, their beauty too deliberate. The streets below swarmed with people in grotesque, glittering costumesâsome with skin dyed cerulean, some with implants under their flesh that pulsed like veins full of starlight. Feathers. Jewels. Artificial wings. Faces that barely resembled people anymore.
They were all smiling. Satoru hated that he remembered what it was like to be in awe of it. He hated more that some part of him still was.
You brushed your shoulder against him once, standing by the door. He nodded. He could do this. He had done this. But it didnât get easierânot with the Capitolâs scent already curling in through the cracks: roses and blood and something chemical, sweet, and sharp enough to sting his eyes.
The train doors hissed open.
The moment he stepped out, the world exploded in colour. Cameras flashed. A Capitol woman shrieked his name from somewhere in the crowd, her voice high and warped by excitement. Someone else held up a sign that read âSatoru: Our Second Comingâ, glitter glued in thick, uneven letters.
He swallowed bile.
âSmile, darlings,â Coral hissed through gritted teeth. Satoru tensed. He didnât know when the escort had shown up, but she was behind him now, trailing that scent of that sickly-sweet perfume she used and her face powdered blue.Â
Satoru didnât turn to look at her. He kept his eyes forward, jaw tight, spine locked into something almost regalâif only to spite her. The cameras loved that posture, and so did the Capitol. The Victor they remembered wasnât allowed to look small, or scared, or tired.
He was a symbol. A trophy polished to perfection. So he smiled.
Not the soft kind. This was the Capitol smile: sharp at the edges, glittering with menace. His lips curled like he knew something they didnât, like he liked the attention, like he was their second coming.
Beside him, you didnât smile at all. He didnât need to look at you to know this. Coral didnât seem to notice, or she did and didnât care. She was already waving, stepping out onto the platform, her dress of coral-pink feathers trailing behind her like smoke.
Peacekeepers flanked the entrance, white uniforms spotless, helmets reflecting the overhead lights like polished bone. One of them nodded once. That was the only greeting they ever got from them.
Satoru scanned the platform. Still, the cameras flashed. He heard his name again. Then again, and then louder.
âSatoru! Look hereâjust a quick wave!â
âHow does it feel to be back?â
âTell us about the lucky girl! Are the rumours true?â
His stomach churned. Lucky, they said, as if being chained to memory and the Capitolâs golden leash was some kind of blessing. As if winning the Hunger Games hadnât broken him into pieces he still didnât know how to glue back together.
He kept smiling.Â
He reached the car, which was sleek, black and armoured, though you wouldnât know it unless youâd ridden in one before. You opened the door before the Peacekeeper could. Satoru ducked his head, and slid in without a word. You slid in after him, careful to avoid Coralâs train, which caught in the door and earned an irritated noise from her throat. She snapped something at you, but you didnât reply.
The car drove away from the platform like it had done a hundred times before, tires humming against the smooth black road with mechanical perfection. The doors sealed with a hiss, insulating them from the frenzy outsideâbut not completely. Not even the Capitolâs best engineering could mute the roar of spectacle.
Satoru let his head fall back against the seat. The leather was too soft. The kind that cost more than most families in the districts made in a year. The kind they gave to Victors because comfort was currency hereâanother way to keep them quiet.
He could feel the static of the cameras still clinging to his skin, like spiderwebs. Like ghost hands.
The Capitol blurred past the tinted windows, too saturated, too symmetric to be real. Every building was a statement; geometry turned violent. The sky split with spires of glass that caught the light like they wanted to blind him, all chrome and gold and shimmering edges. Below, the streets crawled with people like insects in silk, each more grotesque than the last.
One man wore a suit of mirrors that fractured the sunlight into shards, throwing it across the asphalt like confetti. A woman walked a pair of cats with scales instead of fur, their tails split like serpents. A child skipped across a plaza in stilts shaped like wings, her giggles echoing through a speaker embedded in her throat.
Everything was noise. Everything was too much.
And stillâGod, stillâsome part of him felt that flicker of wonder. That traitorous, sick little spark remembered the first time he saw it, before the arena, before the blood. When he was just a boy, pulled from a grey world into a place that glittered so brightly, it felt like dreaming.
He hated that boy. He hated that he could still remember what it felt like to hope.
You sat across from him, quiet, your hands folded in your lap. Your posture was tight, controlled, but your gaze driftedâto the window, to him, then back again. He could see it: the calculation, the exhaustion. The way your shoulders sank half an inch lower when you thought no one was looking.
Coral babbled on across from you, scrolling through her Capitol-issued tablet like her life depended on it. She rattled off times and locations with a breathless efficiency, fingers fluttering like the feathers stitched into her ridiculous sleeves.
