seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, petty reader, gojo being a DORK, she falls first + he falls harder, this one's gonna be freaky guys, unprotected piv sex, oral (m! receiving), more tags to be added!
can you make sanrioâs where the jjk boys are wanting / craving more attention from the reader? i specifically want gojo and nanami but do whoever!
jjk boys craving more attention
about . in which gojo, nanami, toji, megumi and yuji are craving more attention from you on nights that feel lonelier
gojo satoru.
nights with you were his rarest luxury. not the missions, not the fame, not the endless adoration he could pull from strangers, just this. quiet. your presence beside him. but even then, gojo sometimes felt like what you gave wasnât enough to quiet the constant pull in his chest tonight.
you were stretched across the bed, reading under the lampâs glow. he lay next to you, one arm folded behind his head, pretending to scroll his phone. he wasnât. he had been staring at you through the edge of the screen for ten minutes now.
âyâknow,â he finally said, voice lower than his usual playful pitch, âi think iâm greedy.â
you glanced up, brow raised. âgreedy?â
âmm.â he rolled onto his side, reaching out to ghost a hand over your book until you lowered it. his eyes were clear, unguarded yet rare. âi already have you. more than i ever thought id get. but itâs not enough. i want you closer. i want you to look at me more, talk to me more, touch me more. hell, i want to memorize every version of you until ive got nothing left to learn. and even then⊠id still want more.â
he huffed a laugh at himself, shaking his head like he couldnât believe the words leaving his mouth. but he didnât stop. his fingers brushed over your wrist, lingering. âi know i sound ridiculous. im not⊠begging. not really. i just,â he caught your gaze then, blue eyes lit with a vulnerable kind of brightness. âyouâre the only person in the world who makes me feel human, not just âGojo Satoru, the strongest.â and i guess⊠sometimes iâm scared if i donât have your attention, iâll slip back into being untouchable. untouchable gets lonely.â
he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, not in desperation but in quiet need. âso give me a little more of you tonight. let me be greedy. just for now.â
nanami kento.
nanami prided himself on restraint, on not being the type of man who needed. but lately, youâd been preoccupied with friends, calls, and endless plans that pulled you away. he wouldnât say it, but he felt it, a steady hollow space where your presence usually sat beside him.
when you returned late one evening, you found him still awake, reading on the couch. he looked calm as ever, glasses perched low, but the faint crease between his brows told a different story.
âyou didnât have to wait up,â you murmured, guilt trickling in.
he closed the book gently. âi know. but i wanted to.â his voice was steady, controlled, but when you sat beside him, he immediately reached out, his hand warm, heavy on your knee. he didnât look at you at first, just stared down at the floor like he was choosing words carefully.
âim not asking for much,â he said finally, voice low. â but sometimes, it feels as though i am always the one waiting. i donât mind being patient, but id like to feel like i matter enough that youâd pause for me too.â
nanami didnât beg. he didnât plead. but the way he held your hand tighter than usual, the way his thumb brushed against your skin with a quiet urgency, it was his version of asking to stay. see me. choose me, if only for a little more tonight.
toji fushiguro.
toji wasnât the type to admit he wanted attention. he was too proud, too self-sufficient. or at least thatâs what heâd tell anyone who asked. but when he came home and found you laughing on the phone, half-ignoring his presence, a sense of jealousy prickled under his skin.
he dropped his bag louder than necessary. you looked over, smiled faintly, and went back to your call. that was the tipping point. he came up behind you, plucking the phone out of your hand without warning. âcall you back,â he muttered into the receiver before hanging up.
âtoji!â you exclaimed, which a whining undertone.
âwhat?â he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but there was a flicker of something almost insecure in his eyes. âyouâve been giving everyone else your time all day. What about me?â
his tone was gruff, like he was scolding, but it cracked at the edges. he stepped closer, dropping the mask a little. âdonât play dumb. iâve been thinking about you since this morning, and you canât spare a damn glance when i walk through the door?â
when you finally softened, reaching for him, he didnât hesitate. his arms wound around your waist, almost possessive. his voice dropped, rough but low. âi donât care if it makes me sound pathetic. i want you to pay attention to me. right now, just me.â
megumi fushiguro.
megumi hated how much he craved your attention. it made him feel slightly childish, weak, when he prided himself on being composed. but there were evenings when you got caught up talking with yuji, scrolling endlessly, and he sat nearby, quiet, waiting for your gaze to shift toward him.
it didnât. and tonight, he finally exhaled in frustration, setting his book down.
you looked up at the sound. âsomething wrong?â
he shook his head, but his lips pressed into a thin line. you pressed, and thatâs when his honesty slipped out, unpolished.
âits nothing⊠i just, i donât like feeling like i could disappear and you wouldnât notice for hours.â his voice was even, but there was an ache underneath. âi know itâs stupid. you donât owe me every second. but iâd like it if youâd⊠look at me more. just notice me.â
the words were blunt, almost awkward, but his ears burned pink as he avoided your gaze. when you shifted closer, his shoulders eased, tension giving way to relief. he wouldnât beg, not out loud. but the way he let you pull him against you, the way his breath finally slowed as you threaded your fingers through his hair, his silence was its own version of please donât forget me.
yuji itadori.
yuji wore his heart on his sleeve, which meant when he wanted you, he wanted you. no hiding, no masks. but sometimes, you were busy, brushing him off with, âjust a second,â one too many times.
so one afternoon, he finally plopped himself right in your lap, blocking your view of everything else. âokay,â he said, pouting exaggeratedly, âwhat does a guy have to do to get some attention around here?â
you tried to push him off with a laugh, but he didnât budge. instead, he leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours. his usual cheer was there, but his eyes carried something more earnest. âi love that you have things to do. but⊠i want you too. not just when youâve got time to spare, but right now. like, actually want me back the way i want you.â
he nuzzled against you, stubborn and warm, wrapping his arms around your waist like he was afraid youâd vanish if he let go. âplease? just⊠look at me. just me.â his voice cracked on the last word, vulnerable in a way yuji rarely let show.
and when you finally tilted his chin up, giving him your full focus, his entire face lit up like heâd been given the sun.
summary: your criminal boyfriend sukuna who absolutely rocks your world in the best way possible. now youâre in ur prison gf arc?
wc: uuhhh, 7k? i think..i yapped
cw: angsty, fluff, smut, mentions of guns, prison, drugs, etc. comfort at the end, pinky promise :3
you met ryomen sukuna through some mutuals. back when you were still smart. still cautious. some house party with peeling paint, shitty music. way too many bodies and way too many red solo cups.
you went with one of your girls yuki tsukumoâwell, got dragged along. she was pointing people out, talking fast, already tipsy. you were half listening, half not giving a fuck.
then she leaned in, whispered over the rim of her drink,
âand thatâs ryomen. donât. heâs like crazy. likeâjail time type shit.â
your ears perked up like a dog.
âjail time?â you asked. and then you saw him.
sitting on a shitty couch, red eyes. black tattoos on his face, crawling down the back of his neck, his arms, clearly all over. all ink and muscle and attitude. dragging a hand through a soft pink buzzcut, smoking a blunt. shirt half unbuttoned (thank fuck). tatted hands in his pockets like he could kill you or kiss you and youâd say thank you for both.
and to your surprise, he looked in your direction as you mindlessly walked to up him like youâd be shot by cupid. he smirked, looking you up and downâlike he already knew youâd walk over.
âyou lost?â his voice was low. rough. amused.
you shook your head. ânope.â sitting on his lap anyways.
and you swore it was just you being dumb. wanted a quick fuck, nothing more. you werenât actually gonna fall for him.
after the first time you met him, it started slow. drinks, texts, late nights that blurred into mornings. you never asked what he didânot really. he never volunteered it. but the cash came easy. so what the hell right?
âyou scared of me yet?â he asks you one night, voice low, fingers brushing your thigh while you sat in his lap, his gun cold against your lower back while it was tucked in his waist band.
you shake your head. âdunno, should i be?â
he grins. all teeth. ânah. iâd never hurt you.â and he meant it.
you always looked the other way when he left in the middle of the night. didnât feel the need ask why he always checked the blinds twice. why he had two phones. why he flinched when a black SUV passed too slow.
because sukunaâŠhe was surprisingly gentle. always held the door for you. always touched you like he meant it. he made you laugh when you didnât want to, made you feel like the only girl in the world. took you out and never let you pay. took you home and made you feel safe, somehow, even with a gun or two on the nightstand.
you know heâs not a good man. youâre not stupid.
but he just looks so goddamn fine when he leans against the hood of his car, blunt between his lips, black hoodie clinging to his frame. the kind of man people cross the street to avoid.
i mean come on, heâs a criminal. a real one. not some fake ass who shoplifts and smokes mids. sukuna moves product, handles money, kills when he has toâcold, smart, ruthless.
but with you? heâs just so soft. always puts his gun on the counter before dinner. keeps his voice low when youâre tired. kisses the inside of your wrist and tugs you into his lap when youâre mad at him. carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. rubs your feet without asking.
he kisses you so sweetly. calls you baby in that low voice like itâs a threat. you argue like you want to kill each other and fuck like youâre trying to bring each other back to life.
so when he comes home at night, blood on his clothes and that dead-calm look in his eye, and mutters, âneed you to say i was with you tonight,â
you donât ask. you just say: âyeah. course you were.â
(fuck it, we ball)
and some months later, heâs still in your bed. still eating all of your snacks, washing your dishes sometimes, kissing your neck with a kind of possessiveness that should be a red flagâbut feels so green.
the thing is? he never lies to you. doesnât even try to.
âiâm not clean,â he says one night, tracing tattoos along your thigh while the tv plays something neither of you are watching. âi do bad shit. and iâm not gonna stop.â
you probably shouldâve left then. but instead, you kissed him.
and by the end of year one, youâre living in his apartmentâscratch that, your apartment, because his nameâs not on the lease. âcanât leave a paper trail, princess.â the place is cozy and yours. you got loud neighbors and a pitbull named akumaâbig, gray, dumb as hell, and completely obsessed with sukuna.
âheâs gonna be a little menace to society,â you said when he brought the puppy home.
sukuna just smirked, kneeling down, scratching behind the dogâs ears. âtakes after his dad.â
the three of you are like some fucked-up little family. your neighbors always side-eye you. your mom knows but chooses not to say anything anymore. and now your friends have stopped trying to talk you out of it.
and you stopped pretending you wanted out a loooong ass time ago.
fast forward to two years in: the fridge is covered in dumb polaroids. you brushing your teeth. him flipping off the camera. akuma in the middle, tongue out, wearing the stupid, gucci harness you swore was too expensive until sukuna said, âyeah, and?â and bought it anyway.
and now sukunaâs even got your name inked into the thick muscle of his forearm. right above those bold lines on his wrist.
âseriously? this isnât like sharpie or something?â youâd asked when he came home from the tattoo shop that day.
he just smirked. âdead serious.â
when akuma jumps into bed and crushes your legs and sukuna tells him to get off but doesnât mean it, when he presses his inked hand to your thigh while youâre watching a movie and says âgonna put a ring on it, you know that?â
you believe every word.
one day, you see the red and blue lights flash by in a blur out the window when he comes running inside the apartmentâbreathlessâyou donât question him. idiot move but itâs because he always comes home. always throws his wallet and his keys on the counter and kisses your cheek like nothing happened. cooks dinner shirtless, muscles flexing while he flips the steak and washes his hands off in the sink.
you clean his knuckles. you patch his ribs. you kiss the crown of his head while he falls asleep on the couch with his arms around you and thatâs all that matters.
but you notice how heâs been on edge. more late nights. tighter grip on your waist when youâre out. more checking the windows. more guns on the table.
âyou trust me?â he asks later that night, voice low in the dark.
youâre in bed, curled against his side, tracing the black ink on his chest. akuma at your feet. his heartâs beating too fast.
you nod. âalways, kuna.â
he exhales, fingers brushing over your spine.
âthen no matter what happensâno matter who says what, or what you hearâyou remember that. alright?â
you look up at him. search his face. âbaby, whatâs going on?â
he doesnât answer. just kisses your forehead, holds you tighter.
a week goes by after that conversation. everything is almost perfect and then itâs not. it all happens so fast. itâs 2:26 a.m. quiet, maybe a little too quiet. then itâs not.
one minute youâre on the couch, hoodie on, legs tucked under you, sukunaâs head in your lap while a movie plays low in the background. heâs half-asleep, arm curled around your thigh, breathing slow likeâfor onceâheâs letting himself rest.
then a crash. your front door kicked in. boots pounding down the hall. shoutingâsharp, cold, barked like war commands.
âCLEAR.â
âLEFT SIDE.â
âMOVE MOVE MOVEââ
âHANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!â
akuma is the first to reactâyour gray pittie, big and gentle and stupidly loyalâhowling, barking like heâs ready to kill. but there are too many of them. someone yells to grab the dog. you scream his name, but theyâve already got him by the collar, dragging him back while he thrashes and whines. red and blue lights flash across the walls. guns drawn.
youâre frozen, shaking, the room is spinning.
youâre still processingâstill trying to understand why there are rifles in your face. why theyâre screaming your name. why theyâre tearing through your drawers, your closet. why theyâre grabbing sukunaâs burner phone, the rolled cash, the duffel bags, the box under the bed he told you never to touch.
sukunaâs already standingâcalm. too calm. hands raised. jaw tight.
his gunâs on the coffee table. he doesnât move. he just looks at you.
âlisten to me. breathe. look at me. i told youâdonât forget, alright?â
youâre crying now. shaking. choking on air.
his eyesâsharp, red, unreadableâdonât move.
you lunge for him, but two officers grab you first and shove you against the wall. youâre screaming just trying to see him, but theyâre in the way, shouting over you.
âwaitâplease, donât hurt him!â you shake your head, blinking through tears, âhe didnâtâheâwhat the fuck is going on?!â
âryomen sukuna, youâre under arrest for organized crime, weapons trafficking, drug trafficking, assault with a deadly weaponââ
the words donât sound real and itâs not like you didnât know. you werenât stupid. you just loved him too much to say it out loud.
as they read him his rights. he doesnât flinch. doesnât blink. he lets them cuff himâwrists behind his back, shoulders loose. they slam him into the wall and he still turns to find you.
and heâs smiling.
the cuffs are tight. your apartmentâs destroyed. your dog is howling like heâs mourning a death.
but sukuna just smiles. like this is nothing. like he knew it was coming. which in hindsight, he tried to warn you something was coming.
his eyes stay on you, even through the flashlight beams, the chaos.
âitâs okay, baby,â he says, soft, just for you. âdonât cry.â
âsukunaâplease, noââ
he keeps smiling. even as they start pulling him toward the door.
âiâll be alright. i promise.â
and just before the hallway swallows him, just before the sirens drown it all out.
âbaby,â he calls out again, louder this time. âlook at me.â
you do, through the blur of tears, you do.
heâs got a split lip from how they man handled him, bleeding. his arms tensed behind his back. his face still calm.
âdonât worry, yeah?â voice steady. âtheyâre just doing their job. iâll be fine.â
âb-but you promisedââ your voice breaks. âyou promised meââ
âi know.â he nods. and for the first time, the smile slips. just for a second. âi know, baby. iâm sorry.â
they drag him out towards the squad car. akumaâs losing itâthrashing against the grip on his collar, trying to follow him. you collapse to the floor, sobbing. akuma finally escapes from one of the officers and pushes his head into your side, whining like his heartâs breaking too.
as you look around, theyâre bagging everything. phones. files. guns. bricks. a woman in a black blazer reads off inventory like sheâs listing groceries. her voice is calm. efficient. it makes you want to scream.
while youâre left on the floorâsobbing, shaking, clutching your dog while your whole life gets zipped into evidence bags. and all you can hear is his voice, still yelling from outside:
âdonât fuckinâ touch my girl or my dogâyou hear me?!â
you stare past the officer crouched in front of you, not even hearing him anymoreâjust watching sukuna get shoved into the back of a squad car.
and just before the door slams, he shouts, âi love you, yâknow that? iâll come back.â
the door closes.
all that was left was the mumbling of officers as they raided your apartment. after that, they take you down to the station. they question you for hours but they donât have anything on you nor do they any info from you.
you were smart. loyal. quiet. just his girlfriend, just the love of his life. you didnât know a damn thing. you were with him on this day. and that day. you gave them alibis for everything they tried to pin on him.
never flinched. never snitched. you held the line.
and when they finally let you go, hours laterâbleary-eyed, fingers trembling, walking back into the wreckage of what used to be homeâakumaâs waiting by the door. his tail thumping, eyes wide, like he doesnât know how to stop looking for him.
and neither do you.
couple months down the line, itâs his court date. itâd been painfully long. phone calls, visits here and there but it was finally time for his sentencing.
you had gotten there early. standing in a corner, speaking with his defense attorney.
but as the time passed, the courtroom felt cold and quiet in that fake, choking way.
youâre sitting stiff in the second row, all blackâtight dress, heavy coat, heels loud on the tile when you walked in. hands gripping the edge of the bench, white-knuckled as you waited.
your eyes lock on him the second he steps into the room.
sukuna walks in wearing shackles like theyâre fucking jewelry. orange jumpsuit unzipped just enough to show the ink crawling up his chest. wrists cuffed, ankles too, chain connecting them down the middle.
heâs smirking like this is a joke. like he already knows how it ends. then his eyes land on you. his girl.
âhey, baby. you look good.â
âshut the fuck up,â one of the guards snaps, yanking the chain forward.
you donât flinch. you donât even speak. you just watch him walk to his seat like he owns the place.
he sits back like itâs a poker game. his leg bouncing, smiling. those red eyes scan the room once, like heâs bored.
then it begins. and soon enough, the judge starts reading the charges.
violent, serious shit. none of it exaggerated even a little bit.
which again, you know what he did. you knew before the cops ever did. meanwhile everyone in the room looks at him like a monster but not you.
you donât even blink when the jury says âguiltyâ after every charge and neither does he.
the judge ends the trial with his sentence, âtwenty-five years. eligible for parole in seven.â
the courtroom breathes in like it just took a punch. and sukuna? sukuna just laughs. real fucking loud, ugly and real. he throws his head back like heâs in on some joke no one else gets.
the judge bangs the gavel. some man yells at him to shut up and stop laughing, the guards move fast.
he just grins through all of it then turns his head toward you, mouth split in that same damn smirk.
âstill gonna write me, baby?â he calls, smug, voice booming off the walls.
you nod onceâsharp. you could care less who sees.
the guards haul him up, start dragging him toward the side door. he doesnât resist. just keeps smiling at you like he already knows youâll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. and heâs right.
the truth is, the charges couldâve been a hell of a lot worse. they had enough to bury him alive but you? you were a fucking godsend. every little lie was perfect. you lied through your goddamn teeth. all the fake alibis, timelines, pretending not to know what half the shit in your apartment wasâhad worked. even after they grilled you for hours. days. tried to shake you, to get you to break.
but you never gave them shit. you kept your voice steady, your story straight and your love for him ironclad.
and it worked. it couldâve been 40 years to life. it couldâve been no parole. it couldâve even been you, too. but here you areâstill free. heâs not. but heâs still yours.
and seven years later? heâs still yours.
sure, heâs missed holidays. birthdays. every new yearâs kiss. but every thursday at 3:00pm? youâre there.
youâre used to the routine now. first your ID, patdown, metal detector. pretty boring stuff.
at that point, you knew every guard by name.
youâve done this a hundred timesâplastic chairs, shitty vending machine coffee, body searches.
you donât care because the second he walks into the visitation room everything else fades out.
heâs bigger now. broader. face leaner, eyes sharperâdarker in a way that says time has passed, and prison doesnât change people so much as refine them. orange jumpsuit rolled to the waist, white tank clinging to his chest, black ink crawling up the back of his neck like smoke.
and that grinâdangerous. crooked. just for you.
âfuck, baby,â he drawls, sliding into the seat across from you. âyou get hotter every time i see you. is that a new lip gloss?â
you roll your eyes. âyou gonna flirt or ask how iâve been?â
he shrugs, smirking. âsame thing.â
still cocky. still loud. still him but the edges are tighter now. more controlled like every second without you has been simmering under his skin.
there were times youâd talk. about nothing. about everything. he tells you about prison like itâs high school drama. you tell him about bills, work, new TV shows, keeping the bed warm for him. he listens like every word matters. like youâre the only real thing in his world.
âare you wearing that chain i sent you?â he asks.
you tug it out from under your hoodieâa little silver bar with his name engraved.
his grin widens. âof course you are, donât know why i even asked.â
and sometimes, when the guards arenât looking, he leans in close. voice low, filthy, just for you:
âyou gonna let me fuck you in the conjugal trailer next month?â
âstill think about that pretty little body when i fall asleep.â
âiâm gonna come home and ruin you. you know that, right?â
you squeeze your thighs together. he sees. smirks. and of course the smug bastard is proud of himself.
and sometimes itâs quiet. just the sound of your fingers tapping on the metal table. he stares at your hands like they mean something.
âseven years,â he mutters. âand youâre still here.â
you shrug. âyouâd do it for me.â
he lifts a brow. âwould i?â
you give him a look.
he laughsâlow, warm and real. âyeah,â he says. âyeah, i fuckinâ would.â
thereâs no kissing here. no touching past a handshake, a goodbye but the way he looks at you?
you feel it everywhere.
and one day, just as the guard calls time, just as he stands and stretches and leans in a little closer than heâs supposed toâ
he murmurs, voice quiet, steady. âmarry me when i get out.â
you blink. âwhat?â
but heâs already turning away, that same old grin tugging at his mouth, shouting something crass to another inmate, hands cuffed behind his back.
the door slams shut behind him.
and youâre left sitting there, heart pounding, chain warm between your fingers, replaying those words in your head.
the next time you see him, he walks in wearing that ugly-ass orange jumpsuit as usual, smile already stretching across his face the second he sees you.
âlook at you,â he says, voice low and filthy despite the guards. âdressed all nice for your criminal boyfriend.â
you roll your eyes. âyou asked me to.â
âyeah. and you listened. you always doâ he leans in. âalways such a good girl for me.â
the tensionâs thick. his wrists are cuffed, but his eyes are on you like heâs already got his hands around your throat.
âheard the news?â he asks casually, voice like honey dipped in gasoline. âearly release. next month.â
your breath catches. âwait, are you serious?â
âmmhm.â he leans back, tongue flicking over his teeth. âgood behavior.â he grins. âjust for you.â
heâs been cleaning upâno fights, no smuggling, no stabbings in the yard, even though he wants to. because he wants to see you again. wants his hands on you. his mouth. wants you under him, not across the table.
âbeen thinkinâ about what Iâm gonna do to you first,â he says, voice lower now, eyes burning. âonce i get out.â
you swallow and shift in your seat. âare you gonna behave?â
he laughs. full-bodied, dark. âfuck no. iâm gonna ruin you.â
he leans forward, chained wrists clinking on the table, eyes locked on yours.
âiâve been locked up seven years, princess. do you know how much time iâve spent thinking about that sweet little body under mine?â
you feel your cheeks heat, but you donât look away.
âyou better be ready,â he says, voice rough now. ââcause iâm gonna spend the first night out fucking you like iâm tryna get sent right back.â
so thankfully, heâs the kind of inmate that runs the damn yard but keeps his nose clean just enough to qualify for early release. he did beat someoneâs ass in the showers last month for talking sideways about youâbut still managed to earn âgood behaviorâ by bribing the guards and running literacy programs like a deranged philanthropist.
next time you hear from him he calls you from the jail phone with that lazy, smug tone:
âtwo more weeks. then iâm home. you ready for that, princess?â
âdepends. are you gonna kill anyone again?â
âno, baby. iâm a changed man, pinky promise.â
a pause. âunless they touch you.â
but life as a prisonerâs girlfriend had been interesting to say the least. some your favorite memories though?
the video call visits. the video calls hit different.
you answer from the bed, in his hoodie that thankfully still smelled like him, all soft lighting and skin and love in your eyes.
the screen flickersâand there he is.
inmate #966666. your man. arms crossed, face lit by the shitty fluorescent light in the visiting block. buzzed short on the sides, salmon pink thick on top. face tattoos sharp even in pixelation. smirking. cocky. starved.
âthereâs my girl,â he rumbles, leaning in like heâs trying to reach through the screen. âlookinâ all cozy in our bed.â
you smile, soft. âmissed you today.â
he leans back, legs spread, grinning. âyeah? say it again.â
you roll your eyes, giggling. âmissed you.â
âmm,â he hums. âmissed you more, baby. howâs our place lookinâ? bought anything new for me to come home to?â
and you haveâso you flip the camera around, showing off the new record shelf, the little framed photo of you two from before, and the rug youâve been saving for.
âcanât wait for you to see it for real,â you say quietly. âcanât wait till you come home.â
his face softensâjust barely. eyes half-lidded.
âme neither, princess. every night i picture it. you. the apartment. our bed. my hands all over you again.â
you bring the camera back to yourself, and akuma sits up on the floor beside your bed, tail thumping.
sukuna lights up like a kid on christma.
the dog perks up at his voice, sniffs the screen, tail going harder.
âyo, come here, big man,â he coos. âyou takinâ care of my girl, huh? keepinâ her warm at night? âŠbetter not be sleepinâ on my fuckinâ pillow.â
you both laugh. but you already know when sukuna gets out, heâs picking that big soft baby up in his arms like itâs nothing, and probably crying into his fur when no oneâs looking.
and the letters? worth framing.
he sends them folded perfectly, sprayed with just a hint of your favorite cologne. immaculate. front-and-back, always. tight, clean handwriting. detailed as hellâhow heâs doing, what heâs thinking about. sweet shit like âwish i could hold you right now. need it bad.â and spicy shit like: âwanna fuck you face-down ass-up the minute Iâm out.â âwas dreaminâ about you last night. woke up hard. you owe me.â
one of his first letters had said:
hey baby, how are you? miss you real bad. i woke up thinkinâ about your laugh. that one that comes out when youâre tryinâ not to snort. i miss it. miss you. drawn your face from memory like four times now. donât tell nobody, theyâll say iâm gettinâ soft. been missing your smell. you smell like home. that sweet vanilla shit you always put on. i look at your pictures every night. even got one under my pillow. even when they toss my cell, i hide it like itâs fuckinâ contraband. youâre my peace. canât lose you princess.
then theyâd switch, just like that.
you know, i thought about that one night. you dancing in the kitchen, making soup, wearing those little shorts. you remember the ones? yeah. me too. thatâs why i wrote this with one hand. also last night i laid in this goddamn bunk and imagined the sound you make when you take your bra off after a long day. hard as a rock. youâre such a fuckinâ problem. do you still wear that lacey one i like? the one that barely holds anything? bet your titties are sittinâ real pretty in it right now. fuck me.
i miss how you say my name when youâre tired. i miss how you say it when youâre on top. i miss your thighs around my neck. i miss your mouth. i miss being inside you so deep you forget your own fuckinâ name.
but more than that? i miss watching you eat dinner across from me. i miss you bitchinâ about your coworkers. i miss your fingers in my hair when i canât sleep. i donât give a fuck how long it takes, youâre it for me.
and he always had a sketch tucked inside. sometimes itâs little thingsâyour side profile, your body. or sharp, shaded tattoosâones he designed for you. (something he did on the side when he was still a law abiding citizen). his name in kanji. a snake coiled around a katana surrounded by lilies.
this oneâs for your spine. wanna see it when i fuck you from behind.
then, right under that like he didnât just make you cry and wet at the same time:
âŠalso. take it easy at work. remember to eat. and kiss akuma for me. shit, also, can you put some extra on my books? tryna get you something for your birthday. donât ask what. itâs not a weapon, swear.
and you doâput money on his books, no hesitation. commissaryâs got nothing on you. heâs got honey buns, decent ramen, and the best soap on his block. your man is moisturized and fed. period.
and at the end of a long, loving, slightly filthy letter, he always signed in that perfect script: âryo. always yours.â
you kept every letter in a shoebox under your bed, every sketch on your corkboard. you read them on bad days. and good ones.
you always wrote back, tooâ keeping him updated with everything. little doodles, lipstick kisses on the envelope, spritz of perfume here and here. snuck in polaroids of you and akuma. even some spicy ones for his eyes only. always signed with âyour/name, always & forever <3.â
oh and those conjugal visits? they most deeeefinitely take the cake.
you had waited weeks for them, marked off in red hearts on the calendar.
one of the first visits:
you walk into that little cold-ass private trailer with a bag packedâcute pajamas, your favorite lotion, that perfume he likes. heâs already there when you arrive, looking like sin in his real clothes. not that orange jumpsuit heâs usually in. eyes glued to you the second you step in.
then he softens. just a little.
you stand. donât even say anything. just walk straight into his arms. he buries his face in your neck, breath catching like itâs the first inhale heâs had since they locked the door behind him.
