Indulge in a decadent Sims 4 legacy filled with sweet, messy lives inspired by your favourite ice cream flavours! Each generation embodies a different flavour, from the bold and impulsive Mint Chocolate Chip to the charming and mysterious Cookies & Cream. With unique personalities, wild backstories, and deliciously chaotic goals, your Sims will experience a variety of careers, relationships, and aspirations. Can your legacy satisfy every craving and stand the test of time? Get ready for 10 generations of flavourful drama, sweet successes, and maybe a little brain freeze!
Mods and cheats are so very welcome, anything for the plot.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓝.𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 & 𝓑.𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ are twins you're fucking. . . but you think they're both the same person.
⤿ ꒰ you get caught between the campus' valedictorian and hearthrob, completely unaware that they're actually twins and not just one annoying person :: college au :: smut :: named twin :: m.masturbation :: f.oral :: overstimulation :: dumbification :: marking :: creampie :: panty stealing :: jealousy/possessiveness ꒱
˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ is the guy you wanna be. gojo satoru is the top of all his classes. pretty boy valedictorian. yeah he's a little awkward and emotionally inept but that big of a brain has to come with some kinda catch no? he's quiet, cold, and observant. the one you don't notice at the back of the class— but ever ready to throw a sharp tongued comment. he's not very expressive about his more popular twin. in fact, he doesn't talk about him at all. silent and seething in his shadow.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ is the guy you wanna be with. gojo satoshi is the campus heartthrob. all smooth talk and bedroom eyes. walking like the world owed him something and grinning like it already gave it to him. yeah, he's a bit of a player. a fuckboy by nature but hey— the girls fawn for a reason, don't they? he'll ditch class for a ride round town. pick up another pretty thing with an engine rev and flip of his visor. he's a lot more vocal about his twin. teasing and belittling whenever he's nearby. but god knows he'll never seek him out willingly. he can't stand the smart talks and sharp eyes.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ knew he wanted you the second he saw you trotting outside campus. he was parked. occupied with his phone. but the second you passed by? he glanced up. and oh. he's never seen a girl so pretty. of course he did what he always did— threw some charming flirt. revved his bike. flipped his visor with a smooth, “haven't seen you around. you new here, pretty girl? need a tour?”
but when you just glared at him? huffed and gripped your bag tighter? something in his heart fluttered. he just had to chase after you.
“bad mood, sweetheart? lemme cheer you up. take you out sometime. get to know you better.” he crooned. absolutely not getting the hint until you spun around and jabbed a manicured nail to his chest.
“do me a favour and take a hike, won't you?”
and that, was the first day satoshi had ever been rejected. and he fucking loved it.
˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ met you in class the day after. you recognised him, of course. the white hair, those killer blue eyes. seemed he had glasses now. you glowered as you realised the only seat left was next to him. the jerk who couldn't take a hint yesterday. you sat yourself down. took out your books. focused on the lecture. relocating campuses after a semester wasn't the most ideal and you had tons of work to catch up on.
so of course you were even more frustrated when a tap on your shoulder interrupted you mid class.
“hey, do you have a spare pen?”
you snapped your gaze towards him. eyes narrowed. yesterday's irritation bubbling at the seams. “are you dumb or just stupid?”
you watched his eyes widened behind specs before he returned your glare with a hissed, “the fuck's your problem?”
“you are. now for the last time— leave me alone.”
and that's, how you made an enemy. completely, blissfully unaware that the man you were actually mad at was satoru's twin.
but for entire semester, you wouldn't know they were two separate people.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ would try his luck. you and him were in a thursday and friday class, and he'd use his every waking opportunity to grab your attention. flirts, charms, everything infuriating in between. he caught you in town once, rushing to get to campus and of course, offered you a ride.
“c'mon babydoll. is being late to class really better than takin' a ride with me?” he'd grin.
you'd flip him off. hiss another rejection. you knew about guys like him. you saw him in the hallways. loud, boisterous, flirting with any pair of pretty eyes that looked his way.
it confused you though. why'd he only flirt with you on thursdays and fridays? also where were his glasses?
˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ would go on to be your enemy of the semester. ever since your altercation in class, he's made it his personal life goal to hate you with his entire being. unfortunately for him, you were also smart. but a bit too confident for your own good, it seemed. did you really think you could compete with him? and so began the most fiery academic rivalry in history.
you'd be neck in neck. fighting for first place as professor's pet and battling it out on the grade scoreboards.
he'd get an assignment back with a stellar 99%, only to look over at your measly 94%. he'd grin, like an asshole. “must be hard being such a loser, huh?”
only to crumple his next assignment into tight fists when you managed to get just one percentage higher than him.
he'd exchange banter with you. debate you in class. call you a brat when you tried to prove him wrong and challenge him.
you were brilliant and unfortunately, beautiful. satoru didn't know what was happening to him. it slowly became something that wasn't just academics. and that terrified him.
as for you? you were in the same boat. the last thing you wanted was to fall in love with this asshole. but you had to admit, he looked cuter when he decided to wear his glasses and tone down the fuckboy act every monday and tuesday.
why'd he switch so drastically through the week? what a weirdo.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ listened to his brother rant about the irritating girl that was his astrophysics desk partner. about how she was so unnecessarily rude and even more audacious. satoshi couldn't help but grin. was satoru, his loser of a brother, actually finding love? and when he found out that the girl in question was you? he couldn't blame him. he's been trying for months to get your number, let alone get up your skirt. he dubbed it as competitiveness. he's never had a girl reject him and thus— it's made him a little obsessed. he couldn't stop thinking about you. in bed, in the shower, hell, seeing you walk around campus and not even look at him was torture.
˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated himself for the way he turned out. he's not sure how it happened. just one day after a heated debate with you, he'd stormed off back to his dorm. collapsed in his desk. shoved his glasses into his hair. and soon, angry scribbling in his notes became desperate jerks of his hand as he fucked his fist. to the thought of you. that grating voice, that beautifully sharp mind. everything. he hated himself. hated that he was thinking about this. he wasn't satoshi. he didn't want girls like this— he sure as hell didn't fuck his fist this needy to one either. and yet when he spurted all over his hand, panting hard and whispering your name, it felt oddly right. it scared him.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ dragged satoru out at the end of semester to a party. told himself he was being a good brother. might as well try to get along, right? but satoru was so boring. he didn't drink, didn't chat, just sat in some corner with his headset on and scrolled through his phone. and satoshi? he was all over the place. bouncing and bubbling, bumping and grinding. a red solo cup in his hand. keeping as far as fucking away from his twin as possible. fuck. why'd he even bring him here?
his irritation washed away the second he saw you, however. dolled up, dangerous, looking like both sin and sugar. he left behind his friends, ignored whatever girl tried to come his way.
he found you at the drinks table. propped his forearm on it and grinned at your little glare.
“this isn't really your scene, babydoll. tagged along with someone?”
“a few friends.”
“wow. so she can be polite.”
you rolled your eyes and noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. seemed that the fuckboy persona was on for the night. you bit back your questions and swirled your drink in your cup.
“you never give up, do you?” you mulled.
his head took a charming curve as he sipped his drink.
“not when I want something, no.” those blue eyes raked down your frame. tracing every curve. familiarising every inch.
he dared to lean closer. white lashes batting as his grin sets into a stunning smile.
“especially when that something is as a pretty as you.”
your heart fluttered. you shouldn't have talked to him. shouldn't have kept talking to him.
you're not sure how it happened. maybe finally accepting his flirts. maybe after months of touching yourself to the academic rivalry. this heated push and pull between the both of you.
you should have known better, but— you did it. you let satoshi take you to his dorm.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ has been around the block. his touch dripped with experience. he unclasped your bra with ease. barely missed a beat in kisses. large hands roaming your sweet body he's been dreaming about since the start of semester. not an inch of hesitance in his fingertips as he slipped under your dress and dragged your damp panties down. “such a pretty girl,” he crooned to your ear. how many girls had he said that to? how many did he mean it?
he's been after you for months. chasing, wanting— yearning. satoshi never yearned. he got everything he ever wanted in life.
maybe that's why he loved having to work for you. for your smooth body on his bed, opened up and so soaked for him. maybe that's why he actually took his time. mouthing on your skin. burying his face in your cunt.
he only ever ate women out as a way to get them ready. courtesy, if anything. but now? fuck, he's never actually feasted on a girl. with his hands, calloused from endless hours on his bike, dragging your thighs over. trapping you. mouth messily moving on your slit. slurping, sucking, shaking his head and nudging his nose into your clit.
he fucked you on his tongue. made you cum on it more than any girl ever has. and as you gripped his hair and whined for him? not some prissy comment or attitude? he almost came in his pants.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't even care less if you didn't suck him off. he didn't even want you to. he needed to be inside of you. needed to hold you down and fuck you into his sheets. make the girl who was so unattainable finally his.
the second he was buried to the hilt inside your welcoming pussy— he couldn't breathe. you were hot, tight, suffocating him with your dripping slick and clenching cunt. he's had many girls in this position before. but no one looked up at him with those eyes. no one sounded this sweet. made him lose his fucking mind.
satoshi wasn't gentle. he couldn't be. the second his tip smooched your cervix, his hands clamped on your waist as his hips started snapping. hard, controlled. an experienced rhythm that stuffed all his inches deep into your gooey heat and meshed your clit with his pelvis.
“fuuckk, babydoll,” he groaned from the back of his throat. hunching over you. one hand gripped your hip while the other slipped around to cup the back of your head.
he was losing himself. losing his fucking mind. the bed creaked. headboard tapped. but your pretty moans were all he was focused on. your sweet whimpers and little whines as he alternated rhythms. rolled his hips. went from grinding to humping to thrusting, until your toes curled and your back lurched off of the bed.
pretty nails down his back. teary doll eyes on him as your slick dripped down his balls and splattered all over his thighs with each firm thrust.
your lips parted. eyes glossed. he saw it. cradled your head close and slipped a thumb to your clit. he knew what it meant. saw his name on your tongue.
a groan built on his. thrusts surging into wet, rushed slaps pounding against your ass.
“say it for me baby. c'mon, say my name.”
“s-sat— sato—. . .” your eyes fluttered. head thrown back. loud and needy, your moan broke into the air.
“satoru!”
and broke satoshi's mind.
you didn't know any better. they're both reffered to as “gojo” in class and you've only heard one other person refer to one of them as “satoru”. you thought that was his name. thought they were one person.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ frozen. stiffened mid thrust as the last syllables stung his ear. satoru. satoru. his twin brother? did you really just fucking call for his twin while he's balls deep inside of you. making your cunt cream and cry for him. making you— wait.
didn't satoru say you were rude to him for no reason at all?
satoshi's mind worked fast. piecing the puzzle and timeline together. you confused satoru for him back then. he didn't know whether to be amused or angry.
amused because, how in the hell did you think they were the same person?
angry because, he's the one who's been working his ass off for you attention— and it's his brother's name that you call instead?
either way, he grinned. halfway a threat and a taunt. “oh?” he crooned, bucking his hips hard into yours so that his fully seathed cock dragged on all of your sweet spots.
he leaned over you. white hair dusting over icy blues. your jaw trapped in his strong hand.
“you want toru baby? want me to go get him for you?”
your confused look almost had him cackling. before he slammed! into you again. hands bundling your thighs. grin turned sharp. he yanked you down to choke your cunt on his cock and jerked forward. pounding you into the mattress and snapping the headboard into the wall as your moans pitched into cries.
“sato—!”
he gripped your jaw tight. shoved two fingers on your tongue before you said his name again and made satoshi fuck you until you were a limp cumdump.
“satoshi.” he corrected with a pointed sneer. his rabid pace not once letting up. frustration pulsed into every vein of his ramming cock.
“satoshi. satoshi.” he grit, punctuating each repeat of his name with a rough thrust.
“satoshi's the one fucking you. not satoru. satoru's my fuckin' twin. I'm the one fucking this pretty cunt stupid. I'm the one you should be calling for.”
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't give you time to process the fact that you'd thought he and his brother were one person. egged on from the frustration of wanting someone more than he's ever wanted anyone— only to have them moan out his twin's name— spurred his mind feral.
he pounded you into his sheets. pummeling your poor pussy until you squirted all over him. again, and again, and again— until you were saying his name. whining his name. sobbing his name.
he's not sure how many rounds he fucked you through. three? four? he pushed and pulled you into whatever position he could think of. threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked you until your eyes crossed. shoved you onto your stomach and pounded against your ass until your drool stained his pillow.
he couldn't care about finally having you anymore. if you wanted to act dumb— he'd fuck you stupid. fuck his silly girl who couldn't tell the obvious difference between him and his brother who actively despises him.
he made sure it was his name you knew. made sure you knew it was him inside of you. his cock making you cum. his hands holding you through it. and for extra measure? he sucked his name in hickeys on your collarbone.
TOSHI in blushing bruises.
he made sure to cum inside. creampie you nice and full until it was dripping. then snatched your panties and wiped the mess clean with them. he stashed them away for later.
˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ stirred the next morning to you shuffling out of his arms. he tried to pull you in, kiss your head, but you were up and frantic. he cracked an eye open, watching as you shuffled out of bed and searched for your clothes. you looked almost panicked. he couldn't help but grin at the sight of your nude body prancing around his room, littered in all the marks he'd given you.
he propped his head onto one of his hands, brow arched and grin audacious. “something wrong, babydoll?”
oh, there's that glare he loved. only now you looked utterly embarrassed. flushed face and glossy eyes as you clumsily pulled on your clothes.
“shut up.” you mumbled, but made the mistake of looking in the mirror. you saw it. hickies spelling out his name. the night crashed back into you.
right. you thought the twins were one fucking person.
satoshi could only grin. tilting his head and pouting. as if he felt sorry for you.
“awww baby, embarrassed? 's okay. it was cute.” he sat up, raking his eyes that grew progressively darker down your wrecked frame.
“just a reminder. that it wasn't toru fucking that sweet cunt. toshi bruised those pretty thighs up, kay?”
he snickered as you tossed a pillow at him. still called you babydoll as you called him creep.
˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ texted his brother the same day.
“the fuck did you dip to? could have told me.”
he nearly broke his phone at the reply.
“sorry. your little rival was all over me. had to take care of her.”
satoru stared at his phone. telling himself it was fine. that he shouldn't be mad. he didn't feel a fucking thing for you— why should he care?
maybe because satoshi always got the girls.
maybe because he hated him.
he shoved his phone into his pocket. got up and went to class. you weren't looking at him. guilt riddled in your stare that remained forward.
fucking. great. of course you were just like every other girl on this campus.
he was in a mood all day. avoided his brother like he always did and kept to himself. all he wanted was to get to his dorm, kick off his shoes, study, maybe read some manga, play on his switch.
so imagine his surprise when he found a crumpled pair of cum-filled panties strewn over his bed and heard the familiar engine rev from outside his window?
it didn't take a genius to know whose those were.
his hands trembled. glasses fogged and slipped down his nose. red swarmed his vision.
satoru didn't quite know how to throw a punch, but he's never wanted to break his brother's jaw more.
summary. woodcutter! toji fushiguro hates christmas with a passion—until a naked, heat-drunk deer hybrid stumbles into his woods, cold and in heat. one rescue later, his quiet cabin becomes the stage for the nastiest, most claiming christmas eve he never knew he needed. merry fucking christmas.
winter had clamped down on the mountains like an iron trap, like an uninvited guest that refused to leave, blanketing the small rural town in thick layers of snow that crunched underfoot and turned every breath into a visible puff of frost, and as december crept toward its festive peak, everyone around seemed to lose their goddamn minds with decorations—strings of twinkling lights draped over rooftops like glowing veins, plastic reindeer perched on lawns with noses that blinked red in the night.
massive wreaths hung on doors that screamed holiday cheer in a way that made toji’s stomach turn just a little, houses strung with multicolored lights that blinked like overexcited fireflies, porches groaning under the weight of inflatable santas and reindeer, windows painted with fake snow and real desperation, burying the half of the world under endless white, red and green—toji fushiguro felt none of it. and don’t forget about the kind of cold that seeped into bones and made every breath feel sharp against the lungs, and while the distant town below glittered with manic christmas frenzy.
toji didn’t decorate, didn’t hang a single wreath or light, didn’t even own a tree; christmas had always felt like noise dressed up as joy, and joy was something he’d stopped pretending to want a long time ago. alone in his old farmhouse at the edge of the woods, with no family, no visitors, no warm voices to fill the quiet, he simply didn’t care—solitude suited him better than forced cheer ever could, and the holiday season was just another stretch of long, silent nights he could spend chopping wood, drinking black coffee, and letting the fire die down to embers without anyone to complain about the chill.
he stepped out into the late afternoon gray, shirtless as usual because layers only slowed him down and the cold had stopped bothering him years back, his skin weathered and scarred from a life of labor, broad chest dusted with dark hair that caught stray snowflakes as they drifted down. heavy boots crunched through the deep trail he’d worn from the house to the tree line, dirty jeans riding low on his hips, stained with pitch and sawdust and old blood from nicks he never bothered bandaging properly.
in his right hand he carried the axe, its handle worn smooth from countless swings, the blade freshly sharpened that morning because dull tools were an insult to the work. he moved slow, unhurried, shoulders rolling with each step, breath fogging in steady clouds as he followed the narrow path deeper into the pines, the forest swallowing the faint sounds of civilization until there was only wind through branches and the soft thud of his boots.
the forest enveloped him soon enough, tall pines and oaks standing sentinel, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped a cascade of white flakes as he passed. he wasn’t out here for leisure, no, he needed firewood to keep the small fire in his hearth going through the long nights, just enough to chase away the deepest chill without wasting effort on more than necessary, his muscles flexing under his skin with each step, a testament to the life he’d carved out for himself in this remote corner of the world, far from the bustling cities and their endless noise.
the clearing he favored wasn’t far—just far enough to feel separate from everything. he set a thick fallen log upright, tested its balance with a nudge of his boot, then raised the axe in a lazy arc, muscles coiling under scarred skin before he brought it down with a clean, resounding crack that sent wood chips flying into the snow. again and again, rhythmic, almost meditative, sweat starting to bead along his collarbones despite the freeze, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he worked. the pile of split firewood grew steadily beside him, each piece stacked with absent precision while his mind drifted nowhere in particular, content in the repetition, the burn in his arms, the bite of cold air on bare skin.
his body moving in a rhythm born of habit—lift, swing, split, repeat—his breaths steady and deep, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the monotonous drag of winter days, the axe biting into the bark with each strike, chips flying like confetti he had no use for. he paused only to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his dark hair matted slightly, green eyes scanning the surroundings out of instinct more than curiosity, the forest silent save for the occasional rustle of wind through the needles above.
it was during one of those pauses—axe resting on his shoulder, chest rising and falling slow—that he caught the sound. faint, almost nothing against the wind: a soft, stuttering exhale, maybe a whimper. he didn’t move at first, just tilted his head, green eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline. nothing at first, then there it was again, closer this time, a subtle rustle from behind a cluster of snow-laden bushes, like branches shifting under weight that wasn’t wind. and his eyes narrowed, catching a glimpse of movement. then he saw them—antlers, pale and branching, branching out like delicate crowns, catching what little light filtered through the clouds, moving just slightly behind a cluster of snow-heavy firs.
toji lowered the axe, letting the head rest in the snow as he walked forward, boots sinking deep, no rush in his stride even as curiosity tugged at him. he pushed through the low branches, needles scraping across his bare shoulders, and stopped short when he saw you.
you were curled tight on the ground, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold the warmth in, completely bare, skin flushed pink from the cold and mottled with cold, lips tinted faint blue and trembling. your deer ears twitched weakly at his approach, flattened against your head, and those antlers rose proud despite your obvious exhaustion, dusted with snow like some forgotten forest ornament. your eyes—large, dark, glassy with cold—lifted to meet his, wide with fear and pain and something desperately human, and toji felt the lazy rhythm of his day stutter, just for a second.
his gaze dropped lower, taking in the details his mind catalogued without permission: the way your body shook in small, uncontrollable waves, goosebumps raised across every inch of exposed skin, nipples drawn tight from the cold, skin flushed from the cold but otherwise smooth and human, no fur to shield you like a true deer might have, just the vulnerable curve of your form huddled in on itself for whatever meager warmth it could muster. the soft curve of your waist disappearing into the snow beneath you. and then he saw the blood—dark streaks frozen against your right thigh, a deep bruise blooming purple and ugly around a gash that looked like it had come from something sharp, maybe a fall against jagged rock or broken branch.
your leg was tucked awkwardly beneath you now as you move from the uncomfortable approach from the unknown man, as if even the slightest shift hurt too much to bear. your deer ears twitched faintly, alert even in your distress, and those antlers—elegant, branching things—framed your face as you lifted your head slightly, your eyes wide and luminous, locking onto his with a mix of wariness and silent plea, the snowflakes dusting your lashes and clinging to your skin, making you look ethereal yet so painfully fragile in the winter's grasp.
toji stopped a few feet away, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his hip as he took you in, his expression unchanging, that signature scar pulling at the corner of his mouth in what might have been the ghost of a smirk if he bothered to let it form fully. “well, ain’t this a sight,” he drawled, his voice low and lazy, unbothered as if stumbling upon a naked hybrid in the woods was just another quirk of his day, the words rolling out slow like he had all the time in the world. he didn’t rush closer, just stood there, his green eyes tracing the way your body trembled slightly, the goosebumps rising on your skin, and he tilted his head, exhaling a puff of breath that fogged the air between you. “you look like you’re freezin’ your ass off out here. what, get lost chasin’ some holiday spirit or somethin’?”
your ears flicked at the sound of his voice, and you shifted a little, drawing your knees tighter to your chest, but your gaze didn’t waver, those big eyes holding his with an intensity that made something stir in his chest—pity, maybe, or just plain intrigue, he couldn't be sure. the wind picked up then, howling softly through the trees, and a fresh flurry of snow began to fall, dusting your antlers like nature’s own decorations, and toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand, his muscles rippling under the motion. “c’mon, don’t just stare at me like i’m the big bad wolf. you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ out here naked as the day you were born, or do i gotta guess?”
you hesitated, your lips parting slightly, chapped from the cold, and when you spoke, your voice was soft, trembling just a bit, “i… i got separated from my herd. the storm came too fast, and i couldn’t find my way back.” your voice was soft, fragile, carrying that faint tremor of someone who’d been alone in the cold too long. your body language screamed vulnerability, the way your shoulders hunched inward, your tail—barely visible in your curled position—flicking nervously against the snow, and toji noticed it all, his eyes sharp despite the lazy drawl in his tone.
he chuckled lowly, not mocking, just a rumble in his chest that carried no real heat, and he crouched down to your level, balancing on his haunches with ease, his jeans straining against his thighs as he rested his elbows on his knees. “separated, huh? figures. winter’s a bitch like that—sneaks up and bites you when you’re not lookin’.” his gaze softened just a fraction, not that he’d admit it, and he glanced around the forest, the trees closing in like silent witnesses, before looking back at you, noting how your antlers caught the light filtering through the branches, almost like they were meant to be adorned with those christmas lights he despised.
“you ain’t got nothin’ on you? no clothes, no nothin’? that’s just askin’ for trouble in this weather.”
you shook your head slowly, your ears drooping a little, and a shiver wracked your frame, drawing his attention to the way your skin pebbled further, your breaths coming in shallow puffs. he nodded once, eyes flicking back to the wound on your leg, then to your face—lips nearly blue now, lashes clumped with ice. “that cut looks nasty. you been out here long?”
you gave the tiniest shake of your head, ears flicking back further, body curling tighter as another shiver wracked you. toji’s jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a thought he didn’t much like, then he extended one large hand toward you, palm up, fingers relaxed—not grabbing, just offering, his palm rough and steady. “alright, can’t just leave you here to turn into a popsicle, sweetheart. my place ain’t far—got a fire goin’, maybe some clothes that’d fit ya if i dig around. up to you, though. i ain’t draggin’ nobody.”
the endearment slipped out lazy, almost sarcastic, but his eyes stayed steady on yours, unbothered, patient. you stared at his hand—broad, scarred, warm-looking despite the snowflakes melting on his knuckles—and hesitated, body trembling harder now that hope had crept in. finally, your smaller hand reached out, fingers brushing his, cold as ice, soft against his calloused skin, and you let him pull you up.
as you stood, your body unfolded before him, naked and unashamed in its hybrid beauty, antlers proud atop your head, and toji averted his eyes just enough to give you some semblance of privacy, though he couldn’t ignore the heat that stirred low in his gut, voyeuristic curiosity mingling with something protective. “easy there,” he murmured, shrugging off the invisible weight of the moment as he picked up his axe, slinging it over his shoulder. “trail’s slippery—stick close, yeah?”
the moment weight shifted to your injured leg, pain flared white-hot; a sharp whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your knees buckled completely. toji moved without thinking, catching you against his chest as you sagged, one arm sliding around your bare back, the other under your thighs to lift you fully off the ground. you gasped at the sudden warmth of his body—skin hot from exertion, muscles hard and solid beneath you—and instinctively curled closer, face pressing into the crook of his neck, antlers brushing lightly against his hair.
“easy,” he murmured, voice rumbling against your cheek, low and unhurried even as he adjusted his grip so your injured leg didn’t bump anything. “got you. axe can stay—wood ain’t goin’ anywhere.” he left it leaning against the log without a second glance and started walking, boots carving a deeper path through the snow, your weight nothing in his arms.
the walk back was slow, deliberate, his boots carving a path for you to follow, his bare torso unaffected by the cold that had you shivering beside him. “name’s toji, by the way,” he said after a stretch of silence, his voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather. “and you? or do i just call you deer-girl for the hell of it?” there was a teasing lilt there, sarcastic but gentle, the kind that didn’t sting, just prodded lightly.
“it’s y/n,” you replied, your voice gaining a bit more strength now that you were moving, though your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, and he noticed, his eyes flicking to the way your body curved, the subtle sway of your hips as you navigated the trail. “y/n, huh? suits ya—simple, no frills.” he glanced sideways at you, a faint smirk tugging at his scar. “so, what’s a hybrid like you doin’ wanderin’ these woods anyway? thought your kind stuck to warmer spots, not freezin’ their tails off in bumfuck nowhere.”
you explained in bits and pieces, your words punctuated by shivers—the herd migrating for winter, the sudden blizzard scattering everyone, how you'd ended up alone and disoriented, no clothes because hybrids like you didn’t need them in the wild, but human skin wasn’t built for this cold. toji listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, his expression unchanging, but his body language spoke volumes—the way he positioned himself to block the wind from hitting you directly.
every step was deliberate, careful, his body shielding yours from the wind as much as possible, the heat radiating off his bare torso seeping slowly into your frozen skin. you could feel his heartbeat steady against your side, smell the faint scent of pine smoke and sweat and something distinctly male clinging to him. your arms looped tentatively around his neck for balance, fingers brushing the short hairs at his nape, and he didn’t comment, just kept that lazy pace back toward the farmhouse, breath fogging above your head.
“you’re shakein’ pretty hard,” he said after a minute, voice soft against the wind, almost conversational. “we’ll get that leg cleaned up first—looks like it’s been bleedin’ a while. then food, maybe. you eat regular stuff, or…?” he trailed off, glancing down at you with a faint, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip.
you managed a tiny nod against his shoulder, voice muffled. “regular… mostly.”
“good. got stew on the stove. figured i’d be eatin’ alone again tonight, but plans change.” there was dry humor in his tone, gentle sarcasm that didn’t bite, just floated there like smoke.
the farmhouse came into view sooner than you expected—low roof heavy with snow, a squat, sturdy building, the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the snow. thin trail of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, windows glowing faint orange against the dusk. toji shouldered the door open without setting you down, kicking it shut behind him with his heel, and the sudden wave of warmth hit like a physical thing, drawing a soft, involuntary sigh from your lips. the inside was sparse, lived-in, smelling of woodsmoke and coffee and old leather; no christmas decorations anywhere save for a half-hearted string of lights someone must have left years ago, dangling forgotten over the mantel, but the fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, just a worn couch, a coffee table scarred from years of boots, and the fireplace crackling low.
he carried you straight to the couch, lowering you carefully onto the blankets piled there, making sure your injured leg was elevated on a pillow before straightening up. his hands lingered a second longer on your waist, steadying, then pulled away slow. “go on, warm up. i’ll grab somethin’ for ya to wear—can’t have you prancin’ around like that all night.”
you watched him move—lazy, unhurried strides across the room, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he disappeared down a short hallway. your body still trembled, but the heat was already sinking in, easing the worst of the shivers, and you pulled one of the blankets tighter around yourself, ears twitching toward every sound he made: drawers opening, water running, the soft clink of glass bottles.
when he came back, he had a large flannel shirt draped over one arm and sweatp, and a battered first-aid kit under the other. he dropped onto the couch beside you without ceremony, close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and set the kit on the coffee table. “leg first,” he said, voice low, nodding toward the blanket. “gonna need to see how bad it is.”
you hesitated only a second before easing the blanket aside, exposing the bruised and bloodied thigh. toji’s expression didn’t change—still that lazy half-lidded look—but his hands were careful as he opened the kit, movements practiced and gentle. “this’ll sting,” he warned, voice soft, before pressing a warm, damp cloth to the wound to clean away frozen blood and dirt.
you hissed, body tensing, fingers clutching the blanket, but he murmured, “breathe through it, sweetheart. doin’ good,” his free hand settling lightly on your uninjured thigh, thumb brushing slow circles that somehow grounded you more than the pain sharpened. he worked in silence after that, cleaning, disinfecting, wrapping the gash with steady precision, every touch deliberate but never rushed, his body heat close enough to feel even through the air between you.
when he finished, he sat back slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “not too deep—won’t need stitches if you keep it clean. you’ll keep the leg.” the corner of his mouth lifted, faint sarcasm there, but his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the color slowly returning to your lips, the way your ears had perked forward just a little.
he handed you the flannel next, oversized and soft from countless washes. “throw this on before you turn into a popsicle again. got sweatpants too if you feel like drownin’ in ‘em—your call, but naked’s fine by me either way.”
you slipped the shirt on under the blanket, fabric swallowing you whole, sleeves hanging past your hands, scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean and warm—clinging to the fibers and didn’t bother with the sweatpants. when you emerged, he was watching with that same lazy expression, but his eyes darkened just a fraction as they traced the way the shirt draped over your body, collar slipping off one shoulder, hem brushing mid-thigh.
“looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he drawled, voice low and rough around the edges now, standing to head toward the kitchen. “stew’s still hot. you hungry?”
you nodded, pulling the blanket around your legs again, and he returned minutes later with two bowls, handing you one before settling back beside you—closer this time, thigh pressed fully against yours, like personal space was optional. the silence stretched comfortable, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of spoons, but his presence filled the room, warm and solid and quietly overwhelming.
outside, snow kept falling, soft and endless, erasing the trail he’d left in the woods, sealing the two of you inside this small, undecorated house where christmas didn’t exist—only firelight, stew, and the slow, simmering awareness of bare skin under borrowed flannel, of scarred hands that had carried you home, and green eyes that watched you now with something patient and hungry stirring behind the lazy facade.
the fire crackled low and steady, throwing flickering gold across the worn wooden floorboards that creaked faintly under the shifting weight of the couch, the light dancing over the edges where the two of you sat, thighs still pressed together firmly, like neither of you had found a reason—or wanted—to create even an inch of space after he’d handed you the bowl.
steam curled lazily from the thick stew, rich chunks of potato and carrot and dark venison floating in the gravy—hearty, gamey, the kind of meat he’d likely tracked and dressed himself out in these same woods—carrying that deep, earthy scent through the small room, mingling with the sharp bite of burning pine and the faint, lingering trace of crisp winter cold that still clung to your skin despite the blanket draped over your lap.
you cradled the bowl in both hands, sleeves of his oversized flannel pushed clumsily up to your elbows, the soft worn fabric brushing your forearms as you brought the spoon to your lips in slow, careful bites, letting the heat of the broth slide down your throat and pool warm in your belly, spreading outward like gentle fingers chasing away the last stubborn edges of frost that had burrowed deep during those endless hours alone in the snow.
toji ate the same way he seemed to do everything: unhurried, almost lazy, his broad frame lounged back against the cushions, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch behind your shoulders—not quite touching you, but close enough that the heat radiating from his bare skin warmed the side of your neck and the shell of your ear whenever you turned your head even slightly. his other hand guided the spoon to his mouth in a steady, unconcerned rhythm, jaw working slow and deliberate as he chewed, the faint flex of muscle along his scarred chest visible each time he swallowed, dark hair still a little damp from melted snow at the ends, sticking to the side of his neck.
your gaze stayed fixed on the flames for a long stretch, watching the orange and gold tongues lick up around the logs, the warmth sinking into your cheeks, your chest, the bare skin of your thighs beneath the blanket—and yet another kind of warmth was building low in your belly, slow and insistent, the kind that had nothing to do with the fire or the stew. the cold hadn’t felt so terrible anymore, not with the solid press of his leg against yours, not with the borrowed flannel hanging loose around your body like a claim.
but your heat—it was late, overdue, stirred up by the sudden safety and the overwhelming presence of him—and it crept through you now in quiet, treacherous waves. unconsciously, your thighs brushed together under the blanket, a subtle shift of weight seeking just a whisper of friction against the growing ache, the slickness gathering warm and hidden between your legs. you thought you’d hidden it well, kept your breathing even, face turned toward the fire to mask the flush rising higher on your cheeks.
but toji noticed.
his spoon paused halfway to his mouth for the briefest second, green eyes flicking sideways, catching the small, restless movement of your legs beneath the blanket, the way your hips had tilted just slightly forward before you stilled again. one dark brow lifted slow, lazy, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching in something too subtle to call a full smirk yet, but he said nothing, simply resumed eating as if he hadn’t catalogued every tiny shift of your body in that single glance.
his gaze drifted again—lazy, unapologetic—starting at your profile, lingering on the delicate curve of your antlers catching the firelight, then lower, to the blanket hiding your thighs, and finally to the open front of the flannel you hadn’t bothered to button properly in your exhaustion. the fabric gaped just enough with every breath you took, offering fleeting glimpses of the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples drawn tight and brushing lightly against the worn inside of the shirt with each inhale, the faint friction sending little sparks straight to the heat pooling between your legs.
he took another slow bite, chewed, swallowed, then spoke, voice low and rough around the edges, drawl lazy as ever. “good?” the single word hung there, ambiguous on purpose, his eyes locked on your nipple before on your eyes now, that brow still arched just slightly, the question clearly aimed at more than just the stew.
you blinked, turning your head to meet his gaze, ears twitching forward at the sound of his voice, cheeks warming further under the intensity of those half-lidded green eyes. for a moment you only nodded, small and quick, lashes fluttering as you tried to gather your thoughts through the haze of heat and leftover cold. then words came, soft and a little breathless. “it’s… really good. warm. you cook well.”
toji’s mouth curved then, a slow, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners with quiet amusement. he let out a low hum, almost a chuckle, deep in his chest. “yeah… i can cook,” he murmured, the words rolling out lazy and satisfied, holding your gaze a second longer before he scooped another spoonful, never looking away as he brought it to his mouth, tongue catching a stray drop at the corner of his lips.
the bowls emptied slowly, the only sounds the soft scrape of spoons and the steady pop of burning wood. when yours was finally empty, you held it in your lap, fingers tracing the rim absently, thighs pressing together again beneath the blanket in another subtle search for relief. toji reached over without a word, large hand closing around the bowl along with his own, fingers brushing yours deliberately as he took them both. he rose in one fluid motion, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he walked toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on the floorboards, back broad and shadowed in the firelight.
he wasn’t gone long—just long enough for you to hear the clink of ceramic in the sink, water running briefly, the low thud of cabinet doors. when he returned, he moved with that same unhurried grace, stopping in front of the fireplace and dropping to one knee, the jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he crouched. he picked up two fresh logs from the small stack beside the hearth, muscles flexing in his arms and back as he placed them carefully atop the glowing embers, sparks fluttering upward like tiny orange fireflies. the new wood caught quickly, flames licking higher, throwing brighter gold across the room and over his skin.
he glanced over his shoulder at you then, one arm resting on his raised knee, the other braced against the stone hearth, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth again—knowing, teasing, but still gentle around the edges. “hope you the heat,” he drawled, voice low and rough, eyes glinting dark in the renewed firelight as they held yours for a deliberate beat.
the words landed heavy, laced with something that made your breath catch, a broken little hum escaping your throat before you could stop it. your ears flicked back, then forward again, body shifting restlessly on the couch, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the blanket as another wave of slick warmth pulsed through you. you couldn’t quite meet his gaze after that, eyes dropping to your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of the flannel. (done)
toji lingered there a moment longer, watching the flush climb your neck, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster beneath his shirt, before he pushed to his feet with a soft exhale. he turned fully toward you, hands settling loose on his hips, the fire roaring brighter behind him now, casting his bare torso in sharp relief—broad shoulders, scarred chest, the defined lines of his abdomen disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans—his silhouette framed in flickering light and shadow, towering but relaxed, utterly unbothered.
his green eyes, almost black in the low light, stayed fixed on you—on the way the flannel slipped further off one shoulder as you shifted, on the small, restless movements you couldn’t quite hide, on the delicate points of your antlers catching the glow like they were made for it. he didn’t say anything more, just stood there, patient and quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you.
and for the first time in years, toji realized he wouldn’t be spending another christmas eve alone in this house—certainly not with the quiet, no one to share the fire or the silence or the long winter night. especially not with a deer hybrid curled on his couch, late into her heat, wearing his shirt like it belonged to her, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes while the snow kept falling soft and endless outside.
his eyes lingered on you for a long, unhurried moment, the firelight casting shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the scar that tugged at his lip whenever his mouth curved just slightly, before his gaze drifted upward, slow and deliberate, to the delicate branches of your antlers rising from your hair—not too big, not overwhelming like some hybrids he’d glimpsed from afar in the woods, but not small either, perfectly proportioned, elegant curves catching the golden flicker of the flames like they were strung with invisible christmas lights just for him.
they suited you, framed your face in a way that made you look both fragile and wild, and he tilted his head a fraction, green eyes narrowing lazily as he studied them, then let his stare drop back down to meet yours—you’d already been watching him, wide-eyed and flushed, ears angled forward in quiet anticipation, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar crooked smirk.
“those things heavy?” he asked, voice low and drawling, almost bored, like he was commenting on the weather outside instead of the intimate weight of bone and velvet perched atop your head, his tone laced with that gentle sarcasm that never quite stung. he didn’t move yet, just stood there with hands loose on his hips, bare chest rising and falling slow, the heat from the fire at his back making his skin gleam faintly with sweat.
you shifted again beneath the blanket, thighs pressing together tighter as another pulse of warmth throbbed low in your belly, the slickness there impossible to ignore now, making the fabric of his borrowed flannel cling slightly to your skin where it brushed your inner thighs. your ears twitched back and then forward, a soft little flick of nervousness and need, and you managed a small shake of your head, voice coming out breathy, almost a whisper. “not… not really. they’re light. just… sensitive right now.”
he hummed deep in his chest, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small space between you, and you caught the subtle movement of his jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darkening further while he watched another shiver ripple through you—not from cold this time, but from the heat that was blooming hotter with every passing second, late-season instincts making your body ache in ways you couldn’t hide. then, without rush, he stepped closer, closing the distance in two lazy strides until he was right in front of the couch, towering but relaxed, and he bent forward slowly, one foot dipping into the cushion beside your hip, the other planted on the floor, caging you in without touching yet.
his face lowered to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheeks, smell the faint trace of stew and pine smoke and something deeper, masculine, that made your pulse flutter wildly in your throat. he studied you up close like he had all the time in the world—eyes tracing the faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the way your lashes trembled when you blinked, the soft shape of your lips parted just slightly on shallow breaths, and especially the deer features blended so seamlessly into your human face: the delicate twitch of your ears, the subtle velvet texture near the base of your antlers, the wide, luminous eyes that gave away every flicker of need. you couldn’t hold his stare for long; your gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again, ears pinning back briefly before flicking forward, body leaning instinctively into the heat radiating from his bare skin.
his smirk deepened, slow and knowing, scar pulling tight as his lips curved wider, and he lifted one large hand—calloused fingers, warm from the fire—until the tips brushed the base of one antler, feather-light at first, tracing the smooth curve with deliberate care. the contact sent a jolt straight through you, velvet-sensitive skin singing under his touch, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, quiet but unmistakable, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the blanket as another rush of slick warmth coated your thighs.
toji’s eyes hooded further, voice dropping to a murmur, rough and lazy, laced with that teasing edge that made your stomach flip. “fuck… so sensitive, huh? little deer gettin’ all worked up from just this?” his thumb stroked higher along the antler, slow circles that made your breath hitch, before his fingers drifted lower, grazing the soft fur at the base, then gently, deliberately, brushing the edge of one twitching ear. the sensation was electric—your ears were always tender during heat, but his touch lit them up like christmas bulbs, and another moan escaped, louder this time, needy, your head tilting into his palm without permission.
he let out a low chuckle, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, nose almost brushing yours. “look at you, moanin’ like a sweet little hybrid in heat… bet those pretty antlers are achin’ for more, aren’t they? all velvet and ready, just beggin’ to be touched while you’re burnin’ up inside.” his words were dirty but spoken soft, lazy praise wrapped in gentleness, like he was simply stating facts about the weather. “never thought i’d have a needy deer on my couch come christmas… but here you are, drippin’ slick under my shirt, ears twitchin’ every time i get close. you want me to keep goin’, sweetheart? want me to pet you properly till you’re shakin’?”
his fingers traced your ear again, tugging lightly at the tip, and you whimpered, thighs clenching hard beneath the blanket, the ache between them throbbing in time with your heartbeat. your hands fisted in the flannel at your lap, knuckles pale, body arching just slightly toward him as if pulled by invisible string, and he watched every tiny reaction with half-lidded eyes, smirk never fading, completely unbothered and in control while the fire crackled louder behind him, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slow, heated space between your bodies on this quiet, forgotten christmas night.
his hand lingered at the base of your antler, thumb stroking the soft inner fur in slow, lazy circles that made your whole body hum with little electric sparks while the fire snapped and hissed behind him, throwing long shadows that danced across the walls like silent christmas ghosts no one else would ever see. he watched you with that half-lidded stare, green eyes dark and patient, the scar on his lip pulling tighter as his smirk deepened just a fraction. “you late in your heat, aren’t you?” he asked again, voice low and lazy, rolling out like smoke, not pushing, just curious in that unbothered way of his, like the answer wouldn’t change a thing either way.
you couldn’t look at him straight on—your gaze dropped to the strong line of his collarbone, then to the flicker of firelight on his chest, cheeks burning hotter than the flames as another wave of slick pulsed between your thighs, warm and shameful and impossible to hide. your ears twitched hard, forward and back in quick, frantic little flutters that brushed his fingers every time, betraying you completely. a soft, helpless sound caught in your throat, half whimper, half breath, and you pressed your thighs together under the blanket again, hips shifting just slightly on the cushion.
toji hummed, long and low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slid from your antler to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “yeah… real late. can feel you shakin’ from it.” his tone stayed gentle, almost amused, sarcasm light as fresh snow. then he tilted his head, eyes dropping to your lap where the blanket hid the restless press of your legs, and his voice dropped rougher. “ever had a human cock inside you before, sweetheart? or do pretty little deer like you only spread for your own kind when the heat hits?”
the question was filthy, blunt, spoken slow and lazy like he was asking about the weather outside, but it punched straight through you—your cunt clenched hard, another thick rush of slick soaking your folds, dripping slow and hot down toward the couch. you couldn’t answer with words; your mouth opened on a silent gasp, ears pinning flat back against your head, body arching forward without permission as your hands clutched at the flannel over your thighs.
he chuckled softly, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, the hand on your jaw sliding down to splay over your throat, feeling the frantic swallow you couldn’t hide. “fuck, you’re gushin’ just thinkin’ about it, huh? can smell how sweet you’re gettin’.” his other hand moved then, lazy and sure, slipping under the edge of the blanket to palm your bare thigh, fingers spreading wide, thumb stroking high on the soft inner skin, inches from where you ached most. “bet those lips are still cold,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth, “been out in the snow too long. lemme fix that.”
he kissed you slow—no rush, no force—just the warm press of his mouth against yours, lips parted so his tongue could slide in lazy and deep, tasting you like he had all christmas night to savor. you moaned into it immediately, soft and needy, hands coming up to grip his bare shoulders, fingers digging into warm muscle as you opened for him. his tongue curled around yours, sucking gently, drawing out every little sound while his hand on your thigh squeezed slow, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer until the blanket fell away completely and you were half-bare in his lap, flannel hanging open.
he pulled back just enough to speak against your wet lips, voice rough and low. “tell me somethin’, darlin’… how do deer like you take it when you’re burnin’ up? out in the woods, ass up against a tree while your buck mounts you fast? or do you like bein’ held down slow, rutted into till you’re cryin’?” his fingers slid higher, brushing the crease where thigh met hip, thumb tracing the slick that had leaked there, gathering it slow like he was curious how wet you could get. “always wondered if hybrid cunt feels different—tighter, hotter, flutterin’ different when you’re in season.”
you whimpered, rocking into his touch without thinking, and he let you, guiding your hips with one big hand until you were climbing fully into his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his thighs, bare cunt pressing down against the hard bulge straining his jeans. the contact drew a broken moan from you both—yours high and desperate, his a low, lazy growl against your neck as he mouthed along your pulse, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“there you go,” he praised, voice husky, both hands sliding under the flannel to cup your ass, squeezing slow, spreading you open so cool air kissed your soaked folds while you ground down instinctively against him. “straddle me just like that, good girl. look at you—my own little christmas deer, antlers all pretty in the firelight, drippin’ slick all over a human’s lap.” his mouth found yours again, kissing deeper this time, tongue fucking slow into your mouth while his hips rolled up once, lazy, letting you feel every thick inch trapped behind denim.
he kept it slow—hands groping lazy and thorough, one sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple till it ached, the other kneading your ass in time with the gentle rock of your hips. every kiss was wet, filthy, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours while he murmured between them, “bet you’d milk a human cock real sweet… wonder if you’d lock around me like you do your bucks, or if you’d just keep takin’ it, beggin’ for more till the heat breaks.” his words were pure pervert curiosity wrapped in low praising, lazy and teasing, drawing more slick from you until it soaked through his jeans, the dark patch spreading warm beneath you on this quiet, fire-warm christmas night where nothing existed but the slow, burning friction and the taste of him on your tongue.
your hands couldn’t stay still any longer, fingers uncurling from the loose grip around his neck to wander slow and curious down the broad expanse of his bare chest, palms spreading over warm, scarred skin that flexed subtly under your touch, tracing the ridges of old marks and the coarse scatter of dark hair that dusted across his pecs.
your thumbs brushed lazily over his nipples—flat and dark, hardening just slightly at the grazing contact—and you felt the low rumble of his hum vibrate against your lips as he watched you with those heavy-lidded green eyes, unbothered, patient, like he had all christmas night to let you explore.
your gaze drifted lower, following the faint line of hair that started just below his sternum, thickening into that tempting happy trail that disappeared beneath the low waistband of his jeans, and you murmured softly, almost to yourself, “hair…” as your fingertips dipped into the soft, wiry strands, playing with them absently, tugging just enough to feel the texture.
toji hummed again, deeper this time, the sound lazy and approving as his hands stayed loose on your ass, squeezing slow in encouragement. “yeah… hair,” he drawled, voice rough and amused, scar pulling at his lip as his smirk widened. “haven’t shaved down there either, sweetheart. hope you like it bushy both places—makes me wonder if a pretty little deer like you prefers it wild.” his tone was gentle sarcasm, filthy curiosity wrapped in praise, eyes flicking down to watch your fingers toy with his trail before meeting yours again.
you flushed harder, ears twitching back in shy embarrassment even as your body pressed closer, slick cunt grinding slow against the hard line of his cock still trapped in denim. “i… i like it,” you whispered, voice breathy and small, nails scraping lightly through the hair now, following it lower until your fingertips brushed the button of his jeans.
he let out a low chuckle, head tilting as that lazy, dangerous smirk sharpened just a touch—not mean, never mean, just knowing. “good girl.” his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the open flannel. “you want me to help you with this heat, darlin’? i can start reallll slow… ease you into it.”
you frowned a little, brows drawing together in genuine confusion, hips still rocking instinctively against him as you searched his face. “slow?” you echoed, voice soft, uncertain—because every heat you’d endured before had been frantic, quick mounts in the woods, over almost before the ache had been scratched, no lingering touches, no real release, just instinct and emptiness after.
toji’s eyes darkened at the confusion flickering across your features—wide eyes, twitching ears, the innocent tilt of your head—and something hot and possessive coiled tighter in his gut at the thought of being the first to show you different. he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your lips. “yeah… slow like this,” he murmured, voice dropping rough and lazy as one big hand pushed the flannel aside completely, baring your tits to the firelight, nipples already tight and begging like itself calling for toji; suck me, suck me, suck me. he didn’t rush—just lowered his mouth slow, lips parting to close around one peak, tongue flicking lazy and wet before he sucked gentle, drawing it deeper into the heat of his mouth.
you gasped sharp, back arching hard as pleasure shot straight to your cunt, fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, careful of your antlers as they tilted back with your head. “toji—” his name left you on a broken moan, thighs clenching around his hips while he hummed approval around your nipple, sucking slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
his free hand slid lower at the same lazy pace—over the curve of your hip, along the soft skin of your inner thigh, until his fingers finally brushed your soaked folds, parting them gently, gathering the slick that coated everything. “fuck, listen to you,” he murmured against your breast, pulling off with a wet pop to switch to the other nipple, tongue swirling slow circles before sucking again. “so wet already… little pussy weepin’ for attention.” two thick fingers traced your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing the rim, spreading your slick up to circle your swollen clit in lazy, feather-light strokes that made your hips jerk but never quite gave enough pressure.
you whimpered, grinding down harder against his hand, chasing more, but he kept the pace maddeningly slow—sucking at your nipple in long, wet pulls, fingers dipping just barely inside you before retreating, thumb brushing your clit in idle circles like he was petting a needy animal. “that’s it,” he praised low, voice muffled against your skin as he laved your breast with his tongue. “take what you need, sweetheart… rock those pretty hips on my fingers. bet no buck ever took his time with you like this, huh? just wanna savor my sweettt christmas deer… make this heat feel real good before i give you anything more.”
every touch was lazy, deliberate, drawing the ache higher without mercy, your slick coating his fingers thicker with every slow circle, dripping down over his wrist while the fire crackled and the snow whispered outside, the whole world reduced to the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits and the filthy, gentle curiosity in his voice as he kept you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.
and the next second, all you feel is how the carpet was rough against your bare back, coarse fibers biting into your skin with every tiny shift of your hips, a harsh contrast to the slick heat building everywhere else, while the fire crackled steady and low behind you, throwing flickering orange light across the room and over your naked body—exposed again, just like when he’d found you curled in the snow, only now flushed hot and trembling for entirely different reasons.
your legs were spread wide, knees bent and fallen open as he pushed it to your chest, thighs quivering as toji knelt between them, broad shoulders forcing you wider, his dark hair tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while his mouth worked slow and thorough on your dripping cunt. he’d taken his time getting you here—lazy kisses turning deeper, hands stripping the flannel away inch by inch until you were bare beneath him, guiding you down onto the rug with that same unbothered strength, murmuring how the fire would keep you warm while he tasted you proper.
now you were a mess—tears streaking hot down your temples into your hair, antlers scraping lightly against the carpet with every arch of your neck, one hand clamped tight around his fingers in a desperate grip while the other tangled in his hair, pulling without meaning to whenever his tongue flicked just right over your swollen clit. soft, broken whimpers spilled from your lips in a constant stream, hips rolling up to meet his mouth even as your thighs shook from the effort of holding still. he ate you like he had nowhere else to be—long, slow licks from your entrance up to your clit, sucking gentle then firm, tongue circling lazy before dipping inside to taste how deep your slick ran, humming low every time your cunt fluttered against his lips.
when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his chin and mouth glistened wet in the firelight, eyes lifting to meet yours with that stupid, lazy grin—scarred lip curled, green eyes dark and half-lidded, utterly pleased with himself. “fuckkkk, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice rough and low, tongue coming out to lick a stray drop of you from the corner of his mouth, “didn’t expect hybrid pussy to taste this sweet—like christmas honey, all warm and ripe just for me. better than any cunt i’ve ever had my mouth on.”
the words hit you hard, filthy and blunt, heat flooding your face even as your cunt clenched around nothing, missing his tongue already. you blinked through the tears, chest heaving, voice small and shaky when you managed, “it’s… it’s good?”
toji chuckled, low and dirty, breath ghosting hot over your soaked folds as he hovered close. “good? darlin’, your little deer cunt’s so fuckin’ delicious i could stay down here till the fire dies out—sweetest present i’ve unwrapped all year.” he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit just to watch you jerk, then reached up with the hand not already laced with yours, gently untangling your fingers from his hair. he guided your trembling hand down, pressing your palm over one breast, curling your fingers so they cupped the soft weight. “ever play with these pretty tits while you’re in heat?” he asked, lazy curiosity thick in his voice, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
you shook your head quick, ears twitching back against the carpet, another tear slipping free as the ache throbbed harder. “no… never,” you whispered, voice cracking on the admission.
he hummed approval, eyes flicking from your face to your hand on your breast. “try it for me, sweetheart. squeeze gentle… yeah, just like that. now roll your nipple between your fingers—slowww, feel how it gets all tight and sensitive.” his mouth lowered again as he spoke, lips sealing soft around your clit, sucking lazy and steady while he watched you obey. your fingers followed his words hesitant at first—pinching lightly, rolling the hard peak, tugging just a little—and the dual sensation punched a loud, broken moan from your throat, back arching off the carpet, thighs clamping around his head.
“there you go,” he praised against your pussy, voice muffled and rough, tongue flicking quick to reward you before he pulled back just enough to speak. “look at you—pinchin’ your own tits while i suck this sweet clit. filthy little deer, learnin’ how good it feels to play with yourself. keep goin’, darlin’… make ‘em ache nice and pretty for me.”
he dove back in fully then, mouth hot and relentless but still slow—long, wet pulls on your clit, tongue lapping broad and lazy through your folds, drinking every fresh gush of slick while your fingers worked your nipple harder under his murmured guidance, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter but never quite snapping, leaving you crying and whimpering and grinding desperately against his face on the rough carpet floor, firelight painting both of you gold on this long, endless christmas night.
the fire had burned lower now, embers glowing deep orange behind you, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rough carpet that scraped your shoulders and back with every helpless arch of your spine, but you barely felt it anymore—every nerve was centered between your thighs where toji’s mouth devoured you like a man breaking a centuries-long fast, like he’d been hibernating in some cold, pussy-starved cave and your slick cunt was the first warm salvation offered to him on this forgotten christmas night.
he groaned deep against your folds, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as his tongue lapped broad and hungry, gathering every drop of your juices mixed with his own spit, swallowing loud enough that you heard it over your own broken whimpers. his big hands pinned your thighs wider, scarred fingers digging gently into the soft flesh to keep you open while he slurped shamelessly, lips sealing around your swollen clit to suck slow and firm, then flick the sensitive bud quick with the tip of his tongue before sucking again, harder, like he couldn’t decide which taste he wanted more.
your body was no longer your own—hips grinding up desperately into his face, chasing the wet heat of his mouth, tears streaking freely down your temples as your moans grew louder, rawer, echoing off the bare wooden walls. “more—please, toji, more,” you gasped out, voice cracking, ears twitching wildly, antlers scraping the carpet as your head thrashed side to side. he obliged instantly, happily, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest as he buried his face deeper, nose nudging your clit while his tongue fucked shallow into your entrance, drinking the fresh flood of slick that poured out at the intrusion, swallowing again and again like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive.
you were close—so close—the coil in your belly wound tighter with every filthy slurp and suck, thighs trembling violently around his head, but he kept you there, never quite pushing you over, just feeding on you until you were sobbing his name.
finally he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, lips and chin shining slick in the firelight, chest heaving slow as he licked his mouth clean, green eyes dark and feral when they met yours. “fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it, lazy drawl almost gone under the hunger, “could eat this pretty pussy for days and still starve for more.” he rose slowly, deliberately, unfolding his big frame until he towered over you on his feet, one hand dropping to squeeze the thick bulge straining his jeans, palming himself with a low groan as he looked down at your wrecked form—tits heaving, thighs spread wide and glistening, tears on your cheeks, antlers catching the ember glow like some sacred christmas offering.
you pushed up on shaky elbows, unable to look away, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave marks as he reached for his belt. the metal buckle clinked soft and slow—agonizingly slow—each tooth of the leather sliding free sounding louder than the fire in the sudden quiet. he unbuttoned his jeans next, one button, then the zipper dragged down inch by inch, revealing more of that dark, curly bush you’d only glimpsed before, the hair catching the dim light in soft waves, not wild or overgrown, just naturally thick, untamed, framing the base of his cock that was already pressing eagerly against the black fabric of his briefs.
your breath hitched, eyes wide and fixed as he hooked his thumbs into waistband and eased everything lower—just a bit at first, letting the curls spill free, then further, the thick root of his cock coming into view, flushed dark and heavy, veins standing out along the length. he paused there, letting you look, before pulling jeans and briefs down over the hard muscle of his thighs in one slow push. his cock sprang free instantly, slapping up against his abs with a soft thud, long and impossibly thick, the head already flushed deep red and glistening. he wrapped one big hand around it immediately, stroking lazy once, twice, the motion making the dark curls above his dick shift and catch the firelight, not too long, not too short—just dense, natural, perfect.
both of you are bare now, nothing between skin and skin and the crackling heat of the hearth.
toji’s smirk returned, lazy and playful even through the hunger, scar pulling at his lip as he gave himself another slow pump, thumb swiping over the slit to gather the fat bead of precum that welled there. he brought it to his mouth without shame, tongue licking it clean while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “salty,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “wonder if your sweet little deer cunt’ll make me taste sweeter when i finally get inside.”
he tilted his head, stroking himself again, slow and unhurried, letting you see every inch. “so, darlin’… you know if other stupid hybrids pack cocks this big, or you think mine’s small?” the sarcasm was gentle, teasing, eyes glinting with filthy amusement because he knew—he fucking knew—how huge he was, thick enough that your thighs pressed together instinctively even as slick leaked steadily onto the carpet beneath you.
you shook your head quick, ears flicking back then forward, voice barely above a whisper. “n-no… never seen… anything like that.”!
his chuckle was dark, satisfied, hand tightening just a fraction on his shaft. “good answer, sweetheart. keep lookin’ at me like that and this christmas might last all week.” he stepped out of the pooled jeans fully, kicking them aside without care, then dropped back to his knees between your spread thighs, cock heavy and bobbing with the motion, curls brushing his lower abs as he leaned over you again, one hand planted beside your head, the other still lazily stroking himself. “gonna take real good care of this heat,” he promised, voice dropping back to that familiar lazy drawl, “but first… think i need another taste of that honey before i feed you somethin’ thicker.”
he didn’t wait for permission—just lowered his mouth again, slower this time, tongue dragging one long, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with the flat of it, humming deep at the fresh flood of slick that met him. your back arched off the carpet instantly, a strangled cry tearing free as your hands flew—one to his hair again, the other clutching the rug—while he settled in like a man with all the time in the world, lapping, sucking, swallowing, breaking his fast all over again on the sweetest pussy he’d ever had on christmas night.
those eager minutes stretched into what felt like hours, toji’s mouth relentless on your clit, sucking your soul straight through the swollen bundle of nerves with long, filthy pulls that left you sobbing openly, hips bucking wild against his face, slick pouring out in waves that he swallowed greedily, tongue flicking quick then slow, keeping you teetering on the edge without mercy until your thighs shook so hard they nearly clamped around his head.
when he finally pulled away, it was with a wet, obscene sound, strings of your juices and his spit connecting his lips to your cunt for a second before snapping, and he rose up tall on his knees, chest heaving slow, one hand still wrapped lazy around his thick cock, stroking himself with the same unhurried rhythm while a stray drop of mixed saliva glistened on his chin and fell—slow, deliberate—onto the flushed head of his dick, sliding down the shaft as he spread it with his thumb.
you couldn’t blink, wouldn’t, even though your eyes burned from tears and the heat roaring under your skin, gaze locked on the way his fist moved over that heavy length, curls at the base dark and damp now with everything that had dripped from you. your chest rose and fell fast, antlers scraping the carpet again as you tilted your head back just to breathe, then forward again to watch him, afraid to miss even a second of whatever he’d do next.
toji’s eyes met yours, dark and half-lidded, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that lazy, dangerous grin. “ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and rough, almost casual, like he was offering another cup of stew instead of the thick cock in his hand.
you shook your head quick, instinctive, ears flicking back flat against your skull, thighs trembling as another helpless pulse of slick leaked out onto the rug. the word came out small, breathy. “no…”
he chuckled, deep and warm, the sound rolling through his chest as he shifted closer on his knees. “cute,” he murmured, affection and amusement thick in the single word, green eyes glinting in the dying firelight. “real fuckin’ cute, shakin’ your head when your little deer cunt’s cryin’ for it.”
one big hand moved then, sliding under the back of your knee, lifting your leg slow and deliberate until it straightened, then guiding it up and over his broad shoulder, opening you wider, folding you nearly in half beneath him. the stretch burned sweet in your hamstring, cool air kissing your soaked folds as you gasped soft, surprised. “oh…” the sound slipped out like you hadn’t expected the position, hadn’t realized how exposed it would make you feel, cunt spread and fluttering visibly under his gaze.
toji just hummed, unbothered, attention fixed between your legs as he leaned forward slightly, free hand guiding his cock closer. the first slap came sudden—heavy, wet, the thick head smacking directly against your clit with a lewd sound that echoed in the quiet room, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain through you. strings of your slick and his spit stretched between his cock and your pussy, glistening, clinging, before snapping as he drew back for another. your back arched hard off the carpet, a strangled cry tearing free, hips jerking up for more even as tears welled fresh.
“fuck, look how sensitive you are,” he praised, voice rough with want, eyes dark as he watched your cunt clench around nothing. “one little slap and you’re archin’ like that—makes me so goddamn eager to bury myself in this sweet pussy.” he slapped again, slower this time, dragging the weight of his cock through your folds first, coating himself thicker in your juices before tapping your clit sharp enough to make you whimper. “can’t wait to breed you proper, darlin’… fill this ripe little deer cunt till you’re leakin’ me for days. but i promised slow, remember? gotta get you ready first… stretch you out nice before i ruin you for every other buck you ever let near you.”
another slap, then another—lazy rhythm, each one landing wetter, heavier, your slick stringing between his cock and your folds like obscene christmas tinsel, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug. then he changed it—sliding the length of himself through your folds without entering, dragging slow from entrance to clit and back again, bumping the swollen head against your sensitive nub each pass, teasing, edging, torturing you with the promise of being filled while the heat burned hotter in your bones, your lungs, your blood, nesting deep behind your ribs until it felt like the only cure was the thick cock gliding through your wetness but never giving you what you needed.
you whined high and desperate, hips chasing every slide, trying to angle yourself to take him inside, but he held you steady with the leg over his shoulder, grip firm and patient. “toji—please. . .” the plea cracked out of you, raw, tears spilling again as you reached down with trembling fingers, trying to guide him in.
he chuckled low, catching your wrist gentle and pinning it beside your head instead. “not yet, sweetheart. wanna watch you fall apart on just this a little longer… my pretty deer, drippin’ and beggin’ for cock like it’s the only gift you want this year.”
another slow drag through your folds, head nudging your clit hard enough to make you sob, body writhing on the rough carpet while the fire popped and hissed behind you, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slick, teasing slide of his cock and the lazy, hungry promise in his voice that he’d give you everything—slow, then deep, then ruinous—when he finally decided you were ready.
he stayed there on his knees for what felt like forever, cock dragging slow through your folds again and again, coating himself thicker in your slick until every slide made obscene wet sounds that mingled with the low crackle of the dying fire and your own broken whimpers.
your leg was still hooked high over his shoulder, thigh trembling against his chest, the position keeping you split open and helpless while tears dried salty on your cheeks and fresh ones welled every time the fat head of his cock nudged your clit without mercy.
you were burning alive, heat season roaring through every vein, making your cunt clench desperately around nothing, begging to be filled, bred, soothed, but toji just watched you with that lazy, half-lidded stare, scar pulling at his lip as he teased you to the edge of sanity.