âMeeting with President Snow at noon. Tribute rehearsal at fourteen-hundred. Full prep schedule locked in by sixteen. Weâll need to trim that hair, obviously,â she added, glancing at Satoru like his pale curls were a personal insult.
Satoru said nothing. Instead, he watched the skyline twist as they turned a corner, the whole city unfolding like a living organism. The air smelled like roses. Not real onesâthe chemical kind, the ones that clung to everything in the Capitol like perfume and rot. It was too sweet; too sharp. A scent that made his nose sting. It mixed with something else, too. Smoke. Ash. The faintest hint of ozone.
He remembered that smell. He remembered breathing it in as he watched Riko die.
Outside the window, a billboard flickered. His face stared back at him, a younger versionâhair slicked back, eyes fierce, jaw set. A crown of fire had been edited into the shot, curling above his head like he was some kind of deity.
âSATORU GOJO: THE STORM THAT SURVIVED.â
âThey love you,â you said flatly.
He turned to look at you, the Capitolâs reflection dancing in your eyes. âThey love their idea of me.â
You didnât argue. Instead, you looked out the window again, and your fingers curled into fists.
âMust I remind you to smile again?â Coral sang, catching your silence with the lilt of her voice. âPresident Snow wonât be pleased if youâre sulking.â
You both ignored her. The car slowed again.
They were approaching the Presidential Towerâs annex. It was all columns and balconies, soft blue lighting and manicured hedges sculpted into the shapes of snakes and songbirds. Satoru thought it looked like a mausoleum.
The car stopped. A Peacekeeper opened the door. Satoru stepped out, and the Capitol swallowed him whole again.
Everything felt thinner here: the air, the silence. Like even the space between his bones had to be approved by Capitol decree. He felt eyes on him already, from the windows above, from the cameras he couldnât see. From the insects masquerading as stylists and sponsors and hosts, watching from the glittering towers.
Each step towards the building felt like the ground recognised him, like it remembered his blood.
He was back. The boy who won. The man who never really left.
Somewhere behind him, you followedâjust as you always had. Just as he had once asked you not to.
But here you both were, again, just like the Capitol wanted.
The elevator ride up was silent. Not the kind of silence that soothed, but the kind that gathered in your lungs and settled like ash. Every second ticked by like the loading of a gun. Satoru stood rigid in the mirrored walls, his reflection splintered from a dozen angles, all of them wearing the same grim expression.
You were beside him, close but not touching. Neither of you spoke. There wasnât anything to say. The doors opened with a sigh into the top floor of the Presidential Tower, the highest place in all of Panem.
It was colder up here, though Satoru couldnât say why. Maybe it was the lack of colour. The entire corridor was whiteâwhite floors, white walls, white marble polished to an unnatural sheen, as if even dust had been outlawed here. The air smelled of antiseptic and roses, so thickly perfumed that it made Satoruâs throat itch.
Guards lined the halls, motionless in gold and black. Their visors reflected Satoru and you as you walked past, giving him back no expressions or names. Just hollowed-out silence in humanoid shape.
At the end of the corridor, beyond the skeletal archway of thorn-shaped beams, was President Snow, seated like a spider in the centre of his web.
The office around him gleamed with deliberate eleganceâglass-paned walls looking out across the Capitol skyline, a blood-red carpet beneath his desk, and behind him, a flowering wall of roses, growing in unnatural white and red, vines crawling like veins.
The president smiled before he even approached.
âAh,â he said, standing. âOur victors.â
His voice slithered across the room like fog: low, papery, always polite. He gestured with a skeletal hand. âPlease, sit. You must be tired after your trip.â
Satoru remained standing. You didnât budge an inch, either.
Snow tilted his head, still smiling, like someone indulging a pet. âNo? Very well. Letâs get to it, then.â
He folded his hands behind his back.Â
âYou two have caused quite the stir,â he drawled. âYoung minds are so⌠impressionable. All it takes is a single phrase, a single image, and suddenly the Capitol is flooded with whispers. Symbols.â His smile widened. âMartyrs. And you know what happens to martyrs, donât you?â
Satoru said nothing.
The President turned slightly, studying the Capitol through the glass like it was a snow globe heâd built himself. âI find it⌠fascinating,â he said, âthe way stories spread. A flicker becomes a flame, and suddenly thereâs smoke in places it doesnât belong. District Four. District Eleven. Even whispers from Twelve, and we all know how dangerous whispers can be.â
He turned to face you both, face still smooth, voice still gentle. âYou are not martyrs,â he said. âYou are actors. You perform. You smile. You play the part we assign you.â
Satoruâs throat felt dry, but he forced his voice to remain steady. âEverything we said was true.â
âTruth,â Snow echoed, amused now. âTruth is irrelevant. Believability is power. Youâre lucky. Weâve spun something from this mess. A story the Capitol can digest. A romance. A tragedy. A pair of haunted lovers forced to return to the arenaâbut this time, together.â
His eyes gleamed. âThe people are already eating it up.â
You shifted beside Satoru, the slightest hitch in your breath the only indication that you were listening.