âfuck,â he mutters. âyou smell good. gonna feel even better.â
his hands are everywhere. rough palms on your waist, your thighs, your ass. lips dragging over your skin like heâs starvedâand he is.
he grabs your waist fast, pulls you in for a kiss thatâs all tongue and teeth, rough like heâs been starving for you.
âgot something to show you,â you whisper, breathless already.
you turn around, pull your dress up, and tug the side of your thong down just enough to show himâ
small script. his name. right cheek. close to the curve of your hip.
he goes still. his hand on your ass, thumb dragging right over it. then he finally speaks.
ânah, what the fuck,â he laughs, eyes wide, voice shaking. âyou got my name tatted on you?â
you look back over your shoulder, smiling.
âbeen had it. waited to show you in person.â
his hands are now rubbing all over you, gripping that ass with both hands like itâs his last meal. but then, heâs got you onto the bed so fast the mattress groans. pulls your dress over your head and yanks your panties down. he stares like heâs looking at something holy.
âmissed this mouth,â he groans, spreading your legs, licking up your slick with a filthy moan. âmissed how fuckinâ sweet you are when youâre begginâ.â
you gasp, already squirming.
he fully buries face between your thighs, hands gripping your waist like heâs starving and hasnât had a real meal since he got locked up. moaning into your cunt, licking like itâs his last day alive.
âtaste like fuckinâ heaven,â he groans. âmissed this fuckinâ pussy so bad. missed how you sound when iâm inside you.â
after a two or three orgasms from his tongue and fingers, he finally fucks you. itâs deep, rough, desperate. your legs around his waist, your back arching off the mattress while he pounds into you like heâs making up for lost time. his tip hitting that sweet spot repeatedly in your pussy that makes your body take a fucking screenshot. teeth on your neck, fingers digging into your hips right below where his name is inked into your skin.
he just mutters filthy shit in your ear:
âyou got my name on you, and now youâre gonna take all of me.â
âthis ass? mine.â
âgonna fuck you so good you dream about it âtil the next visit.â
then he flips you both, makes you ride him, sucking your tits while they bounce, eyes half-lidded.
âshiiiit, sweetheartâgonna fuck a baby into you in this nasty little room if youâre not careful,â he grits.
and you just moan louder, hands in his hair, riding the edge of pure bliss.
âmissed you,â you whisper, staring up at him, cradling his face.
he kisses you. hard. filthy. then soft.
he pulls away breathless. jaw slack, panting like a dog in heat.
âfuck, babyâcome on. gimme that shit. come all over my dick. show me how much you missed it.â
you do. messy. loud. milking him for all heâs got.
and he follows right after, hands gripping your ass so hard theyâre sure to leave bruises as he cums deep and desperate.
and when heâs done, he kisses your neck, arms wrapped around you.
âgonna marry you when i get out,â he whispers. âi swear.â
you both lie on the tiny mattress after some much needed TLC. tangled up, his head between your tits, your fingers in his hair. he traces your tattoo with his fingers.
âgonna take care of you right, when i get out,â he murmurs, voice rough. âno more bullshit.â
you kiss his jaw. whisper back. âi know.â
and when you left that day, sore and glowing, your man watched you walk away as the guards put the cuffs back on him, mouth curled into a grin, voice low like a promise:
âkeep my side of the bed warm, baby. iâm cominâ home. promise.â
and the day he gets out, youâre already there.
youâre standing by the gate before the sunâs even up. his hoodie on, necklace with his name around your neck. youâre trying to play it cool, but your hands wonât stop shaking.
and when that gate finally opened, when ryomen sukuna steps out, a free man, tattoos gleaming in the morning light, black tee hugging his chest, hair grown out just a little, grin already forming.
you donât even get a word out before he grabs you, spins you around like a goddamn princess. his hands firm on your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing, face buried in your neck.
âfuck, baby,â he breathes. âmissed you so fuckinâ bad.â
youâre laughing. crying a little. arms wrapped around his shoulders so tight it hurts.
he sets you down, but barely. just enough to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, and then he pulls back, still holding your face like itâs precious.
âyou ready?â
you blink. âfor what?â
he grins. big. so sure.
âcourthouse. thirty minutes away. judgeâs on lunch break. said heâll squeeze us in.â
you blink again. âwait, the fuck? are youâyouâre serious?â
âsweetheart,â he says, already dragging you toward the car, âiâve been locked up seven fuckinâ years. iâm so serious.â
cut to an hour later: courthouse.
fluorescent lights. ugly tile. fake bouquet from the clerkâs desk in your hand. cheap rings in a little box you picked up from the nearest pawn shop on the way there. you didnât even have time to change. he didnât care. not even a little.
âyou look perfect,â he mutters, adjusting your hoodie like itâs designer couture. âiâm gonna wife you up in my hoodie. thatâs so hard.â
you roll your eyes. âyouâre such a dumbass.â
âyour dumbass now,â he grins emphasizing the your. âpermanently.â
you say your vows that came straight from the heart in a cheap government office, between a sleepy officiant and a laminated âno food or drinkâ sign.
but he looks at you like youâre in a white dress on a mountaintop.
he kisses your hand when he slides the ring on.
says ââbout fuckinâ time,â loud enough that the clerk snorts.
and when they say âyou may now kissââ
he doesnât wait. he pulls you in, kisses you like heâs trying to breathe through you. itâs deep and messy and a little bit desperate.
you giggle against his mouth.
he presses his forehead to yours, still grinning.
âmrs. ryomen fuckinâ sukuna,â he says proudly. âfinally.â
you walk out as husband and wife.
he pulls you in by the hips and kisses you again in the parking lot, hands low, grin wide.
âmade good on that promise, yeah?â
you decide not to do anything fancy. no champagne. no five-star dinner.
you celebrate the only way you know howâgreasy as hell.
just burgers and fries at that little place you used to talk about in letters and phone callsâthe one with the neon sign and checkered floors. sukuna orders double everything, and heâs across from you in sweats and an ankle monitor, eating like a man who forgot what real food tastes like.
he steals your fries when youâre not looking. you slap his hand.
he smirks. âmarried now, baby. my fries too.â
you share a milkshake. vanilla. extra whipped cream. two straws.
he stares at you across the table like he still doesnât believe youâre real.
âyou know i dreamed about this?â he says, voice rough from grease and emotion. âused to lay there and think about you, right across from me, doing this exact same shit.â
you smile. press your foot against his under the table.
âdream about the milkshake or me?â
he snorts. âboth. obviously.â
he takes your hand and kisses your ring finger, red eyes locked on yours and filled with so much love.
and when you finally drive homeâreal homeâhis legâs bouncing the whole way. you both get off the car and head up the steps and you unlock the front door.
âyou sure heâs not gonna bite me?â
you snort. âyouâre the one who taught him to go for the ankles.â
the apartment is quiet when you pull up. itâs familiar to him, but different. newer furniture. heâs seen it all in video calls but itâs different in person now. his shoes arenât by the door anymore, but everything elseâeverything youâis still here. still home.
he hesitates at the threshold. just for a second. like heâs afraid itâll vanish if he walks in. but thenâ
âAKUMA!â you call out, voice soft but firm.
and thereâs the sound of scrambling paws, claws on the hardwood, and then akumaâs thereâgray, stocky, a little older, but still full of love and joy.
the pitbull barrels into the room like heâs about to tear through the walls, skids to a stop, and freezes when he sees him.
akuma just stares at firstâlike heâs short-circuiting. akuma sniffs the air. tail wags once. then again. and then he launches.
sukuna catches all 70 pounds of him like itâs nothing, falling back onto his ass with a grunt as akuma licks at his face like heâs trying to put seven years of love into one minute.
âfuckâokay, okayâgoddamnââ sukunaâs laughing, arms tight around the dogâs back, fingers gripping his fur like heâs afraid heâll disappear again.
akumaâs whining, tail a blur of chaos, body wriggling like he canât get close enough.
and sukunaâyour big, bad, tatted-up, ex-convict husband?
he fucking cries. silent at first. then not. (expected)
his shoulders were shaking, arms wrapped tight around the dog, forehead pressed to his fur.
you just watch from the doorway. hands over your mouth. heart splitting. he looks up at you, eyes wet.
you kneel beside him. touch his back. âhe never stopped waiting,â you whisper. âneither did i.â
he pulls you both inâyou and akumaâhis whole world in his arms now. big, calloused hands around your waist. akuma draped across your laps like a living blanket.
you sit beside him. curl against his side.
âgod, y/n, youâfuckâiâŠ,â he whispers into akumaâs fur. âdidnât think iâd get to see you again.â
and for the first time in seven years, sukuna lets himself feel safe.
after you both settle in, itâs quiet now. real quiet. not prison quiet.
no locks clanking. no cell doors slamming. no count. no cold tile or shitty mattress. home quiet.
youâre both cleanâfresh from a hot shower, towel-dried hair, his hands all over you the entire time like he couldnât believe you were real. when he brushed his teeth, he kept making jokes about âfirst night as a free man, iâm getting minty for my wife.â
his wife.
heâs got everything he dreamed about for the last seven years. sheets that smell like you. a real bed. a dim lamp in the corner next to a photo of you, him & akuma.
and youâstanding in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts and a look that says finally.
the ring glints on your finger in the dark. he exhales like heâs never really breathed before. he sits on the edge of the bed for a while. just stares at the wall.
you donât rush him. you know whatâs going on in that handsome head of his. this is the place he got arrested in. the same room they tore apart. same windows, same shadows.
âseven years,â he murmurs. âfirst night back in my bed.â
you walk over. slow. crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.
âour bed,â you whisper.
he swallows. hard. hands settling on your hips.
eyes drinking you in like he canât believe youâre real. like maybe heâs still dreaming in some concrete box.
âyouâre my wife,â he says, voice thick. âfuckinâ wife.â
you smile against his lips. âso make me feel like it.âand thatâs all it takes.
he kisses you hardâmouth desperate, like heâs catching up for all the years he couldnât. he pulls your shirt over your head, kisses the top of your chest first, then lower. his hands are everywhere. reverent. hungry. he grabs your thighs, flips you onto your back, crawls down between your legs like heâs starving.
and he is.
he pulls your panties off with his teeth. kisses your inner thighs like heâs praying. then licks into you, slow and deep, groaning when your fingers tangle in his hair.
âsweetest fuckinâ thing,â he murmurs against your pussy. âmissed this taste every night. used to jerk off thinkinâ about this right here.â
he eats like heâs got time to worship. not rough. not rushed. justâŠgrateful. long licks, fingers curling inside, nose pressed to your clit until your thighs are shaking and your hips are grinding into his face.
âgo ahead, baby. be a good girl and come on my face. itâs your first night as my wife. i got shit to prove.â
you come hard. breathless. crying out his name.
and he doesnât stop. not until your thighs are twitching. not until heâs satisfied.
then he crawls back up, drags your mouth to his, lets you taste yourself on his lips.
âsit on it,â he rasps, voice wrecked. âwanna watch you ride me. wanna feel all of it.â
you straddle him, slow, sinking down onto his cock until youâre fullâso fucking full it steals your breath.
he moans, head tipping back, gripping your hips, watching every inch disappear.
âmy fuckinâ wife,â he breathes. âlook at you.â you move slow at first, hands on his chest, grinding your hips like youâve got nowhere else to be for the rest of your life.
and he loves it.
heâs got his hands all over you. one on your waist, the other cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.
he fucks up into you, matching your pace, mouth dragging across your throat.
âseven fuckinâ years,â he pants. âyou know how many times i dreamed of this?â
youâre shaking now. gasping.
âshow me,â you whisper. âshow me how bad you wanted it.â
he flips you fastâso fastâlays you down on his bed for the first time in seven years, and fucks you deep, slow, deliberate. the room filled with the most obscene sounds. bed creaking, the sweet, wet squelch of your pussy and his balls slapping against your ass.
he kisses your fingers. your mouth. your ring.
âmine,â he whispers into your neck. âforever. mine.â
you come again. this time with his name in your mouth and his hand locked with yours.
he follows right afterâgroaning low, buried deep inside you, face pressed to your chest. (definitely pregnant after that)
you collapse on top of him. he wraps you up. presses kisses to your hair. just lays there, breathing with you, forehead to yours, thumb brushing your cheek.
âthank you,â he whispers. âfor waiting. for staying. for not giving up on me.â
no more grainy phone calls. no more visits. no more letters. just the two of you home with nothing between you but peace.
he rubs his hand over your back, voice soft.
âweâre good now, yeah?â
you nod, half-asleep. âmhm.â
âtold you iâd come back.â he whispers.
after that, it gets quiet again. except akumaâs snoring in the corner like a damn freight train. the doorâs locked. the cityâs asleep.
and youâre in bed, legs tangled with your husbandâs, skin warm from hours of sex and laughter and most of allârelief.
sukunaâs on his back, one arm around your waist, the other tucked behind his head.
heâs watching the ceiling like it owes him something, blinking slow, chest still rising a little too fast. like he canât quite believe any of this is real.
you lean over him, kiss the ink on his collarbone.
he smilesâlazy and smugâas usual.
âwhat?â you murmur, tracing a line down his stomach.
he glances at you, eyes half-lidded. âjust thinking.â
âoof, thatâs dangerous.â you tease.
he huffs a laugh. âyeah.â
you wait and then he says itâquiet, almost like a joke.
âremember the party?â
you blink. âthe one where we met. over some shitty, warm beer that toji picked up at the corner store?â
âmmhm.â he smirks, but softer now. âthe one where yuki told you not to talk to me.â
you laugh. full and real. ââdonât. heâs crazy, jail-time type shit.ââ
âand you came and sat on my lap anyway.â
âi meeean, you were hot.â you shrug.
âand youâre an idiot.â
you smile, curl into his side, cheek resting on his shoulder.
he presses a kiss to your forehead, knuckles brushing your bare spine.
âguess i should thank your dumbass friend,â he mutters, voice low, already fading into sleep. âsheâs the reason i met my wife. my ride or die.â
you smile and donât say anything. you just hold him tighter, like youâre afraid heâll disappear all over again.
two years in, then seven apart.
crime. then courtrooms. then shitty vending machine coffee. hundreds of letters and visits.
and now heâs here, tucked against your side, finally. fully.
yours in a way no one ever thought he should be.
you whisper, barely a breath. âguess youâre not so crazy after all, huh?â
he stirsâdoesnât open his eyesâbut he hears you and with a rough, half-asleep laugh, he mutters.
âstill fuckinâ crazy.â
then he kisses your shoulder, presses closer, and falls back asleep with his hand curled around your wedding ring.
youâre just starting to drift offâhis breathing slow against your skin, your fingers still tangled in his hairâwhen the mattress shifts with a heavy thud.
then a groan.
âno. absolutely the fuck notââ sukuna mumbles, voice hoarse.
akuma, in all his 70-pound glory, launched himself onto the bed. sprawling across both of you like heâs claiming his spot. head wedged on your stomach, paws kicking into sukunaâs ribs.
you laugh, half-asleep. âaw, kuuuna. baby, he missed you.â
sukuna sighs, glaring at the ceiling.
âseven years in prison, and i come home to my traitorous cockblockinâ dog.â
akuma lets out a loud sigh and promptly starts snoring. loud and obnoxious.
you kiss his little boxy head and then sukunaâs temple, still grinning.
sukuna grumbles something under his breathâbut his arm curls tighter around both of you.
and youâre pretty sure you heard him mutter the words, âthanksâŠwhoeverâs out there.â
:3 please check out my other works! hereâs the master list! <3
a/n: this was pretty long! been sitting on this for about a month now, hopefully you all enjoyed it! let me know if i should continue this or leave it as is! t
â sum. ever since his wife divorce him for another man, toji never was with anyone, even in having intimacy, he never had any desire to kiss, touch, even fuck anyone, until he have you on his lap, riding him in one of the stall in the club.
warning. non-sorcerer reader, toji is a mess, p sooo good he almost cries, pu$$y-drunk toji, reader having a tats piercing. rough sex, public sex (bathroom stall), unprotected vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, power imbalance (older man / younger woman), age gap relationship, orgasm denial / delayed climax, handjob, cumplay (internal ejaculation, cum leaking), pu$$y worship, overstimulation, leg folding position, possessive behavior, pussy drunk characterization, public exposure risk, aftercare / caretaking, mild consensual degradation oral fixation (nipple sucking, biting), references to breeding kink (implied), swearing / explicit language.
the club was called gristle, which already told you everything you needed to know: concrete walls painted matte black and lacquered in the sweat of too many strangers, music that sounded like a blender chewing up chrome, a bar lit up like a failed attempt at divine intervention. sticky floors. bodies everywhere. it was the kind of place that made your soul itch in your ribs and your bones hum. it was hell with a cover charge and you were thriving.
you were two tequila sodas deep, blinking rhinestones stuck to your collarbones like sweat-kissed stars, and dancing like your future career depended on it. maybe it did. shoko was three drinks ahead and exactly zero inhibitions behind. she was the kind of girl who never danced to the beat of the songâjust the beat of spite. the kind of sway that said fuck you, yes you, iâm smarter than you, and iâll outdrink you too. her cigarette was tucked behind one ear. a forgotten white flag.
âgojoâs in the dj booth trying to suck off the strobe light again,â she slurred into your shoulder.
you turned just in time to see gojo doing a very illegal-looking worm across the raised platform, flanked by a gaggle of girls who looked like they were filming a live breakdown for instagram. geto was sitting on the edge of the booth, draped in his coat like a tired mob wife, nodding along to whatever existential crisis the beat was currently having.
you laughed until your mascara creased. and then.
then.
a split-second crack in the atmosphere. a slither in your peripheral. someone watching youânot in the usual way, not the club way, the predatory frat-boy wayâbut something heavier. older. slower. the weight of it hit you somewhere between your stomach and your spine.
you turned.
and there he was.
he looked out of place in the same way a butcher knife looks out of place in a school lunchroom. not wrong, not technically, just... deeply inappropriate. green jacket, black tank, that wide-built way of holding himself like he didnât trust the world not to jump him at a red light. a thick scar ran down the corner of his mouth like a cruel afterthought. he had a drink in one hand, pinky ring glinting under the lazy spin of a broken disco ball, and he was sucking a tooth with a mouth made for war crimes.
next to him sat another guyâsleek, fox-faced, gold chain and a tattoo that slithered up his neck like a wine stainâbut he wasnât looking at you.
toji fushiguro was.
not like he was checking you out. not like he was undressing you with his eyes. not like a man drunk on his own age gap perversions. he was looking at you like he recognized you. like youâd been a thorn in his side in another life. like you were the sound of the trigger just before it broke.
he didnât smile.
he didnât look away.
and youâbecause you were drunk and stupid and it was the last week of finals and your body was humming from the low voltage burn of too much bass and not enough shameâyou didnât look away either.
you reached up, swiped a smear of glitter from the hollow of your throat, and licked it off your finger.
tojiâs jaw flexed.
âyou seeing that?â shoko asked beside you, voice dry and amused like she was watching a nature documentary and you were the gazelle about to get railed.
you didnât answer.
because his eyesâgod, his fucking eyesâthey were the kind that said i havenât had sex in years, and i will wreck you like it's penance. he looked like he hadnât touched anyone since the divorce. like he hated that he still wanted to. like the wanting itself was its own dirty little sin.
he leaned back in the booth, legs spread obscenely wide, the kind of man who made space by taking it. his hand moved, slow, up to his mouth, dragging a thumb along his lower lip.
you felt it like a bruise blooming.
shoko snorted. âbitch, heâs gonna eat you alive.â
âmaybe i wanna be eaten.â
she shoved her drink into your hand. âthen go get digested.â
you turned back to him.
he was still watching. still calm. like he had all the time in the world to decide whether or not to ruin yours.
and you?
you smiled.
because sometimes, finals week ends with a degree. and sometimes it ends with a man who hasnât touched a single soul since his wife left him looking at you like you were the last bad decision heâd ever make. but, you donât know that yet.
the bass dropped again.
so did your common sense.
toji didnât blink.
not when the lights strobed red-blue-red like a police raid inside your chest. not when someone spilled a drink too close to his boots. not when the fox-faced man beside him leaned in and said somethingâlow and fast and close to his ear.
toji just nodded. lazy. like the nod was a formality. like whatever was said didnât need his actual attention. his eyes never left you. not even for a second. he exhaled through his nose. slow. and then, with a flick of his wrist, the friend stood and left, disappearing into the crush of the crowd like heâd never been real. no goodbye, no handshake, no dap, no nothing. the seat was empty. the booth swallowed the vacancy like it was always meant for someone else.
the song changed. again. it had probably changed five times. you didnât know. didnât care. toji leaned back just a little further. the way a lion does when itâs already decided to pounce but wants to stretch first. his ring tapped the glass once. then he licked his bottom lip.
and thatâ
that was your fucking cue.
âheâs alone now,â you said to shoko, eyes still locked on his like they were glued to the roof of your own dumb horny brain. âand i just made a terrible decision in my mind that i would like to make worse in person.â
shoko didnât even look. she just grabbed your cup and said flatly, âyou go, sluts.â
âthanks, sluts.â
âgodspeed, sluts.â
toji watched your approach like you were a slow car crash. like he didnât want to stop it.
and then you were gone, cutting through the crowd like a little dumb thirsty dagger, the kind that didnât kill, just ruined. your path to him wasnât straight. it wobbled.
hips out of time with your legs, heartbeat too loud in your ears, glitter smudged down one cheek like a finger had already been there. every single person in the club was suddenly nothing but smoke and background static. the music, a dull throb behind the real percussion of your blood.
and when you stopped at the edge of his booth, one hand on the lip of the velvet seat, mouth parted just enough to be accused of thinking nasty thingsâ
he tilted his head.
he looked down, slow, dragging his gaze over your body like a confession, then back up again.
he still hadnât smiled.
he didnât need to.
you were already fucked.
the booth was one of those deep, curved ones, made for mafia deals or the kind of drunk makeouts that ended in pregnancy scares and spiritual awakenings. the leather was the kind of cracked that whispered rumors about what had gone down here over the yearsâpiss, blood, cum, cheap perfume, shame, maybe in that order. red vinyl, sticky in a way that suggested the cleaning crew gave up back in 2019. it curved around the edge of the room like the mouth of something hungry, all teeth and shadow and bad ideas.
toji sat dead center. like a throne. like he knew youâd come.
you hovered at the edge a second too longâlong enough to register the way his thighs spread under the table, long enough to see the glass in his hand was more ice than liquor, long enough to feel the bass tremble up your calves and settle right behind your teeth. he didnât say anything. didnât lean forward. didnât offer you a seat. didnât look away.
so you climbed in.
slow. dramatic. like youâd rehearsed it. thigh first, then the swing of your leg over the lip of the booth, one hand braced on the table, the other catching the hem of your skirt as it threatened to ride too high. you slid in beside him, but not next to him. no. you gave him space. gave yourself room to breathe. gave the night a chance to hesitate. you slid in just far enough that your knee could maybe touch his if you angled wrong, just far enough that your perfume would reach him, but your intentions would still look innocent if someone were watching.
he looked at you then.
not a turn of the head. not a shift of his shoulders. just the eyesâthose fucking eyesâcutting sideways like a blade, like a car mirror catching you just before it hits. they dropped again. took in your legs. your stomach. your mouth.
slowly.
like he had time. like he wasnât planning anything. like he absolutely was. he took a sip from his glass. ice clicked against his teeth. âyou here with your little boyfriend?â he asked, voice rough, deep, the kind of voice that sounded like it had gravel for breakfast and a grudge for dessert.
you blinked.
âwhat?â
toji tilted his chin toward the dance floor. âglitter rat in the booth. blonde. yelling at the DJ.â you glanced back. gojo was on his fourth attempt at beatboxing into a mic that wasnât even plugged in. âjesus christ,â you muttered, then looked back at toji. âno. heâs just allergic to dignity.â
toji hummed. then his thumb brushed the condensation off the side of his glass, slow, deliberate. you watched the motion, unblinking. he tapped the glass against the table. âwhat about the girl? the one with the dead fish stare and a vendetta against buttons.â you grinned. âshoko? also not fucking her. though sheâd be the one doing the fucking.â
âmm,â he said, not quite smiling, not quite breathing.
your knee brushed his. just barely. enough to count.
âyouâre really checking out my whole friend group before you even ask my name?â
tojiâs gaze flicked to you, then back to his glass. âdonât need your name,â he said. âi just wanted to make sure no one was gonna cry when i take you into the bathroom.â the air went out of you like someone had lit a match in your lungs. not subtle. not flirty. not pretending.
you swallowed. slowly.
âbold of you to assume i cry after.â
toji smirked then. not wide. not pretty. crooked. mean. like it hurt to do it. like he hadnât done it in a while and wasnât sure it was still worth the trouble. but it was a smile. for you. and something about it made your stomach twist like your bones were folding inward.
he reached across the table and stole your drinkâno asking, no gesture, just took it from your hand like it already belonged to himâand sipped it. eyes never leaving yours.
âtequila,â he muttered. âfigures.â
âand what the fuck does that mean?â
he shrugged. âmeans you want to do something stupid. something you canât admit you want. something youâre gonna lie about to your friends in the morning.â
you stared at him.
and hated how right he was.
you leaned in, breath catching just slightly. âokay. and what do you want?â toji leaned back again, arm stretched across the back of the booth. his fingersâlong, veined, scarred, absolutely filthyârested behind your shoulder, not touching, just close enough to feel the heat.
he gave a lazy, brutal smile.
âi want to remember what it feels like to ruin someone.â
instead, you leaned in closer.
your throat went dry. your pulse tried to climb out of your neck.
you swallowed hard. you shouldâve left. shouldâve said something clever. shouldâve laughed and slipped away and found someone safer to flirt with. someone your age. someone with a nice apartment and a philosophy minor.
and whispered, âbathroomâs to the left.â
he didnât move. not yet. just gave you another look. slow. bottom to top. the kind of look that peeled layers. stripped the glitter off your skin. that set a small, sharp flame behind your belly button and said, âweâre not gonna be gentle. weâre not gonna be kind.â
toji downed the rest of his drink in one go.
and stood.