“look at you,” he murmured finally, voice low and rough, almost conversational, as he lined himself up at last, the blunt head pressing gentle against your entrance, parting your folds but not pushing in yet. “pretty little deer cunt flutterin’ like it’s tryin’ to suck me in already. you want this cock bad, don’t you? want it to stuff all that heat right out of you.”
you nodded frantically, ears twitching hard, a choked, “please, toji, pleaseeee,” spilling from your lips as your hips tilted up, trying to take him yourself. he hummed, once again, one big hand splayed over your lower belly to hold you still while the other guided his cock, rubbing the head up and down your slit once, twice, gathering more slick before he finally—finally—pressed forward.
the stretch started slow, agonizingly slow, just the thick tip breaching you, spreading your walls inch by inch as he sank in with deliberate restraint. your breath caught sharp, back arching off the rough carpet, fingers clawing at the fibers while your cunt fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. he was thick, hotter than anything you’d ever felt, and every tiny push forward made you feel impossibly full already, even though he’d barely given you half.
“fuck… that’s it,” he praised, voice dropping rougher, eyes fixed between your legs where his cock disappeared slow into your body. “take me nice and easy, sweetheart. feel how your pretty pussy’s stretchin’ around human cock? never had anything this thick splitting you open before, huh?” he rocked forward another inch, then back, then forward again, shallow little thrusts that fed you more but never rushed, letting you feel every vein, every throb as he worked deeper. “so goddamn tight… like a present i get to unwrap real slow on christmas night.”
you moaned loud, broken, head thrashing side to side, antlers scraping the carpet as your leg over his shoulder tensed, toes curling in the air. the burn was sweet, overwhelming, pleasure and ache blending until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. your free hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing where you were joined, feeling how stretched you were around him, and he groaned low at the sight.
“touch yourself there if you want,” he murmured, lazy encouragement in his tone as he pushed another slow inch inside, bottoming out halfway and holding still to let you breathe. “feel how i’m openin’ you up… gonna ruin this little deer cunt for any buck that ever tries to mount you again.” he pulled back slow, almost all the way out, then slid in again deeper, a smooth, controlled glide that made your walls flutter wildly around him. “but i promised slow, remember? gonna keep that promise till you’re cryin’ for me to breed you harder.”
he set a rhythm then—lazy, deep strokes, never fast, never rough yet, just feeding you his cock inch by thick inch until your cunt was molded to him, slick dripping down your ass with every withdrawal, coating his balls and the dark curls at his base. his hand on your belly pressed gentle, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and he hummed approval every time you clenched, every time your breath hitched, every time a fresh tear slipped free.
“good girl,” he rasped, leaning down to mouth at your neck, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin as he rocked in again, deeper this time, almost all the way. “takin’ me so sweet… my perfect deer, all spread out and stuffed full. you feel that? feel how deep i am already?” another slow thrust, bottoming out at last, his hips flush to yours, curls tickling your clit as he held still, letting you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. your cunt spasmed around him, milking instinctively, and he groaned against your throat. “yeah… just like that. keep squeezin’ me, darlin’. we got all night for me to breed this heat right out of you… nice and slow, till you can’t remember anything but my cock.”
he stayed buried deep for a long, breathless moment, hips flush to yours, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your clenching walls while the fire popped softly behind you, casting flickering gold over both your sweat-slick bodies tangled on the rough carpet. your leg was still draped over his shoulder, thigh pressed to his chest, opening you so completely that every tiny shift of his hips made you feel impossibly fuller, the thick base of him stretching you wide, dark curls tickling your clit with every shallow breath he took. he didn’t move at first—just held there, green eyes locked on yours, scar pulling as his mouth curved lazy, watching the way fresh tears slipped down your temples and your ears twitched helplessly against the rug.
“feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost conversational even as his cock pulsed inside you. “human cock all the way in your pretty cunt… stretchin’ you open like you were made for it.” he drew back slow then, agonizingly slow, dragging every thick inch out until only the flushed head remained, your walls fluttering desperately to keep him in, slick dripping down your ass in a steady stream. then he slid forward again—smooth, controlled, bottoming out with a wet sound that made you both groan. “ah—fuck, yeah… just like that. take it nice and easy for me.”
he set the pace deliberate, deep rolling thrusts that never hurried, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in to the hilt, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he fed you his cock again and again. your moans spilled out unbroken now, “toji, ohhh. . . please.” high and needy, back arching off the carpet, fingers clawing at his forearms where they braced beside your head. your free leg wrapped around his hip instinctively, heel digging into the hard muscle of his ass to pull him deeper, antlers scraping the rug as your head tilted back, exposing your throat.
he leaned down, mouth finding your neck, sucking lazy marks into the skin while his hips kept that torturous rhythm. “good girl,” he praised against your pulse, tongue flicking out to taste the salt there. “takin’ me so sweet… my little deer finally gettin’ properly bred. you feel how deep i am? right up against your womb, darlin’. gonna make this heat feel real good.”
the slow drag was exquisite torture—every thrust nudging that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids, building the pressure higher but never quite enough to tip you over. your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking him on every withdrawal, slick coating his balls and the curls at his base until they were soaked. you could hear it—the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining, louder than the fire now, louder than your own ragged breathing.
minutes stretched, or maybe hours; time lost meaning under the steady, claiming roll of his hips. but gradually his control frayed—his breaths grew rougher against your neck, hands gripping your thigh and hip tighter, fingers digging into flesh as his thrusts lost their perfect laziness, deepening, lingering a fraction longer at the bottom before pulling back. “fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking just slightly, “you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight… can’t—ah—can’t keep goin’ this slow forever, sweetheart.”
you whimpered in response, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails over scarred skin. “toji, more—please, need—”
he pulled back to look at you, eyes dark and wild now, smirk gone, replaced by raw hunger. “yeah? need more?” he thrust in hard once—sharp, sudden, driving the air from your lungs in a broken cry—“like that?” another hard snap of his hips, grinding deep, curls smashing against your clit. “or harder?”
“yes—ahh—harder—” you sobbed, leg tightening over his shoulder, whole body arching to meet him.
that was all it took.
his restraint snapped like a branch under snow—hips pulling back and slamming forward rougher, faster, the gentle rhythm giving way to deep, punishing strokes that jolted your body up the carpet with every thrust. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and obscene, his balls smacking against your ass as he fucked into you without mercy now. “fuck—there weeee go,” he growled, voice low and ragged, one hand sliding under your lower back to tilt your hips higher, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. “been tryin’ to be gentle with my sweet little deer, but you take it so fuckin’ good—ah—makes me wanna ruin this pretty cunt.”
your moans turned into screams—“toji—toji, oh god—” high and desperate, tears streaming freely as pleasure coiled white-hot in your belly, every brutal thrust driving you closer to the edge you’d been teetering on all night. your walls fluttered wildly around him, slick gushing with every withdrawal, soaking both of you.
he leaned down again, mouth crashing against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue fucking into you in time with his cock, swallowing every cry. “that’s it,” he rasped between kisses, hips snapping harder, faster, the carpet burning your back as he drove you up it inch by inch. “scream for me, darlin’… let the whole damn forest know a human’s breedin’ his christmas deer proper. gonna fill you so full—ah—fuck—gonna knot this tight little pussy with my cum till you’re drippin’ for days.”
the pace was relentless now—rough, claiming, perfect—his body covering yours completely, sweat dripping from his chest onto your tits as he fucked you like he’d never get enough, like your cunt was the only thing that could soothe the hunger he’d carried too long. and you took it all, legs locked around him, nails scoring his back, antlers scraping wildly, lost in the brutal, beautiful storm of him finally giving you everything you’d burned for on this long, firelit christmas night.
you never knew a human could fuck like this—pounding into you with such raw, unrelenting force that every thrust sent shockwaves rippling through your body, the carpet beneath you scratching rougher against your sweat-slick back as he drove you higher up the rug with each powerful snap of his hips, but still taking his time in a way that stretched the pleasure out like taffy, savoring every clench of your walls around his thick cock, every desperate flutter that begged him to go deeper, harder, unlike the hurried, instinctual ruts you’d endured before, all quick and mechanical like transactions in the wild where the heat was scratched but never truly quenched, leaving you empty and aching afterward.
with toji, it was worlds apart—his cock dragging out slow on the retreat, veins pulsing hot against your sensitive inner walls, only to slam back in with a brutal depth that nudged right up against your cervix, making your belly bulge faintly under the press of his body, and the pleasure swelled so intensely.
so overwhelmingly, that you couldn’t stop the strange, guttural sounds bubbling up from your throat, high-pitched keens that shattered into animalistic whimpers you didn’t recognize as your own. “toji—ahh—fuck, i can’t—nngh. . .” your eyes rolling back deep into your skull until the world blurred into a hazy white void where you swore you could see the sparking edges of your own brain firing off in overload, mixed with exploding stars that danced like christmas lights strung across the night sky, bright and blinding.
it felt good—so fucking good—that even through the tears streaking hot down your cheeks and the burn in your folded limbs, a delirious, lopsided smile tugged at your lips, cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim firelight, your antlers catching the orange flickers as they tilted with every jolt of your head, body surrendering completely to the rhythm he set, thighs quivering around his waist while your tail flicked erratically against the rug.
your hands reached out blindly again, fingers trembling and desperate for more contact, more of his warm, scarred skin to ground you amid the storm of sensation, brushing over his flexing abs, his broad chest, anything to feel the solid heat of him beyond the overwhelming fullness stretching your cunt to its limits.
toji cooed low and teasing above you, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed closer to yours, green eyes half-lidded and gleaming with lazy amusement even as his hips never faltered in their rough, claiming pace. “aww, sweetheart, gettin’ all sensitive and sentimental on me now?” he drawled, voice unbothered and rough around the edges, laced with that gentle sarcasm that made your heart stutter even as his cock pistoned deeper, folding you in half more with the weight of his body leaning down.
he pulled his large hand away from where it had been splayed possessively over your stomach, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and instead captured one of your seeking hands in his, lacing your smaller fingers through his thick ones with a firm squeeze, while your other hand, already near his mouth from your frantic reaching, brushed his scarred lips.
he turned his head slightly, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he muffled a low groan into it. “fuck, yeah... that’s my good little deer, holdin’ on tight while i stuff this pretty cunt full.” the praise rolled out lazy and filthy, his tongue flicking out to trace the lines of your palm before he sucked gently at the base of your thumb, eyes locked on yours through the haze.
those praises, even drenched in his dirty drawl, twisted something deep inside you—igniting fresh sparks that made your walls clamp down harder around his thrusting cock, slick gushing out in thick waves that coated his balls and the dark curls at his base, turning every rough plunge into a wet, obscene symphony of skin slapping skin, louder than the dying crackle of the fire casting long shadows over your tangled forms.
toji gave your palm more lingering kisses, slow and deliberate, lips dragging soft and wet across the sensitive skin before trailing lower to your wrist, nipping gently at the thin flesh there where your pulse thundered under his mouth, humming approval at the frantic beat as if it were music to him. “so damn responsive,” he murmured against your inner arm, voice muffled but husky, hips snapping forward harder now, the angle making his cock grind deep against that spongy spot inside you that pulled another shattered moan from your lips, “toji—oh. . . deeper, please.” your free hand fisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, nails scraping his scalp as you tugged, urging him on.
he continued the path without rush, kisses turning to lazy sucks along the curve of your arm, teeth grazing just enough to leave faint red marks blooming on your flushed skin as he reached the bare, sweat-slick slope of your shoulder, nuzzling there briefly before biting down soft and possessive, soothing the sting immediately with his tongue.
“hate christmas, y’know,” he rasped against your collarbone, voice dropping lower as his mouth dipped further, lips brushing the swell of one breast, “all that fake cheer and bullshit lights... but fuck, your sweet deer pussy’s makin’ it enjoyable for once—warm and tight like the best damn present i could unwrap.” the words were pure filth, wrapped in lazy praise that made your toes curl, body arching higher into him as he finally sealed his mouth hot and wet around your nipple, sucking hard with a flick of his tongue that sent lightning straight to your clit.
your eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes clumping with fresh tears of overwhelm, the world narrowing to the brutal snap of his hips driving his cock impossibly deeper, the wet heat of his mouth on your tit, and the solid grip of his hand still laced with yours, grounding you even as pleasure threatened to shatter you completely.
your free hand stayed buried in his hair, fingers tangling and tugging harder every time he thrust in rough, the head of his cock nudging so deep you felt it press against your lower belly from inside, a faint bulge that made your breath hitch. “toji—i feel it—ahh—there, right there.” earning a low, guttural groan from him muffled against your breast as he sucked harder, teeth grazing the peaked nipple before soothing with his tongue.
“yeah? feel me rearrangin’ your guts, darlin’?” he pulled off with a wet pop, eyes flicking up to watch your face contort in bliss, smirk curling lazy even as sweat dripped from his brow. “that's my filthy hybrid—tuggin’ my hair like that baby, milkin’ this cock so good... gonna make me spill every drop in this ripe little cunt, breed you till you’re glowin’ like a damn tree.” his hips pounded faster then, rougher, the praise spilling endless as he chased the edge with you, bodies slick and trembling on the fire-warmed rug, the christmas night stretching infinite in the haze of heat and need.
toji pulled away from your tits with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over the swollen nipple, leaving it glistening wet and aching in the cool air that whispered through the room from the snow-sealed windows, his green eyes lifting lazy to meet yours—pure bliss etched across your flushed face, lips parted in that delirious smile, tears clinging to your lashes like dew on pine needles, antlers tilted back against the rug as your body trembled beneath him, every muscle taut and quivering from the relentless pound of his hips.
he held still for a breath, cock buried deep to the hilt, grinding slow against your fluttering walls just to watch the way your expression shattered further, then smirked that crooked, scarred pull of his mouth, voice dropping low and rough even as he rolled his hips once, hard, nudging that bulge in your belly again. “you glad you got separated from the others, sweetheart?” he drawled, unbothered and lazy, thumb brushing over your knuckles in the hand still laced with his, like he was commenting on the weather while his cock throbbed hot inside you.
“cause i’m sure as hell glad i decided to head into those woods earlier—fuck, if i hadn’t, i’d be missin’ out on this sweet cunt for the rest of my life... feels like i’d lose ten years just thinkin’ about it, leavin’ my deer all alone and unfucked.”
you couldn’t even form words—your mouth opened on a helpless whimper, tongue heavy and mind fogged, the pleasure coiling so tight in your belly that all that came out was blabbering nonsense. “toji—ahh, can’t—nngh—close, so close.” body arching high off the rug, thighs clamping around his waist like a vice, slick walls pulsing wildly around his cock as the edge rushed up fast, heat season burning through every nerve until you were nothing but sensation.
tears spilling fresh down your temples, ears twitching back flat against your skull in desperate surrender. the smile on your lips widened, broken and euphoric, as your free hand tugged harder in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him deeper even though he was already splitting you open so completely, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing filthy in the firelit room.
he chuckled low, the sound rumbling against your skin as he leaned closer, folding you even tighter beneath him, your leg over his shoulder pressing your knee to your chest, opening you impossibly wider for the brutal thrusts that followed—harder now, rougher, hips slamming forward with a force that jolted your whole body, cock dragging out to the tip before pounding back in, chasing that clench he felt building in your cunt.
“yeah? can’t talk, huh? too busy cummin’ on my cock like a good little deer?” he teased, voice husky and sarcastic-gentle, eyes locked on your rolling ones as he fucked you through it, the pace turning punishing, every thrust grinding his dark curls against your clit, sending sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “come on, baby—let go for me, soak this cock with your cum... fuck, that’s it—ahh—squeeze me just like that."
the coil snapped then—white-hot and shattering—your back bowing off the carpet in a sharp arch, antlers scraping deep grooves into the fibers as a scream tore from your throat, “toji—fuck, fuck, fuckkkk. . . cumming, ahh god—” cunt clamping down like a trap around his pistoning cock, walls spasming wildly, slick gushing out in hot waves that soaked his balls and dripped down onto the rug beneath you, pleasure crashing through your body in endless, trembling pulses that left you sobbing, smiling, shaking as he fucked you harder through it, not slowing, hips slamming rough and deep to prolong every flutter.
your hand in his hair pulled tight, the other squeezing his fingers white-knuckled, body convulsing beneath him as the orgasm ripped you apart, stars bursting brighter behind your closed lids, the heat finally breaking in a flood of bliss that made your toes curl and your tail flick frantic against his thigh.
toji groaned low and ragged, feeling your cunt milk him mercilessly, his own control fraying at the edges as he chased his climax right on the heels of yours—thrusts turning erratic, harder, pounding into your oversensitive walls without mercy, the wet sounds obscene and echoing as slick squelched between your bodies.
“fuck—gonna breed you now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice breaking rough against your ear as he leaned down fully, crushing you under his weight, mouth brushing your neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. “hope you’re ready to get knocked up by a human on christmas—gonna fill this ripe deer pussy so full of my cum you’ll be leakin’ for days... ahh—take it, deer, every drop.”
the thought hit you like another wave—pregnant by him, belly swelling with his seed, the image filthy and intoxicating in your heat-addled mind—and your spent cunt clenched tighter around him, gripping his cock like it never wanted to let go, milking him deeper as fresh slick pulsed out. he cursed in bliss, hips stuttering once, twice.
“shit—yeah, you like that? like gettin’ bred by me?” before slamming in one last time, burying deep as he spilled hot and thick inside you, cock throbbing with every heavy spurt, flooding your walls until it leaked out around his base, mixing with your slick in a warm, sticky mess that dripped down your ass. he groaned long and low against your shoulder.
“fuck—yesss—my good little deer, takin’ it all like a christmas miracle,” he groan, hips grinding slow circles to push his cum deeper, riding out the aftershocks while you whimpered beneath him, sensitive and full, body still trembling in the glow of release, the fire crackling softly as the christmas night wrapped around you both in exhausted, sated warmth.
he stayed buried deep inside you for what felt like an eternity after the last thick spurt of his cum flooded your walls, hips grinding slow, lazy circles that pushed his seed deeper, mixing with your slick until it leaked out in warm, sticky rivulets around his base, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug beneath you in a filthy testament to how thoroughly he’d bred you.
his chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking and sliding as he caught his breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, dark hair damp and falling over his scarred face while the fire crackled lower now, embers glowing soft orange across the room, casting long, wavering shadows that danced over your tangled limbs and the faint bulge still visible in your lower belly where he filled you so completely.
your body trembled in the aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his softening cock, milking the last drops from him as oversensitivity made every tiny shift send sparks skittering up your spine, thighs quivering uncontrollably around his waist, leg still hooked loosely over his shoulder even as your muscles screamed from being folded so long.
tears dried sticky on your cheeks, but that delirious smile lingered on your lips, soft and sated, ears twitching faint against the rug, antlers tilted at an exhausted angle while your fingers stayed tangled loosely in his hair, the other hand still laced with his, palms slick with sweat.
toji lifted his head slow, green eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that familiar lazy smirk, voice coming out rough and low, unbothered even after everything. “fuck, sweetheart... look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing slow over your knuckles in the hand he held, hips giving one last shallow grind that pulled a weak whimper from your throat, “nngh—toji.” your walls clenching instinctively around him again.
he hummed approval, leaning down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips, tongue flicking lazy to taste the salt of your tears and the lingering sweetness of your moans. “all bred and glowin’ like a proper deer... hate the holiday, y’know—too much fake bullshit and glitter—but damn if your hybrid cunt didn’t just make it my favorite one yet. warm, tight, milkin’ me dry like you were waitin’ your whole heat for a me to stuff you full.”
you could only whimper in response, body too spent for words, a soft, broken “ahh...” slipping out as he shifted slightly, cock still half-hard inside you, stirring the mess he'd made. your free hand slid from his hair to trace lazy down his scarred back, fingers brushing the sweat there, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch even in exhaustion.
he chuckled low against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you again, eyes tracing the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow pants, nipples still peaked and glistening from his earlier attention. “can’t even talk, huh? too full of my cum to think straight?” his tone was gentle sarcasm, teasing without bite.
he finally eased out slow—agonizingly slow—the thick drag of his cock pulling free with a wet sound that made you both groan, his seed immediately leaking out in thick globs, coating your folds and dripping down to the rug. he watched it with dark fascination, thumb reaching down to swipe through the mess, spreading it lazy over your swollen clit just to feel you jerk weakly, “toji—sensitive. . .” your hips twitching away even as your body arched for more.
“yeah, i know,” he drawled, unbothered, bringing that thumb to his mouth to lick clean, eyes locked on yours as he tasted the mix of you both. “but look at this pretty mess... my deer all bred and leakin’. gonna keep you like this all night, darlin’—plugged full, warm by the fire. maybe round two when you stop shakin’.”
he shifted then, rolling to his side but pulling you with him, keeping your bodies tangled, your leg draped over his hip as he tucked you against his chest, one big hand splaying possessive over your lower belly where his cum still filled you deep. “best damn present i never asked for,” he muttered against your hair, lips brushing the base of one antler in a soft, unexpected kiss, voice dropping lazy and content. “merry fuckin’ christmas to me.”
summary: two years had passed since you first met gojo satoru, and it was two years of having an agonizingly one-sided crush on the white-haired genius. for the most part, you were okay with keeping it down and acting like the nights you spent fantasizing about what it would be like to be his were normal. you were fine keeping it hidden until something between the two of you shifts, and you're left wondering if this crush you have on him is truly as delirious as you think.
genre: 18+, nerdjo, slow burn, angst + happy ending (duh), fluff, eventual smut (nerdjo being a munch), some mention of insecurities but nothing major
word count: 33k (oops)
note: nerdjo bu set in oxford! art credit! @to00fu
jjk masterlist
It began at one of the English department get-togethers.
Two years ago, when you felt like you had to come to every single event in the hopes of striking expeditious luck at one of them. And it’s not that you particularly disliked these events, but they weren’t the first thing you’d think of when it came to how you’d prefer to spend your free time.
The weather was just getting chilly enough where you’d rather stay in your dorm and wrap yourself in three blankets and a sweater, and the year had been dragging on long enough where you’d rather just talk about the wonders of Shakespeare and his sonnets in the confines of your next research paper and not with academics who made you feel inferior.
You had been invited weeks in advance, and yet you still found yourself dreading being here, the more it led to it, and even more when you were in the thick of it. Awkward small-talk with students you’ve seen around briefly and stiff handshakes with male professors who think that they have better places to be were just mentally taxing, and you counted the seconds until it was all over.
Thankfully, it was busy enough that you could slip into the background without many people even noticing you were there, but not so crowded that you could just slip away entirely without somebody asking where the great Dr. Howard’s research assistant had gone. And anyways, it wasn’t too horrible. You had taken to silently recounting Othello in your mind moments before everything changed.
There was a small tap on your shoulder. It startled you at first, and you looked around in your small corner to see a man waiting patiently behind you, a sheepish look on his face as you tried to gather yourself up.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, and you blinked out of your stupor as you tried to recall in your brain if you had met him before to save yourself from the embarrassment of him having to re-introduce himself, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
He looked familiar. His eyes were a deep amethyst, his smile was soft and kind. His dark and shaggy hair was tied behind his head in a small bun, and his ears were adorned with multiple piercings. Although many at Oxford, especially the men, tried to appear as blank as usual, he seemed apt and content with going against the stuffy and old notions.
You must have seemed confused because the man stuttered as he introduced himself.
“I’m Suguru,” he restarted, his hand leaving his side as he extended it to shake yours, “I think we had the same English survey course last semester.”
Your confusion melted away into a wide smile as you shook his hand, his own eyes crinkling around the edges as he grinned back, letting out a breath of relief as you nodded insistently, shaking your head at your own self.
“Right, right, Suguru! I remember you!” You exclaimed, setting your cup down to the side as you watched him tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, “You sat a little bit in front of me, right?”
His head ducked down momentarily as he chukked, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he nodded.
“I did,” he chuckled slightly, “Right in the line of fire for when Howard needed to pick on someone.”
Your lips quirk up slightly as you nod, remembering how the professor you work for now used to terrorize your class and quiz random students on particular syllables and grammatical imperfections in the reading they were supposed to have done.
The class was small, as were most major-specific courses you were taking. Although you didn’t have many of your friends in the class, you had gotten a good sense of who was in there and who Dr. Howard preferred to pick on. Suguru, for the most part, did the reading and did his work, so he came out unscathed compared to some of the other students. He sat near the front with some of his own friends, and you had talked to him in passing a couple of times when the class as a whole would band together to compare comments on assignments. He was kind, from what you remembered, which is probably why you felt your shoulders growing less tense the more you two talked.
“That’s her style,” you say, shrugging as you fiddle with your fingers. “It took a while to get used to it,” you admit. Suguru rolls his eyes at your humility, remembering clearly just how much Dr. Howard favored you, but he doesn’t say anything as he lets you continue, “I don’t know if you’ve had Creemer yet, but he’s worse with his cold calls and isn’t half as nice.”
“I have him right now for rhetoric and grammar,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head in dismay, “He’s…sadistic, I think.”
You giggle, nodding feverishly at the statement as you recall your past couple of classes with the hellish professor, an infamous name for many English majors and someone that you try to avoid at all costs if possible.
The party, or gathering, as it said on the invitation, drones on in the background as you look around to see if anybody is looking in your direction. Most of the time, you can do what you want, but seeing that Dr. Howard had warned you before tonight that somebody from the department might want to swarm you to ask questions that you most likely didn’t have answers to, had put you on edge.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, motioning to the rest of the people with a knowing glint as you politely smile, shrugging your shoulders as your lips press tightly together. Whether it be your shy nature or how you preferred smaller crowds, it must’ve been evident on your face that you weren’t necessarily having the most amount of fun.
“I am,” you answer, wincing at the way your voice sounded warbled, “I’m trying to make the most of these opportunities, I guess.”
Suguru’s head dipped in understanding, taking a sip of his drink as he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning in slightly as he lowered his voice.
“These things drag on for a bit, though, yeah? I’m feeling my fingers prune from how long I’ve held this glass.”
You let out a sigh of relief, sharing the same sentiment as the two of you share a knowing look.
“I…I, um, I heard that Howard chose you to research with her, though, right? That’s gotta be pretty cool,” Suguru asked after a beat, bringing you back to the conversation as his head tilted slightly, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you swallowed. He seemed kind, not asking the question bitterly as some other people have.
You nodded again, trying to contain your smile as you leaned against the stone pillar next to you. Letting out a small hum, you swallow again, trying to scope out what sort of place he was coming from.
“It is,” you answered, biting on the inside of your cheek as you were still reeling from being selected from such a wide pool of applicants and such a rigorous interview process to work on her next paper analyzing More’s work through a modern lens, “It’s…strenous, sometimes, but I’m having a lot of fun working with her,” you fidgeted with your fingers, “So yeah, it’s pretty cool.” You say sheepishly.
Suguru smiled at your hidden enthusiasm, the tip of his boot nudging something on the ground. He went to usher you to continue before his eye caught something behind your shoulder, his eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as his smile grew even wider, his hand raising in a wave.
“Sorry,” he apologetically muttered, and you craned your neck around to see what it was, or rather who it was that Suguru had seen, “I think my friend just arrived.”
That’s when you felt your breathing stop.
The bustling group of students and faculty members almost seemed to part theatrically for the man walking towards the two of you, but you couldn’t even blame them.
He stuck out like a sore thumb, with his icy white hair and strikingly beautiful eyes. His lengthy frame made him nearly a head taller than even the tallest man in the room, and his wide shoulders helped him wade through the bodies as he navigated to his friend. His face seemed stoic, bordering on bored, but you couldn’t help but widen your eyes in shock at seeing the most devastatingly gorgeous man to ever exist. He adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, his lips moving in quiet apologies as he tried to move through the people without bumping into them.
You suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that it had been days since you had last had a good night's sleep and that the bags under your eyes were most likely even more evident in the dim lighting of the old hall, and how your sweater was lumpy from being shoved in the back of your closet for so long. You swallow thickly as Suguru quickly excused himself as he stepped away and walked a bit away to hug the stranger, exchanging some words with each other as you stood awkwardly to the side.
You watched them silently as they talked for a little bit more before Suguru stepped away, his hand on his friend's back as he, for some horrifying reason, seemed to guide him towards where you were stiffly standing as the two of you made eye contact before you became aware of the way your eyeballs felt in your socket and how heavy your tongue was in your mouth.
When Suguru finally pulled away from the modern-day Adonis, you felt like a creeper and a loner as you wondered whether or not to leave or stand in the corner while they talked, but ever the kind person that he was, Suguru led the man by the back to where the two of you were with a wide smile on his face.
“Sorry about that,” Suguru abashedly apologized, chuckling deeply as he rubbed the back of his neck, “But this is my friend, Satoru,” he said brightly, pushing the man a little harshly towards you as you stared at him silently.
The man, Satoru, gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding once in your direction as he looks around, looking uncomfortable and shifty. Suguru rolled his eyes, sighing deeply as he patted his friend's back.
You grinned back, swallowing the spit in your mouth as you felt him stare at you once he was done looking at the room, your cheeks heating up. You felt his eyes drift over your outfit, at your posture, and the way your hands were clasped tightly together. This stranger assessed the way you swayed slightly, awkwardly, not knowing how to fill the silence as you tapped the tip of your battered shoes on the ground. When he was done, his chin lifted again, his stare lingering on your blinking face as you glanced between him and Suguru, waiting for somebody to say something before you imploded and left with the lingering scent of your vanilla body spray.
Seeing that he was fine with checking you out, you took the time to do the same. He seemed like one of the generational students of the school, the ones whose parents and grandparents and cousins and siblings all came and went and made something important with their lives. They weren’t hard to detect, especially him, with his steamed jumper and his creased pants. His leather shoes were shining back at you, and though his hair was somewhat messy, it seemed to be classily messy, unlike what you and some other students would call freely messy.
“I force him to come to these things with me,” Suguru explained, but you could barely hear him over the rhythm of heartbeats in your ear as you tried to fly, appreciate the man a few feet in front of you, “Our friend Shoko sometimes comes, but she had things to do tonight.”
The man’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly, his brows drawing tightly together as he glanced at his friend with a look.
“I had things to do too,” he muttered, his voice deep as you felt your heart stupidly tumble at the sounds.
Suguru snorted, shaking his head as he shrugged indifferently.
“Sure,” Suguru replied sarcastically and glanced at you, his brow slightly raised at the way you had gone silent, his lips quirking slightly when he noticed the way you couldn’t stop staring at his friend, not voicing anything as his hand on Satoru’s shoulder loosened, “Just act like you want to be here for twenty minutes, yeah?”