âBut Iâll be clear,â Snow said, taking a step closer. âIf either of you deviate from the narrativeâif you hesitate, or slip, or speak one wrong wordâI will end the story myself.â
He reached up and adjusted the rose on his lapel, the petals shining blood-red in the artificial light.Â
âAnd not with dignity.â
Satoru wanted to scream. To lunge. To shove every inch of marble and rose and power down this sick manâs throat, but he knew he couldnât, because he knew the stakes.
Snow circled slowly back to his desk and sat once more. âYou will go to hair and makeup after this. You will hold hands. You will cry, if you must. You will kiss, perhaps.â He waved a hand dismissively. âWhatever it takes.â
Then, almost as an afterthought: âOh. And remember to thank me during the interviews. For giving you a second chance at love.â
The words stuck in Satoruâs spine like needles. The President turned away, already finished, and said, âYou may go.â
The guards didnât move, but you did: a single step, steady. You didnât look back. Satoru followed you out into the hall, his feet like lead, his heart a roar beneath his ribs.
The prep team arrived two hours laterâor maybe earlier; time didnât pass properly in the Capitol. It stretched and buckled like melted sugar. One second, heâd been lying stiff on the too-soft bed in the penthouse suite; the next, the door had slid open and in they came, all perfume and sequins and chirping voices.
âSatoru!â cooed Lume, her eyes rimmed with rhinestones and something vaguely reptilian about the way her lips curved too far. âOh, weâve missed you so much. Didnât we say heâd look taller in person, Davi?â
Daviâa man whose eyebrows were replaced entirely by a row of sapphiresâclasped his hands together as if seeing Satoru was akin to witnessing the birth of a star. âTaller and paler,â he sighed. âHeâs like a marble statue.â
âMmm, delicious.â The third oneâKrinâcircled him with a tablet in hand, analysing angles. She had fins today, literal ones, shimmering gill-like extensions curling from the sides of her neck. âStill lean. So perfect.â
Satoru said nothing, because they didnât expect him to, anyway.
The prep team didnât speak to people so much as at them, monologues wrapped in cotton candy and electric laughter. They fluttered and hovered and gestured, and eventually ushered him towards the marble-tiled bathroom where the true transformation began.
It started with the clothes. Off, first. They made a show of not looking, but they always didâcovert glances as they peeled the shirt from his frame, as they noted the new scars like collectors inspecting a rare coin. Satoru let them. Resistance was worse.
âStill no body hair,â Krin muttered, almost disappointed. âIs it natural, orââ
âDonât ask,â Lume interrupted, slapping her hand away from his chest.
They scrubbed him raw. Water that smelled faintly of flowers and bleach poured over him, too hot. Hands moved with choreographed precision: one lathering his hair with a shampoo that tingled like mint and metal, another scraping calluses of his palms with something sharp. A third held a mirror up to his face, noting the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the near-imperceptible tremble in his jaw.
âHeâs not sleeping,â Davi whispered, scandalised. âThat wonât do. Coral will throw a fit.â
âNo need to worry,â Krin said cheerfully. âIâll send for the white drops. Theyâll brighten the sclera, just enough to fake vitality.â
Fake vitality. That was all the Capitol ever wanted, wasnât it?
By the time they were done with his skinâlotions, creams, serums with names he couldnât pronounceâhe felt scraped clean. Empty. A mannequin waiting to be assembled.
Then came the clothing. Todayâs look, they informed him, was a study in tragic resilience. His stylist hadnât yet arrived, but the outfit had been couriered ahead of time: a tailored suit in stark white, lapels lined with metallic thread that glinted like sunlight bouncing off the oceanâs waves. Beneath it, a high-neck shirt the colour of sea-foam. A single silver pin sat in the shape of a rose. Satoru wanted to throw up when he saw it.
âItâs so⌠haunted,â Lume said breathlessly, helping him into the jacket. âSo wounded-boy-meets-iconic-messiah. Very in this season.â
Satoru stood still, arms out, as they fastened the cuffs.
He stared into the mirror.
The boy in the reflection was not a boy. Not anymore. He looked sharp enough to cutâhis hair pushed back from his forehead, revealing his cheekbones; his skin unnaturally smooth, his lips touched with the faintest hint of colour.