âdonât fall in love,â he said over his shoulder as he moved toward the hallway.
you followed. because it was already too fucking late.
the hallway to the bathroom was narrow, humid, and alive in the way all bad decisions areâpulsing with leftover bass, lit by flickering red neon that made everything look like it was soaked in blood and bad taste. a warped âEXITâ sign hung above the far end like a lie, like hope, like something god had given up on. the walls were sticky, painted black, smeared with the fingerprints of too many hands that didnât belong anywhere else. you could hear the music still, like it was coming from inside your chest. or his.
toji walked ahead of you with the kind of gait that didnât need to check behind him to know youâd follow. wide shoulders, unhurried steps, a slight roll to his hips like he was dragging the entire fucking world behind him and had made peace with it. he didnât look back. he didnât say anything.
and youâfucking idiot, slut in progress, full of bad glitter and worse ideasâyou followed him like the devil never lied, heels sticking to the floor, chest rising and falling too fast, heat crawling up the backs of your knees like it had teeth.
you passed a couple making out against the wall, faces crushed together like starved dogs. a guy throwing up in a bucket with a girl patting his back like she loved him for it. someone crying into a mirror, mascara smeared down their cheekbones like war paint. all of it faded. all of it backdrop.
your whole body was zeroed in on him.
toji pushed open the bathroom door without ceremony. it creaked. like it had a vendetta.
the club bathroom was exactly what you expected from a place called gristle: a flickering fluorescent above the mirror, one stall door missing entirely, cracked tiles that looked like someone had lost a fight with their reflection. the floor was wet. you didnât ask with what. the whole place smelled like bleach, piss, and someoneâs regretful aftershave.
but the last stallâthe farthest one, the only one with a working lockâwas open.
he walked straight in.
paused.
turned halfway in the doorway, one hand braced on the chipped frame, and finally looked at you again. like a challenge. like a dare. like he wasnât gonna pull you in. not unless you stepped forward yourself. âlast chance,â he said, voice low, rough, carrying that kind of warmth that only exists inside furnaces and buried trauma. âyou got about three seconds to decide whether youâre gonna regret this.â
you laughed.
it came out a little wild. a little cracked.
âbitch, i already regret it.â
and then you stepped in.
he closed the door behind you. it clicked shut like the start of a ritual.
now it was just the two of you, breathing the same stifling, chemical-washed air, shadows cast sharp and ugly across your faces by the single busted light overhead. you could see the sweat beading at his temples, the shine of it along the thick cut of his throat. you could see the scar on his lip, and the deeper one under his jaw, like someone had tried to silence him with a blade and failed. his eyes were even worse up closeâmean, ancient, alive in the way fire is alive when itâs out of control. they flicked over you with slow, deliberate weight.
he didnât touch you.
he didnât need to.
he just looked.
and it felt like a strip search. like a dissection. like you were standing naked already, ribs cracked open, heart fluttering like it knew what was coming and wanted to hide behind your lungs. âwhatâs your name?â he asked suddenly, voice pitched like he didnât care but also like he needed it for something he didnât want to name.
you hesitated.
then said it.
he rolled it around in his mouth. didnât repeat it, just tasted it, the way a man might taste a curse or a memory or a prayer he wasnât allowed to say. âhuh,â he said. âtoo pretty for the kind of shit youâre about to let me do.â you were about to shoot back something equally stupid, something unhinged, something desperate and mean and wet with anticipationâ
but he took a step closer.
just one.
and it was enough to send your breath hitching and your back pressing gently against the wall of the stall like you needed to hold the whole building up. you could smell him nowâcigarettes, aftershave, sweat, and something else, something feral and tired and male, the kind of scent that made you feel like a house left unlocked.
he raised a hand.
not to grab you. not yet. he just rested it on the wall beside your head, knuckles ghosting the tile, his eyes boring down into yours like he was looking through you. like he was checking for rot.
âyou donât even know how good you look right now,â he murmured, and his voice sounded wreckedâtorn at the edges, too old for this, too fucked up to know better, too close to the edge.
you whispered, âthen tell me.â
he laughed.
short. breathy. not nice.
ânah,â he said. âgonna show you.â
stillâstillâhe didnât touch you.
he let the silence wrap around the both of you like plastic, like a vacuum seal, like the breath between the lightning and the thunder. he let you feel the heat crawling up your neck, let your hands twitch at your sides like they wanted something to hold onto before the world caved in.
his eyes didnât leave yours. not once.
and when he finally, finally leaned in, mouth brushing close enough to yours that you could feel the shape of the words more than you heard them, he saidâ
âsay please.â
you exhaled so sharply it stuttered.
and thenâ
âno.â
his grin was all teeth. no mirth. no kindness. just hunger dressed up like satisfaction.
âgood,â he said. âdonât beg yet.â
and he leaned back.
waited.
waited for you to break first.
and fuckâ
you wanted to.
you moved without thinking. or maybe you were thinking too muchâjust not with the part of your brain responsible for restraint. maybe it was the tequila, or the way his voice slithered under your skin like something hot and reckless, or the way he still hadnât touched you first, like he was trying to prove a point. you pushed him.
both hands flat against his chest, sudden, hard, more force than you meant but less than he deserved, and he let you, let you shove him back until he stumbled into the closed janitorâs closet behind him. his legs hit the lip of the metal threshold, knees bending with a grunt, and he sank down onto the makeshift seat like he wanted to be thereâlike heâd planned it all along.
and then his handsâfuck, those handsâwere on your thighs.
rough palms, calloused fingers, thick enough to bruise without meaning to. he didnât trail them up. didnât tease. he gripped, greedy, dragging you forward like you were already claimed. his touch lit a fuse somewhere behind your sternum. your breath stuttered, caught, and your hips moved before your mind caught up, knees hitting the outside of his legs as you let yourself be pulled between them like gravity was a kink.
your hands landed on his shoulders to steady yourself, fingertips pressing into solid muscle wrapped in cotton and heat. you could feel itâhimâbeneath the thin fabric of his shirt: the thick slope of his traps, the unforgiving hardness of a man who spent too much time in fights and not enough in therapy.
âjesus,â you breathed, unthinking.
âwhat?â
your palms slid over the lines of him, feeling the definition like it had something to tell you, like each inch of him was a secret your hands could decode.
âyouâre so fucking hot,â you muttered, half to yourself.
toji chuckled. it was low and mean and full of dirt. like heâd heard it before, but it still pleased him in that deeply male, deeply awful way.
âyou climbinâ on or just gonna compliment me to death?â
you didnât answer.
you straddled him.
slow, deliberate, dragging your knees over his thighs until your hips settled down onto his lap, the heat of him pressed tight against the inside of your thighs like a confession he didnât have to say out loud. you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying not to moan at how fucking big he wasâeverything about him. wide shoulders. thick neck. those awful, perfect hands still gripping your thighs like he owned them.
your nose brushed against his jaw, and for a second, you didnât move. didnât kiss. didnât speak.
you just inhaled.
his scent hit you in the teethâspice and sweat and something darker, older, something like woodsmoke and nights without sleep. it wasnât cologne. it was him. it made your eyes flutter shut for a second longer than you meant to.
then your lips ghosted against the side of his neck, soft, barely there, just enough to taste the salt and heat of him. âwhatâs your name?â you asked into his skin, voice breathless. he didnât answer right away. you kissed his neck again, slower this time, tongue just barely tasting him. he exhaled, rough. âtoji.â
you hummed like it was a meal, a warm word you could chew on. âtoji,â you repeated, testing it, letting it sit on your tongue like liquor.
you kissed just under his jaw. âare you married, toji?â
he huffed. not quite a laugh.
ânah. divorced. long time ago.â
you let your lips linger at his throat, barely touching, feeling his pulse jump just under the skin. âwhyâd she leave?â his voice was quiet this time. bitter. real. âran off with some other guy. wanted something better, i guess.â you pulled back a little, just enough to look at him, brushing a stray piece of hair off his forehead with one finger. he was staring at you, eyes darker now, more guarded, but not pulling away.
you tilted your head and said, low and smug and filthy-sweet, âsomeoneâs trash is someoneâs treasure, yâknow.â
toji snorted. actually snorted, head tilting back slightly, a rough sound in the back of his throat like amusement had caught him off guard. his hands flexed on your thighs, thumbs digging into the meat like he needed an anchor.
âyou callinâ me trash, baby?â
you grinned, lips brushing against his cheekbone.
âonly if you want me to recycle you.â
his laugh this time was fullâshort, sharp, almost surprised. you felt it through your whole body, the vibration rolling up his chest into yours. he looked at you like you were an accident he wasnât sure he regretted yet.
âyouâre mouthy,â he muttered.
âyouâre old,â you shot back.
âand yet,â his hand slid up, resting heavy against your ass, âyouâre in my lap.â
you leaned in again, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.
âso whatâre you gonna do about it?â
toji leaned back, just enough to look you in the eyes, a slow, deliberate smirk pulling at the scar on his lip.
âwhatever the fuck i want.â
you smiled.
âgood.â
your hands started moving before your mouth didâfingers trailing down the slope of his shoulder, slow and shameless, brushing over the tight fabric of his shirt, down across the sharp cut of his chest. you could feel the muscles shift beneath your palms, all dense and unforgiving, like stone that had decided to grow teeth. he wasnât just strong. he was engineered. like god got horny once and never did it again.
you were still waiting for him to touch you properly.
but you were starting to think the waiting was the whole goddamn point.
you dragged your fingers lower, feeling every groove of him, every inch mapped like sin beneath your hands. his abs were taut, hard, ridiculousâless six-pack, more topographical map of a mountain range you wanted to get lost in. they flexed when you touched them, a subtle twitch under your fingertips like his body was reacting on its own, and it made your thighs clench around his lap.
âjesus christ,â you muttered, reverent and obscene at once. âwhat the fuck do you do? bench-press small cars? choke people for a living?â
toji smirked without answering. that same little twist of his mouth, one corner pulling up like it wanted to make fun of you, like it knew how dumb you soundedâlike he made people talk like that just by existing. you didnât let him speak. you pushed your palm flat against the cut of his abs, slow circles, down toward his navel, and grinned, breath hot against his jaw.
âi could literally squirt just from humping your stomach,â you said, blunt as a knife. âjust grind on these things like a fucking degenerate and ruin your whole shirt.â
toji barked out a short, rough laughâsharp enough to show teeth, mean enough to make your pulse stutter. âyouâre disgusting.â
âand youâre enabling me.â
âyou say that like itâs a problem.â
you let your hand drift lower stillânot far enough to be a real threat yet, just enough to tease, then slid it back up again, slowly, nails dragging over the ridges of his stomach like you were mapping the way youâd ride him. your other hand stayed locked behind his neck, nails lightly scraping along the curve of his nape, anchoring you there in his lap, where you didnât belong, where you wanted to live forever.
and then your hand found his chest again.
specifically; his nipple.
you didnât hesitate. just caught it between your thumb and finger and gave it a little tug.
he flinched.
not big. not obvious. just a twitchâshoulders shifting under your palm, his hips tightening under yours, a low sound catching in his throat like something he hadnât meant to make. and it lit you up. a flare of heat, sharp and fast, blooming behind your sternum like something youâd swallowed was fighting to get out.
âhuh,â you said, grinning like a cat with something twitching between its teeth. âyouâre sensitive.â
tojiâs eyes flicked up to meet yours, slower than before. darker.
âkeep talkinâ like that, baby,â he said, low and warning, âyouâre gonna find out how long itâs been since someone made me come.â
your stomach flipped.
not from fear. from anticipation.
you pinched again, slower this time, more curious than cruel, watching the way his chest moved with the pressure, how his breath hitched before he swallowed it down. âi like you like this,â you murmured, leaning in again, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. âall rough and ready to break shit, but twitchy when i touch you just right.â
ânobody touches me like that.â
you kissed just below his ear.
âshame,â you said.
your voice dropped to a whisper, low and mean and sweet at once.
âiâll fix that.â
he exhaled hard through his nose, chest rising beneath your hand. his fingers dug harder into your thighs, like he wanted to grip bone, like he wanted to see if your skin would remember him tomorrow.
âyouâre not scared of me,â he muttered, almost like it was a question.
âshould i be?â
his lip twitched. âprobably.â
you smiled, letting your lips ghost over the sharp angle of his jaw, thumb brushing lazily across his nipple again, slower now, testing him. âthen maybe i want to be a little scared.â
his hands slid higher on your thighs, thumbs pressing in slow circles, rough, patient, menacing, the kind of touch that wasnât asking for permissionâit was letting you pretend you still had a choice.
âyou keep teasing like that,â he said, voice lower now, quieter, dead calm, âand iâm gonna stop being polite.â you rolled your hips forward just enough to feel him through his jeansâhot, hard, there. âyouâve been polite?â you said, eyes wide and false, mocking. âthis is you being polite?â
he laughed again. slower this time. darker.
âbaby,â he said, fingers curling into your skin, âyou have no fucking idea.â and stillâhe hadnât kissed you. not once. and it was driving you insane.
you were perched in his lap like temptation incarnate, like a sin wrapped in skin and glitter, thighs bracketing his like you were made to ride things that broke people, hands still playing soft and obscene over his chest like you didnât know what restraint meant, like you were touching something sacred just to see if it bled.
toji hadnât moved much. not in the obvious way. not in the way most men do when theyâve got someone straddling them, whispering filth into their jaw like a sacrament. no, he was too still, too composed, like a bomb wired too carefully to detonate early. like he wanted to wait. to build it. let it stretch. to hold onto the tension until it snapped in your mouth.
your fingers were still teasing across his chestâidling over the muscle, flicking once more over that sensitive spot just beneath his nipple, watching for the way his stomach flinched or the corners of his mouth twitched. you liked it. you loved it. how it made him twitch, how it made his hands twitch harder against your thighs like they wanted to move but were waiting for your next line, like he wanted to see just how much worse you could get.
you leaned in again, lips hovering by his throat, breath hot and unkind.
âyou ever had a girl ride your abs?â you asked, voice like melted sugar poured down someoneâs backâsweet, but meant to burn. âlike, actually just sit on your stomach and get off like it was nothing? bet they havenât. bet none of them could handle it.â
his breath stuttered.
âjesus,â he muttered.
ânah,â you grinned, dragging your teeth just lightly along his neck, not bitingâyetâjust there, a whisper of promise. âbut you can call me that if it helps.â he growled. actually growled. a sound low in his chest like something cornered and annoyed it liked it.
and finallyâfinallyâhis hands left your thighs. not far, just sliding up, rough palms dragging over your skin, slow and heated and full of intent. he cupped your hips like he was trying to feel the bones underneath, thumbs pressing into the meat of you with a bruiserâs patience.
you moved against himâbarely, just a roll of your hips, a shift that let your weight settle over the thick press of him under his jeans, and god, fuck, it felt obscene. it made your breath hitch and his jaw clench, and the stall felt too small for what was building, the air too thick, like you were breathing in each otherâs heat, each otherâs worse instincts.
you whispered, lips against the shell of his ear, âyou like this?â
toji didnât answer right away. just let his hands slide down again, gripping tighter, thumbs dipping under the hem of your skirt like they were testing your limits.
âyou know how long itâs been since anyone touched me?â he said, voice low, almost flat, like he wasnât sure why he was telling you. âsince anyone looked at me without seeing a mess, a fuckinâ has-been?â
you pulled back, just a little, enough to look at him, eyes meeting his with something like interest wrapped in something darker. not pity. not sympathy. just hunger. focused and real.
âhow long?â you asked softly, fingers still on his chest, dragging down again, slow and hungry. he looked past you for a second. somewhere to the side. not even seeing the busted stall wall anymore. something older, in his voice now. broken-glass honesty.
âeight years. almost nine.â
you stared.
and then, with a wicked little smile curling your lips, you whispered, âsomeoneâs trashâŠâ
tojiâs mouth twitched.
ââŠis someoneâs treasure,â you finished, breathless, grin wide and smug and so, so stupid.
he barked a laugh, surprised and feral.
âyou really just called me trash again.â
you shrugged. âi mean. recycled goods. eco-conscious dick. saving the planet.â
âyouâre fucking insane,â he said, voice pitched like he might start laughing again or snap your waistband with his teeth.
you leaned forward, pressed your forehead against his, your lips barely a breath from his. âand youâre letting me sit on your lap in a bathroom stall. so what does that make you?â
he grinned.
all teeth. all bad decisions.
âabout to make the worst choice of my goddamn life.â
âgood,â you breathed. âi was worried we were on different pages.â
your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. his hands slid back up, under your skirt now, warm palms against your ass, fingers flexing like he needed to touch you everywhere before his brain caught up.
and still.
he hadnât kissed you.
and you were starting to go crazy with it.
your eyes met again. his were darker now. heavy. hungry.
but he waited.
he wanted you to crack first.
âfucking kiss me,â you hissed, voice wrecked.
he smirked.
âsay please,â toji said again, like a fucking ritual, and this timeâ
this time you almost said it.
you held his stare like a dare, like you were trying to outlast a god, both of you locked in this awful, exquisite standoff of breath and blood and the terrible pressure of almostâhis hands hot on your hips, your thighs burning around him, the tension between your bodies so taut it felt like it would hum if someone plucked it. and still, no kiss. not yet. like he needed one more act of worship before he let your mouths meet. like he wanted you naked before he let himself feel anything sweet.
fine. fuck it. youâd do it yourself.
you shifted in his lap, slow and deliberate, dragging your hands back from his shoulders to the hem of your top, fingers curling under the fabric like you were peeling off something sacred. you kept your eyes on hisâwatching the way his pupils swallowed up the green when he realized what you were doingâlifting your shirt up over your ribs, higher, higher, until the fabric slipped past your chin and you tossed it off to the side without ceremony.
no bra. piercings.
because of course not.
just bare skin and pierced nipples, glinting silver in the dirty fluorescent light like jewelry for the kind of girl who knew she wasnât soft, who never pretended she was.
you didnât speak.
you just sat there, half-naked in his lap in a goddamn club bathroom, chest heaving, nipples hard in the cold air, the metal rings catching the light like something dangerous, something mean, something that needed to be touched wrong to be touched right. and you watched him, watched how he breathedâjust once, just sharpâand how his hands flexed like they didnât know whether to grab your waist or punch through the stall wall.
âwell, fuck me,â toji muttered, voice thick now, ruined with it. âno wonder youâve been talking like you wanna go to hell. youâre built like you already run the place.â
you smiled, smug and filthy and lit from within.
âtold you,â you whispered. âeco-conscious. sustainable. slutty.â
his mouth twitched. not a full smileâhe was too gone for that now, too inside-out with the need to play it coolâbut it was there. something dangerous and animal moved across his face, and then he leaned in. you thought he was finally going to kiss you. you felt it. the moment before detonation. but insteadâ his head dropped.
and he latched onto your nipple.
âfuckââ
your back arched like a whip, hands flying to his shoulders again, nails digging in without thinking, mouth falling open with something more breath than sound. toji sucked, slow and heavy, his tongue sliding over the barbell and pressing into the sensitive flesh around it like he wanted to make you cry. his mouth was hot, his stubble scraped, and when his teeth grazed just a little too sharp you gasped, hips rolling down into his lap like it was reflex.
his hands gripped your ass again, anchoring you, holding you down while he switched sides, mouth closing over your other nipple like he was starving and you were something heâd earned by bleeding for it. his groan vibrated through you, low and primal and filthy, and when he pulled back there was spit on your skin, cooling fast, and his face was flushed in a way that made something deep in your belly twist and spark.
âjesus christ,â he said hoarsely. âyouâre unreal.â
âyouâre the one with your mouth on my tits,â you shot back, voice too high, too tight, shaking a little, âdonât go blaming me now.â
ânot blaming,â he muttered, still staring at your chest like he might bite again. âjust... christ. youâre like a fuckinâ problem someone dared me to solve with my mouth.â
and thenâfinallyâhe moved.
his hand came up, one big palm on the side of your face, warm and rough and steady, and his thumb brushed over your cheek like he was trying to decide if you were real. your breath caught. your whole body tightened.
and then he kissed you.
hard.
not sweet, not gentle, not even patient. just full, just everything, like he was trying to make up for every minute he hadnât touched you, every year he hadnât been touched himself. his mouth crashed into yours with the force of someone whoâd been starving for too long and had finally been thrown a pulse, all teeth and tongue and hunger, one hand cradling your head and the other gripping your ass like he wanted to fuse you to him.
you moaned into his mouth, loud and broken, grinding down against his lap because your body didnât know what else to do, because he tasted like heat and fury and something lost, and you never wanted to stop.
âtoji,â you gasped against his lips, not even knowing what you were going to say next.
he pulled back just enough to growl, âyeah?â
and you didnât say anything.
you just kissed him again, harder, because there was no language for this anymore. just mouths. and need. and heat. and the feeling that if you werenât careful, this man was going to leave fingerprints on your soul.
the kiss was a full-body event, not just mouths but movement, grip, heat, the wild pressure of skin-on-skin with nowhere to go and too much to say. it didnât matter that you were half-naked in a club bathroom stall where the floor smelled like a crime scene and the walls were so thin you could hear someone vomiting two doors downânone of that mattered, because tojiâs mouth was on yours like he was carving something out of you, like he was writing his name behind your teeth, and you were letting him, eagerly, shamelessly, drunk on it, high on it, completely undone.
his tongue pushed past your lips like he belonged there, slow and deep, not searchingâclaiming, like heâd waited a decade for a mouth that tasted this wrong and this right all at once. you moaned into it, hands tangling in his hair now, that thick, unruly mess of black you wanted to pull until he begged, your body moving without your consent, grinding against his lap like a goddamn heat-seeking missile. every movement made you more desperate, more soaked, more stupid, and the worst part was he knew itâyou could feel it in the way he kissed you, like he was humoring your urgency but didnât need to rush, because he could have you whenever he wanted.
âfuck,â he muttered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at youâflushed, breathless, pupils blown wide like a blackout curtain had dropped behind his eyes. âlook at you. look at you, fuckinâ shaking just from kissing.â
âyou kiss like itâs a crime,â you gasped, but it came out half a whimper, too much pleasure in your voice to be convincing. âlikeâfuckâlike youâre trying to make me come with your mouth alone.â
toji grinned, cocky and dangerous and filthy.
âmaybe i am. you wet for me already, sweetheart?â
you didnât answer, because your hips were doing it for youârocking down against his jeans with so much friction you wanted to cry, the seam catching you just enough, the pressure building, and his cock so hard beneath you it felt like punishment. you were dripping, underwear soaked through, thighs shaking, and his hands werenât helpingâpalms wide on your ass, rocking you down, grinding you into him like he wanted to wear you out before he even got your panties off.
âfuckinâ soaked, arenât you?â he said, voice a rasp now, low and hot in your ear. âyouâre gonna leave a mark on my fuckinâ jeans, baby. ruin me before i even get my dick out.â
âthen do it,â you snapped, voice wrecked. âlet me. let me ruin you.â
toji groaned, head dropping to your shoulder as he laughed, low and obscene.
âshit. listen to you. needy little brat.â
you tightened your grip on his shoulders, biting down on a gasp as he rocked you harder against him, the rhythm slow but filthy, your clit catching against the fabric with every pass, the wetness between your legs making your thighs slick where they touched his jeans.
âlook at you,â he said again, voice softer now but still thick with want. âgrinding like a fuckinâ bitch in heat. that what you need, baby? someone to tell you how good you are while you ride his lap in a public bathroom like a fuckinâ slut?â
âyes,â you breathed, and there was no dignity in it, no irony, just raw honesty. âyes, yes, fuck, say it again.â
he sat up straighter, one hand sliding up your back, warm and steady, the other gripping your hip tight enough to leave bruises. his lips were back on your throat now, trailing kissesâno, bites, little sharp things that made you twitch and gasp and roll your hips harder.
âyouâre so good,â he growled. âso fuckinâ pretty like this. filthy little thing. bet no oneâs ever let you get this messy before.â
âthey havenât,â you whispered, high and wild and broken.
âof course they havenât,â he muttered, hand sliding between your bodies now, cupping your pussy through your soaked panties. ââcause theyâre not me.â
you cried out when his fingers pressed down, through the fabric, right against your clit, and he just held them there, didnât move yet, just the pressure of it, the presence of it, as if to say i can give you everything, but only if i want to.
âyouâre shaking,â he said again, almost in awe. âlook at you. fuck. look how bad you want it.â
you nodded, frantic, rolling your hips, chasing the friction.
âplease,â you whispered. âplease, pleaseââ
toji leaned in, mouth on your jaw, lips dragging across your ear.
âthere it is,â he said, dark and triumphant. âthatâs what i wanted. beg for it, baby. you want me to make you come like this? just from grinding?â
âyes, yesâi canâi willââ
âfuckinâ right you will,â he growled. ââcause youâre perfect. youâre fuckinâ perfect, and this pussyâfuck, this pussyâs gonna soak me right through, isnât it?â
you moanedâhigh and desperate and completely goneâbecause he was right, he was so right, and your body was already pulling taut, everything tingling, building, the whole world narrowing to the heat between your legs and the sound of his voice and the rock of your hips on his lap, friction blurring into pleasure so loud it drowned out thought.
and stillâhe hadnât taken your panties off. stillâhe hadnât even kissed your neck where you needed it. stillâhe wasnât fucking you. not yet. because this was just the beginning. and he wanted to see how far youâd fall before he even let you come.
your cunt was throbbing. soaked through the sheer cotton of your underwear, the whole front of it stuck tight to your slit like second skin, every slow, cruel grind against the thick bulge in tojiâs jeans shooting sparks up your spine, dragging friction across your clit so hot it felt like electricity, like punishment, like prayerâbut no salvation was coming. not here. not yet.
toji wasnât letting you have it easy.
no, he was watching you come apart, eyes hooded, lips parted, one hand on your ass, the other flat against the small of your back like he was holding you in place just to observe the mess you were making of yourself. and you were making a fucking messâyour hips rolling in slow, stuttering circles, breath hitching every time your clit caught just right, every time the angle hit that spot that made your vision spark at the edges. his jeans were dark with your slick now. it had soaked clean through, turned the rough denim into something humid and hot and obscene, and he hadnât even moved.
he grinned, teeth bared, voice dragging out of his chest like it was dipped in smoke and sin.
âlook at you,â he murmured, so low it didnât sound real. âfuckinâ drooling on my lap. like you donât even know how to behave.â
you whimpered, not even trying to deny it, not even trying to stop your hips anymore, just grinding down harder, faster, more desperate, using him like he was a thing, like a toy, and he loved itâyou could tell, could feel how hard he was under you, thick and unyielding, the heat of him seeping through denim and cotton and skin like he was burning from the inside out.
âyou hear that?â he whispered, mouth brushing your ear now, lips hot and damp and cruel. âyouâre so wet, baby, i can hear you. hear this pretty pussy workinâ for it. tryinâ so hard to come on me like you need it.â
âi do,â you gasped, voice shaking. âi need it, toji, pleaseââ
âi know you do,â he said, thumb dragging up your spine, slow and firm, like he was petting something wild and ready to snap. âyou need it so bad youâd hump my fuckinâ abs if i let you. youâd sit on my chest like a good little toy and make yourself come.â
you whined, high-pitched and helpless, hips stuttering now, every pass over his cock sending your body into convulsions, little aftershocks building toward something brutal. your hands were shaking against his chest, nails digging in, trying to anchor yourself before your own body betrayed you.