You bit your teeth into your cheek, a finger raising slightly as you pointed to the newcomer's face.
“I like your glasses,” you said brightly, your smile gentle as you fidget with your own, watching the way his striking eyes moved over to you again, squinting slightly as his hand raised upwards, as if he had forgotten that his glasses were even there, “They frame your face really well.” Your head tilts a little as you try to place something, “Where’d you get them? If, if you don’t mind me asking. Mine is so old and dingy, and the rims are basically glued on, and I’ve only had them for a few years.”
“Erm, well, thank you,” Satoru says stiffly, not used to the direct attention and compliments, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink as Suguru watches his friend struggle for words, taking the glasses off as he turns them to the side, trying to read the logo, “These are, erm, from Cartier. But I usually wear contacts, anyway.”
You let out a startled laugh, not a stranger to hearing students at this place don expensive items, but this being the first time you’ve seen one of them bashful about it.
You nod, your smile still there, softer as you take in his slightly awkward nature and let him put the glasses back on before you continue.
“Contacts are more practical,” you agree, even though you’ve always had a phobia of things touching your eyes and would never wear contacts unless somebody forced you, shrugging as you say, “But I’ve always appreciated the look of glasses.”
Satoru gnaws on his lips, nodding quietly as Suguru starts talking about his friend's major (biochemistry, you came to find out), and how long they’ve known each other, but you could only feel your stupid feelings when Suguru stayed, his friend included, and talked with you for the rest of the evening.
That was your sophomore year.
Nearly two years passed after befriending Suguru alongside his small group. He introduced you to Shoko after that night, swearing up and down that the two of you were destined to be near each other. And we weren’t wrong, not in the slightest. You two girls bonded strangely fast, as if you were twin flames that were being fanned out. Suguru and Satoru seemed to mirror the two of you, but the group functioned as a whole, for the most part. You spent so many nights over at their dorms that you could walk around blindfolded and still find your way to the others with no issue. It was fun, it was what you had dreamt of for so long. It was something that you were fine with, more than content with, ending your university career in a couple of months.
Well, everything for the most part, you could consider it as such if it wasn’t for your debilitating and soul-crushing feelings for the stranger you met that night.
It’s been four semesters, and you still don’t think Gojo Satoru has a clue. Which, in all honesty, is for the better.
Although his stoic nature spares nobody, it feels as though you're always on the worst end of it. With his lingering stares that seem to border on questioning why you were even there whenever he sees you, to the way he grows dim and quiet around you, it feels like you’re actively attempting to hurt yourself the more you fall in love with the little things you hadn’t noticed the day prior.
Even worse, you know deep down that such feelings are most likely, under this sun and every other universe, with most certainty and heavy grief, unrequited.
But you’re fine keeping it down.
You were fine until recently.
—
“I’m debating switching majors.”
Shoko declared from the couch, her legs hanging off the side, knocking occasionally on your shoulders as you crane your neck back on the cushion form where you were seated on the ground to look at her upside down.
“To what?”
She shrugged, rubbing at her eyes as she held her neuroanatomy textbook in one hand, her phone in the other as she scrolled through the different majors Oxford offered, as if she wasn’t a semester away from graduating.
“Film?” She read out, and you snorted, rolling your eyes at the prospect of Shoko going into film, “Hm…maybe art history?”
“Gave up on the med school dream?” Suguru quips from the other side of the couch, knowing fully that Shoko was just going on another one of her tangents as she shifted slightly to shove him harshly with her socked foot.
“I’m sure your counselor wouldn’t mind,” you reply, looking at her as she glares, her eyes falling back to her phone as she peers at the screen. She looked boredly a little bit before her eyes flitted upwards slightly, squinting as she read the new notification.
“Satoru said he’s going to be here in a few minutes,” she muttered, reading the next message, “And that he wants you,” she nudged Suguru with her foot again to motion that it was him that Satoru was referencing in the text, “To move to your bed so that he can do his work on his side of the couch.”
Suguru peeked up from his doom scrolling to look at Shoko, his eyes narrowed in a glare as he let out a huff of annoyance.
“His side?”
Shoko shrugged, her knee knocking on the side of your head as you knock it back, the book you were reading resting in your hands as you listened to Suguru mutter distastefully about how this was his dorm and that Satoru had no right claiming his couch, but you heard him shuffle to his feet nonetheless.
You tried not to show any peek of interest when the infamous name was called out, but it was hard not to. It had been two grueling years of mulling over your childish crush, yet the sound of his name could still send pulses to your veins that you were sure were minor heart attacks.
Because it was Gojo Satoru. You wanted to bang your head against the coffee table just hearing it.
Truth be told, you weren’t a stranger to having crushes. It was normal, it was human. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself when you were sprawled out on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as you tried not to think about the way his fingers ever so slightly grazed your wrist when he handed you some chopsticks earlier at the restaurant.
But your crushes came few and far between, and you preferred keeping it that way. Seeing that you were too terrified to ever admit them, and the few, very few times you have, they’ve backfired horrifically, you try not to catch feelings as much as possible. But there was something about Gojo, something beyond reason, that pulled you to him.
At first, you bargained. You tried convincing yourself that it was just his appearance that was drawing you in, his suave looks that made people’s heads turn whenever he entered a room. But you have seen him at four in the morning with his old band tees (a sight that still made you swoon), with his hair crusted with glitter and his eyes pink with eyeshadow as Shoko attempted to put him in drag. Even then, he was insanely gorgeous, so you knew it had to be beyond that.
When you had finally accepted that it was a mind-numbing and life-ending crush that you were feeling towards him, you finally gave in and decided to admire the tall brute from afar. It helped that the two of you had gotten somewhat closer over the past two years, but out of everyone in the group, he was the one you talked to the least. In your defense, he didn’t have much to say to anybody, and that was just his nature. He spent most of his time studying and researching, and the other time watching, observant as other people gossiped. It wasn’t his forte, and nobody pushed him.
So you took in his quietness and his stoicism, appreciated his god-like looks and his overwhelming presence. That was fine.
What made it even worse was that he was so unattainably perfect in other ways that your crush festered into something that made you scream into your pillows and throw your balls of clothes at the wall as you wallowed in self-pity.
Everyone at this damned university was intelligent, and you had made amends with them early on. But you loved men who were smart, guys who could actually hold a page down and dissect it and make the most of it. And worst of all, Gojo Satoru was probably the most intellectual person you have ever met, and will ever meet. It seemed like his memory was photographic, his mind working twenty thousand times faster than the regular brain as he computed formulas and equations at speeds that you couldn’t fathom. He made biochemistry seem easy, something that you sometimes felt guilty for not pursuing. And sure, it didn’t help that you were on the other side with your texts about Russian classics and books diving deep into the restoration period, but even Shoko, who could rival Gojo at times, would begrudgingly admit under her breath just how stupidly genius he was.
Therefore, when you put those things together, his charming looks, his bookish self, his brooding structure, and just everything else, it made him unattainably perfect.
And that’s when you get the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with since the moment you saw him at that wretched party that wasn’t a party.
So, when Shoko read off his texts, there was good reason why she looked at the top of your head, a knowing look in her eyes as she playfully nudges you again, watching as you threw her a dark glare to just keep it down seeing that she was the only other soul who knew, despite you trying your best to hide it, about your feelings towards her other friend.
“Did you hear that Toji is graduating a semester late?” Suguru asked, leaning back against his pillows, his long legs strewn along his bed as he chewed on some gum.
You and Shoko both hummed, not looking up from your respective tasks, having found this information out weeks in advance.
Suguru groaned in annoyance, his chest vibrating with the noise as you snorted, rolling your eyes as he threw a small pillow at your head. It bounced off the side of your face, but you didn’t look up from the page you were on, too engrossed to hear the door behind you click open and heavy footsteps suddenly thudding through the dorm.
You shuffled against the couch, your back feeling stiff as you tried to get comfortable, not knowing that the man of your dreams was moving around somewhere behind you as he hung his coat up (vintage leather, something you found out as he grumbled about getting it wet when Shoko and Suguru insisted on walking in the rain once), kicked off his shoes, and slung his bag around as Shoko craned her neck to see what he was doing.
“Hey,” Shoko called out, and your eyes widened slightly when you heard a familiar voice grunt back a tired greeting, trying not to look as your ears suddenly sharpened to pick up on the sound of him pulling on his sweatshirt as he rounded the couch, standing at the opposite end as he plopped his backpack on the cushions.
You finally allowed yourself to peek over, your eyes following his figure upwards until they landed on his face, and your fists balled in frustration at how pretty he was even when he was simply existing.
Gojo sent you a small, tight-lipped and courteous nod, polite and curt as he looked between you and Shoko, glancing back at the bed where Suguru was lying, his fingers barely lifting from his phone as he gave his childhood best friend a lazy three-fingered wave.
“Why’re you here?” His blunt question was directed at Shoko, something that held no bite but mere wondering as he situated himself on the soft cushions, his large hands feeling around his bag as he opened up the zipper to get his laptop.
“I thought that it was allowed,” Shoko replied dryly, “Apologies.”
You chuckle softly, flipping the page, trying not to let his signature cologne distract you from the words in front of you.
“How was your lab?” Suguru asked, sounding monotone as his thumb swiped on the screen.
You watched as Gojo gave him a glare, his nose wrinkling, something he often did when he was frustrated but didn't want to ruin his outward appearance, and rubbed at his tired eyes. His hair was messy with goggle indents lining the upper half of his face.
“An offense to my intelligence,” Gojo grumbled, his face illuminated by the glow of his laptop as he clicked around a little bit, “I can’t believe some people have made it this far.”
You flipped another page, not fully having read the contents of the last one, but in an attempt to seem indifferent, tried to keep up with your regular reading pace as if anybody was keeping track.
Watching as he riffles through his bag again, you know, almost like clockwork, what he’s going to pull out. His routine is one that you’ve familiarized yourself with despite your best judgment, and you know that what comes next are his glasses.
Glasses are normal. You have your own pair that you only wear for lectures and outings, but forgo them for times like this because they sit a little too heavy on your nose. But his glasses are something else.
They elevate his face ever so slightly, but so much so that it makes you want to keel over and scream. They accentuate his perfect nose with the perfect crook and his freckles that sometimes sit just beneath the frames. He looks even more dashing, if that was even possible, with the way he looks up sometimes, and the lenses make his eyes seem even more blue.
He took them off for labs and put them somewhere safe. In moments like this, you were reminded of just how truly stunning this man really was.
Gojo unfolded the two prongs, holding them up to a source of light as his nose wrinkled again.
Smudges.
You watch silently as he dives back into the bag, his long fingers searching through his pockets for something you knew you always kept on hand for yourself and deep down, for him.
After a few seconds of not finding the microfiber cloth that you both silently cherished, you gave in, pulling your own bag towards you as you unzipped the smaller pocket, pulling it out stealthily and motioning for Shoko to hand it to Gojo.
He took it, his face going so far to relax momentarily as he went to clean the lenses, his head nodding once in quiet appreciation in your direction as you allowed yourself a nod in return.
Shoko looked at you with a raised brow, and you chose to hide behind your book.
“Was it Lainey?” Suguru asked, looking over at his friend, the name piquing your interest as you cast a quizzical look at Shoko, but she shrugged, watching Gojo as his expression soured. He handed you back your little cloth, muttering a thanks under his breath as his bitter gaze found Suguru, as if he was cursing him silently for bringing up the sensitive subject.
“What do you think?” He grumbled out, his right eye almost twitching as his fingers stretched out, typing something quickly as Suguru huffed out a laugh, noting how you and Shoko were both confused, and his smile only grew.
“You didn’t tell them?” Suguru asked, a gleam in his eyes as he shuffled to sit upwards, his back resting on the headboard, “Oh, this is class. Do you two know Lainey? Lainey Andrews?”
You cast a look at Shoko, your lips pursing as your eyes squinted, trying to recall the familiar name.
“The ginger?” Shoko asked, her head tilting to the side, her hair falling around her shoulder, “Pixie cut?”
Suguru nodded, his shoulders raising as your brows furrowed before your mouth slightly fell open when your head bobbed quickly, snapping as you matched the face to the name.
“Oh, Lainey!” You exclaimed, “She’s really pretty,” you added, remembering her bright green eyes and the spattered freckles that made her look like a painting, “She’s also crazy smart - she’s double majoring in bio and poli sci."
Shoko laughed softly under her breath, giving you a small look because this was somewhat typical of you to know random people, with nearly everyone on campus having had a conversation with you at some point during your four years here.
Suguru raised a brow, clicking his tongue as he pointed his phone at Gojo, seeming like he was already anticipating one of his sly comments.
“She’s also just crazy,” Gojo muttered, looking above his laptop, above his wispy lashes at you and then to Shoko, “She spent half of the lab playing with my hair.”
Your book almost fell out of your hands as Shoko sat up with a barking out a stunned laugh, your hands mirroring each other as they flew to cover your mouths in shock, and Suguru nodded again, his eyes wide as he clicked his tongue.
Another thing about Gojo? He hated being touched. Despised hugs, only suffered through quick handshakes, and shuddered at the thought of someone touching his face. You’ve seen the way he pulls back whenever someone approaches him with open arms, seen the way he tries to brush people off of him. He can tolerate Suguru and his insistent bear-hugs from time to time, can sometimes allow Shoko to swat a fly away from his face, and for some reason, doesn’t grumble whenever you try to fix his ties before events, but whenever a stranger or someone he isn’t close to attempts to touch him, he grows reclusive for the rest of the day.
“I told her to stop, too,” he adds, his big frame seeming to grow in frustration as he thinks back to it, “It was only after I had to shove her off that she got the hint. I forgot my disinfectant too, so I was just…” he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted uncomfortably, and you watched him let out a restrained exhale as he dropped it and went back to work.
But, after studying him for as long as you have, you know that he probably washed his hands and his face a couple of times after that. You know that he also wouldn’t feel complete without some sanitizing wipes and a good shower, so you do the closest thing to that and fish out a hand sanitizer from your bag, an item that you refused to move around without due to your own cleanly nature, which was ironically something else that you and Gojo silently shared, and passed it to him, knowing that he was probably itching till he was able to shower again.
Your friends sometimes joked that you had a Mary Poppins bag, but it came in handy for times like this.
Gojo’s ears perked up at the sound of your rumaging, his eyes almost brightening at the sight of the hand sanitizer, and you pinched it between two fingers before throwing it his way, watching as he effortlessly caught it and began spraying his large palms with the lavender scent.
“Thank you,” he mumbled again, his voice slightly losing the edge it had from before as he passed it back to you, and you smiled, nodding once before you zipped it back up.
You tried to ignore the way Shoko was staring at you.
“Lucky us that we don’t have labs, huh?” Suguru called out, throwing another tiny pillow in your direction, but this time you dodged it, moving your head down slightly so that it would miss. You huff a bit, looking over at Suguru as he shrugged, winking as he went back to his phone.
Suguru was another English major, the reason the two of you got familiar in the first place. He liked to say that the two of you balanced out Gojo and Shoko, but you just thought that it pushed you even further down the list of potential people your pathetic crush could be interested in.
There were a couple of things that you had come to terms with if you were going to crush on him. One was that you had to know in full certainty that nothing was going to come from it. You weren’t going to risk the friendship, no matter how small, by going and confessing and having everything be messy. Two, was that you weren’t going to feel, or at least try not to feel, jealous if he entertained the idea of pursuing something with someone else. And three, was that Gojo Satoru was so incredibly picky when it came to potential partners, that it might be impossible for even the most amazing people to snag a chance.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, eyes squinting as you tried to make out what one of the characters was saying, “You didn’t have to do that project with Armie.”
Suguru hummed, his brow raising as he thought back to your shared class and the project that paired you up with people you didn’t know, Suguru getting the better end of the stick while you were stuck with someone who insisted on plugging the project prompt into a generator.
“Didn’t you report him?” Satoru asked, his eyes still trained on his work, but the question was now directed to you given the fact that he had sat in on a couple of your tirades in which you would drone on about how the boy was nearly about to graduate and still couldn’t cite sources when he, in one of his brief moments of providing comments, would reiterate to report it to the professor.
You sank into your spot, giving him a suppressed look, one where your eyes met before you shared a glimpse with Suguru. Your friend rolled his eyes from across the room, shaking his head in annoyance as Satoru looked between the two of you.
“She said that she didn’t want to ‘be a bitch’,” Suguru said, restating the words as his fingers move up and down in the air, quoting the statement you had said to him moments before you had to present the assignment in front of the class, shushing him as you pushed him away, insisting that even though you had done the entire project on your own, that it wasn’t worth the hassle to make a report with the professor and potentially have someone out for you, “I said otherwise, but she,” Suguru gave you a pointed look, “Said she’d cut my hair if I made it a ‘big deal’.”
Satoru’s eyes lingered on the side of your face, and you purposefully kept your head ducked and the book closer, so close that it was nearly touching your nose, as you tried to shield away their judging eyes in embarrassment.
“You need to stop caring about what other people think,” Shoko said as she shoved you with her knee, this time just a little bit harder because she knows you and knows what you hide in the fear of making others think something of you that wasn’t good, “I really think your professor would’ve heard your case if you made it.”
You groaned, swatting at her leg with your book as you shuffled away, backing into another corner as you tried to readjust to the new position.
“Yeah,” Suguru added, resting his phone momentarily on his chest, “I think it would help if you were more selfish.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the prospect.
“I just hate confrontation,” you murmur defensively, gnawing on your bottom lip as you flip a page, “And, plus…you have to give me some credit - at least I told him that he was being frustrating,” you say, pretending to ignore them, your eyes re-reading the same word over and over again until you were confident that they were going to drop this subject, this horse that they’ve beaten multiple times, one that ended with you assuring them that you were going to speak up more until it all looped back again to times like this.
“Speaking of confrontation, did you ever get a refund for that ticket?”
There was a beat of silence before you let out a frustrated groan when Shoko reminded you of the one task you had forgotten to do in the past couple of days, your head falling to your knees as your palms jammed into your eyes.
“No, oh my god, you’re so right,” your voice is muffled as you bookmark your page, your fists clenching at your own mistake as your eyes crack open, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot to follow up on that!”
Shoko chuckled, rolling her eyes as Suguru and Satoru shared a look, them now sharing confusion as you writhe on the floor at the thought of knowing you could’ve saved a couple of bucks had you not forgotten to call up the school of drama help center for accidentally buying an extra ticket to the showing of The Beggar’s Opera. And, seeing that it was Tuesday and just days before the theatre program, one that needed funds, was about to perform, the deadline for your refund was most likely up.
“So does that mean you need me to come with you next Saturday?” Shoko offered, her lips quirking up slightly as your head shot up, nodding quickly as your hands flew to hers, shaking them feverishly.
“Would you? Would you really?” You ask, and her laughter grows, shoving you off playfully by pushing your forehead back to where you were sitting.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says with a sigh, winking at you before she goes back to her phone, and you settle back in your seat as you gnaw on your lips, thinking back to how on earth you could have possibly messed up so bad when you so usually only buy one ticket for yourself, but you push it aside, thankful that your dearest friend was at least going to make use of it.
You, Suguru, and Shoko shared a small laugh and went on with the conversation, but you heard a low, deep noise, something only you could hear, as Suguru and Shoko returned to bickering about which major Shoko was best suited for.
The sound made you glance up briefly, looking over the pages to see Gojo still staring at you, his lashes fluttering before he snapped back to it and went back to doing his work.
Minutes turned into a few hours, and the room was filled with the occasional story and laughter, but mostly the four of you worked together on different assignments, sometimes looking up as you would recall something from the past couple of days that you were saving to tell them in person.
It seemed like everything was going smoothly until Suguru got a notification on his phone, his face lighting up as he swiveled out of his bed, jumping onto the floor as he tugged his shoes on, not explaining anything as the three of you glanced up, waiting.
“My food’s here,” he said over his shoulder, practically gleaming as he cocked his head in Shoko’s direction, “Come down with me, will you? I need some help.”
You scoff, smiling to yourself as you try to imagine just how much food he had ordered, but careful not to be too loud because you knew he would be sharing it with you all after some choice complaints were heard.
Shoko grumbles, but obliged, lifting up from the couch as she stretches, nudging you playing with the tip of her foot as she throws a pillow your way, walking towards Suguru as he holds the door open for her, the two of them calling out some brief goodbye as they head down to the lobby.
When the door clicks behind them, you’re suddenly aware of the fact that it’s only you and Satoru left, and you let your stare linger on the wall for a bit before you look away, suddenly sheepish when you catch his glance from his seat on the couch.
He clears his throat, eyes flickering from his screen to the book in your lap, the highlighters strewn around you, sticky notes sticking out from between the pages, and he points a finger at it.
“What’re you reading?”
Your brows raise slightly, and your chin ducks down to the book, and you sit up a little straighter as you place a bookmark in the middle of your page you lifting the cover, letting him read the cover as he adjusts his glasses over his eyes.
“Oh,” he says, his voice holding a lithe of acknowledgement as he slowly sets his laptop to the side, shifting slightly closer, “I’ve read this, I think.”
Your head tilts a little, lips quirking a little bit at the sides with a small smile as you look back at the cover.
“You’ve read The Norton Anthology, Volume C before?”
His mouth parts, closing it before he gapes at you, and your grin turns into a big smile, waving it away as you shake your head, shrugging at his stammering expression. He’s so cute when caught in a lie.
“I’m only kidding,” you swear, setting your book down, your knees pulled towards your chest, arms wrapping around your legs, “I’m sure you’ve had to read something like this for one of your previous classes.”
“You’re bothersome,” he murmurs, but his voice holds no bite as you let out another barking laugh, rolling your eyes as he tries not to smile, “I’m only trying to be polite.”
You purse your lips together, giving him a questioning look as he shoots you one back.
“I didn’t know politeness was in your artillery,” you quip, and he scoffs, moving his glasses upwards as he rubs at his tired eyes, resting backwards into the cushions as his legs part, and you try not to let your eyes linger on his thighs.
“I have a reserve for choice people,” he says, opening his eyes back as he looks back at you, yawning as he moves on, “How was your presentation?”
Your smile falters for a second as your stare turns questioning, chewing on your lips as it turns into something sweeter, something smitten because he’s asking about the presentation you had mentioned once in passing the last weekend you had hung out, stressing over your slides and sources, and trying to seem nonchalant as you finger traces little patterns on the floor.
“It was good,” you tell him, trying not to seem too prideful as you murmur, “My professor said it was exactly what he was looking for.”
His face shifts, no longer annoyed as you try not to appear bashful, but his teeth shine as his rosy cheeks pull upwards as he gives you one of those smiles that makes you feel warm and happy and giddy.
“Yeah?” He asks, shifting a little bit as he waved his teasingness off, rolling your eyes as you groan, nodding exaggeratedly as you go back to organizing your highlighters and pens, but he seems intent on pushing this: “Didn’t you say it was the hardest assignment of the class?”
You look up at him from above your lashes, trying not to smile again as you shrug indifferently, done with arranging your stationery based on colors as your knees knock together, throwing a pillow his way that he effortlessly catches.
“I mean, everyone told me that it was really, really hard, so-” But you’re cut off by the door swinging open, and the two of you crane your necks around to see Shoko and Suguru arguing over something irrelevant, food nestled in their hands as they close the door behind them with a slam.
They start telling you two about the delivery fee and the outrageousness that one of the containers had tipped over, but you’re still busy thinking about how Satoru remembered something so trivial, giving them quiet hums as they spread out the food on the small coffee table, and trying to act normal.
Like you have for the past two years.
—
The week passed as it usually does, with papers, readings, and assignments that needed to be completed at an unmanageable rate.
You had expected the usual and mundane things, and for the most part, that’s what came your way. Nights spent in each other's rooms as you finish up your work, spliced with moments where you would all talk, days filled with going to lectures and walking around campus till you found a quiet study spot. Things that you could predict and plan for.
For the most part.
Another thing that your little group would occasionally do was meet up at the end of the week at one of the pubs around campus, most of them serving mediocre food and somewhat better drinks, and offer you all a time to reconvene after a usually stressful couple of days.
The pub was small and quaint, but you enjoyed the warmth and laughter that muddled together to make the ambiance somewhat private. Either Suguru or Shoko would arrive there early and try to secure the usual spot at the booth near the end of the establishment, seeing that either of them didn’t have classes on Fridays, while the other three would meet up outside of Satoru’s biophysical chemistry class and walk there together.
Which is why you found yourself back on that Friday, sitting next to Shoko, settling into your seat as she clambered in after you. Suguru almost pushes Satoru in, impatient to sit down and get back to talking, and you watch as the white-haired man sits in front of you, his hands clasped together as he stares at the wood-grain of the table.
“How were classes?” Shoko finally asks, looking between you and Satoru as she takes a sip from her drink.
You sigh, shrugging as your fingers play with the bottom of your cup, the condensation slipping down as you rub at your tired eyes.
“Fine, I guess,” you say, drinking some water as you wipe at the corner of your lips, “My professor could’ve ended the class, like, twenty minutes earlier than he did.”
She nods solemnly, patting your thigh in solidarity as she passes the bowl of crisps towards you, nudging you to take one to help settle your stomach after having back-to-back classes, knowing how hangry it made you.
“Is this the professor who needs you to see a classical play?” Suguru asked, taking some of the snack as his arms crossed on top of the table, leaning in slightly as you licked some of the salt from your lips, nodding.
“Yeah,” you heave another sigh, elbowing Shoko as you continue, “Which is why I’m seeing Beggar’s Opera next week. I mean, the theatre program did a couple of Shakespeare ones earlier this semester, but…ugh, I just can’t watch another performance of Romeo and Juliet.” You murmur with a groan, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as Suguru hums in agreement.
“You don’t like Shakespeare?”
Your eyes shift over to the man in front of you who asked the question.
Your brows furrow slightly in the middle, lips pulling into a small pout as you shake your head, playing with the ring of water your drink had left as you itch your nose, trying not to focus too hard on the pretty pink color on Gojo’s cheeks because of the slightly toasty feel of the room.
“I do,” you say slugishly, “It’s just that when the only work of his that tends to be popular isn’t The Tempest, I get a little annoyed.”
Suguru snorts, shaking his head as his fingers wag at you.
“That’s not even nearly his best stuff,” he argues, and you roll your eyes, your head tilting badly in annoyance after knowing what this was going to lead to, “I can’t believe you still think that it outweighs Richard II.”
Satoru and Shoko’s eyes bounce between you and your ink-haired friend.
“I’d rather die on the hill of petty magic versus royal family drama,” You quip back, your brow slightly raised.
Suguru huffed, shaking his head in dismay as he lightly shoved your foot underneath the table, a small smile on both your faces.
“Is Tempest the one with the shipwreck?” Gojo asks, his head tilting slightly as his glasses lean on his nose bridge. You nod, grinning at the fact that someone in the group was able to identify such a classic piece of literary work.
You open your mouth to agree, but Suguru beats you to it.
“How do you know that?” He glances sideways at his friend, his brow raised in slight shock as Shoko snorts.
Gojo shrugs, his elbows resting on the table as the fabric of his sweater tightens around his arms, making him look delectable and otherworldly. You have to tear your eyes away from it before it becomes too noticeable.
“We went to the same secondary school,” Gojo argues, saying it as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world, “I paid attention…clearly more than others,” he adds under his breath, causing you to drop your hand to your mouth to hide the satisfied grin from when Suguru deflated in slight embarrassment.
“Oh, speaking of blast from the past,” Shoko shuffles, looking at her phone screen as if suddenly remembering something, “Vi’s coming back for break.”
You watch as Gojo and Suguru stop their silent bickering by messing with each other's stuff as they look up to Shoko. Suguru’s thin brow shoots upwards, his mouth turning into a surprised line as Gojo stares blankly, an unreadable expression on his face as you poke Shoko’s thigh, shaking your head in confusion.
“Who?” You murmur, your eyes squinting as Shoko looks at you, her mouth slightly dropping as she also remembers that you didn’t grow up with them.
“Vivienne March,” Suguru explains, beating someone once again to explain something because he could never hold onto a piece of information for longer than three seconds if he knows that somebody in his vicinity doesn’t know it, “She went to school with us for, what? Five, six years?” He looks between Gojo and Shoko, and they both nod, Shoko unlocking her phone as she goes to pull up the girl's instagram to show you what she looks like, “She’s his ex,” he murmurs as if secretly, pointing at his friend next to him as you feel something in your gut shift, but he clearly doesn’t tell because he leaves that point entirely.
“But I thought she preferred to stay in America till her spring semester was over?” He asks, confused, waiting for you to be done looking, as he waits for Shoko to explain it.
You take her phone gingerly, looking at the girl's account as you carefully click through her posts. You’re greeted with an aesthetic array of photos, some of her friends, some of her cat, and pretty pictures of old brick buildings and fall trees. But your eyebrows slowly move up your face when you see her.
Your thumb swipes through each post as you see her stunning hair framing her face in freshly done curls, her eyes striking and delicate as she wanders around a bookstore. Her outfits are always perfectly curated, and her makeup delicately done to accentuate her already natural beauty in a way that makes a part of you, something you tried to bury and starve, twist with envy at the effortlessness of her perfection.
“Guess she had a change of heart this year,” Shoko says, taking her phone back from your outstretched hand, turning it off as she placed it face down on the table, “She texted me this morning saying that she was ‘gonna be here for December and some of January and that she wanted to catch up.”
“You would like her,” Suguru directs his attention back at you, his words matching the genuine smile on his face, “She’s super bright and bubbly. And she’s so funny. Oh, and she's, like, insanely smart. She graduated from Cambridge when she was nineteen, and she’s doing grad school at Harvard.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Shoko hums, “I mean, she almost came here if she didn’t get the call from Harvard,” she nudges you with her shoulder, “But I don’t know how much he,” she points her eyes to Satoru, watching the way his mouth slightly parts at being called out, “Would’ve appreciated that, though.”
He scoffs, his tongue poking at his cheek as he leans in slightly, his arms crossing the table as Suguru snickers.
“I have no issue with Vivienne,” he argues, his brows pulling into a cute little frown, “She was just…”
“What?” Suguru juts in, Shoko scoffing a laugh next to you as Gojo only peers at him from the side of his eyes, “Madly in love with you? Was going to pick Oxford to be with you? And you were…what, days away from breaking up with her when she came sobbing to us that you have the emotional intelligence of a rock?”
Your eyes widen slightly, looking over at Shoko for confirmation, one she returns with a faint grin. Despite the sunken feeling in your heart, one that you often get whenever you are reminded of the fact that, unfortunately, literally everyone is also in love with Gojo Satoru, you have to control your face not to giggle at the statement.
Gojo makes a noise deep in his throat, the tips of his ears slightly pink from the added attention.
You swallow as you try to grapple with all this information. But, as always, the conversation moves on and you push everything back as you find yourself smiling once again, listening to how Suguru animatedly tells the story of how he bombed one of his essays because he forgot which citation format to use, and you try to not make it obvious how you’d peek over at Shoko now and then and see who it was that she was stalking, probably some girl from her class that she was plotting on.
The music lolls on in the background, the pub getting more packed with students and tired workers, and you find yourself content with listening to your friends tell you about their week, taking small sips from your straw as you grin and laugh as poke Shoko’s thigh whenever a cute guy, devastatingly never as cute as Gojo, walks by the table, and she, gripping your knee whenever a girl her type flashes her a look from over their shoulders.
“I think I’m wanted somewhere else at the moment,” she whispers, leaning closer to your ear as you follow her line of sight to a girl sitting at the bar, her long blonde hair thrown over her shoulder as she steals the occasional glance at your friend, “I’ll be back.”
You giggle, pushing at her to go as she swats your hand away playfully, sending you a wink as you send one back, watching her go as Suguru and Gojo watch silently, sending each other knowing looks before Shoko disappears behind the other booths.