He looked like someone who could inspire revolutions. He looked like someone theyâd shoot on sight.
The prep team was still fussing, adding final touchesâpowder here, a dab of gloss there. They argued about whether or not to conceal the scar on his temple.
âLeave it,â Satoru said hoarsely.
They all turned. It was the first thing heâd said all morning.
â...Of course,â Krin replied quickly, nodding. âYes. Of course.â
They said nothing else after that.
Lume smoothed the shoulders of his jacket and smiled too brightly. Davi handed him a small flask of something herbal âfor the nerves,â which Satoru tucked into his pocket without looking. Krin stepped back and made a note on her tablet.
They left Satoru alone.
The room shimmered with Capitol excessâdripping chandeliers, crystal vases full of genetically modified orchids, and a wardrobe larger than his old house in the District. Everything smelled like artificial lemon.
Satoruâs mind was somewhere else.
Back in the Victorâs Village. Back on the train. Back to you, with your trembling hands and your resolute voice. The things youâd said. They want a hero, he thought, but he was never that. He was just a survivor.
He smoothed his jacket. Straightened his spine.
Coral would be here any minute to lead him down to the Tribute Parade. The cameras would start rolling. The world would be watching.Â
He looked one last time in the mirror, and let them see what they wanted to see. Let them believe the lie.
Satoru stepped out of his suite and closed the door behind him with a gentle click, then stood there for a moment, fingers twitching at his sides. Hearing the sound of soft footsteps, he turned before he even heard your voice.
Your outfit matched his in almost every detailâthe same pearlescent fabric, the same oceanic shine in the metallic thread that edged your cuffs and collar. Only yours had a veil. Translucent and whisper-thin, it hung from a small comb tucked behind your ear, falling like frost over your shoulders. You didnât bother lifting it.
Theyâd done this on purpose. He could see it now, how calculated it all was. The paired whites, the blue accents, your stupid veil. A wedding aesthetic without the ceremony. The Capitol didnât need to announce your love. It was already in the details, and anyone watching would assume it. Would need to.
Satoruâs hand curled into a fist at his side, the other smoothing down the line of his jacket, more out of habit than vanity. The tension in his shoulders was a low, coiled thing.Â
âSnow has a sick sense of humour,â he muttered.
Your lips quirked behind the veil. âWhat gave it away? The matching outfits or the part where weâre supposed to pretend to be in love on national television?â
âTake your pick.â
âHeâs serious about this,â you said.
âI know.â
You looked over your shoulder down the hall, then back at him. âSo. What do we do?â
He opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. His hands found the edge of his sleeves, fiddling with the cufflinks. The hallway lighting threw shadows beneath your eyes. Maybe theyâd tried to cover them up. Maybe theyâd left them there on purpose, for the tragic appeal.
âWe play along,â he said.
âYou meanââ
âI mean we pretend,â he interrupted, âuntil we figure something else out. Weâll give them what they want. They love a good story.â
âFunny,â you said. âYouâve never been much of an actor.â
âNeither have you.â
You didnât argue. Instead, you glanced down the corridor where Capitol handlers were no doubt waiting just beyond the next corner, armed with cameras and microphones. The Peacekeepers would follow soon after.
âDo you think theyâll believe it?â you asked sardonically. âThat Satoru Gojo, the Capitolâs golden boy, suddenly fell in love with the girl heâs spent years hating?â
âHating you was easy,â he said. âPretending not to will be harder.â
You turned your face to him fully then, veil catching the light as it shifted like water. âThen maybe donât try too hard. Your disgust might pass for passion if you squint.â
Satoru didnât know why he stepped closer. Maybe it was instinct, that old, ruthless Capitol instinct to performâto charm, to command a room, even when the room was empty. Maybe it was something else, something far less useful and far more dangerous. But he didnât let himself dwell on it.
From this close, he could see the faint shimmer dusted across your cheekbones. He could also see the stubborn glint in your eyes, that familiar spark heâd hated the moment he saw it all those years ago in the Training Center, the spark that said youâd rather go down swinging than even let someone else win.
âHold still,â he said quietly, almost low enough to be mistaken for tenderness.
Your brows rose behind the veil, but you didnât move when he lifted one hand and let it hover in front of your face. His fingers hesitated for a heartbeat too long before he gently pinched the fabric near your temple and adjusted the comb just slightly, letting the veil fall a bit straighter. Thereâless crooked, more symmetrical. Picture-perfect.
He told himself it was about optics. Always optics.
âThere,â he said. âNow you look fit to be a bride.â
His joke was in poor taste. You didnât thank him. Of course, you didnât. You tilted your head slightly and looked at him through the thin mesh, studying him with the same wariness you always hadâlike you were waiting for the knife behind the compliment.