âthatâs it,â toji growled, voice thick, breath warm on your neck. âgrind on me, baby. come for me. come just like this, messy little thing, fuckinâ beautiful.â
and that wordâbeautifulâpunched through you like a nail through soft wood, splitting you open. it was too much. it broke something.
you gasped again, mouth falling open, eyes rolling back just a little, because your orgasm hit you like a freight train, fast and catastrophic and undeniable, hips jerking, thighs shaking around him as your whole body locked up, tight and twitching and slick. your clit pulsed against the rough drag of his jeans, and for a second all you could hear was static, breath and heartbeat and the hot wet sound of your soaked underwear sticking to your cunt like your body wanted to keep the memory.
âfuck,â toji groaned, voice dark and ragged, eyes glued to your face as you came. âthatâs it. just like that. god damn, look at youâso good, baby. so fuckinâ good for me.â
you were barely breathing, shaking like a leaf in a storm, your whole body undone on top of him, and still, his hands held you steady, let you ride it out, let you grind through the aftershocks like he wanted to feel every single second of your ruin. his hand came up to your cheek, fingers curling around your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you gasped, stunned and half-feral.
âyou ever come like that before?â he asked, low and smug and so, so filthy.
you shook your head, dazed.
âthought so,â he said. ââcause no one else knows what to do with a pussy like yours, baby. they donât know how to look at you, let alone fuck you right.â
you whimpered, half-laughing, tears stinging your eyes now, overstimulated and shaking and so full of want it was making you stupid.
âyouâre a fuckinâ dream,â he said, quieter now, voice warmer, almost reverent. âyou know that? filthy little mouth, perfect tits, pussy that sings for meâyou were made for this. for me.â
you nodded, breath catching. âsay it again.â
toji smirked, eyes glinting, one hand sliding back down to your waist as he pulled you forward again.
âyou were made for me.â
and god help you, you believed him.
your hands were trembling, still shaky from the wreck of that first orgasm, your thighs twitching around his lap, soaked panties clinging to your slit like a brand, like shame, like proofâand toji hadnât even fucked you yet. he was still fully dressed, his shirt damp with sweat from where your chest had pressed against him, his jeans dark from your slick, and his cockâfuck, you could feel it, all of itâwas still locked away like a weapon waiting for deployment.
and it was time. it was fucking time.
you leaned back just enough to give yourself space, your palms still braced on his chest, steadying you as your breath came hot and uneven through your nose, mouth parted, your lips still wet from kissing, from moaning, and you looked down between your bodies like it was something sacred. his belt was half-undone already, buckle hanging open from where your desperate grinding had loosened itâlike even the metal couldnât handle what was coming.
âfuck, baby,â you breathed, fingers fumbling at the leather, dragging it the rest of the way through the loops. âyour cockâs been pressing into me like itâs got its own fuckinâ mind.â
toji let out a low chuckle, something dark and frayed around the edges.
âit does,â he said. âitâs been waitinâ. patient. even though youâve been bouncinâ on it like a fuckinâ toy.â
you popped the button, pulled down the zipper with a long, slow zzzzrrk that felt like it echoed in the stall, louder than the bass outside, louder than the sound of your own heart trying to punch through your ribs. your fingers dipped into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them low enough to see the top of itâveins, thick and pulsing, and just so much of him already visible before youâd even freed it. your eyes widened.
âholy shit,â you muttered.
he grinned, teeth flashing under the sick overhead light. âwhat?â
you didnât answer right away. your hands moved again, both of them, pushing the waistband down further, and thenâ
you let him out.
his cock slapped against his lower stomach, heavy, dark and flushed, slick already at the tip, a thick drop of precum glistening like it belonged in your mouth. it was obsceneâlong, fat, veiny as hell, the kind of dick that looked like it needed its own leash, its own warning label, its own space. the veins ran thick up the shaft, winding under skin pulled tight like leather, like the blood barely fit inside him. his head was broad, a little darker than the rest, flushed near purple, and leaking like it was angry he hadnât buried it yet.
you swallowed, one hand wrapping around the baseâyour fingers not meetingâand your other sliding up from the middle to the head, both hands now working together to hold him. âyouâre built like a fuckinâ war crime,â you said, voice shaking somewhere between awe and horny delirium. âof course your cockâs this big. stupid big. likeâjesusâi should call a priest. or a contractor. fuckinâ get structural support.â
toji moaned.
not soft. not gentle. not theatrical.
a real moanâgut-deep, choked out of him, like your words had done something, like the way your hands moved up and down his shaft, slow and reverent, was too much.
âfuck, youâre perfect,â he rasped, hips twitching once into your grip. âboth hands and you still canât hold all of me? fuckinâ look at that. look at how pretty you are, baby. jerkinâ me off like you wanna worship it.â
you grinned, dazed, breath catching as your thumbs swept over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his abs flexed every time you touched him right. âi do wanna worship it,â you said. âfuckinâ temple-level. build a church around this dick and let me live in it.â
toji laughed againâshort, loud, fucked.
âgonna make me come just from talkinâ, baby,â he muttered, voice frayed and sharp. âkeep goinâ. keep fuckinâ sayinâ that shit.â
you stroked him harder now, slow and tight, twisting a little near the head just to hear the way he groaned, to feel the twitch in your hands.
âyou know what this looks like?â you whispered, leaning close again, mouth brushing his jaw as your hand kept working. âlike something that ruins girls. like something that splits âem open, wrecks âem, makes âem talk in tongues. you ever see a girl cry while sittinâ on your dick, toji?â
âmore than once,â he said, hoarse, hips jerking again. ânone of âem sounded as fuckinâ good as you, though. jesusâyour voice, babyâgonna ruin me.â
âi wanna ruin you.â
your thumb brushed the tip again, slow and teasing.
âwanna fuckinâ sit on it till i canât talk. ride you till my legs give out. wanna let you fuck the brat outta me.â he hissed through his teeth, hips bucking, precum now sliding slick over your hands, warm and messy.
âsayinâ all that while jerkinâ me off in a stall,â he panted, head falling back against the wall. âfuck, youâre filthy. filthy and so fuckinâ good, baby. look at you. makinâ me feel like this without even sittinâ on it yet.â
you leaned in, voice low, breath hot against his ear.
âyouâre gonna fuck me with this, toji?â
âyeah,â he growled, breath hot and shaking. âgonna fuck you stupid. gonna split you open nice and slow, make you feel every inch. make you remember it for the rest of your life.â
your cunt clenched so hard your knees almost gave out.
and you were still holding his cock like it was the goddamn holy grail.
and you hadnât even put it in yet.
your hands kept moving, steady now, smooth and slick and reverent like youâd done this a thousand times in a dream and were only now getting the holy chance to do it for real. both palms wrapped around the base of him, moving slow, tight, twisting slightly as you reached the top, thumbs spreading the precum over the flushed head, watching it glisten like something sacrilegious, like something stolen from a shrine. your fingers couldnât meet even at the baseâhe was that thick, obscene, heavy in your hands like a weapon built for ruin, and fuck, you wanted to ruin yourself with it.
toji was watching you with a look that shouldâve been illegal. half-lidded eyes dark as molasses, lips parted, panting through his teeth like your touch was pulling him apart vein by vein. his chest was heaving under his shirt, soaked with sweat at the collar, and his hips kept twitching just barely into your grip, like he wanted to fuck your fists but was too caught up in the sight of you doing it so willingly, so hungrily, like you loved it. like you were meant for it.
and you did. you fucking did.
you leaned down, let your mouth hover over his cock, eyes never leaving his, and spat.
a long string of it, wet and glistening, landing right on the swollen tip with a lewd little splat, mixing with the precum already smeared across the head, and your hands caught it, smeared it all over, rubbing it in with a filthy grin like you were lotioning up something that lived in hell.
toji hissedâlow and feral and wrecked.
âfuck, babyââ
you giggled, soft and wicked, your voice a little hoarse now from all the moaning, but still steady enough to say the worst thing youâd been thinking since the second you saw his cock, âno offense, toji,â you said sweetly, rubbing both hands up and down his shaft, slow and tight, watching him twitch with every pass, âbut your ex-wifeâs a stupid cunt.â
his eyes widened a little, surprised, maybe delighted.
you kept going, dragging your fist up to just below the head and twisting it there, circling with your thumb while you talked.
âlikeâlook at this fucking dick. are you serious?â you laughed, breathless, bouncing slightly in his lap as your strokes sped up, hot slick sounds echoing in the tiny, awful stall. âyou were sittinâ on this at home, and she cheated? left you for some guy with a fuckinâ linkedin account? is she brain-dead?â
toji let out a choked laugh, a single short bark of disbelief before it collapsed into a groan, head tipping back as his hands flexed hard on your waist.
âyouâre gonna kill me,â he muttered, breathless, fucked-out already. âfuckinâ mouth on youâgoddamn.â
you leaned in, kissed his throat, then licked a stripe up the side of it just to feel him shudder. âiâm serious,â you whispered, licking the shell of his ear now. âif i had a dick like this at home, iâd quit my job. stop seeing my friends. stop eating solid food. iâd be on it twenty-four seven. dick-drunk. knees sore. brain empty. happy.â
he was groaning now, full-bodied, desperate, the veins on his cock standing out like corded rope, the tip leaking freely, your spit and his precum slicking your hands, dripping down his shaft onto his jeans like a signature.
you pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, still stroking, still rubbing your thumb over the head, still letting him feel how good your hands were, how attentive, like you were worshipping something carved out of divine filth.
âiâm gonna put it in now.â
tojiâs eyes snapped to yours, wild and almost scaredânot of you, not of the act, but of what it was going to do to him.
âyou sure?â he rasped. âyouâre still fuckinââyou just came once, youâre already twitchinâ, babyâiâm big, you know that. iâll fuckinâ split you open.â
you smiled, slow and sweet and full of madness.
âi want you to.â
his breath caught. his hips twitched.
âfuck,â he groaned. âyouâre gonna make me blow just from that. youâre gonna make me lose my fuckinâ mind.â
you rocked forward in his lap, pressing your soaked panties against the head of his cock, and gasped, because even thatâeven through cottonâfelt like it shouldnât fit. like your body wasnât made for this kind of sin. but you were going to do it anyway. you were going to take it.
you reached down, dragged the tip against your slit, up and down through your panties, slow, teasing, not slipping him in yet, just letting him feel how soaked you were, how ready, how stupid you were for him.
âfeel that?â you whispered, lips brushing his. âthatâs all for you. no one elseâs ever made me this wet. not even close.â
toji groanedâloud, desperate, unhingedâand his hands gripped your hips like he was holding back the apocalypse.
âjesus fuckinâ christ,â he muttered.
and you smiled.
because you hadnât even started.
you were still straddling him, thighs shaking slightly from the aftershocks of your orgasm and from the slow, throbbing ache that had taken root deep between your legsâthe kind of ache that didnât want relief, just more. the kind of ache that whispered take it, take it all, itâs supposed to hurt a little. and now, with your hands trembling where they rested against his stomach, and his cock leaking against the soaked crotch of your panties, thick and flushed and too much, you knew it wasnât going to be simple. this wasnât gonna be easy. this wasnât something you could laugh through.
and stillâyou pushed your panties aside.
fingers hooking under the soaked elastic, dragging the thin cotton to the side, just enough to expose the wet, swollen mess between your thighs, your lips slick and shining, your hole already fluttering like it knew, like your body was trying to brace for the sheer obscenity of what you were about to force inside it.
âfuck,â toji rasped, eyes dropping like a gravitational pull to your cunt, the way it glistened, twitching right there in front of him. âjesus fucking christ. youâre dripping down your thighs.â
you laughed, high and breathless, reaching down with one hand to angle his cock upright, the other gripping his shoulder so tight your nails left little white crescents in his skin.
âyouâve been talking like youâre a curse, toji,â you whispered, guiding the thick, throbbing head to your entrance. âbut i didnât know you were a goddamn plague.â
he grinnedâhungry and crooked and wildâbut then his breath caught when the head pressed right up against your pussy, just resting there, the blunt heat of it right there on your soaked little opening.
and even that was too much.
you tried to push down, slowlyâjust your weight alone, just letting gravity and desperation carry youâand your face immediately twisted, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open in a gasp so choked it was almost silent. the stretch was unbearable. hot. wrong. like you were trying to take something not built for human use. like your cunt was clenching out of protest instead of pleasure.
you managed maybe half an inch before your body stopped.
âohâoh my god,â you whined, already breathless, head tipping forward onto his shoulder. âfuck, fuck, fuck, i didnâtâi didnât know it would be this hardââ
tojiâs hands were on your hips, steadying you, holding you like you were fragile, like you were made of wet glass and sin. he let out a low, strained chuckle, but it wasnât cruelâit was soft, disbelieving, tender in the kind of filthy way only he could be.
âyeah,â he murmured against your temple, kissing the side of your head as you shuddered, âyeah, baby, i know. itâs a lot. âcourse itâs a lot. fuckinâ told you, didnât i? said iâd split you open.â
âyou are,â you moaned, and your voice cracked near the end, tight with frustration and arousal and the aching urge to take more. âyouâre huge, toji, i canâtâfuck, iâm tryingââ
his lips brushed your cheekbone, hot and steady.
âyouâre doinâ perfect,â he murmured, voice barely a breath. âso good for me. such a good girl. fuckinâ takinâ it, even when it hurts. fuck, you feel how tight you are? grippinâ just the tip, babyâlike you donât wanna let go.â
you whimpered, nails dragging down his chest now, trying to breathe, trying to focus, trying to push through the burn, but your eyes stung and you blinked, and thenâ
tears spilled.
not sobbing, not dramaticâjust the sting of it, the overwhelm, the deep wanting that had nowhere to go but out. âhey,â toji said softly, tilting your face toward him, his thumb brushing the corner of your eye. âwhatâs this? cryinâ on my cock already?â
he kissed the tear before it could slide down your cheek, then another, his mouth gentle, reverent, filthy in the way it held you. not mocking. not laughing.
just there. with you.
âfuckinâ beautiful,â he whispered, voice hot against your skin. âyouâre so pretty when you cry. so perfect when you fall apart for me. youâre takinâ me so good, sweetheart, fuckâlook at you. youâre stretchinâ so fuckinâ sweet around me.â
you nodded, teeth clenched, moaning as you lowered yourself another inch, the stretch burning now, unbearable and addictive, your body split wide around the sheer girth of him, your cunt fluttering, clenching, trying to make room where there wasnât any.
your voice cracked again.
âhurtsâfuckâit hurts so good, tojiââ
âthatâs it,â he breathed, hips shifting just slightly, just enough to make you feel it deeper, wider, more. âthatâs what i like. feelinâ you break yourself open for it. god damn, youâre made for this.â
âyou keepâkeep saying that,â you whimpered, tears slipping down again, dripping onto his shoulder, âlike i was built for your dick.â
his grin returnedâsoft and sharp and filthy.
âyou were. this pussy was made to take me. look how tight you are, babyâlike you never needed anyone else but me.â
and slowlyâinch by agonizing, glorious inchâyou sank down further.
and further.
and stillâhe wasnât all the way in. not yet. but you were going to take every inch. even if it killed you. especially if it killed you.
your body gave in before your mind didâhips twitching, thighs trembling, breath shuddering out of your lungs as the last brutal stretch of him finally slid in, your cunt choking around the thick base of his cock with a helpless, involuntary clench, like it didnât want to let him go, like it didnât know how to survive him.
you gaspedâmouth wide, head tipped back, neck exposed like something sacrificial, your whole body tensed and arching, and then relaxing, melting into it, as the blunt weight of him bottomed out inside you, seat to base, thick and pulsing, plugged so deep your belly felt full, your muscles trembling around the stretch like they didnât believe it was over.
and tojiâfucking tojiâjust exhaled through his teeth, mouth parted in some stunned version of a smile that looked like it might unhinge him, watching your face with something close to awe.
âshit,â he murmured, low and hoarse and broken. âyou fuckinâ took it.â
you whined. actually whined, because that fullness, that delicious, unbearable pressure, that raw-cored feeling of being too full and still wanting more had you dizzy and aching and grinding down on him like your body was possessed by the shape of him.
âyouâre all the way in,â you whispered, voice thin and stretched out over the edge of a sob, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen. âi feel youâi feel you so fucking deep, tojiââ
his hands flexed hard around your waist, dragging your hips flush to his one last time, grinding your cunt against the root of his cock, the pressure unbearable, making you gasp and shudder in his lap.
âyeah, baby,â he said, voice pure filth now, that teasing rasp that lived somewhere between worship and cruelty. âyou feel that? thatâs my cock in your stomach. youâre so fuckinâ tight around me, itâs like your pussy was starving.â
you moaned again, incoherent, your fingers curling in his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to gravity.
he rocked his hips.
once.
slow.
and your whole body convulsed.
âfuckâtojiââ
âeasy, sweetheart,â he muttered, mouth brushing your neck, tongue flicking the sweat from your skin. âgonna take care of you. just breathe. youâre doinâ so fuckinâ good for me.â
and then he did it again.
slower this time. dragging out of you just an inch, then pushing back in, letting you feel every fucking vein, the throb of him inside your walls like a second heartbeat, like a warning.
your moans were high and shaking now, rhythmic, falling apart on each pass of his hips as he built the rhythm slowâcareful, almost tender, not out of mercy but because he wanted you to feel every inch, every second, every millimeter of him splitting you open like a promise.
âyou like that?â he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, hands cradling your ass now, helping you roll with him, take it better. âlike beinâ split slow? like knowinâ you can barely take it, but youâre takinâ it anyway, âcause youâre a good fuckinâ girl?â
you nodded so fast you almost lost your balance.
âi love itâfuck, i love it, i canâtâI didnât know it could feel this goodââ
and then his rhythm shifted.
the slow grind turned to a deeper snap, hips punching up into you with just a little more power, and you wailed, your voice bouncing off the cracked tile walls of the stall, your thighs trembling around him, your breath caught in your throat.
âthatâs it,â toji growled. âthatâs my girl.â
you barely had time to respondâbarely had time to processâbefore he was grabbing you, shifting your weight suddenly, and your hands shot to his shoulders in a panic.
âtojiâwhatâ?â
he didnât answer.
he moved you.
one hand sliding under your thigh, lifting it with the ease of someone used to manhandling, the other bracing your back as he pushed your knee upâhigher, higherâuntil it was resting on his shoulder, bent awkwardly. and then the other leg followed, and before you could blink, both of your legs were slung over his shoulders, your hips tilted back, exposed, cunt stretched wide around him at a new angle, one that made your breath catch and your vision blur.
âfuckinâ hell,â he groaned, staring down at where your bodies met, his cock glistening, half-shiny with slick, with spit, your cunt so wet it sounded indecent.
âyouâre flexible, baby,â he purred, eyes glittering with smug, filthy heat. âgonna keep you folded like this all night. good fuckinâ stretch, huh? howâs that feel?â
you cried out as he thrustâdeep, sudden, rough, punching the air from your lungs and making your pussy clench so tight he growled.
âtoji! oh my godââ
ânah,â he grunted, smirking now, sweat slick at his brow, âjust toji, baby.â
and then he started to fuck you.
no more tenderness. no more slow burn.
just paceâhard and deep and ruthless, each stroke shoving you up the stall door, the slap of your slick against his thighs filthy and fast, the sound of his cock wrecking you echoing louder than your breathless little moans, louder than the club outside, louder than the entire goddamn city.
and through it allâthrough the rhythm, through the overstimulation, through the fucking stretchâ
you held onto him like he was the end of the world.
and maybe he was.
you didnât know where your body ended and his began anymoreâyour thighs thrown over his broad shoulders, calves hanging limp behind his back, cunt stretched impossibly wide around his cock, and your spine arched into the peeling tile wall like it was the only thing holding you together. everything below your waist was pulsing. drenched. trembling. you were stuffed so full your hips had gone numb and your nerves were lit up like flares, every thrust from toji dragging a sound from you that wasnât even human anymore. choked sobs, half-screams, shattered moansânothing made sense but the feeling of being split open and used like your pussy had a goddamn purpose.
and tojiâtoji was lost in it.
his grip was iron on your hips, pulling you down onto each thrust like he needed to be deeper, like it wasnât enough to be inside youâhe wanted to live there, drown there, die there. his head was dipped low now, dark hair slicked back from sweat, jaw clenched, lips parted like he was drunk off something heavy and pure. but it wasnât the club. it wasnât the drink. it was you. it was your pussy, clenching around him with every rough pump, spasming with every moan he dragged out of your throat, and it was making him lose it.
he thrust againâhard, brutal, the head of his cock punching your cervixâand you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders, tears slipping down your cheeks as your legs twitched around his neck.
âf-fuck, tojiââ
âshhh, baby,â he muttered, slurring the word like his mouth was broken. âshhh, fuckâyou hear that?â
you were crying, gasping, mouth open and useless.
âlisten.â
he slammed into you again, and this time he slowed the drag back out, watching your cunt cling to him with a slick, obscene sound that made him moan, deep and raw. âjesus christ, listen to this fuckinâ pussy,â he breathed, almost in awe. âshe doesnât wanna let go. holdinâ on like she needs me.â
you couldnât speak.
your mouth was open but all you could do was pant and sob and clench and take it.
âso fuckinâ wet,â he groaned, eyes locked to the place where you stretched around him, watching the mess he was making of you, the glossy ring of slick around the base of his cock, the sticky strings clinging to his thighs. âsheâs so greedy, baby. you feel that? your cunt wants it. sheâs suckinâ me in like she never got dick before.â
you whimpered, head falling back against the wall, voice high and thin and wrecked.
âi havenât,â you said, and it wasnât even a lie. not really. ânot like this. notâfuck, not like you.â
tojiâs face twitched.
something broke behind his eyes.
âyeah?â he rasped, voice dipping into something darker. âno one ever fucked you like this before? no one ever got you cryinâ and twitchinâ and begginâ on their cock?â
you shook your head, tears streaking down your cheeks, spit slicking your chin. âno, toji, i swearân-no oneâs everâfuckââ
he growled, hips snapping into you again, rough and greedy, the sound of your skin slapping echoing in the filthy stall, drowning out the throb of music beyond the door.
âfuckinâ right they havenât,â he spat. ââcause they couldnât handle you. you needed a real man to wreck this pussy. needed someone who could fill you up proper.â
you sobbed, legs shaking, whole body shuddering under the weight of his cock, the sheer intensity of being used like that, worshipped and ruined at once. âsay it,â he snarled, burying himself to the hilt again, hips grinding against you like he was branding you from the inside out. âsay whose pussy this is.â
ây-yours,â you gasped, voice cracking into a high, desperate wail. âyours, toji, itâsâfuckâyours, itâs always beenââ
he moanedâhead tipping back, eyes fluttering shut, cock twitching inside youâand then leaned forward until his face was buried in your neck, licking at your skin like a starving man, teeth scraping over your pulse.
âgod damn, baby,â he breathed, hips stuttering, pace breaking down as his body gave in. âyouâre squeezinâ me so tight, youâre gonna milk meâyou want that? want me to come inside this tight little hole?â
âyesâyes, pleaseâwant itââ
âi know you do,â he hissed, voice pure lust, drunk and filthy. âknow you want me to fill you up, breed you stupid, fuck this pussy till she knows who she belongs to.â
you were sobbing now, clawing at his shirt, drooling down your chin, mind unraveling with every thick thrust. he didnât stop. couldnât. hips pumping faster now, sharper, more erratic, and his mouth was on your chest, your throat, kissing tears off your face like they were his, like your pain made him harder.
âyouâre perfect,â he panted, kissing your lipsâsloppy, deep, desperate. âmy perfect little fucktoy. so pretty, so tight, so good for me. pussy was made for this.â and in the haze of sweat and moans and overstimulation, you felt him twitch inside you, a growl rising from deep in his chest as his thrusts turned jerky, his whole body tensingâ
and you knew he was about to come.
and you wanted to feel it. wanted to break with him.
you felt him get closeâtoo closeâhis rhythm stuttering for just a moment, not quite breaking, not quite giving in, but it was there, coiled tight and twitching in the way his hips bucked just a little harder, how his grip on your hips turned brutal, fingers digging deep into your flesh like he was anchoring himself to something, like if he didnât hold on, heâd fall apart.
but he didnât let go.
he didnât come.
you felt it in the way his whole body tensed, trembling like a held breath, jaw clenched tight against the curve of your throat, a low, ragged growl rumbling up from his chest as he stopped, buried deep, cock throbbing inside your overstretched pussyâbut he held it back, kept it leashed like an animal snapping at the edge of a cage.
and it made you insane.
you whimperedâhigh, desperate, achingâtrying to roll your hips, to chase it, to drag him over the edge with you because your walls were clenching around him like a vice, slick and messy and soaked, milking him like your body knew what it needed.
âtojiâfuckâplease, whyâd you stopâ?â you gasped, voice breaking, face twisted with the frustration of being right there on the edge with him and feeling him deny it.
he didnât answer at first.
just breathed through his teeth, his nose pressed to your neck, his body stiff and trembling, cock twitching inside you like it was fighting him, like it was begging to give in. ââcause if i come right now,â he finally gritted, low and dark and wrecked, âiâm not gonna stop.â
your breath hitched.
he pulled back just enough to look at youâhis eyes glassy, almost glazed, jaw tight, sweat beading down his temples. his mouth was open like heâd forgotten how to breathe right. he looked completely undone. ruined. like heâd been drinking your pussy down like liquor and now he couldnât see straight.
âiâll break you if i let go now, baby,â he whispered, voice hoarse, shaking. âiâll fuckinâ ruin this little cunt. you feel how close i am? feel it? iâve never had pussy like thisâneverâfuck, i canât even think.â
you moaned, clenching around him again just to feel that twitch, to feel his restraint crack another inch.
âthen do it,â you whispered, licking the sweat from his jaw. âruin it. fuckinâ break me, toji, i want itâi can take itââ
his expression twisted, something feral rising behind his eyes like a wave.
âyou sayinâ that now, sweetheart,â he growled, grinding slow and deep just once, making you cry out, âbut youâre already twitchinâ. already drippinâ down my fuckinâ balls. this tight little pussy can barely handle one loadâwhatâre you gonna do when i keep goinâ?â
âiâll take it,â you gasped, legs tightening around his shoulders, back arching into him like an offering. âyou can come when you wantâjust donât stop. please. donât fucking stopââ
he grinned thenâbarely, teeth bared like something dangerousâbut the pride in his eyes was molten.
âfuckinâ perfect, baby,â he whispered. âyouâre my perfect little toy, arenât you? lettinâ me stretch you like this, fold you up like itâs normalâlook at these legs, fuck, look at youâyou were made for this.â
and thenâ
he moved again.
slow at first, just the roll of his hips pulling back a few inches and pushing in deep, grinding that thick cock against the spots inside you that made you cry out and grab his shoulders like a lifeline. his eyes stayed on your face, his jaw tight, his mouth parted, and the way he watched youâhungry, worshipful, starvedâit made you feel more naked than his cock ever could.
âthis pussyâs got me fuckinâ high,â he said, voice rough. âyou hear me? fuckinâ drunk on you. iâve never felt anything like thisâlike your bodyâs pullinâ me in, squeezinâ like she knows me.â
you moanedâpitiful and overwhelmedâas his rhythm picked up again, deeper now, harder, dragging slick, filthy sounds out of you both as your bodies collided.