“Well, if she’s going, might as well take this time to piss,” Suguru states, putting his hands on the wood as he hoists himself up, sending a cheeky little smile as he imitates Shoko’s sashay, “Don’t wait up.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to watch him leave as if to draw out the silence that will inevitably follow, seeing that it’s just you and Gojo remaining. Your fingers play with your empty glass as you glance back to him, sending him a small smile as you feel chagrin already seeping into your veins.
He clears his throat, his eyes darting from your face to your arms, his tongue poking his cheek as he swallows. You wonder how much he’s dreading the awkward silence that has the possibility of ensuing.
“Water?”
Your eyes squint at the sudden question, looking down to the long finger he has pointed at your glass, and you look back up at him, wondering if he was stating the obvious or if your feelings for him had made you delirious and unable to compute anything that comes out of his mouth.
“Do you want some more water?” He explains, and you feel your cheeks heat again at your blunder, “I’m going up there to get a refill anyway.”
You nod gratefully, swallowing your feelings down as you glance up at him, handing him your empty glass with ice sloshing around as your smile wobbles.
“I’d appreciate it, thank you,” your voice dips slightly as you grin stupidly the longer you look at his long lashes and his pink lips, somewhat glad that he was getting away so you could less opportunities to screw up, and you watch as his beautifully large hand wraps around the glass like it was nothing, sending you a small nod as he crouches slightly so that the overhanging light wouldn’t hit his head on the way out.
Leaving you alone, you pull out your phone, also thankful to have a little moment to yourself as you quickly try to catch up on the notifications you had gotten in the past couple of hours, as the noise around you mixes, adding a comforting ambience as you lean against the old walls, your head leaning against your fist.
You were so engrossed in your own little bubble that you didn’t notice the figure hovering near the other end of the table, only noticing the man when you looked to the side, thinking that either Suguru or Gojo was back, only for your eyes to widen in shock and surprise to be greeted with an unfamiliar face.
Letting out a small noise, adjacent to an audible gulp, you sit up straighter, looking bashfully at him as you turn your phone off, taking in his slender frame and the rectangular-framed glasses that sit wonkily on his nose as he fidgets nervously with the hem of his lumpy sweater. Ironically, having everything that Gojo has but wearing it so drastically differently that you have to snap yourself out of the comparison.
The boy's hair is slightly parted, light blonde, and his eyes framed with what seemed like brown lashes. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and his smile is lopsided as he scratches the back of his neck.
Cute in a schoolish way, you think.
“H-hi,” his voice is high, squeaking and wobbly as he leans on the booth, not knowing what to do with his arms as he uses the back of his hand to push his glasses upwards, “Hi, I just…”
Your head tilts slightly, curiosity filling your eyes as you give him a gentle smile, waiting patiently for him to find his words.
“I’m Kento,” he stammers after a second, scratching behind his ears as a red flush settles over his high cheeks, “I’m sitting over there,” he points to a table behind him, and your neck cranes to see a group of boys his age all staring at his back, “And I just thought-”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but pauses, his gaze drifting to something, or rather someone, coming his way, and you’re too focused on the way sweat dots at his hairline or the way he fidgets with the hem of his sweater to even notice the full glass of water sliding in front of you from the other side of the booth.
Your back straightens as your head whips to the side, eyes widening when you realize that Satoru had returned, his one drink nestled in his hand as his stare bounces between you and, who you evidently had just discovered, Kento.
Blue eyes flicker over your face, a moment's decision faltering in his mind as he slithers into not his original seat in front of you, but next to you, his large frame taking up half of your side of the both as your brows furrow in confusion, lips pulling into a tote as your eyes squint at the way he hunkers in like it was normal.
Is he okay? You try not to have your heart burst out of your chest and flip flop around on the table like a fish out of water at being in such proximity to Satoru, but you don’t even have time to think about that as the rest of your mind falters, trying to make sense of this behavior.
One of his beefy arms unravels from his side as it stretches above your head, resting atop the cushioned seats as he sighs deeply through his nose, taking a sip of his drink as if he hadn’t interrupted anything, and his chin turns over to the boy, waiting.
Kento stammers, even worse than before, as he pushes back his spiky hair with a hand, looking between you and Satoru as you blink slowly, not really knowing what to do, awkwardly lingering in your seat as you wonder if anybody’s going to talk.
“Everything alright?” Satoru asks finally, his voice slightly lower than usual, somewhat taunting but hard to tell, seeing that his face was blank, thick as it almost bounces off Kento’s skull, his cheeks turning into a bright pink as you lets out a small exhale of air, something resembling a shocked laugh at the strange and sudden shift in his behavior.
“I, uh, I,” Kento’s voice wobbles as he seizes up Satoru’s size and his overall presence, a strange look of shock and even awe as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, not fully knowing what was going on as Kento’s head dips in embarrassment, “I’m sorry…I didn’t know, uh, that you, you were…yeah…sorry…”
His arm raises in a small wave, quickly turning on his heels, the back of his neck almost red as you blink rapidly, letting out a small huff of air as your neck almost snaps towards the man next to you, stammering as you try to find your words.
Satoru looks at you, taking another sip.
“What?”
You scoff, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you stumble over a slew of words.
“What? W-what do you mean what?” You let out a bewildered laugh, looking across the pub at the boy and his group of friends that almost seem to be comforting him, their hands on his shoulders as he profusely shakes his head, “What the hell was that for?”
His white brows pinch in the middle, as if he doesn't understand your startlement, as if you were the one being crazy.
But you weren’t being crazy. Not in the slightest.
You brushed it off the first time Satoru scared off a guy who was talking to you. You thought it was strange, sure, how in the middle of your lively conversation of John Milton and Paradise Lost that he wandered from the other side of the room, suddenly attached to your side, his height towering over the other guy as he quieted down and scurried away. You just chalked it up to him being bored, despite how annoyed you were.
The second time, a guy was seconds away from putting his phone in your number when Satoru’s voice rang in your ears, and you watched, horrified, as he peered down at the guy's cracked phone screen, scoffing at the fact that he was listening to some stupid band he disapproved of.
Then there was the time when you were at this same pub, getting some drinks for Shoko, waiting at the counter, flirting with the guy next to you when Satoru found his way back to you, as if pulled by a magnet, and asked the guy if he always chose to talk to girls he didn’t know with a fresh hickey on his neck. (That one you weren’t mad at, more so embarrassed).
But it’s happened countless times. At the pub, at gatherings, at galas he’s invited you to as his plus one because he said nobody else could make it, at the library when he came a little too early and a guy from your class was sitting next to you, at the cafe, and at the small party he threw last year.
And if you weren’t so in love with him, you’d be madder than you were. You knew he was just being a protective and caring friend, not wanting you to get hurt, but you knew you’d have to start moving on from this debilitating crush, and he wasn’t making it any easier.
“I just asked him if everything was alright,” he explained, his tone bordering on bored as he pulls out his phone, checking the time as he angles his body slightly to look at you better, and you're somewhat aware of the fact that his arm is still somewhere above your head, “He’s the one that scurried away.”
Your mouth drops open, your palms jamming into your eye sockets as your head hits the table, banging it a couple times as you try to pull away from him, slightly angered, slightly, and very, ever so slightly, internally flustered at something you definitely should be flustered over.
“You…you scared him away!” Your voice is muffled as you groan, not caring much as you shoot him an angry and bitter look.
Satoru’s lashes flutter slightly, his pink lips pulling into a confused line as you shove his knee with your own, realizing that you were, in fact, not joking and were seriously considering the idea of giving that blubbering mess a chance.
“Are you - are you serious?” His thumb jabs in the general direction of where he had gone, “Him?”
You roll your eyes, chest heaving with a sigh as your forehead continues to rest on the cool tabletop, the tip of your nose rubbing against the varnish as you groan.
Deep down, you know that this crush of yours is fruitless and useless. It’s never going to get anywhere, and the only thing it can offer you is more hurt and rejection. You know that you are so far from his type and out of your league that he’d never see you as more than a friend, if that, but you continued to have it because it lit a fire inside of you that you sadistically enjoyed.
That being said, you would prefer, at some point, to have a romantic moment, even if fleeting, and having the man you’ve been in love with for two years chase away the only guy who’s had the balls to come up to you made you irrationally annoyed for some reason that you didn’t fully understand.
“He…he seemed nice,” you argue, your eyes closing shut as your hand shifts, and you rest your cheek on the back of it, your back bent at an angle as you look up at him from your position on the table, “And he was cute-”
Gojo cuts you off with a startled laugh, a disbelieving one as his eyebrows shoot upwards, showing more than the five emotions you usually see him with as genuine shock laces his features, and it only spurs on that angry fire inside of you as you press.
“What? What? He was cute!” Your head lifts quickly from its spot on the table as your body shifts to look at him even better than before, trying not to notice the cute wrinkle of his nose or the frosty irises of his eyes that are looking so intently at you that it could knock the air out of your lungs if you stare long enough, “And I…I don’t know, I think he wanted to talk to me!”
Gojo snorts, his arm tightening around the cushion behind you, his hand dangling off the end, his fingers dangerously close to the side of your ear as you swallow thickly.
“Well, of course, he wanted to talk to you,” his other hand pushes his glasses upwards, the veins on the back of his hand evident, “ I just can’t believe that he’s someone you’d want to entertain.”
You stutter, hurt flashing across your face as it pulls into sour bewilderment.
You’ve barely talked to Satoru for more than a couple of minutes at a time about classes or projects or annoying classmates, and you can’t believe your luck that the first conversation between the two of you that stemmed outside of those points is about this.
“What, what’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice dips slightly, embarrassed, as his own expression slightly shifts at your tone.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly not expecting this to blow up in his face as it did, and he sighs, retreating to his old, composed self as he explains himself.
“Look, I have him in a couple of my classes,” he starts again, lips pulling into a thin line as he looks over his shoulder to Kento and then glances back to you, “He shows up late and never does his work and always asks to most ridiculous questions,” Satoru adds and you try not to have your lips quirk at the sudden revelation, not wanting to give in and let your foolish feeling stake the wheel and guide you to forgiving him, but it’s not use as he continues, “I just figured that…someone like that isn’t someone good for you. Even if he did just want to talk.”
Your mouth dries up, and you try not to let your head burst and remind yourself that he’s thinking about this from a friend's perspective, something kind and caring and companionly, but not in the way you would want from your crush, but Satoru is still waiting on your response so instead you swallow everything down and your lips tote, avoiding eye contact as you attempt to seem indifferent despite your outburst.
“How ridiculous are his questions?” You finally ask, peeking over at him from where your gaze had been training on the ice in your water, and you swear you see a flicker of surprise take over his gorgeous features, as though you were going crazy with the way his blankness faded momentarily and gave way to a little smile.
He sighs, this time lighter, his hand behind you shifting ever so slightly to push at the back of your head, gingerly but in a teasing way as you try not to smile a giddy smile, one that doesn’t reflect the fact that you couldn’t really care about the guy who had come up to talk to you when Satoru cared enough because he didn’t think he was good enough for you to talk to.
“Even more ridiculous than asking if adding ice to rice would help it steam up more than if you used water,” he says, picking up his drink as he nurses it over his mouth, fighting back a smug grin at the way you sputter, pushing him roughly as your cheeks heat up again for bringing up one of your late-night queries.
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll give you this one!” You rub at your eyes, shoulders hunched, “But you have to stop scaring off every single guy that tries to talk to me! He could be a normal guy who’s going to come up, and you’re going to disapprove of him just because he wears mismatched socks or only writes in pen!”
Satoru snorted indifferently, proving your point that he didn’t seem to care.
“Writing solely in pen is psychotic behavior,” he grumbled to himself, recalling the time one of his classmates had the gall to ask you for your number before he quickly shut it down, inserting himself in the middle of the conversation until the guy gave up and left.
You groan, head dropping back onto the table as you tap it lightly, a quiet thud reverberating in your tiny corner of the room.
“One of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that the reason you shut people down is different from the reasons I shut people down.” You say, moving your arms upward so that you could set your cheek on it, looking at the empty seats in front of you instead of the man you’ve had a crush on, sputters.
“What do you mean?” His voice drops a little bit, and you angle your head to look up at him, brows pinching in the middle as you let out a little laugh, something sardonic as you shake your head to yourself.
“You…” you pause, stopping, sighing to yourself as you try to control your words before you say something you’ll regret, “You have like…perfect people coming up to you. And if you choose to reject them, that’s up to you, I get it. But last week you turned a girl down because she said that Star Wars was a waste of money,” the two of you share small laugh because you can recall just how red he got, embarrassed but peeved when somebody just offended his entire lifeline, but you continue, “It…it’s just,” you press your lips together as something in your chest clenched, “I don’t really have that luxury. I don’t have perfect guys coming up to me with little quirks, you know? There’s always something wrong with them, even if I don’t see it then. Like they don’t show up to dates or they make fun of my major, or just…only want to sleep with me, and then when they find out I don’t want that, they leave. And any of the sane ones that have small issues, you’re always there to shoot them down!”
You stop, taking in a deep breath as you try to regulate your emotions, refusing to look at him right now as you let some pent-up feelings loose, just grateful that he hasn’t left and decided to let you figure this out on your own.
“Look,” you glance at him, giving him a small smile, “I’m thankful that you care. Really, I am. But…but I just want to experience something…with someone, y’know? At least once when I’m still in university. I’m almost twenty-one, and I haven’t even had my first kiss!” Despite how embarrassing it is, it slips out, and your chees heat up as you hurry on with your ramble, “And if it has to be with something who asks stupid questions or says my name wrong on the first attempt or doesn’t know what my favorite color is, I guess I’m just gonna have to bite the bullet and take that risk. I,” you look away, back to focusing on the leather cushions in front of you as you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t really have any other option.”
Giving it a moment, you let your shoulders sink, going back to playing with the straw wrapper in front of you as you debate whether it would be better to just throw yourself out the window or risk saying something else that you’d stay awake the next couple of nights pinching yourself over.
You heard him inhale exaggeratingly, the arm behind you moving a little downwards in order to hook one of his fingers around the collar of your sweater, trying to grab your attention. You tilt your chin sideways, lips pursed, and attempt not to let his overwhelming presences budge how bitter you were feeling for some reason.
“I think,” he sighed again, gnawing on his bottom lip as he tried to formulate his thoughts, the overhead lamp casting a soft orange light over his face and it made your pitiful stomach churn with desperate want, “I think that if you’re too pessimistic.”
That get’s a dry laugh from you, and you roll your eyes at his statement. Before he’s able to say anything, he gets interrupted by Suguru rounding the corner, sliding into his seat with a wide grin, one that falls when he sees his friend has changed the seating arrangement.
“Why’d you move?”
Satoru paused, tearing his eyes away from the side of your face as he glanced at his friend, his fingers moving upwards as you tried not to look at him and make anything obvious. You hope he doesn’t bring up Kento and your little meltdown, but he seems to read your mind.
“You were bothering me too much,” he mutters, and Suguru lets out a startled scoff, throwing the hair tie around his wrist at him as Sator just flings it to the side. Suguru doesn’t push, though, and starts telling the two of you that he was held up at the bathroom entrances because a couple was having a ‘lover's spat’, his words not yours, and he just had to hear it before he left.
The rest of the night continued as it usually does.
If you could consider the uneven rhythm of your heart as normal.
—
Another week had passed, another seven days of agonizingly slow school work and duties.
It seemed like the days would flicker away at a snail-like pace until it got you to the one day of the week that you actually wished wouldn’t arrive, and would force you to stalk around the limited space of your dorm room as you think about what to wear to the theatre production that’s taking place in thirty minutes.
Your hand was on your hip, feet tapping against the floor as you looked at the two outfits you had hung on your dresser, lips pursed as your eyes moved back and forth between the one that would go better with those pair of kitten heels you thrifted with Shoko, or the dres that you rarely get to wear.
It took a couple more seconds of deciding, but you ultimately picked the more comfortable option, knowing that the university theater was always freezing, especially in October, and that a cute sweater was probably the better choice.
Thankfully, this gave you some more time to fix your hair and touch up your makeup, humming along to the music as your eye kept wandering down to your phone and then to your door, squinting as you turned it over, confused as to what was taking Shoko so long.
Instantly, your eyes widen at the plethora of messages you have from Shoko, a telltale sign that something was seriously wrong, given the fact that she never sent more than two messages at once.
shoko: pick up
shoko: girl ur literally always on ur phone wya
shoko: pls pls pls pick up
shoko: ur making me beg rn pls can u call me back
shoko: pls
You don’t have time to send her one of your stupid stickers, your fingers fumbling around as you look at the five missed calls you have from her, shaking your head in dismay at how it was possible to leave your phone alone for twenty minutes and come back to this.
It doesn’t take more than a ring before she answers on the other line.
“Are you okay?” Your voice cuts through immediately, rushed and worried, your legs bouncing as you hear some people talking in the background, and you can hear the way Shoko snaps at them to hush so that she can hear you better.
“Hi, yeah, no, no I’m fine - hey can you guys just,” she calls out again, hey annoyance dripping form her tone, some shuffling happening over the line as she moves somewhere where the noise is less, “Hey, hi, sorry for the noise,” she starts again and you just hum, eyebrows still pinches together in worry as you wait for her to continue, “I’m really sorry for spamming you, but I have some news.”
The worry on your face melts as you lean back in your seat.
“Yeah…?” you ask, but already predicting what it was that she was stressing out over telling you, but she lets out another exhale, and you could imagine her nodding wherever it was that she was at.
“I’m so sorry but I’m at work right now and,” some clattering happens in the background, the kitchen in great hustle for the Saturday evening rush it usually has at the restaurant she waitresses for, “God, Tommy just screwed everything up with our shifts and I thought he had written me as off for tonight but he wrote me as off for next Saturday and I wasn’t able to fine somebody to-”
You laugh softly, cutting off her rambling.
“‘Ko, babe, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you stress, leaning in slightly as you hear some silverware being unloaded, “It’s so okay, your job is so much more important than-”
“No, you’re more important than this - believe me,” she cuts you off this time, and you can see her standing hunched in the corner, gnawing on her fingernails in stress, “And I promised you I’d come with you and I can’t, and now I…I feel horrible.”
A smile creeps onto your lips, and you shake your head.
“It’s fine,” you stress, chuckling at her incoherent rambles, “I promise. The play’s going to be lengthy anyway, might as well take the time to make some money while you’re at it.”
You hear nothing except the kitchen roaring in the background for a few seconds before she sighs, clicking her tongue as she hums softly.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you tell her, hearing her chuckle softly over the phone, the disappointment evident in her voice, and you didn’t want to push her over the edge despite the small flicker of disappointment of having to go alone, “I promise you’re not gonna be missing anything.”
“Look, I know it’s not the same, but I was with Suguru when I found out, and he’s said that he could-”
This time, she’s cut off, but not by you.
A knock sounds over your door.
You sigh, smiling at your friend as you slowly rise, “You guys are so sweet, but you should’ve told him I’d be fine. Really, I usually do these things by myself anyway.”
She groans at your antics, somebody calling her name from the back as she tells them that she’s almost done.
“Shit, I have to go, but promise me you’ll tell me about how tonight goes, yeah?” She sounds hurried, and you make a few steps towards your door as you snort, rolling your eyes as you unlock the brass knob, shaking your head at the thought.
“Tell you about what? Oh, like how Suguru has a horrific attention span and can’t…” You swing the door wide open, but you trail off as your mouth hangs slightly, not greeted by your black-haired and eyebrow-pierced friend,
But Satoru.
Shoko seems to have picked up on your silence as meaning that you finally understood what she was talking about, and you can barely register her sing-songy bye as she leaves, the phone in your hand lying limp as Satoru’s brow raises skeptically at your dumbfounded expression.
Damn you, Shoko Ieiri.
“Hi,” you say breathlessly, almost stupidly, as your hand falls from behind the door to your side, tilting your head a bit as Satoru just stares, hands in his pockets, and you shake back to reality, laughing apologetically as your neck prickles, “Sorry, I…I was just expecting someone else.”
His brow arches even more, and you huff out a laugh.
“Shoko just said that Suguru was coming,” you explain, stepping back from the entranceway as his mouth parts slightly.
“Right,” he nods, his hair falling gracefully in his face as you churn in your spit at the magnificent sight of him in his denim jeans and the navy sweater he was in, “I hope it’s okay that I came. Suguru couldn’t make it.”
You blink, wanting to say that you were so okay with him, but you swallow that done as you shake your head, waving his statement away.
“This is…this is fine,” You stammer to say, your smile wobbly. You hope that he can’t pick up on the way that your eyes are roaming over the way his button-up sits comfortably on his broad chest, or the way his glasses look on the bridge of his nose, “I, uh, I just have to do my mascara, so give me like,” you look at the clock behind you. Your eyes bulge at the fact that you have only five minutes left, “Two seconds and I’ll be done.”
He nods, his head tilting slightly to the side as he looks at your face and his eyes travel down your outfit. His hand raises, a finger pointed at your sweater.
“Nice sweater,” he says, something teetering on teasing, and you look down, suddenly realizing that it’s the sweater he had given you last year for your birthday, the one that you had seen months prior after walking past a vintage store and exclaimed how much you liked it, only to be stumped by the price.
Your confusion melts into a wide smile, your head still poking out from outside your door as you survey the material, not noticing the way his eyes soften just a smidge at your flighty reaction.
“Oh - right, thank you again for getting it!” You say cheerfully, an entire evening or perfection and romance already forming in your head as you try not to appear too excited, pointing back to your room as you duck away, “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back, then!”
Satoru nods, giving you a small smile as you shut the door behind you, your back hitting it as you give yourself a moment to reciprocate, curse Shoko and her blasted antics, and calm your heartbeat down long enough.
This was so fine, you tried to tell yourself,
Everything was going to be fine.
—-
The lobby of the Oxford theater was unusually packed, and you even voiced your surprise when Satoru led you in, your eyes wide as you took in all the students, some looking at the programs, others waiting in line for the bathroom.
“Damn,” you mutter, squeezing past someone as Satoru follows behind you, “I didn’t think it was going to be this busy.”
The walk here had been…fine. You had talked for most of it, which you had predicted, and with the few times Satoru would interject and give some comments on the stories you told him about your week, you feel like you told five times that amount of embarrassing and lame jokes, shutting yourself up once after wincing at how terrible it was. Satoru cracked a small smile, though, a pitiful one, most likely to keep you from shutting up the entire night.
It’s strange, just how different you act around him. In attempts to make yourself seem cooler and interesting, you wind up embarrassing yourself even more. You could have sworn that you never acted like this with Shoko or Suguru, or literally anybody else, even your old crushes, but when it came to Satoru, you seemed to lose the sense of normalcy you had come to know.
But you don’t have time to worry about that, now trying to put your attention on wondering how many of the students here are from that stupid class you’re taking right now, and even looking in the sea of bodies confirms that answer when you see some familiar faces. The concession stand in the corner, the one run by the theater department to raise some extra funds, seems to be swarmed, and your stomach grumbles instantly at the smell of buttered popcorn that wafts through the air.
“Where’re our seats?” He’s standing by you now, and you have to crane your neck slightly to look at him. You sift through your tote, pulling out your wallet and opening it to reveal the tickets tucked inside, and hand one to him while keeping the other for yourself.
“Row H,” you read out loud, “You’re seat 18, and I’m 19.”
He nods, pocketing it before he looks back out into the lobby, his eyes focusing on the wide double doors that led you into the theater, watching the ticket taker check the people’s tickets before looking back at the concessions, remembering how much you were raving on your walk here about how good the snacks were.
“Do you still want some…?” He juts his chin towards the hand-made sign that reads Beggars Snacks!
“Hm?” You look back at the table, and you let out a small laugh, “Oh, yeah, right,” you look through your wallet again, putting your ticket there for safekeeping as you glance back up at his gorgeous face, “Yeah, I’ll be back. You can go find your seat, if you want.”
Satoru opens his mouth and then shuts it, glancing at you and then the doors, and his shoulder straightens slightly.
“Right, well….right,” he murmurs, looking a little torn, his voice drowning out by the roar of sound around you two, but you’re able to make out the low grumble of his after being near him for so long, “I’ll…I’ll see you in a few.”
You smile again, giving him two thumbs up as you turn on your heel, your hands clenching in frustration at how utterly inhuman you seem to act around him, somehow making it seem like it was your first day on this planet.
Peeking over your shoulder, you watch as he leaves towards the entrance of the theater, and you duck your head down as you find your way to the large line leading up to the snacks. Coming here for the past four years has taught you to go for the popcorn, pass on the homemade cookies, and snatch up the little boxes of candy if they have them.
Checking your phone as you wait idly, you text Shoko a slew of messages cursing her and her entire bloodline for blindsiding you like this, hoping she sees them after her grueling shift and only feels worse about leaving you like this.
Keep a tab of the line as it slowly moves, you eye the clock, knowing that the show was going to start soon. It seems to dwindle a bit, as some people in front of you and behind you give and leave, deciding it wasn’t worth it, and after scrolling through your feed a little bit more, you find yourself next in line.
Glancing through the snacks, your stomach protests louder, ravenous after a day fueled on granola bars, a pathetic excuse of a yogurt bowl, and some crisps you had lying around, until you feel your hopes and dreams plummet when you see a small sign at the edge of the table that says only cash.
Fucking bullshit, you think angrily, whipping your wallet out again as you rifle through the confines, who still uses only cash? What medieval system was this? They accepted cards last time, this is entirely-
And you could complain petulantly in your head as much as you want, but your face falls as you search through for the third time, coming to the consensus that you didn’t have a lick of cash on you. The person in front of you is almost done, but your shoulders sag as you begrudgingly step away, shaking your head in dismay as you make your way to the theater entrance, flashing your ticket to the ticket taker as he lets you in with a wide smile.
The ushers point you towards aisle H, and you patiently dispute the hate still inside of you, burning. Waiting as those in front of you find their seats, and it doesn’t take long before you’re able to see a pop of hair standing high amongst the rest of the people in the audience.
You move past a couple of people talking as you move closer, almost skidding when you stop instantly, realizing that Satoru was, in fact, not alone.
From this angle, you could see the girl standing in front of him, a wide grin on her face as she laughs at something he says. Your eyes go to his face, your posture falling even more when you see the little quirk of his lips, a sign that he wasn’t necessarily hating the conversation, and the loss of the popcorn feels pointless now as your stomach churns for another reason.
It was selfish to think that you were the only person who liked Satoru, but it didn’t hurt any less when you were confronted with this fact at least once a week. You knew you couldn’t expect anything from this stupid crush, a theorem forming inside your head that you continued to fall for Gojo Satoru just because you liked the sting of knowing you had no shot with him, and seeing other girls and their gleeful smiles at the fact that you probably had a chance is what maybe hurt the most.
You weren’t ever angry at these girls, understanding them completely, even admiring the way they could flirt so effortlessly, and treated you kindly whenever you were near, but it singed a part inside of you that liked to act that you were in this small fictional bubble that you dreamt of whenever he looked your way.
Like he was right now.
Standing awkwardly to the side, at the end of the row, you sway idly in your spot, looking at the two of them and then around, wondering when the lights were going to start dimming and notify you of when the show was about to start.
You hear your name being called, a familiar cluster of syllables from his throat, and you look away from the painting on the wall to the side as you see Satoru throwing up a hand, trying to grab your attention.
When he sees you finally looking his way, he turns back to the girl, saying a few more words as she nods, her smile still soft as she glances at you, a strange look on her face as she sends you another smile, and you can’t help but return it despite the sinking feeling in your gut.
She leaves through the other end, and you mutter a few apologies as you finally make your way down to where he was standing, ducking your head down sheepishly as you fidget with the strap of your tote.
“Hey,” you say meekly, your cheeks heating as you finally get to him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
One of his hands waved, shaking his head as he looked back to where the girl had retreated with her friends.
“You weren’t interrupting,” he tells you, and your brows furrow slightly because that was a white lie if you’ve ver heard one, “I knew her from my lab,” he he says, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes trace of your face, falling to your empty arms as they squint, the conversation with the girl suddenly feeling his head as he points, “Where’s your popcorn?”
The past couple of moments seem to flee too as you wring your hands awkwardly together, shooting him a tight smile as you try to appear indifferent.
“Oh, they didn’t take card,” you mumble bitterly, “And I forgot my wads of cash back in my dorm, so,” you shrug, laughing it off as you point to the seats, “But it’s fine, I…erm, wasn’t really feeling it anyway,” a lie, since that was all you could talk about, but you push past him as you sit down, setting your tote on your lap as you look at him, waiting for him to do the same.
Satoru peeks at you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he swallows, not doing anything to sit down as one of your brows moves upwards, confused about the mental turmoil that he was going through, which made him reluctant to sit.
“Everything okay?” You ask slowly, shifting your legs, wondering if he was tight for room, but he just nods, tongue poking through his rosy lips as he glances back towards the double doors as he briefly nods.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he mutters, and you nod, lips pursing in understanding as you look over your shoulders, watching as more people start taking their seats.
“Okay,” you sit back a little bit, your finger pointing behind you to where the bathrooms were, “Well, you, you should probably go, like, now. I think the shows going to start,” you say with a light chuckle and check your phone, realizing that there were only five minutes left till the lights turned off, “In a little bit.”
Satoru just nods again, saying spoke few words before he turns to leave, murmuring apologies to the people sitting down as his long legs knock their knees, and you watch him leave the aisle and go before you turn your attention back to the stage, taking the time to admire the props and the set design, trying to think back to the original story and see if it lines up with how you remembering it starting.
When the overhead lights start flickering, and Satoru isn’t back yet, you churn in your seat, looking over your shoulder every couple of seconds, hoping that he doesn’t have to navigate back in the dark.
You send him a small text saying that it was almost going to be lights out when you see his figure in the corner of your eye, watch as he nears your row with his arms full, and you squint, trying to see through the dimness to see what it was that he was holding.
The closer he gets, the more you’re able to see, and it’s only until he’s lowering himself to sit down that you make out the popcorn bag in one hand, and some boxes of sweets in the other.
He says nothing as he shoves the popcorn into your hand, settling in as he looks around the seat, trying to move the armrests up only to see that they’re stuck in place, completely oblivious to your wide-eyed stare as he lets out a big sigh, resting back as his legs spread out a little bit. He opens a box of Maltesers, adjusting his glasses as he looks at the stage.
“Want some?” He finally says, his voice low as he pushes the red box towards you, and your cheeks are almost on fire as you glance at the paper bag of popcorn in his outstretched hand.
“I…” you blink, holding onto the popcorn so that it doesn’t spill, “Here.” You dumbly give him the bag back, assuming that he had only given it to you so that he could sit down more comfortably.
Only now does he tear his eyes away from the stage, tuning out the voice over the announcements, the regular message of turning off your phones and staying quiet, as his elbow pushes your arm back to your seat.
“Can’t have corn,” he says bluntly, looking over at your startled expression, “It’s yours.”
It’s yours.
Here’s another moment you're going to mull over before another minuscule thing he does happens again, and you spend the next months thinking about that.
“Are you sure?” You whisper, already pulling your phone out to Venmo him for it, but Satoru can already tell what you're about to do as he flicks it away, as if it was repulsive to him, and you don’t have any time to argue because the curtains pull outwards and reveal the actors.
You drag a hand over your face, trying not to look over at him anymore as you begrudgingly accept the kind token, trying to relax in your seat as the show begins, a tentative finger plucking out a popcorn as you bring it to your mouth, hoping that the only person who can what the blood roaring in your ears is you.
—
Nearly a quarter in, and you start to realize just how bad an idea this was.
The play itself was great. The actors were delivering their performance in a manner that felt reminiscent ot the campy nature of the original text, and some people in the audience were keeling over with laughter in certain parts.
You found yourself with a wide smile throughout most of it, recalling some of the bits and others jogging your memory, but you were thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless. The issue was, the person next to you seemed to be despising it.