He wished it annoyed him. It used to.
Before he could say anything else, Coralâs heels clicked into the hallway. But even after she reached them, even as she began her chirping monologue about camera angles and choreography, Satoru didnât look away from you.
He didnât like you. That part hadnât changed. You were reckless and infuriating and always two steps ahead of him in ways that didnât make sense. He remembered the first time youâd beat your fellow tribute, Suguru Geto, in a sparring match. Youâd won not because you were stronger, but because you were meaner, cutthroat in a way he hadnât expected. It had rattled something in him.Â
That was the problem. You rattled him.
Even now, arm looped with yours, as Coral guided you both down the corridor, he could feel itâthe gnawing hum of something pulling taut under his skin. Not attraction, not exactly. More like gravity. Something unpleasant and inevitable.
Satoru Gojo did not fall in love. But he did play the game, and if the Capitol wanted a love story, they were going to get one so dazzling they wouldnât know where to look.
The elevator doors opened. He let you step in first. As the doors slid shut behind them, sealing off the world beyond, he looked at your reflection in the polished paneling. The veil shimmered. Your lips were pressed into a grimace.
He wondered, not for the first time, if you could put on an act convincing enough to fool President Snow, too.
He hoped so. He really, really hoped so.
The staging hall behind the Remake Center was cavernous and cold, the kind of cold that wasnât from temperature but from gleaming walls, sterilised floors, and that metallic scent of too much money. Gold and glass chandeliers hung above the waiting area, casting warped halos over everyone beneath them. Like the Presidential Tower in the City Centre, and the penthouses in the Tribute District, it was too bright, too perfect, and too quiet.
Satoru stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture relaxed in a way that was entirely performative. He didnât glance at the cameras tucked discreetly into the corners of the room, but he knew they were there, humming softly, hungry for any flicker of tension or weakness. Heâd learned long ago that Capitol cameras didnât blink. They just watched, and waited.
You stood beside him, slightly angled away like you couldnât stand to be too close. Not that he blamed you. The veil still hung from the comb behind your ear, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the way it moved when you breathedâshallow, steady. Controlled.
You were always so good at that. Controlled.
There were already a few pairs gathered in the hallâother victors summoned back to die for the Capitolâs amusement in this sadistic Quarter Quell. Some Satoru recognised instantly. Some he hadnât seen since they stood on podiums with blood on their faces and flowers in their arms.
He saw Kento Nanami, standing near one of the pillars like heâd rather be anywhere else. Satoru wasnât surprised he was here. District 11 hadnât produced many victors in the last few decades, but Kento had been a quiet legend in his own right: clever, composed, and ruthless in the arena when it mattered. Rumour had it heâd won his Games with a broken rib and a shattered wrist. The Capitol had tried to dress him afterward, sculpt him into something shiny, but even now, years later, Kento still looked like someone who didnât quite belong in these rooms.
His uniform was darker than most, muted bronze with a charcoal sash over one shoulder. He was speaking in low tones to his district partner, who Satoru didnât immediately recognise. Probably a younger victor. A new lamb for slaughter.
âYou think if I throw up before the parade, theyâll cancel it?â someone piped up cheerfully nearby.
Satoru turned to see Yu Haibara, from District 7, beaming at him with a sort of unshakeable optimism that made Satoruâs teeth hurt. The kid was barely older than twenty, his brown curls slightly mussed by the stylists, his uniform stitched from dyed bark and deep green velvet. A nod to his lumber roots, no doubt.
âIf itâs on camera,â Yu added brightly, âI might get extra sponsors.â
âYouâd better empty your guts dramatically then,â Satoru drawled, slipping easily into Capitol charm. âPreferably mid-spin.â
Yu laughed. âMaybe you can catch me if I faint too. Really sell the tragic romance angle.â
Satoru flashed a grin. âSorry. I only catch people I like.â
âOh? Then sheâs lucky,â Yu said, gesturing loosely towards you.
You didnât smile. Not even a twitch. Satoru could practically hear the words you were not saying through the veil. But you stepped just slightly closer to him, shoulder grazing his, and for the Capitolâs invisible audience, it was a performance worth millions.
âDo you think Snowâs going to make us dance next?â Yu asked after a beat. âLike, literally dance? Before he lets us kill each other?â
âI wouldnât put it past him,â Kento said, walking up to you three. He offered a stiff nod to Satoru, then to you. His expression was impassive, but his eyes were tired. âThough if weâre lucky, maybe theyâll send the mutts in before the waltz.â
âHave to keep the pacing up,â Satoru murmured. Mutts, or muttations, normal animals genetically modified in the Capitolâs labs into creatures more grotesque than he could ever imagine, were the least of his worries. âWouldnât want the audience to get bored.â
âGod forbid,â Nanami replied dryly.