âi could fuck you for hours,â he growled, one hand sliding down to your thigh, gripping tight as he adjusted your position, pulled your hips forward even more, tilting your pelvis just to angle his cock deeper. âi will. iâll keep you like this all fuckinâ night, split open and twitchinâ, until youâre begginâ me to come just so iâll stop.â
you tried to speak but nothing cameâjust another cry, another desperate whimper as your walls fluttered again, soaked and swollen and full of him.
âhold me tighter,â he said suddenly, grabbing behind your knees and pushing your legs up higher, folding you more, pressing your knees toward your chest as he braced his weight over you. âthere we go. good girl. stretch just like thatâfuckinâ hell, look how deep i am.â
you felt it.
felt the new angle bury him right against something devastating, something that made your entire vision white out for a second, a sob punched out of your lungs.
âtojiâfuckâfuckââ
âthatâs it,â he groaned, eyes blown wide, pupils shaking. âfuckinâ take it.â
and even thenâ
even thenâ
he still didnât come.
your body was giving outâlimbs numb, hands clumsy and damp where they gripped at his sweat-slick shoulders, your nails dragging useless lines down his skin every time his cock punched that devastating spot deep inside you. your thighs burned from the stretch, knees pressed nearly to your chest, ankles hooked around his broad, brutal shoulders as he fucked you like he had something to prove, something to claim, something to bury inside you so deep you'd taste it for days.
and you were taking it. every inch. every slam. every slick, loud, brutal thrust like it was your religion.
your whole body was slickâsweat and spit and tears and the sheer, filthy mess between your thighs, soaking down your ass and his jeans and the stall floor, an unholy tangle of skin and sound and sensation, and through it all, toji kept praising you, whispering filth in your ear, kissing the tears off your cheeks while he broke you in half on his cock.
but something was shifting in him nowâhis pace stuttered, his thrusts grew frantic, heavier, less rhythm, more desperation, his moans falling lower in his throat, broken and guttural, each one punched out of him like his body couldnât keep it in anymore.
his head dropped, and your foreheads metâpressed together, sweat mixing, breath shared in the half-inch of air between your open mouths. his eyes were blown wide, glassy with it, lips twitching like he was trying to speak but couldnât get past the wrecked sound of his own need.
âbaby,â he rasped, voice almost too low to hear over the wet slap of his hips against yours. âbaby, iâm gonna fuckinâ come.â you whined, mouth open, panting against his lips, your legs trembling where they strained around his shoulders, the muscles twitching every time he sank all the way in.
âtojiâfuckâyes, pleaseââ
his mouth was on yours for a secondâmessy, open, tongues tangling with no directionâbefore he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead still pressed to yours. âyou on anything?â he asked, breath ragged, voice wild. âyou on the pill, babyâtell me nowââ
you nodded, fast and desperate, choking on your own moan as his hips slammed forward again, grinding deep.
ây-yeahâfuckâyesâiâm on it, iâm on itââ
his whole body shuddered.
âfuck,â he breathed. âfuck, babyâcan i come inside you? gonna come so deepâfuckinâ fill you upâwanna feel it dripping outta you when i pull out, yeah? you gonna let me do that?â
you whimpered, incoherent, grinding against him now, desperate for it, for all of it, for everything.
he groaned, long and low and destroyed, his whole body tensing like he was fighting it, losing, fighting againâand then giving in completely. âfuck,â he hissed. âyouâre so good, babyâso fuckinâ perfectâpussyâs fuckinâ milking meâgonna comeâfuckâgonna come inside this pretty fuckinâ cuntââ
and with one final, brutal thrustâ
he bottomed out, hips slammed flush to yours, cock buried to the hilt, twitching deep in your heat, and then he broke, coming with a moan so raw and wounded it sounded like worship.
you felt it.
hot and thick and endless, pulse after pulse flooding your cunt, your walls fluttering around him as your body accepted it, welcomed it, every drop, your mouth open in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back as the sheer intensity of it sent you into another trembling orgasm, clenching around him so tight he groaned, pressing his forehead harder to yours.
âfuckâfuck, take itâtake it all, babyâlook at youâso goodâmine,â he growled, voice cracking, âthis pussyâs mine nowââ
and you believed him.
because you were still shaking. and he was still inside you. and you could feel his come dripping out already. and neither of you could breathe.
but you didnât want to.
not if it meant letting him go.
he didnât moveânot at first.
toji stayed buried inside you, thick and twitching, still plugged so deep it felt like your cunt was wrapped around the center of him, not just his cock. his head rested against yours, sweat-slick and trembling, breath pouring from his mouth in heavy, broken bursts. the stall felt like it was spinning. the whole world had narrowed to the sound of your breath in sync with his, your pussy fluttering around his softening cock, the hot drip of his come already leaking from where your bodies were still connected.
but your body didnât stop.
your body wouldnât stop.
your cunt was clenching, aching, needing, so overstimulated it had gone full circle back into something dangerousâsomething desperateâyour nerves sparking like shorted-out wires, slick leaking down your thighs, the insistent throb of a second orgasm so close it felt like drowning under the weight of not-quite-enough.
you whimperedâyour voice soft and high and shakingâand your hips gave a helpless little grind, a roll forward, just enough to make his cock shift inside you.
that made you see stars.
âf-fuck, tojiââ your voice cracked, head falling back, mouth open, thighs trembling. âi needâi didnâtâi didnât come yetââ
that broke through his haze.
his head lifted, barely. just enough to look at you, eyes still dark and dazed but sharpening like a wolf catching the scent of blood. his jaw tightened. his mouth twisted into something that should have been a smirk but was too soft to be cocky. he brought one hand upâpalm cupping your face like he needed to hold you thereâand pressed his lips to your temple.
âoh, baby,â he rasped, voice torn raw from groaning your name. âyou didnât?â you shook your head, breath hitching, whining as your hips tried again, another roll, another desperate friction, his cock dragging slow inside you and making your whole body spasm.
ââs okay,â you whispered, blinking tears from your lashes. âi justâneed a little moreâiâm so close, toji, pleaseââ
âshhhh, fuck,â he breathed, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, moving down to your neck, lips hot and open and reverent, âyouâve been so good for meâso perfectââm gonna get you there, baby, donât worryâgonna take care of you.â
his hand slid between your bodies, still slick with sweat and the mess between you, until his thumb found your clitâwet and swollen, throbbing with every faint shift of his cock inside youâand he rubbed it, slow and tight, small circles, just enough pressure to make your entire body lock up.
âohâfuckââ you cried out, hands clawing at his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to your body. âfuck, toji, right thereâright thereââ
âthatâs it,â he murmured, eyes locked on your face, watching you unravel with a look of pure awe. âfeel that? how sensitive you are? this pretty little cuntâs so needy, so greedy, just fuckinâ suckinâ me in, begginâ for it. youâre gonna come for me, yeah? gonna let go?â
he shifted his hips again, slow, so slow, pulling back just enough to let you feel the drag of him along your walls, then pushing back in deep, thumb never leaving your clit, just the perfect amount of pressure, the perfect rhythm, your whole body wound so tight you thought your spine might snap.
âfuckinâ look at you,â he whispered, completely mesmerized. âlook how beautiful you are when youâre right at the edge. tears in your eyes, pussy wrapped around me so fuckinâ tightâyou were made for this, baby. made for me. you wanna come on this cock, donât you?â
âyesâyes, toji, please, i needââ
âyou wanna soak me?â he growled, hips twitching forward, thumb circling harder, your clit so sensitive now you could barely think. âwanna milk my fuckinâ cock while iâm still inside you, stuffed fullâa my come? wanna squeeze every last drop out?â
âpleaseââ
and then it hit.
your orgasm ripped through you like your whole body cracked open from the inside, a molten flood of pleasure spilling out, your legs jerking where they hung over his shoulders, your back arching so violently your vision blacked out for a second, mouth open in a silent scream. your pussy clenched hard, gripping his cock in spasms, walls fluttering around him like they were trying to hold him in forever, to wring every drop from him until your bodies fused together.
toji moaned, loud and fucked and wrecked, like your orgasm broke himâhis thumb slowing just enough to let you ride the aftershocks, hips grinding forward to keep himself deep while your body milked him through it.
âthatâs it,â he groaned, forehead against yours again, voice thick with pride and filth and something heavier. âfuck, youâre perfect. felt you come, babyâfuckinâ felt itâsqueezinâ me so tight like your body knows who it belongs to.â
you were crying againâhappy tears this time, oversensitive and overstimulated and shaking, unable to speak, unable to do anything but hold onto him while your body spasmed around him, dripping, soaked, ruined.
âyou did so good,â he whispered, kissing your lips now, slow and soft, sweet and filthy. âso fuckinâ good for me. made me feel like a goddamn god.â
you laughed, weak and trembling, smiling against his mouth.
and he was still hard. still inside. still not done.
and neither were you.
your legs were still draped over his shoulders, limp now, twitching occasionally, every muscle in your body melted and buzzing with aftershock, like youâd been electrocuted and reborn inside the same wet, filthy breath. your arms were around his neck, weak and slow and unsure whether they were clinging or collapsing, and your forehead was pressed to his againâboth of you panting, sweat-slick, your noses brushing with every unsteady inhale.
your eyes were shut.
your mouth was open.
and everything felt too fullâtoo muchâand yet, not nearly enough.
his cock was still inside you, thick and insistent, twitching softly, lazily, nestled as deep as it could go like it had roots, like it had decided to live there, and the slow, endless drip of his cum was already leaking out around him, sliding in warm, lazy trails down the crack of your ass, onto the fucked-sticky seat beneath you, pooling into a ruin only the two of you would remember.
and tojiâtoji was gone.
his hands were on your hips, not moving, just holding, and his eyes were half-lidded, glassy, dazed, wrecked. mouth slack. chest heaving. his tongue wet his bottom lip once, slow and aimless, like he didnât even realize he was doing it, and he just stared at you like heâd been hit by a truck and liked the way it felt. no smugness now. no smirk. no edge.
he looked like a man who had just gotten possessed by pussy.
and he was struggling to recover.
ââŠfuck,â he finally whispered, so hoarse it was almost soundless.
you didnât move. couldnât.
your lashes fluttered a little but didnât open, your mouth hanging open like you were still moaning in your head, like your brain hadnât caught up to the fact that the orgasm was over.
but his voice pulled something from you.
âyou alive?â you whispered, barely, lips brushing his.
he laughedâbarelyâjust a quiet, hot breath through his nose.
âbarely.â
you smiled, slow and heavy, head tilting to lean into the side of his face, nuzzling your nose against the damp edge of his jaw. his stubble scraped lightly across your skin, grounding you in the afterglow haze, and it made you whimperâsmall, involuntaryâbecause you were still too sensitive, and his cock was still so fucking deep, and it felt like it was just there now. permanent.
âtoji,â you whispered, and you felt his fingers flex on your hips at the sound of his name.
âmm?â
you finally opened your eyes, half-lidded and glossy, barely able to focus, and looked at himâreally lookedâand your cunt clenched again because his face was wrecked.
his hair was soaked and sticking to his forehead. sweat dripping down his temples. mouth swollen. pupils blown. cheeks flushed. and the look in his eyesâdazed, unfocused, stunnedâwasnât cocky or in control or smug like before.
he looked fucked. like heâd just gotten his soul pulled out through his dick.
you grinned.
âyou okay, old man?â you whispered.
toji let out a low groan and dropped his head to your shoulder, body shaking faintly with exhausted laughter. âfuck off,â he muttered, voice thick and raspy. âyou donât get to clown me right now. not when your pussyâs got me seeinâ colors.â
âyou look like you just saw god,â you said, teasing, brushing your fingers through the damp hair at his nape.
he grunted against your neck. âthat was god.â
he pulled back just slightly, eyes fluttering open again, still dazed but soft now, heavy-lidded and so fucking gone on the feeling of you wrapped around him.
âyou donât even get it, do you?â he muttered, eyes locked on your face like he couldnât stop looking. âpussy this good should be illegal. should come with a fuckinâ warning label. iâm not even sure iâll pull out if you ask me to.â
you giggled, warm and slow, breath fogging up his skin.
âgood thing iâm on the pill.â
ââcause iâd knock you up just to keep this forever,â he said, and it was so low, so dead serious that it made your breath catch.
you blinked, lips parting, not quite able to speak, and he smirked againâbut it was soft. less predator, more man being humbled by what he just lived through.
âlook at you,â he murmured. âlegs still up. pussy still suckinâ me in like she misses me even though i never left. you were made for this cock, werenât you?â
you nodded, slow and lazy, lips brushing his again.
âmmhmm,â you hummed, smiling. âknew it the second i saw you.â
toji groaned again, a fucked-out, helpless sound, and leaned into your forehead again.
âiâm not done,â he whispered, almost like a confession.
âgood,â you whispered back, pulling him down by the shirt. âdonât stop.â
and neither of you moved yet.
just stayed there.
cock still buried.
hearts hammering.
pussy still clenching.
breath shared.
and tojiâstill absolutely, totally, unapologetically pussy drunk.
he was the one who moved firstâfinallyâbecause your legs were still draped over his shoulders, bent and trembling and sore, your knees threatening mutiny with every second they stayed folded in that brutal, gorgeous stretch. you werenât sure if the muscles were cramping or still orgasming. both, maybe. but toji moved slow, reverent almost, hands sliding down your thighs like he wasnât ready to let them go, like he wanted to memorize them before he let them fall.
ââm puttinâ your legs down,â he murmured, voice thick and gravel-dragged from groaning, still drunk with it, still halfway buried in that distant fucked-out haze that lived behind his eyes now. âyou did so good for me. fuckinâ took it like a champ.â
you whimpered when your legs were finally lowered, a dull ache blooming in your hips, your thighs still twitching, your calves sticky and limp against his sides. you were panting again. dizzy. your cunt throbbed around him when the angle changed, his cock shifting just slightly inside you and hitting something new, some bruised-up spot that sent a fresh wave of aftershock through your spine.
toji groaned softly, and his hand immediately came to your waist, like his body was instinctively trying to soothe you. âeasy, baby,â he whispered, palm sliding up and down your side. âfuckâIâll make it up to you. swear it.â
you blinked, dazed. ââŠmake what up?â
he snorted, pulling back just enough to brush his forehead against yours again, still so close you could feel every word against your mouth.
âcominâ first,â he said. âyou deserved another round before I fucking lost it. that pussyâs too goodâI got greedy. âm not usually like that.â you smiled, breathless, your fingers brushing the sweat-soaked collar of his shirt. âwhat are you gonna do, hmm? kiss it better?â
tojiâs mouth curled at the edge, that cocky little smirk returning but softened nowâsweetened, in the worst, most unfair way. âyeah,â he said. âkiss it. lick it. spread you open and make you come with my fuckinâ tongue till you forget what year it is.â
you made a choked little sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, your brain too fogged up to handle that promise.
but he kept talkingâof course he did. because he was still in it, still gone, still wrecked and clinging to the only thing in the world that made sense to him now: you. ânine years,â he murmured, voice lower now, less teasing. Real. ânine years with no pussy. not even a drunk one-night stand. not even fuckinâ myself half the time.â
you blinked, still catching your breath.
âjesus,â you whispered.
he nodded once, breathing hard. âbut the first one I get⊠after all that time⊠is you.â he paused. looked at you. really looked. âand if I could do it all over againâgo nine years with nothinââjust to feel this pussy for the first time again?â
he kissed you.
not deep. not greedy.
just a soft press of spit-slick, swollen lips to your mouth.
âiâd fucking do it.â
you stared at him, wide-eyed.
and then snorted.
because your brain couldnât decide whether to be flattered or feral.
âyou are so pussy drunk right now,â you said, laughing into his mouth. âlike⊠youâve got the symptoms. glazed-over stare, canât finish a sentence without saying âthis pussyâ like itâs a holy relicââ
âshut up,â he grinned, nose brushing yours.
âyouâre gonna start writing poetry,â you said. âi can see it. âode to my girlâs pussy, it cured my chronic pain and made me believe in god againâââ
he growled low in his throat, a filthy little sound that vibrated through your chest as he shifted inside you, cock still thick and hard and present, buried to the base and making you feel every twitch of his frustration.
âkeep talkinâ like that and Iâm gonna fuckinâ prove it,â he said. âgonna eat you out till you apologize to your pussy for disrespecting her in front of me.â you gasped, breath catching, clenching around him in instinctive anticipation.
he felt it. and smirked.
âthere she is,â he murmured, rolling his hips slowly, pressing his forehead to yours again, eyes fluttering shut like he was worshipping the moment. âsweet, tight little thing. even after I filled her up, sheâs still clinginâ to me like she wants more.â
you moaned, body arching weakly, still so oversensitive, and yetâ
âmaybe she does.â
tojiâs eyes opened again, and they were darker now, brighter, something burning deep inside them that hadnât gone out yet.
âyou better not be teasing me,â he said softly.
you bit your lip. hard.
and whispered, âthen make me sorry.â
and he smiled. slow. wide. unhinged.
âyouâre about to be.â
the air inside the stall was dense, humid, too heavy with sex and sweat and that lazy, humming afterglow that only came when both your bodies had been usedâworshipped and wrecked in equal measure. your pulse was still erratic, your breath catching on every inhale like your lungs hadnât figured out how to restart. toji hadnât moved much since the last thrust, still deep inside you, cock thick and heavy and leaking, his weight pressing you gently into the wall like he didnât want to let you go just yet. the scent of him was everywhereâon your neck, in your mouth, between your legsâand you could still taste the sound of his voice in your ears, rasping mine like it was something he meant to tattoo into your bones.
eventually, though, he shiftedâreluctantlyâlifting his forehead from yours, eyes flicking down your body with a reverence that was almost comical given the mess between your legs. he sighed, deep and low, like a man about to walk away from his favorite crime scene.
âalright,â he muttered, finally easing his hands to your hips and taking a single step back, gently slipping out of you with a lewd, wet sound that made both of you twitch. âmoment of truth. you still got legs?â
you blinked at him, dazed, and then wobbled as your feet touched the floor, knees buckling under you like a baby deer just born into a post-orgasm world.
you stumbled directly into his chest with a soft little squeak, your palms catching the damp heat of his skin through his shirt, breathless and already flushed again. toji laughedâreally laughed this time, head tipping back, teeth showing, full and rich and dangerous in the way only a man freshly pussy-drunk could be.
âfuckinâ hell,â he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you upright, âyou nearly took us both out, sweetheart.â you buried your face in his shirt for a second, too embarrassed and too exhausted to do anything but exist. âitâs your fault,â you muttered into the fabric. âyou fucked the sense outta me.â
he kissed the side of your head, then leaned you back just slightly and pressed your back to the grimy stall door, holding you there with a hand on your waist while he reached for himself, guiding his cock back into his boxers with a practiced roll of his wrist and a satisfied grunt.
âcanât lie,â he said while zipping up, âshe didnât wanna let me go. took a fuckinâ minute just to get out.â
you gave him a look, somewhere between exhausted and scolding, but the twitch in your lip betrayed the way your thighs clenched again at his voice. he just smirked and hooked his belt back into place, slow and casual like he hadnât just been balls-deep in you a minute ago.
then he crouched down to grab your shirt from the floorârumpled, half-dried with sweat, glitter, and maybe a little bit of tojiâs spitâand shook it out once before straightening up again, holding it like a gentleman with a gift.
âcâmon, arms up,â he murmured, voice suddenly softer again.
you obeyed without thinking, letting him help you dress like your brain had short-circuited, like youâd handed him the keys to your limbs and were trusting him not to drive you off a cliff. he slid the shirt over your head with practiced ease, tugged it gently down your arms, and just when you thought he was doneâwhen his hands slid past your ribs and down your sides like he was adjusting itâ
he bent down and sucked your nipple into his mouth.
you gasped, stumbling back against the door, breath catching in your throat as the sudden wet heat of his tongue flicked over the piercing again, lips wrapping around the cool metal and tugging just slightly.
âtojiââ
he groaned low in his chest, then released it with a wet pop, lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your breast before finally tugging your shirt down into place with both hands.
âcouldnât help it,â he said, eyes wicked but half-lidded, dragging over you like a man who already wanted to go back in. âtheyâre too pretty not to taste again.â you didnât respondâcouldnât. your brain had short-circuited again, reduced to white noise and heartbeat.
he fixed your hair next. carefully, absurdly gently, fingers brushing back stray strands from your face, pushing it behind your ears like he hadnât just had you folded in half thirty seconds ago. then he loomed over you, big and warm and grinning like the devil who knew youâd come if he asked again.
âyou wanna come back to my place?â he asked, voice low and smooth now. âgive your legs a real break. iâll apologize to your pussy proper for cominâ first. i got a mouth and a lot of guilt.â you let out a weak laughâgiddy and limp and already leaning forward like you might melt if he kissed you again.
âwhat, youâre feeling guilty now?â
âiâm tryinâ to be a gentleman,â he said, mock-serious. ânot every day i meet someone who makes me forget my name and the year.â you raised an eyebrow. âthatâs the bar?â he leaned in close again, mouth hovering just beside your ear, breath warm and so fucking good. âno, sweetheart,â he murmured, voice like a knife made of velvet. âyouâre the bar now.â
you shivered.
he pulled back just enough to smile again, then glanced toward the door.
âyou wanna text your friends? let âem know youâre leavinâ with a total stranger?â
âtheyâve got my bag,â you said, still dazed, still trying to remember what reality felt like. âtheyâll figure it out.â
he stared at you for a second.
then grinned.
âgod damn,â he muttered. âyouâre perfect.â
and thenâtoji fushiguro, pussy-drunk, sweat-drenched, still twitching in his jeans with the memory of your cuntâopened the stall door, it creaked open like it, too, had been through something shameful and held it for you, like a man escorting a queen out of her ruined cathedral. the hallway air hit youâcooler, thinner, laced with basslines and spilled drinks and someone screaming off-key to early 2000s popâand you stepped into it like a newborn deer in heels, thighs slick, hair a little fucked, your shirt tugged low over your hips to hide the fact that your panties were somewhere between ruined and irrelevant.
toji stood beside you, towering and casual, like he hadnât just rearranged your insides and kissed your nipple before helping you get dressed. his belt was buckled, his shirt clinging damply to his chest, collar pulled slightly off-center from your earlier tugging. his neck was flushed, jaw stubbled, and there were still fresh bite marks trailing along the line of his throatâyours. ownership drawn in tooth and heat.
your heart jumped sideways in your chest. your knees tried to wobble again.
and he felt it.
âthere she goes,â he teased, his mouth brushing your temple now, his voice still dipped in that slow-dripping, pussy-drunk molasses tone that made your stomach twist in the most incredible way. âthought I fucked the wobble outta your legs already. guess I gotta go harder next time.â
âif you go harder, Iâll die,â you replied, still grinning, voice raw but teasing, biting down the ridiculous urge to giggle like a schoolgirl on prom night.
toji pulled you closer. you barely reached the height of his shoulder like this, his arm heavy and protective and possessive across your back, his hand idly tracing lazy circles on your side as you walked with himâslow, casual, like he wasnât still inside you in spirit.
âwhat a way to go,â he murmured. âsplit open, stuffed fullâa cum, legs over my shoulders while you cry on my cock. shit, if thereâs a better death I donât know it.â
you snorted. âyouâre awful.â
âand youâre gorgeous,â he shot back, leaning down to kiss just behind your ear, sending another aftershock rolling through your already wrecked nerves. âtightest pussy I ever felt, baby. no contest. softest moans, sweetest little bodyâlike you were built to break.â
your cheeks burned. your cunt clenched. again.
âyouâre obsessed,â you whispered, playful and shaky, tipping your head back to look up at him. âpussy-drunk old man.â
he grinned at thatâwide and unrepentant, all teeth and mischief and post-fuck swagger. âdamn right. Iâve been starving for nine fuckinâ years and someone just fed me filet mignon soaked in honey. you think Iâm gonna be normal after this?â
you laughed, biting your lip, feeling the slow drag of slick between your thighs every time you moved.
he was still talking.
still praising you.
like your pussy had rewired his brain.
âyou donât get it,â he murmured, pressing his mouth to your temple again. âyou ruined me. no way Iâm goinâ back to jerkinâ off like some lonely divorced fuck with ESPN in the background. Iâm gonna be thinkinâ about you next time I close my eyes. about the way you opened up for me. about how you looked when you cried on my cock.â
you whimpered.
out loud.
right there in the hallway.
and toji just chuckled, kissed the corner of your mouth, then pulled you tighter under his arm like he wanted to wear you. âcâmon,â he whispered against your cheek, âletâs get the fuck outta here before I get hard again and we wind up in the janitorâs closet.â
you glanced sideways at him, lips curled up in that smug, fucked-out smirk you couldnât seem to wipe off your face, and said softly, under your breathâ
âmay your soul rest in peace.â
he didnât miss a beat.
âamen,â he muttered with a low snort, before slipping his thick, warm arm around your back, hand resting just above the curve of your ass like he belonged there, like he wanted everyone in this hallway to know that heâd just had you up against a stall door with your legs on his shoulders, crying out his name.
then, like the audacious bastard he was, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. not quick. not pecked. pressedâlingering, hot, lips slightly open, the kind of kiss that said this isnât over, that said youâre mine now, that said youâre not getting out of my bed without a limp and at least two orgasms on your record.
summary. Choso doesnât do distractions. But then you walk into his show and ruin his focus with one look. And now, heâs handing you his guitar, his heart, maybe more. And baby, you havenât even seen what those fingers can really do.
word count. 10.5k (i got a lil carried away)
content. mdni fem! reader, bassist! choso, mutual pining, heavy tension, choso is a tease (and so down bad), really lovey-dovey shi like bro's not even emo, pet names, smut, fingering, oral (fem rec.), p in v, mating press, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare
author's note. saw this fanart and started ovulating on demand.
"Come on, it'll be fun," Shoko says, tugging on your sleeve with the persistence of a woman who knows you have no other plans. "You like music. You like hot guys. This is both."
You squint at her, unconvinced. "You said that last time and we ended up at some dudeâs garage while he rapped about capitalism."
She grins. âAnd it was unforgettable.â
âYou spilled beer on my shoes.â
âAnd Iâve had character development after that.â
You roll your eyes, but she already knows she's won. Sheâs practically vibrating with excitement as she drags you through the dimly lit alley that opens into an even dimmer basement venueâgraffiti-tagged walls, sticker-covered speakers, the scent of cigarettes and something vaguely fruity in the air.
The lights are low, the crowd humming with quiet energy, and the stage is set but emptyâjust a drum kit, a couple mics, and a bass propped against its amp like itâs waiting for someone.
âYouâre gonna love them,â Shoko whispers, already pulling out her phone to snap photos. âThe musicâs sick. And the bassistââ
You blink at her.
âThe bassist,â she repeats, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. âTall, broody, pretty eyes. Never says a damn word on stage but plays like heâs in pain.â
You scoff. âYouâve got issues.â
âJust wait,â she says. âYouâre not ready.â
And youâre not.
Because when the band finally comes on stage and the lights cut through the haze, your eyes lock onto himâtall, dark, dressed in all black with his bass slung low, rings glinting on his fingers, and a half-lidded stare like heâs seeing ghosts.
And when he starts playing? Oh. Yeah. Youâre done for.