The rare couple of times you peeked over to see his reaction to a couple of things, you noticed his jaw clenched, sitting straight and uptight as his eyes never left the stage. He barely mustered up a smile during the funny portions, looking utterly depleted during the serious bits, and his hands were clasped together, fingers interwoven as he sighed, unamused.
Every time somebody would do something weird, you’d glance his way and would still see the same stone-cold expression on his face. You were aware that the play itself was over exaggerated and strange at times, but that was the whole appeal of it in the first place. But at times, you tried to view it through the lens of someone who didn’t go in-depth into literature and read the nuances of somebody like Satoru, who would rather spend their free time studying and working on their mountain of assignments, not something like this, and you felt your chest getting heavier and heavier with each second.
When it neared intermission, you could’ve sworn you had nearly melted in your seat, your popcorn done as you glanced over at Satoru when the lights finally turned back on, people around you standing up to leave or stretch.
A beat of silence passes before you clear your throat, mustering up a wobbly grin as you jab a thumb to the curtains.
“Funny, huh?”
Satoru blinks, as if coming back to, and you debate if he had been half asleep. The thought makes you sink even deeper in embarrassment.
“It’s, uh,” he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he swallowed thickly, “It’s…interesting. I haven’t really seen anything like it before.”
You pause, chew on the side of your lip, rubbing at your eyes as you try to think of anything else to say. You’ve spent time with him alone, sure, but never in a situation where it felt like you had to defend yourself, your background, the whole reason why you were here in the first place, like you are now.
People bustle around the two of you, and he sits up a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back as his neck cracks a bit.
“It’s raunchy and… theatrical,” you try to explain, attempting to seem unconcerned as you fold the paper bag up and set it neatly on the ground, making a mental note to pick it up before you leave. “But I think it’s really interesting given the period it was written and how vulgar, everything is, and the characters are all super unlikable, which you don’t really see in these kinds of productions, and, well, it’s supposed to be funny and…fun, I guess,” your voice dies down, your lips almost chewed raw as you wait for a reaction, a facade of interest, a pitiful acknowledgement to what felt like your livelihood, but he just nods.
You suck in a deep breath, gaze darting around the theater as you try to look at anything else.
Noticing your sudden silence, his eyes leave the stage for a moment as they rake over your expression, see the way your lips pull into a small, worried line, the crease between your brows, something that appeared whenever you were stressed or confused. His face seemed to melt to mirror yours.
“Is there a reason why they keep calling the daughter a slut?” He finally asks, and your eyes dart back to him, and your cheeks puff, blinking slowly as you nod, embarrassed for some reason as you stammer to find words.
“It’s, erm, well, it’s in the original material, but,” your words mesh together as you try to call back on the research paper you did for this piece, your mind blanking as your cheeks heat, “But I think they keep it in because it’s supposed to be a demonstration of the degradation of women and the differentiation between men who also exhibit premarital interest in the sex…and it’s not supposed to be funny but they repeat it a lot, so you kind of become numb to the meaning of the word...” Your rambling quiets near the end as you shoot him another tense smile, wringing your hands together as your lips tremble, looking away as a last resort to save your dignity.
After spending two years with him, you’ve become familiar with his routine and what he expects from his day-to-day life. What some describe as the prodigal son, Gojo Satoru, if not with friends, is usually found in the back of the library, in his dorm, or somewhere quiet with papers strewn in front of him, with his laptop out, typing away. He sometimes goes to benefits and galas, some to attend because of his parents, others because of his biochemistry path, but his time isn’t usually spent at the theater watching vulgar plays.
That’s what you did.
And of course, you didn’t come here weekly. You had to be here for that godforsaken Literature in English class. But this was a part of you, this play, this environment, these exaggerated dialogues are what you spent your time obsessing over. The history and the meaning, and the importance of English literature and writings are your life, and having someone next to you, watching a personification of it live, felt like inviting them into a piece of your mind, even if they wouldn’t view it as such.
But to you, you who liked to overcomplicate and read into things, saw it as such, and your heart was thumping erratically when you realized that Satoru probably saw this, you, as equally insane for enjoying something like this.
And you hated how much the thought made you spiral, made you think of yourself less than when there was a possibility that this wasn’t what Satoru was thinking at all, but the slight chance, the small probability, is what stirred the trepidation in you.
“Are you enjoying it?”
His question brings you out of your mental fever, and you bite your cheek, wondering what the right answer would be. He’s watching you, waiting, and you exhale shakily, smiling poorly as you swallow back some bile.
“I, I am,” you say finally, “It’s just…I did this huge essay on this last year, and I’ve been looking for a rendition of it, but there’s only this old movie that’s so far been made, so…seeing this live is pretty cool.”
He nods, looking at your stalled expression as you keep your eyes trained on the curtains, not wanting to show your internal thoughts on your ever-so expressive face, and he tries to keep his slight confusion at bay for your suddenly reserved self.
As you try to feign indifference by going on your phone, you can watch him from the corner of your eyes, look around, and uncharacteristically fidget in his seat as he debates doing the same as you or talking some more, which, at the moment, you don’t appear content to do. But the more you try to ignore him, the more it seems like your body has a physical reaction to it, protesting your desire to keep to yourself.
“Did you do anything fun today?” You ask, putting your phone down as you scratch at the inside of your wrist. He blinks, looking a little quizzically at you before he clears his throat.
“Well, Suguru had set me up for a double date,” he explains, and you feel your chest tighten a little bit, “But…eh,” he shrugs, “I wasn’t really feeling it,” he drags a hand over his face, “If only he knew where I’d end up instead, huh?” He nudges your elbow with his, a teasing grin on his face, but blood roars in your ears upon hearing his words.
Gods, the man who despised dates and unaccounted occasions and strange meetings would rather take that over this.
You let out a little puff of air, trying to give him a smile as you feel sweat dot on the back of your neck, your palms clammy as you wring your hands together, looking down at your shoes as you try to bite back the lump in your throat.
He’d rather be anywhere else than here, your mind blares, the unspoken words ringing in the small expanse of your heart.
There’s a strange gurgle in your stomach, one that shifts sharply, and you wince. This is definitely not a part of your internal trade, and you hope that when you shift to place a hand on it to try and calm it down. You turn your phone off, pocketing it in your tote, and the sudden movement makes you jerk in pain. You sit back up, hoping that he won't notice.
But, of course, he does.
He angles his body towards you, brows cinched as your eyes twitch barely.
“Are you okay?” His voice his deep, tinged with worry, his head leaning towards you just a bit so that you can feel his minty breath fan across your warm cheek.
You wave him off, shooting him a horrifically terrible smile as you shift, your head tilting to the side as your stomach makes another alien noise.
“Yeah,” you mutter, almost like a question because even you don’t know if you’re alright, “Yeah, I just think it’s the popcorn on an empty stomach.” But even that explanation made no sense. It seems like your stomach is churning even more with each passing second, and you really wish that he couldn’t tell that every moment is a testament to your battle for control of your own body.
“Do you want some water?” He asks, looking over his shoulder to the doors, remembering that the concession stand was also selling bottled drinks, “I’ll get some-”
But your hand shoots out, gripping the fabric of his sleeve as you tug on it, shaking your head as you attempt to situate yourself back in your seat, your act going well besides the slight crack in your face at a particularly painful jab.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” the lights flicker again above you, and you’re somewhat grateful for them, grateful hat you can’t see the obvious fear on his face at the prospect of you being sick near his very hygienic self, “The shows starting, anyway, so just,” your voice dips a little as you try to contain a groan, “Just stay.”
He goes to protest, but your hold on him is strangely tight for someone so riddled with pain, and his mouth parts to say something, but the glare you shoot him nearly shuts him up.
“Please,” you mutter, the embarrassment from several things thick in your voice as you wince, your eyes melting into something pleading as the applause begins, and his face falls for a second, but you look away, weakly clapping along with everybody else.
You feel tears prickly in your eyes.
And you hope he can’t see the shining gloss when you try to blink them back.
—
When the show ends, you’re nearly debilitated with the pain in your abdomen, and the mortification from having watched Macheath’s other wife battle it out with Polly alongside Satoru. They mix into a terrible combination, one that forces you to come back into consciousness in the middle of the theater, the bright overhead lights nearly sending you into a psychosis.
There must have been something horrifically wrong with either the popcorn or the butter they put on it, because, despite your blurry view, you can see a few people in the audience huddled up in their seats the same way as you, despite the play ending.
Satoru cleans up next to you, taking his boxes of candy and your strewn popcorn bag, and sits back up to look at you nervously.
“Are…are you sure you’re okay?” His gentle tone is one that you barely register as your hands grip onto the armrest. You can barely even muster up a hum, giving him a shaky thumbs up as your stomach gurgles again, this time, audibly.
You try to stand, but your knees wobble, and you grip onto the back of the seat as your head sways. You can feel his grip on your elbow, nearly knocking over some people's bottles beside him from how fast he stands up, and your clammy face looks upward at him, swearing that he looks like an angel with the light framing his hair.
“I,” you clamp your mouth shut, swallowing thickly as you wince, taking a few seconds before you start again, “I have to use the loo.” The declaration comes out as a whisper, an ashamed one, and you can’t look him in the face, even if his nods insistently, an arm of his wrapping around the expanse of your back as he tries to steady you
“There’s one near the concessions,” he tells you, his voice strangely considerate and temperate, head leaning down to get closer to your ear so that you could hear him better, “Do you think you can make it?”
You feel like a child, but you only nod, neck and face flaring up in embarrassment as you allow him to guide you through the aisle of people, not looking anybody in the eyes as you make it out, your legs shaking slightly. If it weren’t for him, you’re sure you would’ve toppled down in pain by now.
The walk out of the theater becomes a blur, letting him guide you towards the bathrooms with one of your hands wrapped tightly around your stomach, as if it would ease the pain, and you feel the two of you come to a stop as you stand next to the ladies' door.
His arm around you falls, and you miss its warmth. He looks crossed with different emotions as you use the wall to hold yourself up, wobbling towards the bathroom as you shoot a look over your shoulder.
“Thanks,” you whisper, your eyes widening and then shutting instantly at how much it hurts your head, “I’ll…I’ll be back.” The words slur in your mouth, and you don’t give him any time to react before you leave through the wooden door and book it to a stall.
The moments that follow afterwards are what you’d expect from a case of bad butter.
You kneel on the floor, heaving everything up, trying to be as quiet as possible so the girls in the stalls around you can’t hear, but it’s not a process that you’re particularly fond of and can feel your will to continue weakening as you leave back on the wall, your head in yours hands as you hear the toilet automatically flush.
At least getting it out of your system seems to have made the painful throbs dull down to an annoying little jab, but you feel like the bulk of the damage has already been done. Satoru was sweet enough that he’d try to never bring this up again, but you knew you’d have to live with the humiliation of this evening for a couple of months before you did something else that would top it.
You let your head tilt back and heave a gulp of air, palms jamming into your eyes as you attempt to swallow, your mouth too dry to produce any saliva. If Shoko were here, she’d at least try to make you laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. But it’s just you and Satoru, and you don’t know if you can even look at him for the next week after tonight.
Giving yourself a little more time to calm down, you heave yourself up from your position on the floor, careful not to touch the ground, and pluck your bag off the hook, miraculously throwing it on before you hunched, so as it wouldn’t touch anything too icky.
You wash and scrub your hands, feeling dirty and still a little sick as you splash some water on your face, hoping the cool water will help snap you back. The girls around you talk, some drying their hands, others touching up their makeup in the mirror. One of the girls next to you watches you through your reflection, her face pale and strands of hair wet as she splashes some water onto her face.
“Popcorn?” She asks, and your eyes find hers through the mirror, blinking slowly as your hands grip the counter.
“Yeah,” you take a deep inhale of air, sharing a small smile with her as you turn off the faucet, “Do you want some hand sanitizer?” You offer, going to reach into your tote, but she waves it off, giving you a kind smile as she continues to wash her hands, probably feeling just as bad as you were.
Giving her a small nod as you go to the paper towel dispenser, you reach around for your phone, opening it up as you quickly send a text to Shoko to update her on where you were, nothing too long, just to be safe, and tap the tip of your shoe on the ground, debating what to do next.
You could go see Satoru, probably waiting outside, and awkwardly explain that you should probably walk back, seeing how his germaphobic personality might not mesh with the fact that you had basically deposited your entire day in the theater washroom. You could also try to sneak away and hope that he was standing somewhere that granted you the option of stealth, but you quickly shook that off, quickly understanding how pathetic and childish it was.
After another moment of thought, you ball up the towel and throw it away, pushing the door open with your shoulder as you enter back into the lobby, the business having died down just a bit, and look around bravely for the man.
Spotting the pop of white near the end of the room, you take a few steps forward before you halt, stopping near a wall that offered you a little bit of insight as to what he was doing as you peeked around the corner.
2 - 0, you think sunkenly, watching the way Satoru talks to another girl, his broad shoulders shielding her from where you originally were, and that familiar ache enters your chest as you play with the hem of your sweater.
You could be sadistic when it came to your unrequited feelings; that much you had made peace with. But the universe was horrifically masochistic for the situations it thrust you into.
His face is a little more stiff than before, but still polite and kind as he cranes his neck to look at the girl. Her hair is pulled into a sleek bun, one that you always envied with how clean and precise some girls were able to make theirs, and watched how her hand lingered on his arm, something you could never get away with without his face falling into contained disgust.
It’s unfair to think this way of this stranger, you remind yourself, after all, if you had the guts, you’d try to make a move on him too.
So, in another moment of decision-making, you get your phone out again, trying to contain the little tremble in your lips as you start drafting a message to him. It’s for the best, you try to reason, telling him that you were too sick and didn’t want to give him what you had. You send another message, saying that you were going to make your way back to your dorm and that you hope he had fun, thanking him as much as you could without sounding pathetic for how much he did this evening and for coming.
You also sent him the venmo transfer for the popcorn you were going to make earlier for good measure.
Where you were presented you an easy way to slip out of the building, one of the exits a little bit behind you, as you rubbed at your tired eyes, wrapping your arms around your torso as you prepared for the cold gusts of wind that were going to hit you the moment you stepped out.
People around you were talking in muted voices, laughter ringing around your ears as you ducked your head down, hoping that this time by yourself could give you some moments of peace, even though you knew that being alone with your onslaught of thoughts was going to do the exact opposite.
This campus was always bustling on a Saturday night, so you never felt too alone as you made your way away from the theater, pulling out your headphones as you geared up your phone to listen to some music before you heard a muffled shout from behind you.
Brows furrowing and your eyes slightly shifted in confusion, you, along with some other students around you, looked to see what the sound was.
To your utter horror and stupefaction, you watch as Satoru whips his head around, as if he were looking for something, or rather someone.
You stand like a deer in headlights, hands raised mid-way to your ears to put your headphones in them as you see him check his phone and then look up again, not caring that other people were looking at him strangely as he runs a worried hand down his face, typing something furiously fast as he looks around again.
Finally, it seems like he found what he was looking for when your eyes lock, and he sends you an ice-cold, deathly glare, one that made you glance around as if it were someone behind you more deserving of such a look, but before you can do anything, he’s jogging over to where you were frozen in place.
The closer he gets, the more you can see the agitation and vexation in his microexpressions, things you’ve taken pride in before in reading, now not so much because you were on the receiving end of them.
When he comes to a halt, phone still in hand, his chest rises and falls a little fast, as if he were out of breath, and he runs another frustrated hand through his white locks as he pushes them back.
Your mouth gapes, and you suddenly remember that you were supposed to be “deathly ill” according to the text you had sent him, and try to make your breathing seem more labored, your posture more haggard, but that doesn't work as he eyes you like he knows.
“Where the hell are you going?” He snaps, and you wince slightly at his tone, and he reels, shooting you an apologetic look despite the fire burning inside of him from the way you’ve been acting this night.
“Back…back to my place,” you whisper, voice hoarse, and he hears it instantly, expression melting as he takes the time to really dissect the way your eyes are slightly bloodshot, your lips chapped, your lashes clumped with tears, and he takes a small step back, taking in a deep breath.
“No, I, shit,” he stammers, restarting, “Are you…” His voice comes out as thick and low, and you almost feel it in your bones as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his nerves as he gives you a tilted look, “Are you okay?”
This time, he’s not asking because you were exhibiting signs of ailment, but because you had been acting like you were strangers since the moment you saw him tonight. Because your behavior was so off and unlike you, he was struggling to understand if there was something beneath the surface, something that had happened that he wasn’t aware of, that was fueling this shift.
Your eyes seem to waver as you try not to look at him, attempting a nonchalant shrug that is anything but, as you think of how to lower your voice to a deeper register to appear more sick than you really are.
“I feel sick,” you mutter, coughing feigningly as you pull on the straps of your tote upwards, as you clear your throat, trying not to feel the weight of the looks other people were giving the two of you.
A single brow of his raises, one that you know is detecting bullshit as you rub at your nose.
“I’m sure,” he finally murmurs, rolling his eyes at the obvious statement, “I think the entire lobby heard you throwing up your small intestine.” That statement alone almost makes you keel over in shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and disgrace, but he continues, “But…are you…okay? You’ve been…off…the entire night.”
And you know you can’t sidestep this landmine because you know how weird you’ve been acting this evening, knowing that your attempts to make things better have only backfired, and the past couple of hours come screaming back at you, and for some stupid, depressing reason, cause a sting of tears to prick behind your eyes.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as your head falls slightly, your stomach still aching, your pride and confidence bruised, and you can still smell the lingering perfume of the girl he had been talking to, another reminder that you probably didn’t smell like that perfume you had spritzed on so long ago.
“I’m okay,” you murmur, looking at the cracks on the ground, your voice shaking and wobbling and so clearly not true that you tilt your head back up to see his reaction, your face crumpling into a little wet laugh when he seems completely unmoved. Upon hearing your little giggle, his anger fades a bit, but is quickly replaced with another emotion when he hears you sniffle.
“Look, you-” he looks down at his phone to reread the text you had sent him, and his confusion seems to grow even more when he reads another notification, “Did you Venmo me?”
You nod again, weakly, and when you look up at him, you see him fighting back a startled laugh, the quiver on his face making your lips pull up into a wobbly smile, your own emotions turning into something strange as you watch him shake his head in dismay, running a stressed hand through his hair.
“Did something happen today?” He asks, not taunting, never taunting, but something you can’t place as you weakly not, a sheen over your eyes as you tug at your sleeves.
“…no,” you whisper, but the two of you know it’s far from the truth because even you can’t hide the way your lips tremble and your hands shake slightly.
He presses his lips together tightly, his jaw ticking as he takes in your sunken form, something he’s never seen before, and chews on his cheek, thinking.
Sighing deeply, he pockets his phone, not able to look at your texts anymore because they made him too nauseous, and moves to be closer to you.
“Come on,” he says after a moment's silence, “Let’s go.”
You peek over at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you huff out a breath of air, trying to contain your tears as you sniffle again. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, and your stomach still has a lingering ache, but there’s something else that’s causing you to be like this, and you don’t like whatever it is.
He’s waiting, his elbow budging yours, and so you heave a sigh, rubbing at your cheeks as you nudge him back slowly.
“Thank you, ‘Toru,” you murmur, and he pauses, his tongue caught between his teeth because you rarely call him by that nickname, rarely use it unless you really mean it, “For everything. And I’m sorry,” you peek over at him from above your lashes, looking back at the ground at your shoe so you couldn’t see his reaction, “I didn’t mean to spoil your evening like this-” But before you can say anything more he raises a hurried hand, cutting you off.
“You didn’t spoil my evening, love,” he says quickly, his tone soft and teetering on worried, the little title slipping out of his mouth like it was natural, and if you weren’t feeling like a pile of shit, you might have fixated on it more, his eyes roaming your anxious face.
But you insistently nod, your lips pressed together as if you were trying your hardest not to let out a pitiful cry in front of him.
“I-I did,” you voice cracks, and you rub at your eyes as some treacherous tears escape, and if only you could truly see the way he looks like he was breaking seeing you like this, “With you getting the popcorn and then me getting sick and then the s-stupid show,” and he winces because he knows you were enjoying the play, could hear your twinkling laugh and he hates it whenever you feel the need to shut down the things you like because you’re worried other people will judge you for doing so, “And…and I wish you had told Shoko o-or me about your date, I would have totally understood,” you try for a smile, your words choked and wobbly and if only you knew what you were doing as you ramble, “I’m just…I’m really sorry for everything." You finish with a quivering chuckle, your heart shaking like a leaf as you finally meet his eyes, hoping he can’t see the little shake in your breathing when you finally do.
He breathes in deeply, and you can hear the gears in his head turning. But you nudge his side again, wanting to leave it at that. You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, but you don’t want to look.
And you’re grateful that to some extent, he understands that, even if not fully. He murmurs a gentle come on, his hand gingerly wrapping around your arm as he tugs to next to him, his warmth enveloping you as he leads the way.
—
As much as you insist, the one thing he doesn’t seem to budge on is taking you back to your dorm.
You pleaded with him, begged him not to get him sick, but he wouldn’t listen. It’s almost as if he steered you towards his building, a hand hovering over your back as he led you inside and up the elevator and to his room before you could even have the ability to ditch and run away.
“If you’re going to talk, fine, but don’t think I’m insane enough to leave you alone right now.”
That alone could have sent you into a psychosis if you weren’t so worried about puking all over his bed.
With the way his germophobic and clean tendencies forbade him from going to public restrooms, you’re stunned that he’s even standing near you with everything that has happened this night. He even lent you his old band shirt and trousers from when he was going through a phase.
It was a blur as you spun around his room, rifling through his drawers for towels and soap and things he thought you might want to use in the shower. You stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, not sitting down on the mattress because you knew how he felt about outside clothes on his sheets, and you said nothing as he handed everything to you, shooting you a shaky smile, one that was tense because you figured he was most likely worried about you staining or ruining one of his clean things. You don’t say anything as he suddenly ducks, his knees hitting the floor as he starts undoing the laces to your shoes, mumbling something about how you bending over might not be the best for your stomach.
He was lucky enough to be in one of the newer buildings, meaning that he had a personal washroom, so he just led you to it and let you know to use the shower and to call out to him if you needed anything. He even had an extra pack of toothbrushes and boxers that he hadn’t touched that he set aside for you.
You watched as he shut the door, the water roaring behind you as it began to heat up, and you silently stripped, neatly folding your clothes as you set them to the side. You took a tentative step inside his very clean shower, letting the steaming water hit you as you stood there for a couple of minutes, reflecting.
Washing your face, scrubbing roughly at the makeup and the evening away, you feel some salty tears bite at your cheek, and you don’t even know why you’re crying right now. Well, in all honesty, you do, and that’s probably what hurts the most.
You’ve never cried over Gojo Satoru before. You’ve never felt like it was so depressingly lost where you’d need to use these muscles and these feelings that you reserve for truly important things, but it felt like tonight was a confirmation and closure all in one. It felt like you slowly came to your senses, realized that despite your wishes, it was fruitless. You just weren’t the kind of girl that he could cherish, at least, not in the way you wanted him to, and you knew it would be selfish of you to ruin any chance another girl could have of him being hers.
It took you a little longer than expected, but you feel like you were slowly gaining consciousness, the reality at hand as you turned the water off, patting yourself dry with the soft towel he had provided you.
You move carefully, brushing your teeth, pulling on the clothes he left you, as you assess yourself in the fogged-up mirror. Your eyes are a little puffy, but you can just tell him from earlier. Your voice is croaky, but you’ll just bite your words back tonight until you can go back to your place in the morning and start distancing yourself from him until your feelings are choked out. It’s time you began moving on, anyway.
Braving the other side, you take a deep breath before you carefully open the door, peeking around the corner until you see him sitting on the corner of his bed, furiously typing away until he hears the creak, looking up from across the room as you sheepishly smile.
He quickly puts his phone away, standing to his feet as he rubs his hands, not knowing what to do as he buffers.
“Was, erm, was everything good?” He motions to the bathroom, and you quickly nod, walking away as the steam from behind wraps around you, your body adjusting to the shift in temperature as your eyes stray to the couch in the corner, pillows and blankets set up in a makeshift bed.
“It was great, thank you,” you say gently, “I’m sorry, again-” But he holds a hand up, cutting you off as he insistently shakes his head.
“Really, it was nothing,” he stresses, his cheeks dusted pink, his glasses discarded on his desk.
You nod again, embarrassed, and smile stiffly, pointing to the couch as you make your way over.
“Thanks for this, too,” you say, but he seems to awkwardly shuffle, his hands behind his back, looking like he wants to say something, and your brow slightly quirks at his odd reaction.
“That’s…that’s for me,” he explains, moving away from his lofted bed as he shows you the changed sheets and the new pillow case covers, what he must have been doing in the time it took for you to shower, “You can sleep here.” He pats the mattress, and you let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head as you move closer to the couch, feeling like the worst person in the world.
“I couldn’t,” you stress, but he’s already moving closer to you, looking like he wants to move you away from the cushions, “I’ve already imposed enough. I’ll sleep here. It’s fine, really, I like couches.”
He opens his mouth and closes it, lips pressed into a thin line.
“You haven’t imposed,” he finally says, as if that’s all he took away from your rambles, and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you wave aside his polite nature and hold your hands up.
“If I sleep on your bed after everything, I’m never going to be able to look you in the eyes again, okay?” You put it bluntly, “So I’ll take the couch, and you’ll take your bed, and it’ll be fine. Okay?”
His tongue darts out, blinking rapidly as if he’s assessing his different options, and he looks at you, to the couch, and then to the bed. He seems like he’s torn, but he figures that the next best thing is to ignore this completely, shaking his head to himself as he moves around you to the cupboards behind your body, shuffling around until he finds what he needs.
“I’m going to wash up,” he mutters, glancing briefly at you as he pulls in his towel to his chest, his new pair of clothes, and you feel your chest tighten at the sudden dismissiveness in his tone, ad if he’s given up with you, and he makes his way to the separate room, “Make yourself comfortable.” He calls over his shoulder before he shuts the door behind him, and you give it a few seconds before you wince, falling back down onto the couch as you pull a pillow to your chest and allow yourself some time to relax before he comes back.
You allow yourself some time to look around, appreciating his tidy room and the mess-free atmosphere. You can smell the lingering scent of bergamot, and you see the warmer on his desk, a candle right under it. The wall that his desk is parallel to is littered with postcards and retro movie posters (mostly Star Wars and Star Trek). There are some polaroids he has pinned up, some with Suguru and Shoko from their years in secondary school, some photos he had taken himself with his camera. His bookshelf, which is nearly leaning over with how heavy it is, is at the end of the couch, and you shift to get a better look at the books he has on his shelf.
You’re so rarely in here, especially by yourself, so you peek around, hearing the water still running, and lift from the cushions, your eyes squinting as you move closer, trying to make out the names on the spines, your curiosity getting the better of you.
Most of the shelves are full of textbooks from previous courses he had taken; therefore, most of them are science-related. Your eyes shift across the spines, seeing some books about botany and a couple about astronomy and astrophysics, a specific interest of his despite specializing in biochemistry. Notes are jammed into the empty spaces, and you make out his cursive on some of them, smiling despite yourself when you pull some of them out, making out his quick scribble from when he was either in class or studying.
The bookshelf itself is insanely tall for no reason, tall enough that you’re sure Suguru or even Satoru, in his sprawling height, would struggle reaching to top, so you have to go onto your toes, stretching your calves as you tilt your head upwards to look at some of the higher shelves, pulling some books out by placing a finger on the top of the spine, careful not to disrupt anything as you let yourself get lost in the names.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the chemistry and biology and Latin names, something familiar catches your eye, a book that was resting on its side on the highest shelf, and you struggle but can wedge yourself up on the edge of the couch to reach it.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Your eyes widen in spite of your heavy emotions riddling your mind, and you turn it around, reading which edition and publisher it was as you scour through the pages, seeing his little citations in blue ink in the margins. You flip through the pages, each one highlighted and marked for different reasons, similar to the way you read through a book, and you close it shut, feeling like you were somehow intruding on something private as you set it back down in its initial place on the shelf until something else caught your attention.
Familiar titles and authors all paint the top level of his bookshelf, books that have nothing to do with his major or classes or even remotely with something you think he might enjoy reading, and you almost fall as you try to get closer.
A small box at the edge of the shelf piques your interest, and your lips catch between your teeth as you put all of your focus on this task, your nimble fingers moving closer, plucking it from its spot as you hold it gingerly in the palm of your hand, looking back to the bathroom as you hear the pipes groan as he turns the water off, an alarming sound, one that meant that you didn't have a lot of time left.
The box itself is also familiar, this one for more reasons than most, because you remember this box; you gave it to him for his previous birthday. amongst other little trinkets, finding it at a flea market, and thinking he could make some use of it. The wooden grain and the carvings on it were delicate, and your hold is even more careful as you unlock the little latch, the top lifting open as you peer inside.
Your eyes adjust to the sight, something you weren’t necessarily expecting, as what you can only describe as junk littered the inside of it. A ticket stub from a movie he had seen, a dried leaf, candy wrappers, spare coins. You huff a little in disappointment, your nosey nature quelled by the contents within as you rifle around a little more, knowing you should stop and sit down and act like you saw nothing when you feel a glossy texture beneath your fingertips.
Gently, you pinch it between your pointer finger and thumb, pulling it out from beneath all rubble as you hold it closer to your face, your breath catching in your throat.
It’s a polaroid of the two of you.
You remember the night well, a couple of months ago, during the summer. The four of you and a couple of mutual friends had rented a car and had gone up to a cabin, one of the many properties Satoru’s family owned, and had spent the weekend there. Suguru had insisted on setting up a fire and eating around it, and you had huddled up next to Shoko as the night got colder. You remember the voices and the laughs and the squeals as some of the friends, people you didn’t know that well, began chasing each other, and you and Shoko watched, amused. You remember how one of the boys had been carrying a jug of water, one meant for inside, when somebody bumped into him, and he tripped, and the water came falling on you. You remember letting out a small laugh, shocked and forgiving as you assured the stranger that it was okay, shivering, nonetheless, as Shoko laughed uncontrollably.
But above all, you remember how Satoru hurried over from wherever he was, his stare worried that you were hurt, everything shifting when he saw the playful glint in your eyes, the fireplace illuminating your features in red, yellow and orange hues as you shrugged his worries off, his hands on your elbows, steadying you as Suguru took a photo of the moment, of your head thrown back in a laugh and his eyebrows pulled into an anxious line while his lips pulled into a gentle smile, the stars twinkling in the background as he steadied you to your feet.
You distantly recall hearing the click and asking Suguru about the photo, but hearing him say something along the lines of the lighting being too dark, but clearly that was a lie because you were holding the small photo in your hand, staring at it with no problem.
Before you can spend more time thinking about his junk box and what the hell this photo was doing in it, you heard some shuffling on the other side of the bathroom, the door clicking open as you scramble to put the box back, nearly tripping as you jump down, going back to where you were seated on the couch in a flash, appearing to look nonchalant as he stepped out.
You don’t let your eyes linger too long on the way his shirt stretched tightly across his chest, or the way that the water has caused the fabric to slightly stick to his arms. He shakes his hair into a towel, ringlets of water falling as he pushes his hair back. You also try not to fawn too much over his mismatched pajamas, or how his trousers have prints of lightsabers in different colors all over them.
“Hey,” he calls out gruffly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses his towel into the hamper, his feet padding over to his desk as he checks the clock and then his phone for any notifications. He sighs, and your throat is dry, heart hammering in your chest as you realize a grave mistake.
In your haste to put everything back, the careful clutch you had on the photo had appeared nonexistent, and you had, for some reason, made the blunder of still holding the photograph of the two of you resting in the palm of your hand.