Satoruâs smile faded just slightly. There was a hollow spot behind his ribs that hadnât stopped aching since the reaping.Â
Yu reached into his sleeve and produced a bright red candy. âWant one?â he offered Satoru. âTastes like synthetic strawberries. Or so they say. Iâve never actually had strawberries before.â
Satoru blinked at him, then took the candy and popped it into his mouth.
âVery sweet,â he confirmed. It wasnât the worst thing heâd tasted in the Capitol. That title still belonged to whatever poison they called oysters.
Kentoâs eyes flicked from Satoru to you. âHow long do you plan to keep this act up?â
Satoru tilted his head, smiling like the answer didnât matter. âAs long as we have to.â
âIâm serious.â
âSo am I.â
Kento rolled his eyes, but he didnât push. Not here, where every word was being catalogued, where even the smallest twitch of tension could be repackaged and broadcast in high definition.
You spoke up then, voice quiet but clear. âItâs what they want, isnât it? A star-crossed twist. Allâs fair in love and war, and whatever other fuckery goes on in their heads.â
âYou guys sound fun at parties,â Yu said.
âWe used to be,â Satoru muttered.
The doors at the far end of the hall opened with a sudden, echoing click. A handler in Capitol lavender beckoned them forward. The chariots were being prepped. The parade was about to begin.
Satoru sighed once, long and shallow. He extended a hand towards you, palm up. Your fingers were cold. Or maybe his were. Either way, they fit too easily.
Yu winked as he passed. âTry not to upstage the rest of us, lovebirds.â
âNo promises,â Satoru said, walking forward with you on his arm, every step a silent, glittering lie.
The Avenue of the Tributes stretched out before Satoru like a burnished mirror, polished till the cobblestones shone. Spotlights hovered above on silent rails, casting pools of white-gold light that tracked each chariot as it rolled through the wide boulevard, flanked on either side by rows and rows of screaming Capitol citizens.
Satoru stood at the front of the chariot, spine straight beneath the pearlescent jacket that shimmered in the light. Every movement made the fabric catch on itselfâblue, then green, then silverâlike he was wearing the ocean on his skin. At his side, you stood just as poised, your hand tucked loosely into the crook of his elbow, veil trembling slightly in the wind.
Your other hand was hidden between you, fingers curled around his. For balance, youâd said when you climbed into the chariot. You hadnât let go since.
Cheers echoed through the corridor of lights and screens. The hover-cams whirred softly as they zoomed in, projecting close-up feeds of each pair onto the giant curved panels looming over the avenue. On one, Satoru caught a glimpse of his own faceâmask-like, unreadableâand yours beside it, half-concealed by your veil. Together, you looked like the climax of a fairy tale, right before everything fell apart.
Good. That was the point.
âTheyâre eating this up,â he murmured, not turning his head.
Your voice floated back just as quiet. âYou sure itâs not the outfits?â
âI think itâs the misery.â
You let out a faint huff that might have been a laugh. Or maybe a sigh.
Ahead of your chariot, the chariot from District 3 turned the final bend, where the wide boulevard narrowed into City Centre. From here, Satoru could see the Presidential Tower rising like a blade of glass into the night sky. All the light in the world seemed to pool at its baseâcold, brilliant, all-consuming.
He hated that tower.
The chariot began to slow.
Coral had instructed him to do something big when they reached the end. âA gesture,â she had said, fluttering her manicured fingers. âSomething iconic. They need to fall in love with the idea of you two.â
Satoru had nodded absently. He knew how this worked. He knew what sold.
He also knew that every camera would be trained on you and him in the next sixty seconds. President Snow would be watching from his perch, eyes like twin chips of frozen steel. Every Capitol citizen and every grieving mother in Panem would be holding their breath, ready to believe in the lie if he made it beautiful enough.
So when the chariot began to slow, and the crowdâs screams peaked into something shrill and hysterical, he turned to you.
Your eyes met his behind the veil, and just for a second, everything stilled. He saw the fatigue carved beneath your lashes. The way you held your chin just high enough to not look scared. The way your mouth parted slightly like you were about to say somethingâthen didnât.
Satoru reached up, slowly, and pushed the veil back.
It slipped over your hair like mist, pooling behind your shoulders, baring your face to the cameras. Gasps rippled through the crowd. You flinched, almost imperceptibly.
Satoru stepped closer, one hand still in yours. The other lifted to your cheek, resting there with the barest pressure.