The lights dim, bathing the room in moody blue and red hues. The crowd hushesâjust for a momentâthen the first chord explodes through the speakers. Itâs loud, raw, electric, vibrating through the floor and straight up your spine.
You donât flinch.
You should. The guy next to you does. Shokoâs already swaying to the beat like sheâs been here a thousand times. But you? Youâre frozenâentranced.
Not by the music. Not really.
By him.
The bassist, standing off to the left like he doesnât crave the spotlight, like heâs content letting the others take the lead. But heâs the one you see. The one who owns the stage.
Heâs tall and heâs wearing a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons left undone to tease just enough of his pale, sculpted chest. The stage lights catch on the gleam of sweat on his collarbones, highlighting every sharp angle and subtle flex of muscle as he moves with the rhythm. His fingers dance over the bass strings with practiced ease, and thatâs when you notice itâapart from the black nail polish, each one is tattooed with a letter: C-H-O-S-O.
His long, dark hair is loose, falling in waves to the base of his neck, the ends brushing over his collar. The soft purple eyeshadow dusting his eyelids makes his deep-set eyes pop, casting shadows that only add to his sharp features. A bold tattoo cuts across the bridge of his nose, stark against his pale skin.
His brows are furrowed, mouth set in a hard, concentrated line, and his fingersâgod, his fingersâthey dance over the strings like he was born with a bass in his hands. Thereâs something hypnotic about the way he plays. Focused. Intense. Like the world doesnât exist outside of this moment.
You donât even realize youâre staring until Shoko elbows you lightly. âTold you,â she shouts in your ear, grinning like the smug little shit she is.
You nod, but your eyes donât move. You canât look away. Itâs like youâve been put under some kind of spell.
And thenâthenâmid-song, his head lifts just slightly. His gaze cuts through the haze and crowd and colored lights, and lands right on you. You swear it. A spark of something sharp and electric zips down your spine.
He doesnât smile. Doesnât nod. Just holds your gaze for a breath longer than necessary before he looks away, like he felt it too.
Like he knew.
Like the music wasnât the only thing pulling strings tonight.
The band keeps playing, song after song bleeding into one another, but you barely register any of it.
Your eyes keep straying to him. Chosoâat least, you think thatâs his name, judging by the ink on his fingers. Fitting, really. It lingers in your head like a low bassline: heavy, addictive.
At one point, you swear he looks at you again.
Really looks.
And even if itâs just for a second, it feels like a live wire pressed to your skin.
You down the rest of your drink to keep yourself from combusting.
Shoko leans in and shouts something in your ear over the musicâprobably the bandâs name or some fun fact about the drummerâbut your eyes are locked on him. You nod absently, your smile weak, dazed, because how the hell are you supposed to listen to anyone else when heâs up there, commanding your every thought?
By the time the band wraps up their final song, youâre already craning your neck for a better look. You don't even realize you're moving toward the stage until Shokoâs hand snags your wrist.
"Where are you going?"
You blink, startled like youâve been caught red-handed. "IâI donât know."
But you do.
Youâre hoping to get closer. Maybe heâll notice you again.
Maybe he already has.
-
You find yourself outside the venue before you even realize what youâre doingâleaning against the brick wall, half hidden in the shadows, heart hammering like youâd just finished a set yourself. The crisp night air cools your skin, but it does nothing to quiet the heat bubbling beneath it.
You tell yourself you just needed some air.
Thatâs all.
Totally not waiting around like some groupie for a guy you donât even know.
The door creaks open behind you, and a familiar pair of boots crunches against gravel. Shoko squints at you suspiciously.
âYou good?â she asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick. âYou just disappeared.â
You shrug, too casual. âYeah. Just needed a breather.â
She takes a drag, exhales slow. âRight. A breather. After not dancing and not drinking that much.â
You shoot her a side-eye. âDo you always interrogate people for wanting fresh air?â
âOnly when theyâve been acting weird since the bassist took the stage.â She raises an eyebrow. âYouâre not slick, yâknow.â
You scoff, glancing away before she can catch the way your face warms. "I don't know what youâre talking about."
Shoko chuckles like she definitely knows what sheâs talking about, but bless her, she doesnât press it. Just smirks, gives your arm a little nudge. âHe was hot, though.â
You give a noncommittal hum, eyes scanning every shadowed corner, every rusted doorway, hopingâjust hopingâyou might catch another glimpse of him. Choso. Youâre almost certain thatâs his name. It suits him. Dark. Sharp.
You wonât tell her, of course, butâyes.
Yes, this was fun.
Yes, she was absolutely right to drag you here.
Yes, the bassist was fine as hell and maybe, just maybe, youâve developed the tiniest, stupidest little crush on a guy whose voice you havenât even heard yet.
But god, you want to.
Even just once.
A glimpse. A moment. Anything.
And just when you think itâs time to give up, to stop being delusional and head homeâ
The door swings open again.
And this time, itâs him.
Panic.
Real, irrational, full-body panic.
Because there he is. Standing a few feet away. In the flesh. The bassist.
Loose black button-up clinging to his frame, sleeves still rolled up from the show, revealing forearms that shouldnât be legal. The glint of his rings catching the light. A faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarboneâgod, you can see it because the top few buttons are still undone, teasing just enough pale skin to keep you up at night.
And his eyesâ
His eyes are rimmed with that soft, dusty lavender, and theyâre looking straight at you.
You glance side to side like you might Houdini yourself out of this moment. Maybe if you ran fast enough, you could avoid embarrassing yourself beyond repair. Maybe if youâ
Shoko bumps your shoulder, casual and smug. âNowâs your chance.â
âChance for what?â you hiss, heart thudding in your ears. âTo spontaneously combust? To make an idiot out of myself?â
But itâs too late.
Because before you can overthink your next twelve moves or plan a strategic escapeâ
Heâs walking toward you.
Slow, calm, confident.
Like he knows what heâs doing to you.
Before you can say something completely unhinged, like âyour bass playing did something weird to my hormonesâ, you feel Shoko shift beside you.
You whip your head toward her, silently begging for assistance, for backup, for escape. But she just smirks, looking between the two of you like she already knows exactly how this nightâs gonna go.
âWell,â she says with a wink, already turning on her heel. âIâll leave you to it.â
Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. âShoko. No. Shoko, waitâSHOKO.â
But sheâs already walking away like she didnât just abandon you to the mercy of the hottest man youâve ever laid eyes on.
And nowâ
Now heâs standing right in front of you.
He smells like sweat and incense and something darkâsomething addictive.
âYou waited,â he says, voice lower than expected, rich. His lips curl, just barely. âWere you hoping for an autograph⊠or something else?â
You blink.
He knows.
Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.
An autograph? Something else? What the hell does something else even meanâwait, you know what it means, OH GODâ
âIâI wasnât waitingâ I mean, I was, but not likeâlike in a weird way or anything!â you blurt, the words tumbling out like a panicked avalanche. âNot that liking your music is weird. I mean, it was good! Really good. You were good. Not in that way, I meanânot that you wouldnât beâoh my Godââ
You slap a hand over your face.
Abort mission. Let the ground open up. End scene.
When you peek through your fingers, heâs just watching you, amused, head tilted slightly to the side.
Thenâhe chuckles. Actually chuckles.
Itâs low and quiet and kind of devastating.
âI was right,â he murmurs, voice all honeyed steel. âCute.â
You make a high-pitched noise that cannot be classified as human.
And ChosoâChoso just leans in slightly, lowering his voice like heâs offering a secret.
âRelax. I donât bite.â A beat. âUnless you want me to.â
You definitely stop breathing.
Your brain is just a dial-up tone as you stare at him, stunned into silence, because did he actually just say that? He did. He really did. And heâs still looking at you like heâs waiting for your answer.
But when you open your mouth, what comes out is:
âIâuhâyeah. I mean no. I meanâI donât know what I mean.â
He grins. Not a smirk. A real, soft little grin, like he likes the mess youâve become.
âWanna get some air?â he asks, jerking his chin toward the alleyway beside the venue, quieter now that the bandâs done and the crowdâs thinned.
You nod way too fast.
So you end up outside, standing under the faded neon of the venue sign, arms crossed to hide how jittery you are. Choso leans against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette. The glow flares against his sharp cheekbones, his lashes casting shadows on his skin.
âSo,â he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. âYou liked the set?â
âYeah,â you say, trying not to look at his hands. His tattooed fingers. âYou were⊠really good.â
He hums, clearly amused. âStill not in that way?â
You bury your face in your hands again.
He laughs under his breath, then nudges your shoulder with his. âYou got a name, sweetheart?â
Sweetheart.Â
Oh, how you were so very fucked.
You tell him your name. And when he repeats it softly, your knees almost give out.
Then he offers, âIâm Choso, by the way.â
Like itâs a gift.
And before the night ends, he asks if youâre coming to the next gig.
âOnly if youâre playing,â you manage to say.
To which he replies, âIâll be there if you are.â
-
shoko: hello?? where are you???
shoko: ANSWER ME
shoko: sigh
shoko: i didnât want it to come to this but you leave me no choice
shoko: iâm checking your location.
shoko: GIRL WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING THERE
shoko: 2 missed calls
shoko: you better give me answers the second you're online...or else.
you: dot dot dot
shoko: WHAT. HAPPENED.
you: emergency phone call
shoko: đ§ââïž
shoko: youâre a terrible liar
you: ok but like.Â
you: it wasnât a lie. it was an emergency. a hot boy emergency
shoko: OH MY GOD.Â
shoko: OH MY GOD.Â
shoko: OH MY GODDDDD.
you: he talked to me
you: HE TALKED TO ME SHOKO
shoko: AND???
you: and i said dumb shit
you: and he still talked to me
you: and i think i blacked out at one point??
you: but like. the good kind
shoko:YOUâRE TELLING ME MYSTERIOUS HOT BASSIST MAN TALKED TO YOU AND YOU LIVED???
you: barely
you: i think i ascended actually
shoko: youâre telling me you were about to dip and then HE approached YOU????
you: he remembered me from the front row đ
you: called me cute đđ
you: asked for my name đđđ
you: CALLED ME SWEETHEART đđđđ
shoko: âŠgirl.
shoko: i donât wanna be dramatic
shoko: but i might start planning your wedding
you: pls help iâm still outside the venue trying not to combust
you: he said heâd see me again if i came to the next gig
you: SHOKO WHAT IF I GO TO EVERY GIG UNTIL I DIE
shoko: yeah bestie weâre in our groupie era now
-
You show up a whole forty minutes before the doors even openâShoko said sheâd meet you later, but youâre already leaning against the building like a total loser. Or an over zealous fan. Same thing, really.
You're debating if you should take a walk to kill time when the door swings open, and out steps him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up again, a few buttons undone, and that familiar purple eyeshadow hugging his tired eyes. His lip quirks up the second he sees you.
âExcited to see me?â he asks, cocking his head as he strolls over. His voice is low, teasingâbut not unkind.
Your face goes up in flames. âWhatân-no. I mean yes. I meanâShoko said sheâd meet me later and I didnât wanna be late, obviously.â
He hums, clearly amused. âMhm. Obnoxiously early, huh?â
âFashionably early,â you grumble, and he laughs, like youâre the most entertaining thing heâs heard all day.
Then he nods his head toward the door. âCâmon. Iâll introduce you to the guys.â
You blink. Wait. Right now??
You glance down at your outfitâcute enough for the gig, maybe not cute enough to meet him again, let alone his entire band. But heâs already walking, and youâre a fool if you donât follow.
The door creaks open, and youâre hit with the low hum of conversation, faint music playing from someoneâs phone, and the scent of sweat and cologne. Your heartâs going a mile a minute.
âYo,â Choso calls, and two heads turn.
The tall white-haired man draped across the couch offers a lazy grin. âOh? Whoâs this?â
Choso leans against the doorframe and jerks a thumb toward you. âSheâs the one I was talking about.â
Your eyes widen. Talking about?? Since when???
âOoooh,â the other guy drawls from where heâs fiddling with a drumstick, hair tied back and gaze sharp as ever. âSo this is her.â
âShut up,â Choso mutters, but thereâs a hint of pink dusting his ears. He looks back at you, eyes soft. âThatâs Satoruâhe never shuts up. And thatâs Suguru. Donât let him fool youâheâs worse.â
âLies and slander,â Satoru says with a wink.
Youâre frozen. Do you wave? Speak? Die on the spot?
âHi,â you say, awkwardly.
Suguru offers a small nod. âNice to finally meet you.â
Finally???
Satoru leans forward with a devilish grin. âChoso wouldnât shut up about you, yâknow?â
But itâs too lateâyouâre already flushed to your ears, and Satoruâs howling with laughter.
âYouâre cute,â he tells you. âYou can stick around.â
You glance at Choso, and he gives you the smallest smile. Like you belong here.
And for the first timeâyou think maybe you do.
He walks ahead a bit, glancing over his shoulder as he gestures toward the sound booth. âThatâs Nao, our sound tech. Sheâs the only reason we donât sound like trash onstage.â
Nao waves without looking up from her monitor, and you awkwardly lift a hand back. Choso chuckles under his breath.
He keeps going, showing you the light setup, where they stash backup guitars, even the vending machine heâs pretty sure is haunted. Every person you pass gives you that lookâoh, so this is the girl.
Your fingers twist nervously around the strap of your bag. Itâs not like theyâre being unfriendly. If anything, everyoneâs nice. Welcoming, even. But stillâyou canât shake the nerves bubbling in your chest.
You feel his gaze before you hear his voice.
âNervous?â he asks, quiet and low.
You blink up at him. Heâs standing close now, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, watching you like heâs not sure if heâs scaring you or if youâre just shy.
You swallow. âA little.â
His mouth twitchesâalmost a smile. âYou donât have to be. Everyoneâs chill.â
You nod, but you know the tension is still written all over your face.
And thenâhe reaches out. Just a light touch to your wrist. âHey. I asked you here âcause I wanted you to come. Not to freak you out.â
His voice is soft now, just for you.
You manage a sheepish smile. âSorry. Itâs just⊠new.â
He shrugs, lips curling slightly. âYeah. But Iâm not that scary, right?â
You meet his eyes, and the look he gives youâteasing but warmâmakes your stomach flip.
ââŠNot yet,â you murmur.
And he laughs, head tilted back like you just said the funniest thing all night. âYouâre cute.â
Great. Now youâre even more nervous.
He walks you over to the stage setup, lights dim and moody, the buzz of crew members in the background. The instruments are neatly arrangedâdrum kits, amps, tangled cords, and at the center, his guitar resting on its stand.
He picks it up effortlessly, letting the strap fall over his shoulder. His fingers settle over the strings, and he begins to strum, absentmindedly. Itâs not even a real song, just soft notesâbut itâs hypnotizing.
Especially the way his fingers move. Long, slender, practiced.
You're staring. Absolutely entranced.
âWanna try playing?â he asks suddenly.
You snap out of it so fast itâs embarrassing. âH-huh?â
He chuckles, soft and low. âBit distracted there, sweetheart. You okay?â
âIâm good. Mhm.â You nod a little too quickly, plastering on a tight smile as your face warms. You hope he doesnât notice, but that knowing glint in his eyes tells you otherwise.
He steps toward you with the guitar, offering it out with a slight tilt of his head. âHere.â
Your hands hover uncertainly. âO-oh⊠I donât know how to play.â
He just smiles. âItâs alright, Iâll help you.â
He walks behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him at your back. You swear your heart skips a beat when his arms slip around you, guiding yours. Heâs gentle as he places your left hand along the neck of the guitar, adjusting your fingers over the frets, his hand covering yours.
âJust relax,â he murmurs, voice right by your ear.
Your breath hitches.
âShitâsorry, too close?â he asks quickly, voice laced with concern.
âN-no! Itâs fine! Totally fine.â You somehow manage to stand upright.
He smiles again, that soft kind of amused. âAlright, just press here... yeah, thatâs it.â He places your fingers on the strings. âNow, strum with this handâlightly. Let the strings breathe.â
You try, hesitantly dragging your fingers down the strings. A clumsy note sounds out.
Choso hums. âNot bad. Now, try a G chordâhere, like this.â His fingers mold yours again, warm and careful.
You nod, barely able to think with him this close, and repeat the motion. It sounds... slightly better.
âSee?â he says, praising you with a smile in his voice. âFast learner.â
You glance up at him over your shoulder, heart fluttering. âMaybe I just have a good teacher.â
His lips quirk, and he looks at you like youâve just made his night.
âWell,â he says, âI am good with my hands.â
Your brain short-circuits.
He grins when he hears that soft, breathy little sound escape your lips.
âO-oh,â you stammer, eyes wide as you blink up at him.
His smile deepens, all teasing and low charm. âDidnât mean to make you nervous,â he says, though he definitely did.Â
You open your mouth to say somethingâanythingâbut your brainâs gone completely blank. The only thing in your head is him. His voice, his scent, the low buzz of his guitar still humming in your hands.
âIâuh, yeah. No. Youâre doing great. I meanâIâm doing great. I meanâthank you.â
He laughs. Not mockinglyâit's soft, sweet, like he finds you genuinely adorable.
âYouâre cute when you get flustered,â he says, voice quiet.
You look down at the guitar in your hands, pretending very hard to be focused on the strings.
âMaybe weâll get you to play a whole song next time.â
You blink. âNext time?â
He shrugs casually, stepping back just enough to make you miss his warmth. âIf youâre coming to the next gig, I figured Iâd see you again.â
And then, with the most casual confidence, he adds, âYou wanna?â
You blink up at him, heart still pounding from the way he practically wrapped himself around you moments ago. But thenâsomehowâyou find your footing, just enough to muster a sliver of confidence.
You clear your throat, giving him a lopsided little smile. âLetâs see how this one goes first.â
His brows shoot up, clearly amused. âIs that a challenge?â
You shrug, trying not to melt under his gaze. âDepends. You think you can handle it?â
Choso laughsâa low, warm sound that vibrates in your chest more than your ears. He leans in again, just a little, his face dangerously close to yours. âSweetheart,â he says, voice like silk, âI know I can.â
-
The crowd is thicker than last time. Hazy neon lights wash the walls in streaks of violet and red, and the room thrums with anticipation. You can feel the energy buzzing through your fingertips, your legs bouncing where you sit off to the side of the stage.
Choso catches your eye just before stepping on. Heâs dressed in that same loose black button-upâtop few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tattoos stark against his pale skin. His eyes are lined in that soft purple hue again, hair falling wild to his neck, and yet he somehow looks composed. Grounded. Like he was born to be here.
He doesnât say anything, just gives you a lookâhalf smirk, half something softerâand it sends butterflies flurrying in your chest.
And then: the lights dim. The crowd erupts. The band takes the stage.
Suguru on drums, flashing a grin at the front row before twirling his sticks and slamming into the first beat like a force of nature. Satoru struts forward, mic in hand, already oozing charisma, and ChosoâChoso slides into position with his bass like itâs a part of him. One hand gripping the neck, the other plucking strings with a lazy, practiced ease.
The sound hits you like a wave. Loud. Gritty. Addictive.
But even as the music drowns everything out, your eyes stay locked on him.
Choso doesnât look at the crowd. Doesnât need to. Heâs in his own worldâeyes half-lidded, lips parted, swaying with the rhythm like the bass is leading him. And yet, somehow, he still finds a way to glance at you.
Just for a second. A flicker of a smirk.
And thatâs when you realize it.
Heâs playing for themâbut looking at you.
And that smolder in his gaze? That spark that coils low in your belly?
Itâs all for you.
-
The crowdâs roars have faded, the lights are dimming, and youâre still standing there, heart racing. Chosoâs walking off stage, sweat-slick and glowing, bass still strapped to his back, and the second his eyes find you he smiles. Soft. Lopsided. Like itâs just for you.
He weaves through the staff with ease, and before you can fully brace yourself, heâs in front of you, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips. âDidnât think youâd actually stick around,â he teases, voice low, raspy from the set.
You roll your eyes, a little bashful. âHad to see if your fingers really lived up to the hype.â
His brows shoot up, surprisedâand then he laughs. Itâs deep and warm and it makes your stomach do flips. âOh? And?â
You tilt your head, pretending to think. âIâm not sure yet. Might need a private performance to decide.â
And damn, now heâs the one blushing.
He blinks. Once. Twice. And then that lazy grin deepens into something moreâsomething that makes your throat dry.
âA private performance, huh?â he echoes, slinging the bass off his shoulder, setting it down like heâs done this a thousand times beforeâcool, collected, practiced. âYou planning to book me?â
You cross your arms, trying to look unbothered despite the heat crawling up your neck. âMaybe. Depends on your rates.â
He steps closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down to look at you properly. His voice drops lower. âI charge in coffee. Late-night conversations. And the occasional secret.â
âOh?â you arch a brow. âThatâs expensive.â
He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. âYouâre worth it.â
Pause.
Your heart skips. Literally skips.
And suddenly itâs too quiet. The post-show noise is just background hum nowâmuffled cheers, clinks of beer bottles, bandmates laughing somewhere behind you. But heâs looking at you like youâre the only person who matters in this moment. Like he wants to learn you.
So you try to deflect, half-teasing, âYou say that to all the girls who hang around after shows?â
He hums, like heâs pretending to think. âNo,â he says finally. âYouâre the only one who stayed quiet the whole time. Just⊠watched.â
You blink, caught off guard. âWas it creepy?â
He shakes his head. âNah. It was nice. Felt like you were listening to more than just the music.â
You werenât. You were listening to him.
But you donât say that. Instead, you glance away, pretending not to be swooning.
And thenâ
âHey,â he says softly, nudging your chin with two fingers to bring your gaze back to his. âWanna get outta here?â
Your breath hitches. âHuh?â
He smiles, easy and relaxed, eyes scanning your face like heâs memorizing it. âThereâs this spot a few blocks from hereâlow lights, decent drinks, great fries. Thought maybe I could buy you one. A drink, not a fry,â he adds with a little chuckle.
Your heart is thudding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. âAre you⊠asking me out?â
He shrugs, casual but undeniably charming. âIf I said yes, would you say no?â
You try to play it cool, crossing your arms even though your insides are a whole storm. âYou planning to pull that whole mysterious musician act the whole time?â
He leans in just a bit, close enough for your noses to nearly brush. âOnly if it gets me a second date.â
And just like that, youâre done for.
â...I guess I could go for a drink.â
His grin widens. âGood. Iâll grab my jacket.â
-
The bar he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you wouldnât find unless someone told you about it. Thereâs warm yellow lighting, a soft hum of old-school music playing on the speakers, and barely anyone around. Itâs intimate in a way that makes your skin feel warm before youâve even taken a sip of your drink.
He lets you slide into the booth first, then settles in across from you. His hands rest on the table, rings catching the light, and you find your gaze drawn to themâagain. Damn those fingers.
âIâm not used to people sticking around after shows,â he says, eyes not leaving yours.
âIâm not used to chasing after bassists,â you shoot back, lips twitching.
He smirks. âSo Iâm special, huh?â
You roll your eyes, but the smile youâre fighting wins. âDonât let it get to your head.â
Your drinks come. He lets you steal a sip of his. You let him steal two of yours.
âWhat got you into music?â you ask after a while, resting your chin on your hand.
He leans back, gaze flickering up like heâs searching the ceiling for the answer. âMy dad, actually. He taught me how to play. He was obsessed with rhythmâsaid it was the heart of everything.â
You nod slowly. âHe still around?â
Choso shakes his head. âNah. Been a while. But I think heâd get a kick out of seeing me like this.â
Thereâs a quiet between you, not awkward, just full. You sip your drink.
âWhat about you?â he asks. âWhat do you do when youâre not falling for mysterious musicians at dive bars?â
You end up telling him more than you thought you would. About your work, your favorite food, even boring little details. But he listens like every word matters. Laughs when you least expect it. His foot nudges yours under the table halfway through the night, and it stays there.
Eventually, the lights get lower, and the bar empties out.
âGuess we closed the place down,â you say, glancing around.
Chosoâs watching you with a soft look. âWouldnât mind doing it again.â
Your heart flutters. âSame place?â
He smiles, gaze never leaving yours. âSure.â
The night doesnât end there.
He insists on walking you homeâno arguments, no jokes, just slips his hand into yours like itâs the most natural thing in the world. And you let him, fingers intertwining with his, warmth blooming in your chest. Itâs a quiet walk, but not the awkward kind. Itâs that gentle, late-night calm. Like the whole world slowed down just for the two of you.
And for once, heâs not the brooding bassist with sharp eyeliner and calloused fingers. Heâs just Choso. A guy who likes the way your hand fits in his. A guy who lets out a soft chuckle when you shiver and instinctively step closer.
You reach your place too soon.
You stop at the doorstep, neither of you making a move. No one says anything. You should probably say something. Goodnight. Thanks. This was fun. But the words get caught somewhere in your throat.
He steps closer instead.
Thereâs a breath between you. Just one.
And then his lips are on yoursâsoft, almost hesitant, like heâs asking if this is okay. And you answer him by fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him in. His hand comes up to your cheek, holding you steady as he kisses you again. Still gentle. Still quiet. But it makes your head spin all the same.
When he finally pulls back, he stays close, forehead pressed lightly to yours.
âGoodnight, sweetheart,â he murmurs.
Your heart mightâve actually stopped.
You slam the door shut behind you, back pressed against it, heart pounding so hard you swear it echoes in your ribcage. You stare at your phone, wide-eyed, thumbs flying:
you: SHOKO
you: SHOKO I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP
you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCYÂ
shoko: itâs literally 1am
shoko: you better be on fireÂ
you: I KISSED HIM
shoko: what
shoko: WHO
shoko: WAIT
shoko: WAIT.
you: YES. HIM.
shoko: THE HOT GUITAR PLAYER???
you: CHOSO. YES. YES. YES
shoko: oh my god youâre so gone
you: HE WALKED ME HOME. HELD MY HAND. KISSED ME. I AM GONE GONE.
shoko: AAAAAAAAAAA
you: HE SAID âGOODNIGHT SWEETHEARTâ
shoko: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
you: I KNOW
You toss your phone onto the bed, face planting right after it, squealing into your pillow like a teenager all over again.
Because you kissed him. And he kissed you back. And youâre never sleeping tonight.
-
Youâre lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is quietâtoo quiet. Youâve already scrolled through your entire feed twice, tried reading, even got up to make tea you didnât drink.
Then your phone lights up.
Incoming call: Choso.
Your heart stutters.
You take a breath and answer. ââŠHey.â
His voice is warm on the other end. âHey. Did I wake you?â
You shake your head even though he canât see. âNo. Couldnât sleep.â
âSame,â he says. âKept thinking about you.â
Your breath catches. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, like it might calm your racing heart.
Thereâs a small silence, but itâs not awkward. Itâs soft. Comfortable. Like neither of you really wants to hang up.
He speaks again, voice a little lower. âYou looked beautiful tonight.â
You try to play it off. âI put in effort. Didnât want to show up looking like I did last time.â
âI liked that too,â he says. âBut tonight you walked in and I forgot what the hell I was doing.â
You laugh, hiding your face in your pillow.
âI wish I could see you again right now,â he says.
âMe too.â
âWould it be too much if I said I kinda wanna fall asleep listening to you?â
Your stomach flips.
You whisper, âThen stay on the line.â
And you doâboth of you quiet, just breathing, letting the silence say everything.
-
You're standing outside the bar, shifting on your feet, trying to act like you havenât been checking your reflection in every window on the walk here.
This time, your outfit isnât casual by accident. You planned it. Styled your hair just right. Even put on that gloss you save for special occasions.