His back is still to you, and you swallow thickly, shuffling across the couch as you try to deposit it onto one of the nearer shelfs, hoping that if he were to see it he would think it had mistakenly fallen out or something less drastic, but his ears turn towards your movement, looking over his broad shoulders at the way you scramble to dispose of the film.
“What are…?” His eyes pierce yours, and you sheepishly snap around to look at him, your hand going behind you as you shake your head, acting confused as his head tilts to the side, jumping from your seat at the edge of the cushion to your leg, angled towards his bookshelf.
“I was just looking at your books,” you quickly state, trying to cover your ass as lips purse together to give you a knowing look, a white brow rising so high that it disappears in his hairline, one calling you out on your obvious bullshit.
“Hm,” he hums, taking a step closer to you, his skin still glowing from the shower as he makes his way to where you were sitting, towering over you as his arms cross deliciously across his chest, “Then what do you have behind you?”
You feign innocence, blinking as you shake your head, acting dumb as you shrug.
“I,” you scoff, leaning back into one of the pillows as you shrug, “I don’t have anything behind me.”
“Right,” he drawls out, his voice slightly deeper, intimidatingly so as he crouches down a little until his face is to face with you, his fingers moving to poke at your arms, twisting at an odd angle to hide behind your back, “Then you wouldn’t mind if I gave you some medicine, yeah? Something that requires both hands?”
Damn him.
You shake your head, swallowing as you shoot him a shaking smile.
“Not at all,” you stress, shifting uncomfortable as he nods, his eyes raking over your face one last time as he moves to his desk, pulling a drawer out, his medicine drawer, you deduce, and watch as he pulls out a bottle that seems to promise helping with stomach aches, and he turns it over, reading the label until he seems satisfied.
He strolls back to where you’re seated, holding the medicine bottle out towards you as he patiently waits.
You shoot him a fake smile, biting back annoyance as you shift awkwardly, wringing out a hand from underneath your body, the one that’s not holding onto the photograph, as you take the bottle from his outstretched hands. You stare at it, realizing that he’s waiting for you to open it, and if it wasn’t for the unimpressed look on his face, you’d almost wager that he was amused.
“Something wrong?” He asks, fully knowing the answer, and you shoot him a glare.
“No,” you bite back, your other hand moving slowly, careful not to crumble or tear the film as you place it under your thigh, showing him both of your hands as you twist the cap of the medicine bottle off, “See?”
He nods, still unbelieving of your little tactic, as he takes the bottle away from you. You watch as he moves to set it down on the table, assessing the situation as he moves down in one swift motion, not giving you any time to understand what was going on as he loops one hands under your knees, another across your back as he lifts you up and over his shoulders like you genuinely weighed nothing more than a sack of flour and you screamed in horror at the rudeness of everything.
“Freak!” You shout, your face looking at his muscular back as he chuckles, not seeing anything yet as you try to kick his face, “This is so degrading, put me down!” You scream, horrified and mortified as he pinches your calf that was near his chest.
“Stop squirming,” he chides, but his voice is anything but chiding as he swivels around, your body jerking sideways as your head drops, motion sickness from already feeling a little off from earlier tonight, and you weakly punch his back, groaning.
“I’m going to puke all over you,” you threaten, but he just chuckles, shaking his head as he pretends to drop you, only to catch you last minute, his chest shaking with the sound, and you go to snap at him again,
But you feel it, hear it the moment he sees the polaroid you had taken.
He goes tense, his grip on you tightening a little bit out of shock, and he’s suddenly silent. You wince, turning around, hoping he could take the hint and set you down, and he finally does, carefully setting you on the ground as he bends, picking up the photograph from where it had fallen onto the floor, and staring blankly at it.
Your hands clench, chest tightening as his eyes flicker from it to you, his face unreadable as his jaw clenches slightly.
Nobody speaks for a moment, the room suddenly as tense as it was when you first entered, and you watch as he puts the photograph face down on a random shelf, turning back to you as he sighs deeply.
“Were you…Were you going through my things?”
The question shakes you, and your mouth parts as you clamp it shut.
“N-no,” you finally say, “Well, no, not really, but I guess…I don’t…I was,” your head drops to your hands in mortification as you motion weakly to the bookshelf, “I was only looking at your books.” You mutter weakly, not even able to look at him as you keep your stare trained on the books and their titles.
“I didn’t mean to see it, but…” You trail off, thousands of emotions racing through you as you try to deny it in your mind, sadness from before, anger with yourself, and suddenly feel vexation towards him for no particular reason as your eyes snap to his, “God, why do you care? It’s just a photo! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to look, but I saw that thing I gave you, and I had thought you would’ve tossed it away by now, and I just wanted to see what you’d keep in there and…yeah, fuck, okay, I looked! I’m sorry, okay? But…I mean, you keep it as a junk box anyway, it’s not like it’s…like it’s an heirloom!” You’re trying to ration and reason and trying to justify your clearly immoral actions as you ramble again, a terrible trait of yours, as he just takes it, takes your anger and your slew of words and your hurt as you feel your eyes water for no reason again as you hug your arms to yourself.
He says nothing for another moment, his eyes dark and piercing.
And then he moves.
His arm reaches upwards, up to the shelf, up behind your head to where the box was resting on the top shelf, and he slowly brings his hand down, your heart in your throat as he nearly throws the lid open, beginning to pull everything out one by one.
“This,” he’s holding the ticket stub, “This is from tonight.”
Your hands instantly drop to your sides as the anger fades and utter confusion floods your senses.
…huh?
You had just looked at the box; how did you not notice? But you look closer at it, the date and the row and seat number nearly the same as the ticket stub you had thrown away after leaving the theater in a hurry, and your eyes flee up towards him, his chest heaving as he continues.
“This is from when we went to the beach,” he pulls out a chipped seashell, and you recognize the pattern instantly, remembering the one time the four of you had gone to the shoreline, a seashell you had picked up and thought was interesting, showing it to him before Shoko called you away, but you don’t have any time to compute that as he pulls out the next time.
“This is from the candy you gave me during a study session we had,” he pulls out a wrinkled wrapper, “This is the hair tie you left at my place and forgot,” he has a simple black elastic band sitting in the palm of his hand, but he could very much so be holding your pittering pattering heart the more he continues, his voice quivering slightly, and you’ve never heard him ramble like this, ramble like you.
“This is the leaf that was stuck in my hair that you pulled out,” he admits quietly, holding up the dried leaf from the time you had been walking next to him in the fall, the trees shaking in the wind, giggling at his white hair littered with the colorful leaves, “These are the coins you gave me because I didn’t have any change,” he’s holding up the spare sterlings you had lent him when he wanted some ice cream but forgot his card at home, and your eyes move up and down, a strange thumping sound in your ears because you feel like you’re about to faint, and he slows to a stop, his cheeks flushed and his hands shaking as his hand fills with all of the things you have given him over the past two years, things that a normal person would have thrown away or used or given back.
“This…” his lips tremble as he shuts them for a second, looking unlike the person you’ve begun to know so deeply as his fingers wrap around something, pulling out a neatly folded white napkin, unused, as he takes in a steadying breath, “This is the, erm, the napkin you lent me. From the night we first met.”
The box is empty now, but the room fills with moments in time, moments that you would cherish in the deepest parts of your mind before you went to bed, and pretended like they were fleeting and didn't matter so that you could face him bravely the next time you saw him. Moments that you thought he treated like normal moments in time that would pass and would never be remembered again, moments that you didn’t think he would…hold onto.
Not the way you did.
“It’s not…junk,” he admits thickly, “For me it’s not.”
He stops, taking in a deep breath as he pushes his hair away from his face, carefully putting everything back in the box, including the photograph, as he sets it down, turning back to face your stunned expression.
“Look, have you ever seen me without my glasses?”
You blink. Realizing that he’s waiting on you to answer, you blank before shaking your head slowly, and he nods.
“Right, right, well, I used to wear contacts. All the time. Ask Suguru o-or Shoko but…ever since you said that you like the way glasses look, I…I don’t know, I kept wearing them, hoping you’d…” he trails off, his cheeks completely red, the tips of his ears a bright pink as he ducks his head down, scratching his nape sheepishly, whispering, “Hoping you’d maybe say it again.”
Your eyes go wide, and you blink owlishly, swearing you look fish-adjacent with the way you can only give him this look on repeat as he takes your silence as an okay for him to go on a rare nervous tangent of his own.
“When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to tie his tie. He said that I should learn how to do it by myself so that I wouldn't need any help when I grow up.”
You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t get angry at your silence, but simply offers you a small, worried smile.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at it,” he confesses with a farce laugh, something empty and shaky, "But you always ask to tie them, and…I always let you. You’re the only person I feel comfortable with; the only person who it doesn’t feel like,” he shivered, wincing slightly as if his skin was prickling at the thought of other people touching him the way you do, “The only person who can touch me and I feel…okay.”
“I have a shelf of all the books you’ve talked about,” he persists, motioning upwards, and you slowly look around to where The Count of Monte Cristo was sitting, along with all the other books you’ve raved about in the past, thinking he’d only listen and give you kind comments, not knowing that he had gone home and sat down and read them all afterwards, “I stopped drinking whenever we go out together because you said you don’t really like the smell of alcohol on people’s breaths. I…” he rakes his hand through his hair again, a nervous fidget of his as he looks pleadingly at you, “I have my spot on Suguru’s couch because your spot is right next to it.”
“And our friends tell me that I’m not crazy, that…that I might have a chance,” he motions a shaking hand between the two of you, and you allow yourself this time to blink again, “But, I don’t know,” his head ducks as he chokes back some tears, and your eyes widen even more, your eyebrows up in your hair at this point because you’ve been rendered speechless, “It’s like any time I try to get closer to you, you leave or immediately want to be anywhere else or seem uncomfortable and I don’t want you to feel that way, especially because of me.”
When he looks up, his eyes are glassy, looking like a stormy ocean, and you feel tears prickle at yours, your breath lodged in your throat as you try to pinch yourself, swearing that you were in some vision, but this is real, and he’s not stopping, saying the words you’ve only dreamt of.
“I know I’m not really…the kind of person that you’d usually go for,” he explains, his voice dim, “I’m not good with literary nuances or dissecting medieval texts. I can’t read the way you read, and I’m not good with understanding people the way you do, but…I want to be. I want to be that, I want to be good for you.”
Your mouth is wide open as you gape at him, trying to make sense of the words that you could only imagine as you stared silently at him saying to you, saying them to you here. The two of you don’t say much for a second, your eyes blinking rapidly as your mind travels faster than the speed of sound, and you realize that he’s not lying or trying to make you laugh. He’s not confessing his love for another girl, but instead clutching his chest because it felt like your silence was leading up to a personal rejection, and you can barely muster up any actual words as you surge towards him, stopping his rambling as your arms wrap around his neck, knees knocking against his as your lips slam against his.
Your heart plummets as you feel him still, his arms still at his sides as his eyes widen in shock, and you feel like you’ve completely screwed things up, going to step away before his hands shoot upwards, wrapping around your waist and legs as he hoists you up, his lips moving against yours hungrily.
“You’re so…so stupid,” you mutter in between breaths, his lips parting yours, soft and gentle and fast and desperate as they chase the way you taste, wanting to savor the plushness of yours as you mewl at the way his fingers dig into your soft skin, moving you effortlessly towards his bed as the two of you smile against each other, laughing in the air as your back hits the mattress. He fidgets with his glasses, pushing them up with his middle finger, coming a little loose after everything.
“Yeah?” He murmurs, happy, giddy, his eyes bright and alive and electric as he nips at your bottom lip, his own shining with spit as he ducks down again, pressing kisses to your face, and you feel lightheaded, “Tell me how I’m stupid, baby.”
You groan, lightly hitting his chest as he chuckles lightly, his kisses moving to your cheek, across your nose, as your smile turns bright enough to power the sun for the rest of eternity if it were to die in this very moment.
“I,” you huff, your chest burning and your hands tangled in his hair, fisting his shirt as you bring him in impossibly closer, “I’ve had this…debilitating crush on you ever since I saw you,” you admit quietly, and he pauses, his sunset dusted cheeks turning into a wide grin as he huffs out a laugh and push his face away from your as you turn away in discomfiture, “And I’ve done everything to get you to notice me. I’ve embarrassed myself like, twenty times a day, hoping you’d look my way.”
Satoru raises a slender brow, and you have the urge to pull him down by the collar, pressing your lips to his as he happily obliges, his tongue poking out to tease yours as he turns to an even bigger taunting menace as he pulls away.
“I can’t stop looking at you,” he mumbles shyly, ducking down as he kisses your throat, and you shift slightly to give him more access, your breath catching in your lungs as his kisses turn into him sucking in a patch of skin, licking it over when he’s satisfied it’s going to mark. “I could barely focus on the play tonight because I kept looking over.”
You let out a giggle, curling his soft strands of hair around your finger as he glances up to see your smile, pressing a chaste kiss as if he wanted to taste the way your unabashed happiness felt.
“And I try to sound smarter whenever you’re around,” you admit, and he snorts against the skin of your cheek again, enjoying how plush and soft it was, biting it as you squeal, but it was never hard enough to hurt, just experimental, and he laughs, “And you never even acknowledged the number of times I’d bring up a science-y article I had spent the entire night analyzing just for you to ask me about my stupid book report.” You pout, and he attempts to kiss it off of you, his hands roaming the exposed skin of your waist and stomach, hot against your cold self, and he rolls his eyes.
“That’s only because I was having tiny aneurysms whenever you’d do that,” he reasons, his face morphing into something sweet and gentle and something so entirely new and…yours that you wish you could take a picture of it, “And I wanted you to know that I remembered the things you told me.”
You throw a hand over your face, not wanting him to see the gleefulness on your face, but he just wrings your hands away, slotting his long legs in between yours as he lets out another joyous laugh.
“Come on,” he insists, nudging his nose against your jaw, “How else am I stupid?”
You let out an exaggerated groan, biting your lip as you try to think through your muddled thoughts.
“You…you…you kept only the ridiculous things I gave you!” You argue, and he moves upwards slightly, giving you a pointed look, as if you were offending his lifeline or treasures, “I’ve given so many things and…” But you trail off, feeling his large hand gently wrap around your face, turning it to the side so you could see his room from his point of view.
“Look closely,” he softly urges, and your eyes trail across the walls, the shelves, the tabletops, “This room is full of you.”
And he’s right.
The postcards he has up are the ones you gave the three of them from the time you had gone to Paris with your family over the summer, picking out individual ones you thought each of them would like. Vintage telescopes and microscopes you imagined him enjoying, but never enough to actually put them up. The music box that plays the theme of A New Hope, a simple melody from his favorite movie that you had also gotten for his birthday, sits on his bedside table. The books you had found on sale about plant biology, a little thing you thought he might like, rest on top of his bookshelf.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, and he chuckles at your quiet reaction, dipping down to kiss you again, wanting to nudge those sounds from you, even if he has to take them like this.
“Is this why you’d scare off any guy who came up to me?” You ask, but you already know the answer, just wanting to see the look on his face as he groaned, pinching your side as you giggle at his antics.
“I thought I was being so obvious,” he murmured against your lips, his tongue roaming through your mouth as you part it slightly for him, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, a string of spit connecting the two of you as he pulls away, “Everyone could see how badly I wanted you.”
You shrug, feeling sluggish from his movements.
“I didn’t,” you argue faintly, and he looks up, white lashes fluttering as he grins, kissing the tip of your nose as he smiles.
“Guess I didn’t either,” he whispers teasingly, “Guess we’re both stupid for that.”
You go to fight back, but you let out an embarrassing moan at the way his hands travel across your stomach, pushing your shirt upwards slightly as your back arches upwards to chase the feeling. His hands are large and travel expertly across your body, as if he’s mapped out the small things that make you squirm and the things you itch for, as if he’s spent the past two years studying you instead of his dusty textbooks, and the thought alone makes you shake with anticipation.
“Can’t believe I waited this long,” he murmurs against the skin of your stomach, kissing the plain of it as you shake with an uncontrollable giggle, “Why didn’t you say anything, hm? Did you like tormenting me like this?”
The question makes you stop.
Suddenly, everything from before comes rushing back.
It seems like it sets off alarm bells in your head, as if you had been functioning through a rose-tinted fog for the past couple of minutes, and suddenly reality hits you because…you haven’t told him for a reason. The months and months of pining after him weren’t just because you liked torturing yourself, but because of your frankly very real fears of rejection for more reasons than one.
After a second, you huff, hands clenching by your sides as you feel a surge of feelings, deep ones that you’ve choked on and tried to hide, and he notices the instant way you tense up, stopping his movements as he glances upwards at you.
“Do you want to stop?” He asks gently, tugging the hem of your (his) shirt back down to cover your stomach, and you let out a delicate laugh, a pensive look on your face as you chew worriedly on your face.
Sighing, you rub a hand down your face, sitting upright with your back resting on his headboard, and turn to look back at his desk, feeling the weight of his stare more than before as heat licks at your cheeks.
“What about…what about the others?”
The question rings through the room, bouncing off the walls, and his brows furrow in slight confusion as you still refuse to tear your eyes away from his desk, your hands resting in your lap, and he moves slowly, his large hands encompassing yours, unraveling your fingers, alleviating the tension you didn’t know was building.
“What others?” Satoru asks after a moment, unjudgmentally, tenderly, and caring, patient as you huff out another shaky laugh, shrugging your shoulders as they fall in a heavy drop, your chest rattling with the emotions you had been trying to kill off from the past two years.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, feel his fingers against yours, and your gaze flickers to his before going back to focusing on something to the side.
“This is gonna sound stupid,” you preface, but his thumb presses into the palm of your hand, a small sign that he wasn’t going to judge anything that came out of your mouth because he just showed you that he kept the first napkin you had ever given him.
“But…” you drop your head into your hands, your voice muffled as you continue, “I see the girls that come up to you. O-or your ex. Vi…right?” You peek up, and his eyes are slightly squinted, nodding slowly, as if he wants you to make your point before he says something, “And they’re just so…ugh, I don’t know…perfect? Like, they seem perfect for you. Either they’re stunning, or they’re in your major, or they’re both, or just…so different, and I feel like I’m…not…that.”
He blinks slowly, piecing this together with the fact that he asked you why you hadn’t spoken up sooner, and his lips tug upwards in a little grin, one that makes you want to roll your eyes if not for the storm brewing inside of you, and he tugs you closer, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as he drops his head onto your chest.
“I think you’ve got it backwards,” he says against you, his voice vibrating off of you, and you feel it shake you to your core, his hand moving up and down the expanse of your back as you hand unconsciously move upwards, back to his soft white locks, “Because none of those girls could measure up to my perfect girl.”
You stop, glad he can’t see the large smile on your face as you head falls backwards, thumping against the wood as your chest swells with joy, and when he looks up, his goofy grin could match yours, and you push him away by the cheek, but he just moves, kissing the palm of your hand as you laugh softly.
“You’re so stupid,” you repeat, but he knows you’re only masking the giddiness you feel as he nods against your hand, his eyes shimmering and bright as he sits up a little straighter, nearly encompassing you with his body as he leans closer, his nose nudging yours as the two of you smile against each other's lips.
“You’ve got that right,” he whispers in the small space of air between you, “I’m such a fool for you.”
You decide then that you don’t give him any more time to talk or say something else that could turn your insides to mush, so you tug him down by his neck, his lips curling upwards as they press against yours.
He seems like he’s experimenting with kissing you, as if he knows you’re learning in real time, and has no qualms taking it slow. He lets you take the lead when you want, lets you dart your tongue out slightly, and opens his mouth to welcome you in. When you get a little shyer, he takes the initiative, hands roaming around your hips, pulling you into his lap as you mewl him again. When he could tell you needed some air, he’d pull away, kissing the corners of your lips, your cheeks that he loved so much, the edge of your brows that would pull into the cutest furrows whenever you were confused, and cherished you the way he’d been aching for ever since he saw you at that stupid English department banquet.
You chase the feeling of his skin on yours, the way his fingers feel when they trace your features, the way his hands run up your arms, the way his palm cups your jaw. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own, his as well, as they drop down to the drawstring of his trousers, running up the smooth and hard skin of his abs, feeling greedy as you run a finger down his delicious v-line. You feel him shuddering beneath you, and you grin evilly, your mouth water as you untie his pants, your fingers running over the white tufts of hair of his happy trail, and your shuffle around a little bit to help him as he tugs up the hem of his old band shirt that you donned, and you almost let out a whine when they suddenly stop, lashes fluttering open to see what he was going to do next.
His forehead drops onto yours, one of his arms pulling you closer to his chest, the other still cradling your face, and you see the way his face has gone pink, a light hue that you rarely see him in.
“Just so you know, this, em, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.”
You let out a stark laugh, your hands pressing against his as your fingers curl around his hair, tilting your head slightly to the side.
“Yeah? How were things supposed to go?” You ask, trying not to sound too selfishly drunk on him as he shrugs, his lips pressing together as he divulges you in his own fantasies, things he’d only think about when it was the two of you together and he’d be wanting to confess his undying love for you while you’d be rambling on about John Milton or another one of your other favorite authors.
He looks shy, and you want to bite him, watching him gather up some of the courage you had kissed away as he takes one of your hands away from his arms, playing with your fingers as he pushes some of his tousled hair away from his face.
“Well, I was planning on telling you how crazy I am about you after this whole day I had planned out,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck as he turns a little red, “I had, erm, bought tickets to the museum you’ve been wanting to go to,” he says, his eyes flickering from your face to the side as his head drops, and you nudge it back up as he chuckles, “The one displaying the original copies of those old books you like so much.”
He swallows, taking a deep breath, and then continues.
“And I wanted it to just be us, nobody else. I would have obviously read up on all the authors on exhibit, so I wouldn’t look like a total idiot when, or if, you had come, and I’d spend the entire time sweating and hoping you couldn’t see.” You giggle, and he squeezes your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of it in a soothing gesture. Your eyes drop, urging him gently to continue because you feel like you’re in a dream, and if he stops, you’re going to wake up from it.
“Afterwards, I’d take you to this restaurant I’ve heard is good,” he grins boyishly, tongue poking in between his lips, “And when we were done, I’d walk you back to your place and…tell you that I liked you then.”
You can’t stop smiling, and he can’t stop either.
“Just…just that you liked me?” you tease, humming as he shifts a little, his arms wrapping around your waist, “Not to be…selfish, or anything, but I feel like this way was so much more romantic with your little box of trinkets and your rambling.” He groans, pinching you lightly as you snicker, but he ultimately shakes his head, smoothing over the place he pinched with his soothing touch.
“No, no,” he mutters, his face determined, as if he was recounting everything he had planned to say, “I’d tell you how much I liked the way you look when you start talking about your day,” his thumb brushes across your cheek, running across the soft hair of your brows, “And how much I like the way you care about everything you do and everybody around you. I’d tell you that I really like it when you tell me about the book you just finished, and how much I admire your kind heart. I’d tell you that I…I like how wonderfully weird you are, and how I wish I could be half as interesting as you are on a regular day. I would have told you how you’re always the first person I look for when I enter a room. And…” his shoulders rise and drop as he pulls you impossibly closer, “I would have really hoped that Suguru and Shoko were right about this because I’d be…a little embarrassed if not.”
You hum, pretending to think as you twirl his white strands around your pointer finger even though you feel like you’re on fire and you can’t breathe and everything feels like it’s burning in the best way possible, try not to freak out because the guy you’ve been in love with basically just admitted the most amazing things to you, so you take a steadying breath, your head tilting as you smile.
“And what if I didn’t want you to stop?” You feel heat blossom across your lungs when you hear his breathing hitch, “After…after you’d do all of that?”
He nods, surveying his different options as his blue eyes turn into a slightly different shade, as if they were dependent upon his emotions, and his hands turn a little heavier as they roam across your stomach, up across the skin of your ribcage, and they stop right under your bra.
“Hmm, well, I would’ve have asked you what you wanted to happen next,” his smile is wicked as his face drops down to your neck, leaving wet kisses until he ends up at your collarbone, right at the neck of your shirt as you nearly whine, feeling his teeth scrape just barely over the soft skin, “What is it you want, baby? What else would you want me to do?”
Your breathing stutters, and you arch your back a little, letting his nimble fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra, giving you enough time to turn him down, but you don’t; you want, no, need, for him to continue.
“I,” your breath lodges in your throat when he opens the clasps, helping you tug the straps down until your old ratty bra, the comfortable one that you were sure wouldn’t matter being worn tonight because you never imagined something like this happening, but he doesn’t care, setting it to the side as he wait patiently, menacingly, for you to find your words, “I’d probably ask you to…to come up.”
He groans lightly, a mix between a guttural moan and a laugh.
“Yeah?” It’s not so much a question, but a confirmation as you nod, shivering when his hands move back upwards, your chest heaving as you feel his nimble and long fingers cup your tits, his fingers running over your nipples as your head falls to his shoulders, “Then what? What would I have done after I came up?”
You go down, you want to say tauntingly, but don’t have the willpower as his thumb flicks over a nipple, and you whine.
“Eh, you’d, uh, I’d, we, would probably end up on…on my bed and I’d probably be wearing something cuter than this,” you try to say indifferently, and he rolls his eyes because you could be wearing faux feathers glued to the entirety of your body and he’d still think you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist, “And I’d probably be a little more confident telling you what I,” you gulp audibly, your cheeks heating up, “What I want, seeing that you wouldn’t have just seen me at my virtual lowest hours earlier.” And he chuckles, and it feels right, feels like this was meant to happen as his hands fall from your breasts, trailing down your stomach as you shuffle a little, moving to lie back on his pillow as he shuffles to, situating his body in between your thighs, waiting for your next command.
Satoru’s grin turns soft, like he knows what it is you want, but needs to hear you say it for him to feel okay doing the thing that’s setting him alight. His hand moves, taking yours into his again and intertwining his fingers between yours.
“… what do you want, love?” His voice is thick, and it settles deep in your bones as your head falls, squeezing his fingers as you sheepishly mutter something, and he barely hears you, nudging you to say it a little louder as you groan in embarrassment, an arm flying over your face as your head falls back, not able to look him in the eyes as you timidly whisper;
“For you, like…to do stuff,” you murmur so quietly you think that your lips barely even moved, “To…to eat me out or….or whatever.”
When he says nothing for a moment, you peek between your fingers and see his cheeks flushed, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets his chin down on your stomach, his glasses crooked as his brow arched. He moves, gingerly tugs your arm away from your face, and sits down by your side as he presses a chaste kiss to your stomach.
“Yeah….yeah, I think I can ‘eat you out or whatever’,” he says, and you groan ever louder, flicking his forehead as he chuckles, taking your words as the sign to go, go, go, his fingers moving excruciatingly slow as they start to tug the waistband of your pants and boxers (his, again), down, looking up at you for a little assistance, and you lift your hips, allowing him to slide them down fully.
You blink, relaxing that you’re completely bare right now, but he doesn't give you any time to be self-conscious as his pupils seem to blow up with lust, hungrily eating up the way your pussy is glistening with want and need, his cheeks a fiery red as his chest moves in a large exhale, like the air had been knocked from him.
His hand raises upwards to take his glasses off, but you make a sudden movement, as if your body was functioning on autopilot, when your hands wrap around his wrist, stopping him from doing anything else.
“Don’t,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “K-keep them on.”
His white lashes flutter slightly, and he gives you one of his boyish smiles that you love so much, his teeth shining as he presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, nodding slowly as he pushes his glasses back on.
“If I knew that waiting so long for you to tell me that you liked my glasses would have been when I’m about to do this, I think I could have waited another couple of years more.” He says honestly, dropping himself down between your thighs, and your eyes flutter shut, head falling back on the pillow as you feel his warm hands slowly move up and up and up, parting you ever so slightly so he could situate himself better between them.
Your mouth parts when you feel his fingers move on the outside of your lips, collecting the slick, and you hold back a wanton moan, your hands flying up to his hair, tugging him closer. You watch as he pushes his glasses up by using his shoulder to move the frames up, and when his lips suddenly latch onto your clit you actually think you’ve gone insane.
His tongue darts out, moaning like a whore when he finally gets to taste your saccharine taste, his eyes rolling back as he parts your lips, the sound greedy as he moves a thumb to circle your clit, moving down to run his tongue selfishly up and down your pussy for his own pleasure, needing to feel you or else he was going to go mad.
“You taste,” his voice is muffled as he pants against your cunt, using a finger to move up and down the slit, “You taste sweet,” he said it like he was startled, like he had spent hours and hours studying female anatomy and how to pleasure a girl and what to do, but never could have expected this unexpected turn, to taste you and realize that you were sweeter and more delicious than any candy he’s ever eaten before, “Why do you taste so…so sweet?”
You would laugh if you weren’t so turned on, saying some jumbled-up words as he ducks down again, your fingers digging into his scalp as his thumb goes a little faster on your swollen nub, his long pointer finger rubbing at the outside of your pussy, getting ready to push it in.
When he finally does, your walls instantly clamp down on it, and you moan, not expecting the stretch, and he gives you some time to adjust. It’s not like you’re a prude, you’ve at least attempted this before, but your fingers aren’t like Gojo Satoru’s, and you feel like you could come just from this.
“Feeling good, baby?” He questions, and you hurriedly nod, hearing him chuckle.
“Yeah,” you stutter out, your teeth clenched as you feel his finger start to move out, and then your mouth falls open as he starts to slowly pump it in and out of you, a mind-bending pace that has you clenching around him, “Feels good.”
He nods, taking it as confirmation to keep going, and he switches between a finger and his tongue, darting them inside of you. He keeps his pressure on your clit, and you grow impossibly wetter when he leans down to lay a cute little kiss on it, his glasses slowly fogging up.
Gojo Satoru eats you out like you’re his last meal, like he’s been living like Tantalus for his twenty years alive, and finally, the fruit tree doesn’t move from his grasp, and he’s able to divulge like the greedy and sinful man he always has been.
Sometimes the hand that’s occupying your clit moves upwards, pulling his old shirt up and over the expanse of your torso to see your supple skin shake beneath his large palms, and he cups your tits, groaning like a slut when he feels your nipples pebble, and he pinches them between his pointer finger and thumb, twisting a little to feel you squeal, and he grins, softening his touch as he smooths it over, moving back down to your nub as if nothing happened.
You watch from hooded eyes, watch the way his eyes close, like he’s savoring your taste. You see the way he slowly ruts into the mattress, like he was getting off to this, and the thought itself makes you gush even more.
When he’s satisfied that you’ve adjusted to his one finger, he decides to slip another one in, and the size alone makes you whine, the stretch something that causes tears to dart in the corner of your eyes in delicious pain.
“Hmm,” you moan, one of your hands fisting the sheets, the other tangled in his white hair as you guide him up and down, and you can swear you feel him smiling against you, as if your reactions were a symphony to his ears, “It’s not like I really have a metric but…you’re good at this.”
Satoru chuckles, looking up at you, and the sight knocks the air out of your lungs. His cheeks are flushed, wet in the dim lighting of the room, his glasses crooked, and his hair a mess, but he looks positively radiant as his smile flashes bright.
“I hope I am,” his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it, and it vibrates against your pussy, “I’ve been studying.”
Despite feeling lightheaded, his statement chased you to come to your senses a bit, sitting up on your elbows as you looked at him through furrowed brows.
“Studying?” You parrot, and he nods eagerly, his thumb putting pressure on your sensitive and swollen clit as your mouth falls open in a silent moan, barely able to keep your eyes open as he explains.
“Mhm,” he hums, his nose, the beautiful nose that you want to kiss all over, rubs expertly on the hood of your clit as he presses chaste, sloppy kisses to your cunt, “I read all these posts and books and papers about what the best way to eat a girl out,” his voice is hoarse, licking up and down your syrupy inner walls, his two fingers never stopping their relentless pace as something deep in your stomach begins to build up, “Brushed up on some….anatomy and the sorts.”