âThis is a terrible idea,â you said, breath brushing his lips.
âThatâs what makes it romantic,â he said, and kissed you, not softly or chastely.
He kissed you like he was trying to rewrite the story with his mouth. Like if he kissed you hard enough, the Capitol might forget what this parade really was. Like maybe he could forget, too.
Your lips parted beneath his. You didnât pull away.
The crowd screamed. Fireworks ignited above the tower in bursts of crystalline white and glittering crimson. Cameras whirred. Screens flashed. Satoru closed his eyes against all of it.
When he finally pulled back, your lipstick was smudged and your expression unreadable. The veil fluttered behind you, untethered. Your fingers were still tight around his. He forced a smile, something charming and rakish, for the Capitol. You didnât smile back, but you didnât let go of his hand.
The chariot rolled to a halt in front of the Tower. The anthem swelled, deafening now, but all Satoru could hear was the thud of his own heartbeat and the whisper of your breath against his collar. He stood there, hand still cradling your cheek, eyes on the Presidentâs balcony, where a single white rose gleamed in a crystal vase.
He wondered what the Capitol saw at that moment. Their golden boy and his beloved? Or just two more corpses with pretty faces and perfect timing?
Let them choose, he thought bitterly. Let them believe whatever version of the lie they liked best. He could play this role until the end. He had to.
The applause didnât fade so much as shift, muted behind the tall glass doors of the Training Center as the chariot peeled away into the underground corridors. The quiet was jarring, sudden, like someone had clamped a hand over the Capitolâs glittering mouth.
Satoru released a breath he hadnât realised heâd been holding. The veil was still pushed back, your fingers still tangled loosely in his, a quiet echo of the performance youâd just sold to the entire nation. He loosened his grip before you could pull away first. You didnât look at him as you adjusted the comb in your hair. He didnât expect you to.
Coralâs voice chimed in beside himâoverly chipper, as though she hadnât just watched you both broadcast a staged kiss to millions of viewers. âDarlings, you were stunning. President Snowâs aides are going to be in a frenzy by morning. I wouldnât be surprised if he requests an exclusive interview before the interviews. Now, you two willânaturally, of courseâbe sharing a suite with a single bedroom. Lovebirds, and all that pizzazz.â
Satoru muttered something noncommittal and let her guide him down the main hallway. The Training Center was the same as always: gleaming floors, ceiling panels aglow with sterile light, the soft scent of something floral piped in to cover the antiseptic undertones. Every year, he remembered it being too quiet. Too polished. Like the building was pretending not to be what it was.
Prison. Vault. Mausoleum.
The elevator opened with a soft chim, and Coral stepped in with you, instructing the Peacekeepers to wait below. District 4âs floor was near the top, just underneath a few high-scoring districts. The doors slid open into a carpeted hallway lined with glass doors, each suite labeled in a metallic script. He hadnât even reached his assigned room before a voice called out from the end of the hall:
âSatoru! Hey!â
Satoru turned to see Yu again, grinning as brightly as he had back before the parade, his dark curls windswept. He was still in his tribute outfit. Beside him, Kento leaned against the wall, eyes flicking between you and Satoru with a kind of calm interest.
âDistrict Fourâs really making a statement tonight,â Yu said, jogging up. âI knew youâd pull something like that.â
âGlad to give the people what they want,â Satoru replied easily.
Yu shot a teasing glance at you. âHe always this romantic when cameras are off?â
âWorse,â you said, not missing a beat.
âTheatrics aside,â Kento said, walking over, âit was well-played. Youâll be the Capitolâs sweethearts by tomorrow.â
âIs that a good thing?â Satoru asked.
âOnly if you donât mind being watched,â Kento said. âConstantly.â
Another door opened down the hall.
Yuki Tsukumo stepped out barefoot, wearing an oversized black robe that barely grazed her knees. Her hair was still styled from the paradeâloose curls and golden embellishments tucked behind one earâand she walked with the easy confidence of someone who didnât mind being the centre of attention in the room.
âAh,â she said, eyes lighting up as she caught sight of your little congregation. âThe lovers of the hour.â
Satoru barely had time to brace before she was in front of him, eyes dragging over the details of his still-buttoned jacket and the faint trace of lipstick smudged near his mouth.
âDidnât know you had it in you, Gojo,â she crooned, tilting her head. âI always thought you were more of a solo act.â
He offered her a smile. âThereâs a lot you donât know about me.â
âTrue.â Yuki stepped closer, unabashed. âBut Iâd love to find out.â
From the corner of his eye, Satoru caught sight of your shoulders stiffening just slightly. He said nothing.