You step inside and immediately spot him, leaning back against a booth like he owns the place, one arm slung lazily over the seat. His eyes liftâ
âand damn.
They rake down your figure slowly, like heâs drinking you in. And when they return to your face, thereâs the smallest upward curve to his lips.
âSomeone dressed to impress,â he says, standing as you approach.
âMaybe,â you reply, coy. âYou are the star of the show, after all.â
He laughs low in his throat, hand brushing the small of your back as he leans in close. âNah,â he murmurs. âTonight, itâs all about you.â
You sit together in the same booth. This time, thereâs no ice to break. The tension simmers warm between youâhis knee bumps yours under the table and doesnât move away. His eyes flicker to your lips more than once.
âSo,â you say, swirling your drink. âWhat happens after drinks, guitar boy?â
He smirks, elbow resting on the table as he leans closer. âDepends. You thinking of letting me kiss you again?â
You raise your brows. âYou planning on asking?â
He tilts his head. âI could. But you didnât seem to need much prompting last time.â
That earns him a playful nudge. And a flustered laugh.
He grins. "Take your time, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
The jukebox crackles as the next track beginsâslow, dreamy, sweet.
Like falling asleep in warm hands. Like the part in a romance film where everything softens.
Before you can even comment on the vibe shift, Choso is rising from the booth, hand extended toward you, palm up.
Your brows lift. âYou serious?â
He just smiles. âCâmon. Dance with me.â
You hesitateâbecause, what? In a bar? With him?? But his fingers flex, waiting, and the way heâs looking at you makes it impossible to say no.
You slip your hand into his.
He pulls you gently to the dance floor. Thereâs no one else thereâjust you, him, and the slow rhythm bleeding from the speakers. His hands settle on your waist. Yours hover awkwardly before curling behind his neck.
You sway.
âI didnât take you for a dancer,â you mumble, heart skipping when he twirls you suddenly.
He smirks. âIâm not.â
You laughâloud and sweet and so damn happy. And when he catches you again, you donât pull away. Instead, you melt into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat under the fabric of his shirt.
His hand traces slow circles on your back.
âThis okay?â he murmurs.
You nod, nuzzling in closer. âYeah⊠Itâs perfect.â
He rests his chin lightly atop your head. And neither of you says another word.
Not when the song ends.
Not when the next one starts.
Because for that momentâitâs just the two of you, swaying under dim lights, held together by the sound of a love song.
-
You step outside into the night, your breath curling in pale puffs. The air is colder than before, wrapping around your bare arms like a whispered warning. You shiver.
Without a word, Choso shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His hand rests at your waist, warm and firm, grounding you.
For a while, you just stand thereâside by side, quiet. The city buzzes in the distance, cars passing, streetlights humming.
You glance up at him, and heâs already looking at you. Hard.
Like heâs trying to memorize the slope of your jaw. The way the wind lifts your hair. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe.
âWhat?â you ask, a soft laugh in your voice, raising an eyebrow.
He doesnât answer immediately. Just wets his lips. His fingers flex against your hip.
âI justâŠâ he starts, voice rough with restraint. âI really want to kiss you right now.â
You blink, heart thudding once. Twice.
The pause stretches.
âYeah?â you murmur, leaning in a fraction. Teasing.
He nods once. Barely.
You smileâheart pounding in your throat. âSo why donât you?â
And thatâs all it takes.
He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks like youâre made of porcelain. And when his lips finally meet yoursâitâs soft. Slow. Full of the tension heâs been carrying all night, unspooling between you in breathless silence.
His nose bumps yours. Your hands fist the front of his shirt again. Just like last time.
Only this time, you donât stop at one kiss.
And when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice low:
âYouâre gonna ruin me, yâknow that?â
You laugh, barely a whisper against his lips, breath mingling with his. âThen I guess I better make it worth your while.â
That gets a reaction.
His gaze darkens just slightly, lips twitching into the faintest smirk as his hands slide down from your cheeks, one settling at the nape of your neck while the other pulls you flush against him. âYou trying to kill me, sweetheart?â
You donât answer.
Because youâre already kissing him again.
This time itâs different.
Less hesitant.
More hungry.
Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the dark strands that fall just past his neck, tugging gently until he groans into your mouth. He kisses you deeper, like heâs starved, like he hasnât been thinking about this since the first night he met you in the crowd, eyes wide and awe-struck.
His hand grips your waist, fingers digging inânot too hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.
You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip, tongue flicking against it before pulling back just enough to breathe:
âYouâre trouble.â
You blink up at him, dazed, lips kiss-swollen and heart racing. âYouâre one to talk.â
And he laughsâlow and breathy, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth like he canât help himself.
âCâmon,â he murmurs. âLet me walk you home before I get any worse ideas.â
The walk back is quietâbut not the awkward kind. Itâs heavy with something, charged with unspoken words and lingering touches. His fingers brush yours with every step, and each time it happens, your breath catches.
You swear heâs doing it on purpose.
But you donât stop him.
The streetlights cast a soft glow on him, turning his features golden for a moment, then shadowed the next. He looks⊠different like this. Softer. Less like the untouchable bassist who had you practically drooling the first night, and more like someone you could fall for if youâre not careful.
You sneak a glance at him.
Heâs already looking at you.
You look away fast, heart leaping, and he chuckles under his breath.
"Cold?" he asks, tugging you gently closer.
You nod, even though thatâs not why youâre shaking.
His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as if itâs the most natural thing in the world. Your head fits against him perfectly, and his hand rubs slow circles against your arm, warm and grounding.
âStill nervous?â he murmurs.
You laugh quietly. âLittle bit.â
âMe too.â
You tilt your head to look at him, surprised. âReally?â
He nods. âYou make me nervous.â
Youâre about to say somethingâanythingâbut then youâve reached your place.
And suddenly, you donât want to go inside.
He stops in front of your door, letting you go with a reluctant sigh. His hand lingers on your arm for a second longer before falling away.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and asks, âYou gonna call me?â
You nod. âIf you answer.â
He grins. âAlways.â
You hesitateâjust for a secondâand then press a soft kiss to his cheek. Itâs quick, but the way his breath hitches tells you it did the trick.
âGoodnight, Choso.â
And before he can pull you in again, before you can throw all common sense out the window and kiss him properly, you slip inside.
Heart pounding. Lips tingling.
-
You wake up with your heart still pounding.
And not because of a nightmare.
Nope. This was worse.
Because it was real.
You kissed Choso.
Again.
And not in a dreamlike, floaty, âthis could be a maybeâ kind of way. You kissed him after swaying in his arms like some romcom protagonist. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, and you felt your knees give just a little, and you definitely whimpered against his mouth like a fool.
You groan and roll onto your side, burying your face in your pillow.
Youâre so doomed.
Your phone vibrates.
You blink and grab it, squinting at the screen.
choso: didnât want to wake you but i just wanted to say
choso: thank you for last night
You freeze.
Sit up slowly.
Your heartbeat? Violent.
You tap out a reply, delete it, rewrite it, delete again. Finally, you just go with:
you: it was nothing :)
Immediately after sending it:
you: iâm being weird arenât i ignore me please
And then:
you: but also donât ignore me because i liked it and i like you and iâm going to stop talking now before i make it worse
Your phone is dangerously quiet for thirty seconds.
Then it buzzes again.
choso: youâre not being weird.
choso: youâre being adorable
choso: i like you too
choso: also⊠can i see you again tonight?
You shriek into your pillow.
And then type:
you: you better
-
You werenât expecting it when he texted you earlier that day.
come to the studio. i want you to hear something.
Now here you are, walking through a narrow hallway that smells like cigarettes and worn leather, Chosoâs voice telling the receptionist to let you in. He meets you at the door, hoodie on, hair loosely tied back, a pair of headphones slung around his neck.
âHey,â he murmurs, eyes raking over you with a small smile tugging at his lips.
You smile back, brushing past him as he closes the door behind you. The studio is dimly lit, a warm orange hue cast by the LED strips lining the edges of the ceiling. Thereâs a worn-out couch in the corner, an empty coffee cup on the desk, and wires everywhere.
He leads you to a chair beside him. âWrote something last night. Thought you might want to hear it.â
You raise an eyebrow. âInspired by anything?â
He doesnât say anything. Just gives you a look.
He clicks a few keys on his laptop, and music starts playingâslow, rich bass, soft drums, a melody that feels like itâs watching you breathe. Then lyricsâhis voice, lower and raspier than usual.
And the words? They burn.
Itâs about being unable to get someone off your mind. About how they haunt your quiet moments. About wanting something that feels dangerous and delicate at the same time.
When it ends, thereâs a beat of silence.
ââŠYou wrote that?â you ask.
Choso nods, slow. âAll of it.â
âItâsâŠâ Your voice catches. âItâs beautiful.â
He leans back, watching you carefully. âItâs about you. In case that wasnât obvious.â
The room feels smaller. Hotter. You swallow.
You murmur, âI didnât know I had that kind of effect on you.â
âYou donât,â he says, stepping closer. âYou have more.â
Heâs standing between your knees now. One hand on the armrest beside you. The other gently tilts your chin up.
âCan I kiss you again?â
You nod before your brain even catches up.
And then he doesâslower this time. Like heâs savoring it. His lips slot against yours and the world blurs. His hand slips to your waist, drawing you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.
The music plays on in the background. But neither of you hears it.
His lips are warm against yours, stealing every thought from your head. One kiss turns into two, then threeâdeeper, slower, more intense. His hands settle on your waist, firm, grounding. You melt into him without thinking.
But thenâbetween kisses, you manage a breathless whisper, lips brushing his as you speak.
âChoso, not hereâthereâs people around.â
His eyes open slowly, pupils blown wide. He glances around, then back at you, and that look in his eyes? It's trouble.
Without saying a word, he grabs your hand. âCome on.â
You barely catch your breath before heâs pulling you along, weaving past people, straight toward the exit. His grip doesnât loosen, even when heâs fumbling for his keys. He unlocks his car in a rush and opens the passenger door for you before sliding into the driverâs seat himself.
The whole ride is chargedâsilent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional stolen glance. He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the ones that had just been ghosting over your skin minutes ago.
When he pulls into the parking lot of his building, he doesnât waste time. Hands still locked with yours, he leads you upstairs, heart pounding just as fast as yours.
The second the door shuts behind you, he turns aroundâand everything finally snaps.
Choso doesnât pounce. He doesnât rush.
He leans against the door, just watching you. Taking you in like itâs the first time. His eyes roam your face, your lipsâyour heaving chest. Thereâs a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, like heâs trying not to smile.
âYou sure?â he asks, voice low, husky.
You nod, breathless. âYeah.â
Thatâs all it takes.
He pushes off the door slowly, strides over like a man with nowhere else to be. His hands find your waist, gentle at first, then firm. His head dips down, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheek, your mouthâbut he doesnât kiss you yet.
âYou look so pretty tonight,â he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.
His nose grazes your neck, and you shudder. Every place his breath touches feels like itâs burning.
âYou always look pretty,â he adds, kissing just below your ear now. âBut tonight?â
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips brushing lower.
âYouâre killing me.â
Your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers twitching as you lift it up slowlyâexposing the pale skin of his stomach inch by inch. He lets you, arms raised, letting the fabric slide off and onto the floor. The tattoos swirl over his chest, catching the soft glow of the apartment lights, and your fingers canât help but trace them.
âStill nervous?â he asks, voice rougher now.
You shake your head. âNo. Just⊠canât believe this is real.â
Choso tilts your chin up, makes you look at him. His gaze is so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.
âIt is,â he says. âAnd weâve got all night.â
He kisses you again, this time softer, slower. No rush. Just lips moving against yours with quiet reverence, like heâs memorizing the shape of your mouth.
His hands stay on your waist, warm and steady, but you feel the way his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on your skinâlike heâs trying to ground himself. Like heâs savoring the moment as much as you are.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He hums into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.
The path to the bedroom is a blur.
Youâre not sure how you get thereâif he carries you, or if you walk, tangled up in each other, lips never parting for more than a breath.
The room is dim, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the blinds. It paints both of you in silver and shadow. Choso backs you toward the bed, and when your knees hit the edge, he pauses. Looks down at you like youâre something sacred.
You swallow, heart thundering. âAre you gonna keep staring orââ
âShh.â He dips his head, kisses your neck, just under your jaw. âLet me take my time with you.â
You shiver. God, his voiceâlow, velvet, dangerous.
âYou donât know how long Iâve wanted this.â
He pushes you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on it. Heâs crawling up your body, hands trailing along your sides, slipping beneath your shirtâfingertips so gentle it sends goosebumps across your skin. You raise your arms, let him take it off. He discards it carefully, almost reverently, and then heâs touching you again.
Itâs not frantic. Itâs worship.
The way he kisses down your chest, murmuring things you canât even process. The way he handles you like heâs scared youâll break. His mouth is everywhereâleaving warmth and wetness and little marks thatâll be there tomorrow. Proof that this happened. That he happened.
When his hands slip lower, and he finally asks, âCan I?ââyou nod, breathless, and he grins, slow and sinful.
âGood,â he whispers. âBecause Iâm not stopping tonight.â
His touch starts soft. Teasing.
His fingers graze along your thigh, slipping under your skirt. Just the pad of one finger tracing your inner thigh, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. He watches your reactions closelyâevery breath, every twitch, every clench of your thighs like itâs his favorite show.
âAlready shaking,â he murmurs with a smirk, fingers drifting up higher, stopping just at the edge of your underwear. âAnd Iâve barely touched you.â
When he finally slips his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers are warm, his touch confident. He finds you wetâsoakedâand he groans low in his throat.
âFuck... all this for me?â
His middle finger drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, gathering everything, spreading it around before circling your clitâjust barely touching it. Itâs maddening.
âYouâre already this worked up,â he breathes, leaning in to kiss your jaw. âWhat happens when I really start?â
Heâs rushing to take your underwear off, almost ripping them in the process. Thenâfinallyâhe eases a finger inside.
Itâs slow at first. Just one finger, shallow thrusts, curling up and stroking that spot inside you until your hips start chasing him, greedy for more. He watches your face the whole time, eats up every whimper.
âChoso⊠more,â you whisper, barely able to speak.
His eyes flick up, dark and hungry. âYeah?â he murmurs. âYou can take another?â
You nod, breathless.
He slides a second finger inâthicker, deeper. His palm presses against your clit as his fingers work inside you, curling just right, just enough pressure to make your back arch. His other hand grabs your thigh, keeps you open and steady as he builds a rhythm.
Itâs obsceneâthe wet, messy sounds of his fingers fucking into youâbut it only makes him grin.
âYou hear that, sweetheart?â he says lowly.Â
Youâre gasping now, clutching the sheets, legs shaking. He really is good with his hands.
âCâmon,â he whispers against your neck, tongue darting out to taste you. âLet go for me.â
And with one more curl, one more strokeâyou do.
You come around his fingers, back arching, a moan ripped from your chest as he keeps moving through it, working you until youâre twitching, thighs trembling against him.
When he finally pulls his fingers out, he brings them to his lips.
âTastes even better than I imagined,â he says, voice low and ruined.
He doesnât give you a second to catch your breath.
The second those words leave his mouth, his gaze dropsâhungry, wickedâand before you can ask what heâs doing, heâs already moving.
Heâs moving down your body, settling between your legs, hands parting your thighs, spreading you wide open for him. You barely manage a gasp before his mouth is on you.
And fuck.
He licks a slow stripe from your entrance to your clitâmoaning against you like heâs tasting something divine. His tongue is hot, wet, firmâflicking against your clit before flattening and dragging against it again. Heâs not shy. He devours.
You twitch under him, gasping, and his grip on your thighs tightens.
âStay still for me,â he murmurs against you, breath fanning over your soaked heat. âLet me eat, baby.â
And oh, does he eat.
He buries his face between your legs like heâs starvedâlips and tongue and heat and mess, sucking your clit into his mouth, groaning when your fingers grab his hair and pull. His nose nudges your clit, the piercings in his ears cold against your thigh.
His hands slide under your ass, lifting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue fucks into you, messy and wet, before he pulls back to mouth at your clit again.
Youâre a wreckâpanting, eyes rolling back, legs trembling on either side of his head. He loves it. You can tell by the way he hums into you, nose buried in your folds, like every whimper out of you is a personal victory.
Your thighs start to close around his headâhe lets them. Arms locking around your legs, holding you there like he wants to be suffocated. And with one more flick of his tongueâone more swirl, one more perfect pressureâ
You cry out, hips jerking, thighs clenching, and he doesnât stop. He works you through it, licking, kissing, groaning against your cunt like heâs drunk off you.
When your body finally slumps back against the mattress, dazed and spent, he pulls back just enough to look up at you.
Chosoâs mouth is still hot against yours, the kiss messy and hungry, his tongue sliding over yours like he canât get enough of the taste of you.Â
He unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down along with his boxers, his girthy length slapping against his abdomen. Your mouth parts in a soft gasp at the sight of it. But you don't have time to marvel at it. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them upâhigher, higherâuntil you're folded in half in a mean mating press.
âGonna keep you like this,â he murmurs, voice rough, chest heaving. âWanna see your face while I fuck you.â
Your breath catches.
His hands hook behind your knees, holding them open as he shifts forward. The position has you completely laid out for him, helpless beneath the weight of his body. You feel his cock, thick and hard, dragging over your slick entranceâand then he pushes in, slow and deep.
You whimperâa sound torn from your throat, soft and wrecked, your back arching as he presses deeper.
Choso groans, low and guttural, head falling forward to rest against yours. His breath fans hot across your cheek, and you swear you can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds himself stillâjust for a second.
âF-fuckâŠâ he breathes, voice rough with restraint. âYouâre so fucking tight like thisâŠâ
His hips roll forward again, slower this time, the movement deliberateâlike he wants you to feel every inch. âFeels like youâre made for me,â he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp.
Your fingers scramble across the expanse of his back, nails dragging, searching for something to ground you. His shoulders, his arms, anythingâbecause the way heâs filling you, stretching you, itâs too much and not enough at the same time.
Then he starts to move. Deep. Steady. And the new angle is devastating.
He hits every spot just right, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and purposeful, grinding into the deepest parts of you with every thrust. Your legs tremble in his hold, pinned back and open for him, the pressure building with each stroke. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping freeâhigh-pitched and desperate.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
But itâs not pain. Noânever that.
Itâs overwhelming. Itâs perfect. Itâs him.
âYouâre taking it so well,â he grits out, eyes burning into yours as his pace deepens. âFuckâjust like that, baby. Taking all of me.â
You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted as your moans spill freely. He leans downâcloser, closerâuntil your thighs are nearly flush to your chest and his weight settles on top of you, heavy and grounding.
And he fucks you.
Not rough, but intentionalâeach stroke slow and deep, hips rolling so he never leaves you empty. He watches your face, watches every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes. Like heâs trying to memorize it. All of it.
Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling when his thrusts grind just right. His name escapes you in a whimperâover and over, his name like a mantra.
âChosoââ you gasp. âOh my GodâChoso, I-IâŠâ
âI know,â he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. âI know, baby. Iâve got you.â
Youâre soakedâmessy, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the room, underscored by the soft creak of the mattress and your broken cries.
He shifts, angling just so, and you shatter.
Your body seizes, nails digging into his back as your orgasm rips through you, sudden and all-consuming. A sob leaves your throat, your back arching as your walls flutter and clamp down around him.
With a low groan, he shiftsâgently, carefullyâhis hands sliding beneath your thighs to lower them. You gasp softly when he wraps your legs around his waist, keeping you close, keeping you full, as his hips press flush to yours.
He groansâa raw, broken soundâhis hips stuttering. âShitâfuck, Iâm closeâwhere do you want it, sweetheart?â
You barely think. You just nod, desperate. âInsideâpleaseâinside.â
Thatâs all he needs.
He presses in deep, body trembling, a shudder running through him as he spills into you, cock twitching with every pulse of his release. You feel the heat of itâso much, thick and warm as it fills you up. And still, he doesnât stop.
He keeps movingâsoft, shallow thrusts that drag it out, that make your body twitch and whimper, overstimulated and glowing.
His name slips from your lips again, quieter this time, your fingers trailing down his back, soothing over sweat-slick skin.
And thenâfinallyâhe stills.
Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, lips ghosting over your collarbone.
âIâve got you,â he says again, voice low and reverent.
His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin like heâs grounding himself.
"Donât want to let go just yet," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion and aftermath. He leans down, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. âFeels too good like this.â
You hum, dazed and pliant, arms winding around his neck as your forehead rests against his. His weight, his warmthâitâs comforting. Heavy in the best way.
Every small shift makes you gaspâtoo sensitive, too rawâbut you donât ask him to move.
You donât want him to either.
And neither does he.
So he stays thereâburied deep, your legs locked around his waist, your bodies tangled as if they were always meant to be like this.
After, when the haze finally starts to fade, Choso is the first to moveâbut only just.
He brushes your hair from your face with slow fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. âYou okay?â he murmurs, voice low and full of concern. Gentle. So gentle. âWas that⊠too much?â
You shake your head, barely able to speak as you whisper, âNo. It was perfect.â
He exhales, and the breath sounds like relief. Like he needed to hear that.
Without a word, he slips out of bed, grabbing a warm cloth and returning to you. He moves with such careâhis hands slow, wiping between your thighs with reverence, like youâre something precious. You flinch a little at the sensitivity, and he mumbles a soft âSorryâ as he presses a kiss to your knee, his gaze flickering up to check on you again.
Once youâre clean, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls back under the covers. You instinctively curl into him, and he opens his arms wide, pulling you in, tucking your head beneath his chin.
His fingers trace slow, lazy circles along your spine. Your legs are tangled with his, your body warm and sore and safe. He smells like sweat and sex and his cologne, and you want to fall asleep in this exact moment, forever.
âYouâre amazing,â he murmurs against your hair.
You blink up at him. âThatâs my line.â
He smiles, barely-there but so real. âGuess weâll take turns.â
You laughâquiet, muffled against his chestâand he hums along with it, fingers still moving along your back.
A silence settles between you, but it isnât awkward. Itâs peaceful. The kind that only comes after letting someone see you bare in every way.
He breaks it eventually, voice thick with sleep. âYou staying over?â
âMhm.â
âYou sure?â
You nod, eyes fluttering closed. âWouldnât wanna be anywhere else.â
And neither would he.
So he kisses the top of your head one more time, murmurs something soft and unintelligible against your skin, and lets himself fall asleep with you in his arms.
Exactly where you both want to be.
author's note. this is just pure choso brainrot because i could not get that fanart out of my head so ofc i had to write something about it. (choso girlies, i'm borrowing your man for a while, thank you)
synopsis: you and megumi are practically married + nobara and itadori's unofficial parents
notes: yk that one tiktok sound that goes 'mama y papa. mama y papa!' or wtv thats this lol
it starts one night in the dorm kitchen.
itadori's sitting cross-legged on the counter, nobaraâs painting her nails on the table, and youâre trying to cook dinner with megumi next to you, handing you ingredients like he was born to be your little sous chef.
âyou two are like my parents,â itadori suddenly remarks.
you stifle a giggle. megumi doesnât even look up. âabsolutely not.â
âno, but you are,â nobara says, blowing on her wet nails. âyou do the cooking and then force us to do the cleaning. you pick us up when we almost die. you get lovey-dovey with each other when you think weâre not looking.â
megumi stiffens. you laugh.
âyou are so obvious,â itadori adds, looking at megumi. âyou tie y/n's shoelaces for her. you argue over pizza toppings. you sleep in each other's dorm rooms. you're practically married at this point.â
nobara suddenly points a finger at you. âand you always make sure i have advil and a hair tie in my pocket before missions,â nobara grins at you. âthanks, mom.â
âthat's stupid,â megumi says flatly, dumping vegetables into the pot with more force than necessary. âdonât say that.â
megumiâs ears are red as nobara howls with laughter and you almost drop the ladle as you fold over in giggles.
but despite all his grumbling, megumi can't think of any proper refutes. he knows your preferences better than his own, has stupid married couple arguments with you, and feeds you soup when you're sick. he makes sure to teach itadori about the ins and outs of the jujutsu world before he goes off on missions, and picks up things nobara drops or forgets for her.
you stick your cold feet under megumi at night, cut his fruit into stars and hearts, and leave him little sticky notes with sweet messages on them. you put extra protein into breakfast after itadori had a long night. you hold back nobara's hair and rub her back when she pukes.
and when nobara bumps into you on the way to bed, she whispers with a little smile, âseriously, though, you guys are adorable. fav couple ever.â
you smile.
and later that night, curled up in megumiâs bed while the dorm settles into sleep, you nudge his side gently.
ââŠthey kind of have a point, ay?â
he sighs. âunfortunately.â
but the way his arm curls around you says he wouldnât have it any other way.
iâd like to believe that megumi would summon his different shimigani to try to impress youâ and heâll act all nonchalant about it, too.
âhey get back here!â he shouts at the divine dogs, knowing full well they are obedient to a tee. if theyâre running loose itâs because he wants them to, and it was no surprise that they ended up at your feet.
âaww such good little doggies!â you kneel to give them head pats. they try licking you, wagging their tails, making you giggle. âmegumi your cursed technique is so cute!â
the comment makes him blush, and before you know if heâs placing bunny after bunny on your lap until youâre practically gushing.
truth be told, he adores hearing your little awes and the way you playfully baby talk the animals. so he couldnât help summoning them everyone once and a while.
đŒ preview: you have a habit of walking along the beach near your campus late at night, needing to be alone after many long days of classes and socializing. so what happens when there's an unexpected visitor-more specifically a star in the nhl- below you? you fall--in more ways than one.
đŒ warnings: all characters are aged up and/or in college, strangers to friends to lovers(soo original), they go through the canon event of the GODAWFUL "casual" stage, angst, fluff, SMUT, freaky toge, he matches his "snake" name (you'll see), sunshine/grumpy kinda, happy ending!
đŒ wc: 4.1k
đŒ a/n: guys i finally learned how to do gradient text and i feel like a fucking coding genius. i need to elaborate on this hockey!toge thought more and i def will... not my best work for sure... oh well!
anybody, even if they aren't a fan of hockey, knows about megumi fushiguro and inumaki's dynamic. inumaki's first name was unknown by the world, similar to the rest of him. an absolute powerhouse in the world of hockey, when working together, megumi quickly wraps and weaves himself around players to block and trip them up while inumaki focuses on doing the dirty work. inumaki was ruthless, not afraid at all to fight other players or slam them against railings as he scores. the name "snake and fangs" is extremely fitting, inumaki not being afraid to bite.
you yourself weren't too interested in hockey, but your friends dragged you to their games anyways.