You let out a breathless laugh.
Because of course he had.
“You,” your mouth clamps shut when he hits the spongy part deep inside of you that makes your toes curl, your lashes fluttering against your hot cheeks, and you can’t talk correctly but make the attempt to, barely above a whisper as you mutter, “Y-you’re insane.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it as his thumb swirls in figure eight patterns on your clit, his pointer and middle fingers curling upwards, and you can’t really find it in yourself to chide him when he’s making you feel heavenly.
You feel like you’re unraveling at his skillful hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that whenever you have the guts to open your eyes you’re met with the view of Satoru loosing himself in your cunt, as with each second that passed, he was going just as crazy as you were, and it felt like that familiar feeling of an orgasm building, but unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
It’s almost like he knows, because he seems to go faster, switching between licking and his fingers, and your grip on him tightens, and he moans, welcoming the sting.
“Come on,” he presses, urging, needing you to finish around him, to taste your relief on his tongue, “Come on, baby, I know you wanna come.”
You nod, sweat dotting your forehead, your chest heaving up and down with labored breaths, that knot inside of you tightening as your thighs clamp down around his head, your walls pulsing around his fingers.
It gradually builds, but that feeling suddenly snaps, and you jolt, your back arching, moving into him, his fingers never stopping, his thumb and lips on your clit, suctioning in a perfect way that sends you over the edge. You clench tightly around him, creaming, spasming as you gush, your eyes rolling back in your head as you let out the quietest but sweetest moan, and when you feel your orgasms slow to a dull pulse, you fall back onto his mattress, limp as he doesn’t stop instantly.
Instead, he lets his fingers slow down carefully, as if you’d get immediate withdrawal from the feeling of having him inside of you. He kisses your clit once, then twice, and pulls away, connected by a string of spit, slick and your cum, and when you finally have the energy to wring your eyes open, the sight of him wrecked form eating you out makes you even more wet.
You take a few moments to catch your breath, your chest heaving up and down, your hand falling away from his soft locks as it sprawls across your stomach, and you stare helplessly at the ceiling.
Blinking owlishly, you awkwardly scootch upwards until you’re resting on the back of the headboard, and you watch as he brings his fingers up to his mouth, grinning coyly as he moans at the taste of you, and if you could, you’d pinch him, but you just weakly push him with your foot, looking away abashedly.
“Nasty,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice gone, and he coos, crawling towards you, bringing his face towards yours as he nudges his nose with yours, and you’re weak, giving in as he hungrily presses his wet lips to yours.
You can taste yourself on him, and you mewl, feeling his tongue in your mouth, licking inside of you, wanting you to enjoy what he just enjoyed, and your shaking hands grip around his neck. He pulls away a little bit, biting your bottom lip before kissing it, and he rubs a loving thumb across your cheek, his eyes turning gentle as he peers at you through those ocean eyes through those stunning glasses you adore so much.
You don’t trust your voice, so instead you let your hands unravel from his nape, moving upwards towards the expensive frames, straightening them on his nose, making sure they rest correctly on his pink ears, and he watches silently, reverently, as you push him back gently by the chin, making sure that they looked right on the bridge of his nose.
“Hmm, looks better,” you whisper affectionately, kissing the tip of his nose like you’ve always wanted, and that seems to push him over the edge, quickly wrapping his arms around your midsection as he pulls you closer to him, falling back on the bed as he tugs you into his chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck.
At that moment, you feel it, and your eyes blink rapidly from their hazy state as his hard-on pressed against your thigh.
“Hey,” you murmur, poking his side, but he doesn’t seem like budging, his overwhelming heat and size covering you, his thick arms not moving from caging you to him, and you can’t even wrangle free, “‘Toru, what about you?”
He doesn’t even lift his head, just hums against the skin of your neck, his lips busy leaving hickeys all over it, ones you’re going to deeply regret in the morning but can’t seem to care right now except for the boner you’re sure is deeply uncomfortable.
“What about me?” He dreamily replies, his voice barely audible, and you roll your eyes. From this angle, you can see the way his shirt is riding up, his abs on display, the veins leading downward prominent, and his trail of white hair is calling your name.
You wedge your hand in between your bodies as you press against his cock, the movement causing him to yelp and shudder, whimpering against you as you snicker, sure that now he’s going to give you some more undivided attention.
He sits up a little bit, resting his head on his fist, his elbow on his pillow as he peers down at you, his brow slightly cocked, not looking impressed with being tormented like this after treating you so kindly by giving you the best orgasm of your life.
“Not nice,” he reprimands warmly, poking your side as you yelp, his finger much more sturdy than yours, “You’re not really supposed to grab dicks like that, y’know?”
Your cheeks heat at his choice words, and you shrug, feigning innocence as you bring his hand to yours, admiring the large size a syou play with his fingers, feeling more touchy than usual, and you’re ever so glad that he lets you.
“I’m just saying,” you mumble, flashing him a look that sends a nonexistent punch to his gut, the blood rushing south because you look ethereal like this, “Don’t you want me to…return to favor? Tit for tat?”
He chuckles, his thumb moving across your eyebrow, soothing the furrow as it moves down to rub against your cheek.
“We can do tat later,” he uses your terminology and you giggle, your lips pulling into a bright smile because you’re sitting in a post-orgasm afterglow with your crush, and that stupid theorem you had stressed over doesn’t even matter anymore because the impossible outcome is happening right now and you don’t bother with looking normal because you’re feeling anything but, “I still have a date I need to take you out on.”
You try not to gush like an idiot, your head falling into his sturdy chest, and his hand moves up and down your back, tracing stars and circles and hearts and writing his name, as if he wanted everyone to see the invisible ink that’s bleeding from his fingertips into you.
His finger hooks around your jaw, tilting your head upwards so he can see you better.
“You wanna date me?” You ask breathlessly with dizzingly joy, the question holding no weight because the two of you already know the answer, but he indulges you, his head falling to yours, forehead against yours, glasses sitting perfectly on his perfect face that’s pressing against your perfect one.
“I want to be yours,” he murmurs, vulnerability thick in his voice as your lashes flutter, “So, yeah, I want to date you.”
You giggle again, and you lift your head a little to slot your lips against his plush ones.
“I want to be yours too, Satoru,” you say, and he groans, his eyes rolling back like those were the only words he’s been dying to hear, and he lets out a victorious laugh, something happy and sickeningly sweet because the girl he’s been in love with for the past two years just so happens to love him back.
Original Challenge by undressyourbones on The Sims Forum fixed for Realm of Magic.
Packs required: Realm of Magic and Seasons
Other packs mentioned: Outdoor Retreat, Jungle Adventure, Island Living, Spa Day, Get together. (The rules tied to this pack can be easly replaced by the player with something from a pack they own.)
This is a 10 generation legacy challenge inspired by SimsSavs Mystical Motherhood Series. The challenge will follow 10 generations of sims, 2 will be human and 8 will be considered “mystical” sims. A mystical sim involves all occult sims and sims that add gameplay to the Sims 4. Each generation will have a mystical heir that has goals that need to be completed in order for the generation to be considered completed. The mystical heir will also need to get a collectable to pass on to the next gen.
This is a working document, meaning the rules can change as I play. If you want to see me play, I will be playing the series on my channel so I can get live feedback from you all! Here is the link to my channel, if you want to check it out: MaiaTheeSimmer.
****NOTE: You have to add NPCs to the household to have a kid with them. You can do so with cheats. Console players can make sims to represent NPCs if they can not be added to the family.*****
General Rules:
You must start with a Young Adult sim
You can only start with starting funds of 20,000 simoleons. The money generated can be kept over generations, you do not have to reset to 20,000 each generation.
Aging can be set however you prefer, I will be playing with aging on normal.
Your heir succession laws can follow any system you prefer. Common options are only one gender can be heir, eldest born will be heir, alternating gender heirs, and more.
You can use any mods you wish as long as it does not provide an advantage
You can change any generation based on your packs.
You must pass on the mystical collectible to the next mystical heir (more information below).
Optional: You can dress and name your sims reflecting the generation!
You are the first generation and you are completely responsible for the curse placed on future generations. You visited the jungles of Selvadorada when you took a sacred relic that will curse you and your family for generations to come! The curse makes it so every generation must produce a mystical heir. The final generation will have to have all 10 mystical collectables to break the curse. You marry a human and have at least 1 human baby to conceal the curse. You will then have an affair and conceive the mystical heir which will be with a mermaid. No one will know about the affair except for the next mystical heir when they become a teen. You want to make up for your wrongdoing by becoming the best parent, knitting creations for your family, and volunteering together.
Mystical Collectable:
1 jungle relic collected from Selvadorada
Goals:
Traits: Paranoid and Perfectionist
Job: any freelancer career
Travel to Selvadorada and retrieve one jungle relic and activate the relic (you must keep this to give to the next heir)
Complete Super Parent aspiration
Master parenting and knitting skill
Marry a human and have at least one child with them
Have one mermaid child through an affair.
Your human children age up with 3 positive character values and the mermaid child at least 1 negative character value
Volunteer as a family 3 times
Have a pristine reputation by the time you become an elder
You always had a love for water but never knew why. You thought you had a perfect life until you found out you’re a mermaids kid! You end up resenting generation 1 heir and move to Sulani as a teenager. There you fall in love with the island, and appreciate all things surrounding being a mermaid. You take on the role of cleaning up the island and join the conservationist career. Though you are not perfect, you want to give your mystical heir a wonderful childhood. Your love for nature leads you to meeting Patchy. You never marry but have 3 kids with them.
Mystical Collectable:
1"Ordinary" Conch Shell
Goals:
Traits: Child of the Ocean, Green fiend
Age up to a young adult with one negative character value
Have at least 3 kids with Patchy but never marry
Move to Sulani as a teenager and live there for the rest of your life
Despise generation 1 mystical heir at least until young adulthood
Become best friends with a mermaid
Master the fitness skill and logic skill
Reach level 10 of the conservationist career (marine biology branch)
Complete Beach Life aspiration
Complete the seashell collection
What to do if your child isn't a mermaid?
This is the only occult generation that being an occult is not required. The mermaid generation just requires a mermaid parent. If you want the heir to be a mermaid you can use in-game or cheats to achieve it. Using cheats to change the sim into a mermaid does not break challenge rules because becoming a mermaid is not a goal for the generation.
You grew up spending most of your time outside. You always loved collecting things you found on the beaches of Sulani growing up. Your parents were never official and it has caused you to be noncommittal. You also pick up a love for the outdoors that your parents shared. You are never satisfied with love except for your love for flowers and gardening. Your love for flowers leads you to having a single baby with a flower bunny. Though you do not commit to the flower bunny or a job, you still love your child and want to teach them about the great outdoors and all that you learned in your time as a scout. Your lack of commitment makes you avoid getting connected to material items and prefer to find things in the dumpster.
Mystical Collectable:
Elixir of fertility
Goals:
Traits: Loves the outdoors, noncommittal, freegan
Earn at least 5 scout badges as a child and teen
Have 1 child with the flower bunny OR one werewolf
Max gardening and herbalism skill
Complete the Outdoor Enthusiast Aspiration
Complete the insect collection
Live in a tiny home with simple living your entire Young Adult life
Marry the Hermit in Granite falls as an elder
You can only make money through gardening (optional: you are only allowed 10 plants on your lot at a time), part-time jobs, odd jobs or finding items to sell on the yard-sale table
Your childhood was very lonely but you loved spending time outdoors, and that has caused you to be cheerful. You fall in love with flower arrangements. You love celebrating Flower Day and your lack of siblings made you appreciate animals more as they were your only companions growing up. It leads you to opening your own veterinary practice. You seem to have your life all together but you have a dark side, you are intrigued by vampires. You try hard to live a “normal” life and even become engaged to a human. You end up meeting a vampire and fall in love. You and your vampire spouse have a big family.
Achieve country caretaker aspiration OR friend of animals
Receive bunny of excellence award as a kid
Befriend a bunny
Master veterinary skill and flower arranging skill
Break off an engagement with a human
Marry a vampire and have children with them. (note: next heir MUST be a vampire)
Have a 5 star veterinary practice
Complete Decorative Egg collection
Your childhood was very lonely but you loved spending time outdoors. Your lack of siblings made you appreciate animals more as they were your only companions growing up. I mean you really appreciate them and it seems like you can connect with them. It leads you to opening your own veterinary practice. You want to have a sense of family so you join a pack, finally a family. You seem to have your life all together but you have a dark side, you are intrigued by vampires. You try hard to live a “normal” life and even become engaged to a werewolf from your pack. You end up meeting a vampire and fall in love. You leave your pack and decide to start one with your one true love. You and your vampire spouse have a big family.
Break off an engagement with a werewolf from your pack
Marry a vampire and have children with them. (note: next heir MUST be a vampire)
Always have a pet in your house
Have and open a veterinary practice in adulthood
You always hated that everyone around you was so happy. When you enter the room, people are terrified.You always perform mischievous interactions on your family. Your troubled childhood led you to a life of crime. You always wanted to be proud of your vampire heritage and you wanted to turn as many sims as possible. When you realize you have to fulfill the curse, you find a sim that hates cheer almost as much as you. You produce your heir with the tragic clown.
Mystical Collectable:
Ultimate Vampire Tome
Goals:
Traits: Evil, Art Lover, Ambitious
Complete the Master Vampire and Vampire Family Aspiration
Max the mischief and painting skill
Become a master vampire
Have children with the Tragic Clown
Join the criminal career for all of young adulthood, you can change your career as an adult
Your life was full of sadness and chaos. You always wanted to make people laugh growing up but all you want now is stability, or that’s what you think. You move far away from home to pursue a life of law and try to get rid of your childish ways. One day you look up to the stars and realize that that’s what you want to be! You join the entertainment world and become a celebrity! You end up with an alien and enjoy your life in Del Sol Valley. You love going bowling with your friends and family.
Mystical Collectable:
Starlight Accolade
Goals:
Traits: Goofball, Childish, Self-Absorbed
Complete the Jokestar Aspiration
Reach level 3 of the law career, quit, and then reach level 10 of the entertainment career (Comedian Branch)
Become at least a 3 star celebrity
Live in 3 different worlds (the last will be Del Sol Valley)
Max the Comedy skill and Bowling skill
Win a starlight accolade
You have a hard time connecting with humans. You don’t make many friends and instead always have your head in books. You may be a genius but you can’t excel in human school. You instead rather focus on tinkering in the garage. You have a hard time staying at a job and keeping friends. You decide to build a robot and they become your closest friend. Though you have trouble saying how you feel, you seem to touch people with your singing. You love singing songs on human holidays. You may seem out of touch with the world but you still love your children, you just don’t know how to show it!
Mystical Collectable:
Ulti-Bot
Goals:
Traits: Genius, hates children, proper
Complete the Renaissance aspiration
Fail out of university
Master the robotics and singing skill
Make and befriend a servo
Have twins with Father Winter.
Add 3 made up holidays to the calendar
Go all out for every holiday
You had a loveless childhood but you still want to be a good friend to the world. You look up to your father so much and love to make things for others. If it involves using your hands you love to do it! You end up opening a business selling your goods. Just like your father you love traveling the world and anything with cold weather. People say it’s magical how your father manages to give a gift to every sim in the world, no wonder you fall in love with a spellcaster!
Mystical Collectable:
A rare snow globe
Goals:
Traits: Foodie, family oriented, adventurous
Complete the friend of the world aspiration
Master the baking skill and snowboarding OR skiing skill (choose one)
Own a 4 star business
Go on at least 3 vacations in your life
Complete the snow globe collection
Marry and have children with a spellcaster (next heir must be a spellcaster)
You always had an easy life, when you wanted something you could just use magic. You have a hard time taking your responsibilities seriously. You love to host parties and make potions, I mean drinks! Your children are not always happy at the parties you throw but you enjoy a good time and want to party forever.
Mystical Collectable:
(in progress)
Goals:
Traits: Outgoing, insider, dance machine
Complete Party Animal Aspiration
Master the charisma and mixology skill
Learn all practical spells
Have children with 4 different humans (next heir must be human)
Have a club with at least 5 club perks
Make and drink potion of immortality
Become a mixologist
You grow up hating being a mystical sim. You just want to be rid of the curse that started it all. You spend your time studying artifacts, hoping to find the way to end the curse. Once you study an artifact, you write it down. You are such a workaholic and your ultimate goal of ending the curse keeps you from love. Will you work through your pain through writing? Or would you let it consume you?
Mystical Collectable:
Autobiography
Goals:
Traits: bookworm, unflirty
Career: Writer or Education Career (professor branch)
Write 9 nonfiction books and 1 autobiography. The 9 nonfiction books must be dedicated to each previous generation. The autobiography must be about your sim and can not be written until an elder. Get creative!
Master the writing and archeology skill
Have a best friend that you begin to have romance with as an adult. Decide if you want to continue the relationship before elder hood.
Have the workaholic lifestyle
Travel to Selvadorado 3 times
Curse is broken when all 10 books are published and all generation rules are complete
Have fun!
You can change/remove any rules to suit your playstyle
Use the hashtag #mysticallegacychallenge so I can see your creations.
This is a work in progress, everything subject to change!
I wrote another challenge, this one at the request of my sweet friend, @bloodyuser0. If you like witches, silly goals and colourful, magical Sims… this could be the legacy challenge for you!
“Will I ever stop writing challenges? Probably not. Are there enough witchy legacies out there already? Probably. But here we are, folks! A legacy challenge based entirely on the eleven familiars given to us in Realm of Magic, and their mystical origins… some of which I had to entirely make up myself because what the heck is a Bunnerfly.”
A preview of generation one can be found here, and please feel free to check out the whole challenge on the handy-dandy Google Docs link provided if you’re interested!
As always, thank you for satiating my need to write Sims 4 challenges by playing my content! Pretty please tag me in your posts so I can see who’s playing the legacy! And have fun!
Generation I: Fairy
You are the beginning, you are where it all begins. You take a bold step on to a path your family has never walked before, and begin a legacy that will echo through the Realm of Magic for the rest of time. Or maybe not. Who knows? It’s your legacy.
Key trait: Childish
Aspiration: Spellcraft and Sorcery
Magic school: Mischief
Goals:
Become a Spellcaster! Duh. Perhaps you are the first in your family to wield magic, perhaps you are the first in your world to discover magic, or perhaps you are from a long line of successful Spellcasters already. Whichever it is, you choose magic.
Leave your family home to live in the secluded woods of Glimmerbrook.
Max the Mischief, Baking and Dancing skills. Fairies love little more than pulling pranks and rewarding themselves with a sweet treat.
Grow at least five perfect flower plants in your garden.
Earn the People Person lifestyle and Carefree reward trait. Fairies love parties and friends!
Complete the Insects collection. More friends! And these ones have little wings, too!
Bonus Objectives:
Have freckles! They say that freckles are just kisses from a fairy.
Make like Tinkerbell, and have the Hot-Headed trait.
Whatever your offspring roll is for this generation, add two! Fairies live in large, hierarchical family units.
You can find the full challenge HERE (Google Docs)!
created by clumsy.romantic (previously strawberrysim/strawberrysimyt)
originally i wasn't going to bother with my other legacy challenges, but i decided to completely revamp my just desserts legacy challenge because she deserved some love!!
if you are playing the old version, keep at it if you would like, but here are the new and improved rules! if there are any mistakes or you may not be able to read the graphics, you can find the google doc here.
if you do this challenge tag me on here or instagram or use the hashtag #justdessertslegacy !
i love you all so much, thank you for the continuing support and love i don't know where i'd be without all of you. thank you *big hugs*
Glamour magick is a spell that you cast on yourself to change how others perceive you.
The key to this working is to manifest your intent. It's a placebo effect. If you believe it is real, it will become real (in a sense).
Normally glamour magick is preformed while getting ready for the day, night, or an event (school, date, outing exc. exc.) Which means it blends into the mundane.
You can create oils and blends anything your heart desires, even magickly infused foods and drinks, or you can use what you already have: shampoo, hair brush, makeup, moisturizer, toothpaste exc exc.
Wearing the colours associated with the Sign of each house in your chart will bring more luck to the matters of that house. The following are my personal observations about each house.
The colours of 1st house sign: people notice you more and comment on your appearance more, boost of confidence, high contrast look (the colours seem to make your features stand out)
The colours of 2nd & 7th house sign: look pleasing/harmonious on you, people are nicer towards you, good for going on dates or attract someone, good for meetings involving contracts, exchange, going to the bank
The colours of 3rd & 9th house sign: you feel more adventurous and more carefree, sometimes more impatient, good for exams/ tests, could have some delays or difficulties in traffic though
The colours of 4th house sign: look naturally good on your skin, match your features, comforting, peaceful, great to wear at home
The colours of 5th house sign: feel more exciting, fun, exuberant, boost of vitality, could be the colour you wore a lot when you were a kid
The colours of 6th house sign: increase or decrease of vitality and health, I usually avoid the colours of this house, they feel unlucky to me
The colours of 8th house sign: pretty similar to the effect of 1st house, but people seem to be more bold or in some case, rude when interact with you, I think these colours should be worn in a more private settings, could make you feel heavy and not in a great mood
The colours of 10th house sign: people take you more seriously, you look more professional, could bring some delays or heavy moods
The colours of 11th house sign: lucky colours, things go more smoothly, especially in public places or social medias, great when you need to do a presentation
The colours of 12th house sign: peaceful, great for travelling, also like the 4th house, these colours usually match the colours of your features, they blend and make a soft/ low contrast look
Fantasy Guide to Employment: Household of a Castle
The castle does not run itself. The castle would remain a pile of stones without servants to keep it running. The guide below focuses on the private household of the lord himself, anybody who worked inside the main keep of the castle. I will be expanding outside the walls in a future post.
The Steward/Seneschal
This person was the head of the household staff. They would have the task of running things on the Lord's estate. They are the managers, so it is up to them to keep the staff in line. The steward would keep the castle accounts and keep the lord informed of all of the goings on of the lands and tenants. They would have to be educated needing to do accounts and write letters. Though the castle's Lady would be expected to do all these things, the steward served as a backup and assistant in all the tasks even representing the lord and lady when they were unavailable.
The Chamberlain
The chamberlain is the servant employed to look after the Lord's bedchamber. He would look after the Lord's clothes as well and keep track of the other servants' liveries, the official uniforms of the guards, pages and squires. This was not always the case, some larger households had a separate office but most medium seized manors and castles lumped them together. The chamberlain's main task was ensuring the lord was kept happy. He would even be the last servant a lord would see at night before he went to bed at night. They would be educated.
The Marshal
A Marshal was in charge of the stables as well as the military presence in the castle. They would oversee the household's horses, carts, wagons, and containers. He oversaw blacksmiths, horse grooms and stableboys. He also oversaw the transporting of goods. The Marshal was sometimes in charge of disciplining servants. They would likely come from a middle class background as well as having military experience and education.
The Page
A page was a young noble boy about seven years old who would be sent to serve a Lord. He would be in charge of tidying up after the lord, carrying messages to other servants and occupants of the castle and serving him at meals. Unlike others on the list, the page would not be paid. His experience was his payment as he would learn the running of a castle and manners of a lord.
The Lady's Maid
The lady's maid is be the female body attendant of the castle's noble women. She would be in charge of caring for the lady's chamber and her things. She would dress the lady and attend her wherever she would. (The lady's maid would basically do all the work a chamberlain would but you know the wage gap...)
Maidservant
A housemaid/maidservant works to clean the castle. She would be among the first to awaken every morning. Her first task would be sweeping the floors. The thing with mediaeval floors a that they were often covered with a thin layer of rushes, a kind of grass. Weekly if not daily, a maidservant would be expected to change out the rushes and scatter new ones. If it really needed it, she would scrub the stone floors which would be done with a soap called lye, made from ashes and lard. The maidservant would also be expected to go into the bedchambers when the occupants awoke. She would empty the chamberpots if need be. She would get rid of the ashes from the fire and ready the fire for later. She would make up the bed or strip it for the laundresses. She would wash anything that needed washing including furniture and ornaments.
Laundress
The laundress was responsible for the cleaning of anything made of fabric in the household. The laundress would have to fetch their own water either from the castle well or from a nearby river. They would heat the water in large vats and add lye soap (the most popular of the cleaning agents). The constant exposure to soap and hot water was physically tough on the hands of the laundresses and their backs. When the detergents were added to the water, the laundress would dump them into the vat and stir that shit like soup. To dry it they would pin it out on lines or beat the water from it. The laundress might make money by selling secrets. Since they are handling unmentionables, they knew what happened behind closed bedchamber doors or what didn't.
Nursemaid
The nursemaid was in charge of the castle's children. They would ensure the child was fed, washed and generally kept alive while the parents would either be away at court or busy with the lands. The nursemaid would be a common woman from the surrounding lands who would come in to care for a noble child in the stead of the mother who would be expected to get on with other jobs. The nursemaid would be an underlying of the noble governess, a sort of hands-off nanny.
Cook
The cook was one of the most important servants in the castle. They would have the task of overseeing the running of the kitchens and keeping supplies in order. They would likely be on call at all times. Henry VIII's cook was often woken in the night because his royal master wanted a midnight snack. The cook was a valued member of the household and would have been highly sought after if they were a very skilled cook. Cooks would have been paid a handsome wage.
Scullion
The scullion was the lowest member of staff. They would be responsible for scrubbing and cleaning the servants quarters and the kitchens. They would scrub floors with lye, scour pots with sand, sweep put the fireplace and clean up after the other servants. They were the first to rise in a castle and tasked to light all the fires in the kitchens.
Payment & Lifestyle
Within the mediaeval household, payment came from the hand of the steward. As the Lord's manager of accounts, he was in charge of paying staff.
The grander jobs in the castle such as the marshal, the chamberlain, nursemaid and lady's maid would pay better. They would have certain privileges including better bedchambers.
A nursemaid who was breastfeeding the Lord's children would be a valued member of staff. She would be fed better than the other servants.
The page would sleep in a chamber off the lord's bedchamber or sometimes at the foot of the bed. A page would wear the Lord's livery so he would be dressed on the Lord's coin.
The chamberlain would have rooms close to the lord and lady, just in case they were needed by the master in any kind of emergency.
The cook would sleep near the kitchens so they were close enough just in case they are needed in the night.
The other household servants would all sleep in chambers together. The women would sleep in one and the men would sleep in another. Nightly dalliances were frowned upon massively.
Most servants came from the surrounding lands of the castle. When the lord and his family were away at court or somewhere else, there would be a drop in employment. Everything would be cut down ex. Instead of three laundry maids, only one might stay on after the lord goes. The steward, the marshal, the chamberlain, the page, the cook, the nursemaid and the lady's maid were all important staff so their job would be permanent.
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)
synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break
word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)
contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry
notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak
everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.
they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.
you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.
you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.
when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.
satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.
it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.
he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.
you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.
but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.
“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”
you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.
he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.
he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.
“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”
“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”
“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”
“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.
he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.
“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”
“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”
“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”
“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”
“sure,” he chuckles.
and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.
“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.
he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.
great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.
you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.
“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”
“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”
“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.
with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”
you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.
you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.
you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.
—————
just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.
the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.
this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.
how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.
his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.
instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.
his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.
the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.
“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”
“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.
“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”
it’s way too early for this.
by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.
that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.
maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.
“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”
he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.
that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.
“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”
“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”
“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”
satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.
but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.
his bare chest, in fact.
you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.
“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.
this is…new. very, very new.
“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”
“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.
you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.
“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.
it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.
“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”
“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”
“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”
“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.
and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.
this is going to be a longer break than you thought.
—————
the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.
you grin, reaching over when—
“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”
“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.
“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.
“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.
he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.
it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.
“do you still throw away the ends of these?”
you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”
“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder.
“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”
“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.
“yeah, as if.”
“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.
ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence.
“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.
“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”
yeah. very snobby.
“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.
he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.
“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”
“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”
“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”
“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.
satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”
“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”
“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”
something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.
“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”
“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”
“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”
it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.
“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.
“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”
“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.
“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”
“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”
“i know you’re not talking—”
“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.
but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.
“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”
“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”
“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”
“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”
“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”
“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.
suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.
“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”
you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.
you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.
you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.
and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.
—————
satoru meets you when you’re six.
he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard.
somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.
a magnetizing one, in fact.
it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you.
when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.
the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him?
he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.
so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs.
your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better.
he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop.
“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines.
it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.
“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his.
satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone.
it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction.
“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”
he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru.
“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”
he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower.
fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you.
“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”
and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.
would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.
god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.
he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you.
it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?
——
“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”
“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends.
oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted.
“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”
“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”
“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”
“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”
“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”
satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.
silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.
—————
it’s night four.
satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new.
he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome.
scarily handsome, in fact.
you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend.
maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen.
you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.
you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.
“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”
“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk.
“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”
“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused.
he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”
“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”
“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.
satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle.
“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”
“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.
it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.
“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him.
you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?
he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”
you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it.
“how would you know—”
“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”
“he was hot—”
“yeah? and i’m not?”
he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it.
“satoru, what are you—”
“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”
“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.
it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information.
“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”
and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips.
so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.
your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble.
“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”
“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”
“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.
no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples.
“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw.
“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.
“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”
“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.
“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb.
“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign.
for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”
“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”
“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”
you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core.
“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”
that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.
it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.
“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”
“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up.
but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you.
“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”
before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal.
you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale.
“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.
“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”
he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face.
satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him.
your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.
suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night.
it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length.
you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.
he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more.
“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”
“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”
so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you.
“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”
“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”
“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”
“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”
“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”
“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”
satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him.
your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans.
the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness.
you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.
“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”
“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”
“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you.
it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.
your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever.
“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”
“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin.
“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”
suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.
fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.
“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”
do not comment about a part 2
but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything
mdni, nsfw audios : jjk men, headphones in, whimpering, cursing
TOJI : LINK
waking up near dawn all hot and bothered with his morning wood pressed against your ass, waking you up for a quickie by rutting against your ass. “c‘mon doll, make me feel good.” his rough morning voice was enough to have you pouncing on top of him, “atta fuckin’ girl, fuck me jus like that baby.” he ran his fingers through his hair, gusting out a shaky groan before placing his hands around your hips.
GOJO : LINK
doesn’t know how to control his vocals when bottoming out inside you, too dazed to even think straight as he’s only focus on cumming inside you. “nghh fuck, m‘so close! wanna cum inside, needa fill you up.” he whined, folding you into a mating-press as he moaned into your ear. “feels too good, baby.” satoru panted as he became much more sensitive, “gonna milk my dick dry, huh?” his lips curled into a lazy grin.
CHOSO : LINK
choso with his pathetic little whines as he lets you overstimulate him. chanting fucks, pleases and incoherent whine as he fucks up into your palm. “p-please baby, m‘so close my dick s‘gonna explode!” he whined with a shaky pants, leaking pre-cum all over your hand. edging him closer and closer to his orgasm as his stomach flexed, “i’ll be a good boy, swear.” he bit down on his bottom lip.
SUKUNA : LINK
he’s too tired to even care about how he sounds, all that matters to him is being inside your tight pussy. “so fuckin’ tight, angel.” his voice deeper and gruffer than usual, steadily entering into your cunt. “gonna take me all the way in like a good girl, yeah?” he taunted, burying his cock to the hilt. “ya feel me in there?” he grinned into your sweet spot, letting out a lustful chuckle.
NANAMI : LINK
him pounding into a fleshlight in thought of your warm pussy, fluttering around his length just overstimulating himself as he internally begs to be inside you. “f-fuckk, yeah.” his groan is almost close to a whimper as he thrusts into the tight hole of his fleshlight. “gonna fuck the real thing tonight.” he gritted through teeth, leaning back in his work chair. “needa cum deep inside.”