Yukiâs hand reached up, smooth fingers brushing the edge of his collar. âNice stitching. Did your stylist tailor it just for you?â
âYes,â he said flatly.
âI like a man with taste.â
âAnd I like a woman who doesnât waste time,â he replied, stepping just out of reach. âBut unfortunately, Iâm spoken for now.â
He reached for your hand before he could second-guess it.
Yukiâs eyebrows lifted, clearly amused. âWell, how tragic for me.â She turned her gaze to you, lips curled. âBut lucky you. If you ever get bored of the Capitolâs golden boy, let me know.â
You smiled. âIf I ever get bored, Iâll be too dead to care.â
Yuki laughed and lifted two fingers to her brow in a mock-salute before sauntering back to her suite. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Yu let out a low whistle. âDistrict Two really doesnât believe in subtlety, huh?â
âSheâs just bored,â Kento said simply. âSheâs already won once. Flirtingâs just another way to stay sharp.â
Coral clapped her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the whole exchange. âAlright! Letâs get you two settled in. Training begins tomorrow, and Iâd hate for either of you to look anything less than breathtaking at breakfast.â
You let her drag you towards the suite, your fingers slipping out of Satoruâs grip somewhere along the way. Yu yawned and pressed the button for the elevator, before waving goodbye and stepping inside. Kento, however, stayed where he was.
Satoru glanced at him.
Kentoâs voice was low. âKeep your eyes open, Gojo. That kiss was a declarationânot just to the Capitol. To the other tributes as well.â
âWhat of it?â Satoru didnât look away.
âYou better be careful.â
Satoru said nothing.
When he finally stepped into the suite and the doors closed behind him, the noise of the hallway faded; all he could think of was that kiss, the way your breath caught against his cheek, the soft tremble he hadnât imagined. He didnât know what it meant, but he knew they were all watching now.
He wasnât sure he could afford a single mistake from here on.
You didnât enter the bedroom at all that night.
Satoru padded barefoot into the common lounge, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, hair still tousled from tossing against Capitol pillows that, though soft, offered him no comfort. You sat on the low couch near the window wall, knees tucked to your chest, gaze fixed on the glowing skyline of the Capitol.
You didnât turn at the sound of his footsteps, though youâd clearly heard them.
âCanât sleep?â he asked, voice low.
âDidnât know you were capable of whispering,â you said back.
He smirked, but didnât answer. Instead, he moved to the opposite end of the couch and lowered himself onto it slowly, stretching one leg out and letting the other rest lazily against the floor. His elbows found his knees.Â
âThat kissâŚâ you said. âYou really sold it.â
âYou kissed me back,â he said.
âWeâre playing a role.â
âSure,â he said. âYou still kissed me back. You donât have to be afraid, you know.â
You turned to him, eyebrows lifted.
âI mean,â he continued, leaning his head back against the couch, ânot of me. If you want⌠I can sleep on the couch tonight. You can take the bed.â
You blinked. âWhy?â
He shrugged. âYou seemed on edge. I figured having someone else awake nearby might help.â
Satoru didnât have to tell you what he was actually referring to. He thought about your argument on the train more often than he should have, something dark and ugly and twisted slithering about in his chest every time he remembered your words. He wanted to kill all those fucking sponsors whoâd touched you, tear their limbs off one by oneâhe didnât like you, but that didnât mean he wasnât going to protect you. Suguru would have wanted it.
âIâm fine,â you said.
âI know,â he said. âJust offering.â
a/n: thanks for reading! and thank you to @mahowaga for beta reading :) comments are appreciated!
respectfully i need satoru gojo to fixate on my tits like theyâre his lifeâs purpose. like heâs never seen a pair in his goddamn life and suddenly mine appear in front of him and he decides heâs found religion. i need him to get obsessedâlike every time he sees me itâs just "hi baby :) can i suck on them again real quick?" no peace. no breaks. just constant need. the kind of fixation thatâs so raw and unhinged that if he ever gets bored or distracted for one second iâm genuinely offended. what happened?? are they not hypnotic anymore?? do i need to twirl them around a bit??? no because he should be moaning from mouthfuls of me like itâs gourmet. every kiss, every whimper, every slow drag of his tongueâi want it to scream worship. chew toy behavior. imprinting behavior. "i missed you" straight to chest behavior. i want to be so thoroughly loved-on he leaves his own face print on my skin. respectfully. or not.
The fact that people don't think friendship is enough to justify characters doing insane acts of love for each other baffles me. Like have you never loved your friend so so much you want to live in their ribcage. Have you never been really weird about a friend. Have you never wanted to bite your friends parents or shove them down a staircase. Have you never wanted to be buried in the same grave as a friend. Have u never. How do u people live like this.
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