"is this your guys' idea of fun? are you insane?"
your friends scream loudly as players are being slammed into the plastic guarding, the only shield separating the fans and the ice. hockey was certainly not your favorite thing to watch, easily becoming overwhelmed by what to focus on, what is and isn't allowed, and the fights. your friends and their boyfriends cheer and scream for your mutual friend, megumi.
though, megumi could be the last player you're focusing on, the only player that has your attention is number 11. you process the large letters on his back spelling "INUMAKI" before you realize who he is. inumaki, a star in the national hockey league and one half of the most powerful duo: snake and fangs.
the game went on as it usually did, the only thing different was your hyper attention on inumaki, the snake. you always knew of his reputation, but you never payed much attention until now. and even though you admired him, you were never going to talk to him. you didn't even know what he looked like under the protection of his helmet. their team won, as they usually did, and you bid your friends goodbye before they went to the afterparty celebration.
a deep sigh was the first thing to escape your lips once you closed the door to your apartment--an investment you finally made in your third year of college. today was longer than most, having a full day of classes and the hockey game with your friends shortly after. it was now 10 p.m., and the only thing relieving your stress from today was the fact that you had no classes tomorrow. you soaked in one of your only times of peace and quiet in your apartment before shifting into your nightly routine.
as much as you wanted to go straight to bed, you ruined your schedule for yourself two years ago when you first started attending college. ever since the breather you took at your first party, finding a secluded beach in the process, you went every night before going to bed. and this habit wasn't going to change now, and you wonder what will happen to your sleep schedule if you move away after college.
so, as always, you change out of your clothes into something more comfortable and head out to the same secluded beach. it was familiar and felt more like home than anything, the soft sand under your feet and melodic waves crashing on the shore. it was ever the same, you didn't need to watch for anything or keep a smile in case anybody saw you. except one thing-- you surely didn't expect to fall over somebody laying in the sand.
you crash into the ground with a choked gasp, the sand-and body- softening the fall slightly. quickly pushing yourself up, you look at the person, now clear to be a young man, with utter embarrassment etched on your features. as if falling onto a guy your age wasn't awful enough, he was probably the most attractive man you'd seen in your life.
"shit, i am so so sorry-" you quickly run your hands over your face, groaning softly, "this is so embarassing."
the man laughs softly, and everything is worse. as you start to take in his features, your blush deepened and spread. he was beautiful, his features softly illuminated by the moonlight. he has silky platinum hair, a scarf covering the lower portion of his face, and dark brown eyes. no- were his eyes purple?-
before you could stare anymore than you already were, you heard soft scribbling and looked down, seeing him write into a post-it note.
'it's okay. usually nobody's out here.'
he smiled softly as he held it up, or at least you hope he was smiling, seeing his eyes squint slightly at the edges from over his scarf. his note makes you smile slightly as well, whether it was due to his silent nature or the familiar beach calming you.
"you're telling me..." you groan again before speaking quietly, "i've been coming for years and i've never seen you."
again, he scribbles quickly into his notepad and holds it up for you to see, having to squint slightly due to the moon's poor job at illuminating the sheet.
'i usually come later than this, work ended earlier than usual today.'
you nod silently, "not a big talker?"
he huffs softly at this and shakes his head, not with any serious meaning. he once again reaches for something to write with, but instead pulls out his phone and opens his notes app. the light from his phone successfully lights up his face, highlighting his features much better than the moon. yeah, his eyes were definitely purple. he faces the phone screen toward you, the bold lettering much easier to read coming from his phone.
'yeah. went to the doctor when i was a kid and found out the nerves in my vocal chords are fucked up. i can speak a bit but most of the time talking hurts like shit.'
you smile sympathetically at him and trace your finger through the sand, looking down. "it's alright, i like the quiet."
he looks back at you with a small smile, admiring your features under the moonlight. he notes that your voice is smooth and comforting, and he finds himself wanting to hear it more as he writes to hear more responses from you, and best of all hearing your laugh.
you ended up talking to the stranger until 3 a.m. that night, but you didn't mind. the cold bit at your face, but it was hard to notice even that in his company. after that night, you continued meeting at the beach for months.
even as he didn't speak, he made you laugh, hard. whether it was because of something stupid he typed on his phone, a brainrotted meme he sent you, or purely his expressions and reactions to things you tell him.
without fail, every time you smiled or laughed, he looked at you with a soft smile, losing his scarf along the way of knowing you. without fail he always found some way to touch you, whether it was wiping something off your face or burying his head in your shoulder because he's "tired." you also learned that his name is toge, he's rich as fuck, and very protective about his life outside of you.
you, on the other hand, shared a lot of your life with him. you told him extensively about all of your closest friends and family, specifically megumi. you boasted about having a friend that was in the national hockey league, gushing about how cool it was. every time the conversation of hockey was introduced, toge pursed his lips and nodded tightly, not knowing how to respond. you assumed that he just didn't like hockey, but nonetheless begged him to meet megumi, along with the rest of your friends. every time you did, he wrote 'maybe' and that 'i don't know if they'd like me.'
another thing you didn't know about toge was what the two of you were. even after a year of him becoming your closest friend, you didn't know if the word "friend" was fitting. you had fallen asleep in his arms and woken up to him softly kissing your forehead and touching each other a bit too comfortably for âfriendsâ frequently, all while keeping the title of being close friends. your time together extended beyond the beach, almost for an entire year, buying shitty gas station food and going to an arcade. the beach looked different than it had in the winter, spring, and summer, all seasons you had spent at the beach with toge. it didnât matter what you did, he spent most of the time observing you quietly, then softly scratching into a notepad or typing into his phone.Â
never real dates, but never doing anything that was simply friendly. you'd rather die than bring it up, though, and you weren't planning on moving past whatever it was now. although your meetings had started to occur outside of the beach, your beach nights were still frequent.
one particular day you spent studying in the library on campus, feeling a familiar double-buzz in your pocket. you had changed toge's ringtone soon into your friendship, knowing immediately if a text was coming from him. it wasn't hard to tell, though, as when he texted he usually spammed you. sliding your phone from your pocket, you glance at your screen and smile softly.
toge!!: hello hello
toge!!: work doneâŠdying..only you can save me.....
chuckling softly, you type out a quick response.
'you're about to ask if you can stay over.'
toge!!: PLEASE
toge!!: i can only fully sleep and recharge at your place idk what it is
toge!!: be honest is there meth in your ac....
another thing that happened as the two of you grew closer and bonded was that he loosened up. he was incredibly funny and never failed to make you laugh just by being stupid, and so as always, you roll your eyes and bite back a smile, pushing your phone back into your pocket. no matter if you responded or didn't, he was probably already on the way to your apartment.
once your key unlocks the front door of your basically shared space, you step in to see toge passed out on your couch. you huff slightly before quietly dropping your bag and jacket off by the front door. slipping your shoes off, you walk over to where toge is laying and sit by where his head rests, watching him inhale and exhale deeply. seeing him sleeping so peacefully stirs something inside you, and your thumb lightly grazes his cheek.
toge stirs slightly and his eyes flutter open, widening at the realization of your proximity. he clears his throat and turns so his creeping blush stays hidden. pulling out his phone again, he types quickly.
âwork was shitty today. coworkers pissed me offâ
you didn't press on his privacy much, but you did wonder. he's secretive about what he does for work, he's loaded, he's handsome, and he doesn't speak. as you've gotten closer he's promised to tell you sometime in the future.
so, you didnât ask him about his work this time and let the good moment with him last, cuddling on your couch becoming a habit the two of you shared, as friends.
another particular night was hot. the winter had come and passed, and the humidity of the blazing sun was back, even when it wasn't in the sky. as you slip off your shoes and walk down the beach to your usual spot, you smile and wave when you see toge ankle-deep in the water.
you speed up, lightly jogging toward him. he lifts you up slightly in a hug, which he had begun to do shortly after knowing you. when he began to do this to greet you, unable to do so properly with words, he blamed it on your inability to not fall onto him. this might have been partially true, but he really just wanted to touch you; touching you was one of the only ways that toge could express himself fully due to his condition.
you feel him huff softly in your ear and gently put you down, smiling back at you. he pulls his phone out, but instead of typing a message out he takes a picture of you-which you quickly try to protest once you realize what he's doing- the moon slightly highlighting your features. he then goes to his notes app to type a message,
'so pretty.'
you blush heavily, hopeful that the poor lighting was hiding this, but his grin says otherwise. he kisses your forehead softly, chuckling at the way your blush deepens afterward. you press your head into his shoulder and mutter a soft 'shut up.' when you look up into his eyes again, you expect him to be smiling goofily at you and try to do something stupid again, but he's not.
instead, he gazes at you softly, slowly reaching up to cup the side of your face and lean in slightly. your breath hitches as your eyes go wide, out of shock- or maybe fear.
one other thing you learned about toge: he always acted on his impulses. so, like many other times, he did the same by closing the distance between the two of you.
your lips moved slowly, softly pressing against each other before speeding your movements and holding onto his neck, wrapping your hands into his messy hair. when he eventually did pull away, he smiled at you like he always did: his friendly and goofy smile that made your heart drop. you never really had guy friends to this extent, maybe that was just normal.
so, when you went home that day, you called him like normal and everything seemed okay. things went back to how they were before, the same dynamic in place.
again, you didn't press on his privacy much, but everyday you two spent more time together you wished to know about anything from his personal life. youâve learned that his parents arenât quite in the picture, but you wanted to know more. so tonight, you finally asked.Â
"toge.." he hums quietly at your calling, tilting his head slightly. "why don't you tell me anything about yourself?"
his eyebrows pinch together as he drops his hands from your face, shaking his head slowly. he lifts his phone again and types, opting to text you as your own phone lights up.
'soon, i promise. :)'
you roll your eyes in annoyance and look away, as he looks at you sadly, apology in his eyes, muttering "god knows when" to yourself.
when, exactly, was june 18th.
the stanley cup had finally come, and you of course came to support megumi. cheering loudly, you adorn yourself in shades of light and dark blues, the colors of their hockey team: the ice wolves.
their opposing team was their all-time rival and tied for the best team in the nhl: the blazes.
the stadium was loud, screaming coming from both sides as players zipped around each other and striked the puck, attempting to score a goal for their team. it was the final three minutes of the game and it was a tie- 3 for 3.
it happened fast and was hard to make out exactly what happened, but it was hard to miss once it did. the central attacker for the blazes, yuuta okkotsu, skated extremely close to inumaki, attempting to gain control of the puck multiple times. eventually, he shoved inumaki lightly, and his reaction was explosive.
inumaki quickly ripped off his gloves and threw them, landing somewhere on the ice. yuuta was quickly slammed into the glass railing and inumaki's fist met his face multiple times before yuuta fought back, grabbing his jersey and pushing him away. megumi intervened by shoving yuuta out of the way and screaming something you couldn't hear. though, as inumaki fell, his helmet loosened and eventually came off as he hit the ice.
cameras flashed at the speed of light before you could even react or fully see his face, quickly putting his helmet back on and skating off the ice as he was in penalty for the rest of the game.
you didn't check your phone much after the game, heading straight to the beach and spending almost all night there, but toge never showed. you eventually left and used your phone for entertainment, one news article catching your eye.
BREAKING NHL: MYSTERY PLAYER INUMAKI, OR "THE SNAKE" 'S IDENTITY HAS BEEN REVEALED
you click on the article, curious as you never got to get a good look at who he was at the game before he out his helmet back on. it took a second to load, but once it did-
toge.
you quickly text him, no doubt blowing up his phone with messages.
toge????
read 11:17 PM
this is why you've been hiding what you do??
read 11:30 PM
can you call me please
read 11:38 PM
this continued for weeks.
you failed to hear from or see toge at all, and he hadn't been spotted by any press either. you even resorted to texting megumi, begging to know where he was.
"i'm sorry, y/n, i seriously don't know" megumi sighed, "if i did i would tell you."
you turn around, walking out of the hockey arena exasperated. you were once again checking for him at the team's practices, and had even been asking megumi if he was showing up to them (he wasn't) or if he had seen him (he hadn't). not only were you worried sick about not seeing him at all, he was missing practice and faced the risk of getting suspended or removed from the team.
you walk to your car as quickly as possible, bumping into someone on your way out the door. you look up to say a quick sorry and flash a smile, when you see him.
"toge," you sigh, anxiety creeping in your voice. "where have you been?"
toge's eyes widen when he sees you, quickly grabbing your hand and delicately leading you to the first room he sees, a meeting room for the executives of the team. you were angry, furious, at him, shoving him away from you and tears quickly brimming in your eyes. you were hurt, and rightfully so. he quickly closes the blinds to the room and looks around frantically, spotting a whiteboard on the wall and quickly writing.
'im sorry im so so so sorry. let me explain- hold'
you turned away, reaching for the door handle, until he gently grabbed your arm and pointed you to the whiteboard, everything written.
âim sorry y/n, i fucked up, i just genuinely freaked out and ghosted everyone. you have this fucked up effect on me and i canât get you out of my damn head. i was being selfish and i am selfish because i love you and i know you deserve better but i donât care. i love youâ
you violently shake your head, tears falling from your eyes. âdeserve better than me? what the hell are you talking about toge? all iâve ever wanted is you, togeâ your voice trembling and shaky. you couldnât continue, burying your face in your hands.
he quickly embraces you fully, rubbing your back comfortingly and kissing the top of your head. he whispers so quietly, even youâre barely able to hear it. âim sorry.â
you hated him for what he did, and still all you wanted was for him to hold you. you didn't know what to do, so you did what became tradition for the two of you. you lean up to him, softly placing your hand on the side of his face and stroking your thumb against his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut as you both lean into each other.
the kiss starts slow, an apology. his hands hold your head and rub your back, begging you to forgive him through his movements. and you do, as your lips move more feverishly and your tongues begin clashing together, toge pushing you against the meeting table.
his lips move down to your neck, slowly taking off your tank top from that day. suddenly, you push yourself away from him and gasp, "toge- the door-" which he kisses you quickly again in response, quickly locking the door and moving back to you.
you become more intense than before, promptly undressing each other. once you are fully undressed, toge pulls away from you and takes you in, all of you. his eyes shift from longing to pure hunger, moving toward you again and moving lower, eventually moving to kissing and sucking the side of your breast. you moan quietly and tug his hair, when you feel a sharp sensation where his lips once were.
looking down, you quickly realized that he bit you, and you instantly become as ravenous as he was. you pull him toward you again, whispering, "please, toge. i need you."
he gives you a smirk before kissing your breast once more, then up your body until he reaches your lips, pushing into you slowly. you moan and wince slightly, he was bigger than anybody you had been with before. he notices your soft sound and gently caresses your face, looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes. he kisses your forehead carefully, waiting until you give him the go-ahead to start moving.
and once you do, you almost regret it. that feeling is quickly replaced with pleasure, though, as he pushes in and out of you desperately. another thing you've come to learn about toge, he sure can grunt despite his throat condition. you can barely hear the sounds he's making, though, over your whines and gasps. he continues to kiss you when hes pounding into you, sucking gently on your neck before biting once again, swiping his tongue over what would surely become visible marks in the following hours.
and every time he delivered a particularly sharp thrust or nipped into your skin, you responded by tugging his hair, eliciting soft whines from his lips and stuttered movements. once his movements became completely wild and based on instinct, you knew he was getting close, and so were you.
you pulled him closer than he was before, impossibly so. he pulls away to look at you, conflicted. you nod at him, "i'm on the pill, toge."
that was all the confirmation he needed before he thrusted into you for the final times, pushing completely inside of you and releasing. he moans at the feeling of you pulsing around him before slowly pulling out and pecking your lips repeatedly, mouthing i love you.
you pull him into a final kiss before getting dressed again, about to walk out to your car. he pulls you into him again, looking confused and pulling out his phone.
'where are you going?'
"what do you mean? i was gonna go home, we're friends again."
a flash of hurt strikes his features as he looks at you sadly, typing fast.
'friends? you're fucking kidding me. y/n, we just had sex.'
"yeah, well, you've kissed me before too and expected nothing out of it, so i didn't think this was different. i didn't think you actually felt the same."
he laughs at you, shaking his head and scoffing.
'y/n, we've never just been friends and i think we both know that. have i not been clear enough? maybe i should be more obvious about it.'
he pulls you in again, kissing you deeply and picking you up, throwing you onto his shoulder. you laugh and slap his back, telling him to put you down. he doesn't though, and carries you into the players lot where his white mustang was parked. he put you down in his passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt for you and kissing your cheek again before getting into the car and driving into the city.
even after months of being together, it still takes getting used to that the two of you are actually together.
the infamous toge inumaki, or 'the fangs' had to adjust to actually being in the spotlight with his identity being revealed. he was mainly concerned for you, as you had to deal with cameras following you around as well, interrupting quality time together. however, it wouldn't stop for a while as toge was never seen smiling, let alone in public, unless you were there. he was still largely feared by the public for his behavior on the ice, even with the increased publicity of him and you together in public.
you couldn't care less, though. all you cared about was the fact that you were finally with toge. he loved your smile, and you loved how he talked late at night, nobody being able to come in between the two of you. you both never let the phone ring, and everything small about the two of you made you love him even more. he was good to you, and you wanted him more than anything in between.
thank you so much for reading!! i plan on making more parts to this, message me if you want to be on my taglist!
boyfriend!megumi, always there by your side when your in pain, even if he was busy.
boyfriend!megumi, he will ask you to make him some food when heâs sick; but when you say youâre gonna make him âsoupâ he whines and crys like a baby, not wanting that.
boyfriend!megumi, all chill and nonchalant around his friends, but you? he will be clingy, lovey dovey, and very needy
boyfriend!megumi, knows everything about you, especially little things, like for instance youâre favorite animal; he remembers that just to buy you plushies of that animal.
boyfriend!megumi, when you both had an argument he would leave your house, and after that he would keep checking his messages just to see if you had said anything; but of course you didnâtâsince it was just an argument between you two.
boyfriend!megumi, heâs not the type to post you on socials, since he doesnât even post himself, but that didnât mean he didnât have an whole highlight for your silly little things you did with him
boyfriend! megumi, always taking you out to the movies, since that was something you lived to do for date nights.
boyfriend!megumi, he wants you to baby the heck out of every morning when he comes over for breakfast, and to cuddle!
boyfriend!megumi, when you say âi love youâ he would always get flustered, saying it back in a whisper, itâs not that he didnât like it; because he did, megumi just never knew how to act towards that.
summary âžș you have always existed in gojo satoruâs shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?
warnings âžș college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied
playlist âžș quantum rizzics
a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')
if u donât wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, itâs not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.
kinktober masterlist | general masterlist
fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.
of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didnât really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, theyâd go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.Â
matter of fact, your manager didnât really give a fuck what you did as long as you didnât get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shiftsânot that youâre complaining or anything.
that is, until gojo satoru.
first, letâs get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-yearâsame as youâwho is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a âwork hard, party hardâ type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because heâs a prodigy. heâs charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.Â
take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.
the air in professor yagaâs office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. youâve been waiting all week for this chance, and youâre armed with a question thatâs supposed to signal iâve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, âi read in your last paper that youâre working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?â
professor yagaâs brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. âah,â he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, âyouâve actually read it. thatâs... a complicated question.â he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be itâthe moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.
but then, the door creaks open behind you.
you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, itâs gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and heâs flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.
professor yagaâs face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, âgojo. nice of you to join us.â
âhey, i was just passing by,â gojo says casually, though heâs clearly anything but. he doesnât pass by anywhere without making an entrance. âthought iâd check in on how everyoneâs doing.â
the glint in yagaâs eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. âwhenâs that last problem set coming in, satoru? iâve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.â
at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. âdonât push him too hard, yaga,â he says as if gojoâs delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. âkidâs already got the departmentâs highest scores without trying.â
oh, for godâs fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow youâre rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, heâs utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults heâs throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so youâre equals.
youâre not even sure gojo realizes heâs doing itâthat he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but thatâs exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like heâs some cosmic force everyoneâs compelled to admire. and you? youâre just⊠there. not that itâs any different than the usual experiences youâve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.
and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. heâs probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.
he flashes a grin at professor yaga. âiâll get it in,â he says, waving a hand dismissively. âiâm just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have⊠extracurriculars.â he doesnât wink, but he might as well.
you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. itâs not like youâre jealous. youâd rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention youâd managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybeâjust maybeâyouâd have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.
you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but youâre too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.
which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.
and right beneath it, thereâs a familiar head of silver hair.
your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; itâs the same ones youâve dreamed about throttling. but youâre so confused as to why heâs there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.
âdoesnât this store open up at 5?â his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.Â
âuh, yea,â you answer tentatively, shrugging. âbut, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.â
his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, âdonât you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that youâre not showing up on time.â
you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy youâve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, youâre at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short âsorryâ before youâre walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.Â
gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. itâs a heavy old thing, and gojoâs biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.
 but you donât do that, because laughing at someone whoâs a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until youâre interrupted with a cough.
you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, âjust a second!â before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.Â
and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.
ââŠwhat can i get you?âÂ
at that, he pouts. âno good morning? no chirpy hello?â
you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?
âwhat?â gojo frowns. âshouldnât you do that to every customer?â you realize belatedly youâve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.Â
the silence lingers after gojoâs teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: youâre standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man youâve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate thisâheâs getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that heâs so human.
you donât trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, âmorning,â without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like itâs your lifeline.
gojoâs eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.
gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.
âsee? was that so hard?â he says, leaning forward on his elbows like heâs settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone whoâs never exchanged more than a glance with you in classâsomeone youâve been actively avoiding whenever possible.
you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. âwhat would you like?â
âhmm...â he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. heâs enjoying this, that much is obvious. âsurprise me.â
you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. âsurprise you?â
âyeah,â he says, shrugging like itâs no big deal. âyou work here. you know whatâs good.â
you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. thereâs no way this is realâno way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like heâs some quirky regular.
and yet, here you are.
âfine,â you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back roomâyouâre not going easy on him. âthatâll be eight dollars.â
he doesnât blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesnât.
pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. âthanks, iâm sure itâll be great.â
you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. âuh-huh.â
as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. youâve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that heâs here, right in front of you, you donât know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that youâve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. heâs back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that heâs on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. heâs locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.
after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. âhere,â you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.
gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. âwow,â he says, sounding genuinely impressed. âyou really went all out.â
âyou said to surprise you.â
âi did,â he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think youâve won.
but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you havenât.Â
âso,â gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like heâs settling in for a long conversation. âwhatâs a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?â
your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?
you canât tell if heâs being sincere or mocking youâprobably the latter, considering who he isâbut the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.
you scoff, trying to brush it off. âgotta pay the bills somehow,â you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojoâs gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell heâs not letting it go.
you glance up at him. âlook, i like having time to think in the mornings. itâs quiet. besides, no oneâs lining up for coffee before 7, so itâs not like iâm missing anything.â
gojo chuckles softly, but thereâs something off about it. âthinking time, huh?â he repeats your words, but thereâs a strange edge to them, like heâs mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that heâs been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.
âdoesnât it ever feel likeâŠâ he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. âi donât know⊠like you should be doing something else? like⊠something more?â
his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling heâs not talking about you. thereâs something in his voice, something that sounds like heâs grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.
for a moment, youâre tempted to brush him off. to tell him heâs overthinking things, that heâs gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe itâs the way he looksâhis usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.
you shrug, turning back to the counter. âi mean⊠it doesnât have to be âmoreâ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.â
thereâs a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. heâs just⊠staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like heâs trying to figure you out.
âjust⊠showing up, huh?â he repeats softly, almost like heâs testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like heâs somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.
you donât say anything else. youâve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. thereâs a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.
gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but itâs softer now. less cocky. more real.
âmaybe youâre right,â he says, and this time thereâs no teasing in his voice. âsometimes itâs enough just to show up.â
and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.
somethingâs shifted. you donât know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.
you shake your head, turning back to the counter. itâs too early for this shit.
âŠ
âyou know, i didnât get your name.â
gojoâs voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. heâs here again, of course, only this time itâs during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.
you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. âiâm pretty sure weâve shared at least one class every semester.â
you werenât trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldnât be bothered to remember youâa recurring face in his orbit. itâs not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.
gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your nameâonly to come up empty. âare you a grad student?â
you flash him an exasperated look. âjust for that, iâm not telling you.â
grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.
it isnât until you turn around that you realize heâs standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.Â
he wasnât ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.
"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. âthere it is. y/n, huh?â the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy youâve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.Â
âreally? you had to get that close just to read my name?â
gojo doesnât seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. âhey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?â his grin widens, and you swear heâs enjoying this way too much.
âthorough. sure.â you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been⊠unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.
when youâre done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so youâre facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. âyouâre not going to ask me for my name?â
âi know it. itâs gojo.â you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.
fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. âhow do you know my name?â
âi saw it on your credit card information.â you couldnât exactly tell him how youâve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.Â
but gojo, of course, doesnât let up. âso, y/n,â he starts. âyou going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?â
ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the weekâs end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. âi donât think so.â that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.
âwhat?â he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. âwhy?â
you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. âiâm buââ
youâre interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customerâs order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that youâre not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.
you both see a man swagger in, the same guy youâve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.
âhey, look whoâs still here,â the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. âmy favorite barista.â
you tense, forcing a smile. âwhat can i get you?â
he doesnât answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. âi was thinkingâŠâ he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, âyou and i should hang out. youâre always here, and iâm always here, so itâs like fate or something, right?â
your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. âiâm good, thanks.â
but he doesnât let up, leaning further across the counter. âcome on, donât be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.â
âi really canâtââ
âdonât be shy,â he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. âiâm a nice guy, i promise.â
before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the manâs view of you.
âshe said no,â gojo says, his voice firm, low. âso why donât you fuck off?â
the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like heâs considering pushing back. but one glance at gojoâs unwavering stare, and the guy decides itâs not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.
you let out a breath you hadnât realized you were holding. the guyâs been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that heâs still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guyâs harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojoâs protection.
gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. âyou okay?â
âyeah,â you manage, though your voice is quieter than youâd like. âthanks for that.â
âdonât mention it.â he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but thereâs something different in the way heâs looking at you nowâsomething protective. âi know youâre perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured iâd speed things up a bit.â
you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. âyouâre such a hero, gojo.â
âalways,â he replies with a wink. and just like that, the momentâs lightened again, the balance between you restored, though thereâs a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of youâan understanding, maybe.
you donât acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in⊠well, ever, you donât completely mind his presence.
âŠ
fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, youâre alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. itâs quietâtoo quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself youâre just tired and letting your nerves get to you.
as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the streetâs nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. itâs fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alleyâ
âhey there,â a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.
you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. âaw, donât be like that. i just wanted some company.â
your throatâs dry, but you manage, âi said no.â
he doesnât even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. âno need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.â
your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your earsâ
and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. âyâknow, i always thought this cityâs trash problem was bad, but this is something else.â
your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as youâand this creepâturn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.Â
âwhoâs there?â the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. âwhy donât you get lost if you know whatâs good for youââ
âdude, donât you have any rizz?â the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. âthe way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, youâre so gonna tell me to scram or something.â
the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. âwhy donât you mind your own business, punkââ
and heâs interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but thereâs nothingâjust shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.
âwho the hell are you?â he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoeverâs hiding out there into the open. âshow yourself, you bastard!â
a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. âwow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. theyâre, uhâŠa bit unbecoming.â
the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.
âyou think this is funny?â he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.
âdepends. do you?â the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no oneâs there. âor is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sumâ.â
the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. âget down here and say that to my face, punk!â
âas you wish.â
with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.Â
youâve seen him before.
okay, pause.
youâre a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you donât check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.
so you did read somewhere that in your universityâs city of new york city, there was a masked menanâvigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some nameâspiderman.
but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.
alright, pause over. back to now.
âhi!â spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. âsee, this is why iâm the one with the web powers. youâd hurt yourself with these moves.â
without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. âoof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?â he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.
the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.
âoh, so weâre improvising now?â spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.
the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but heâs stuck fast.
âever heard of boundaries?â spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. âor, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.â
the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. âyou think youâre some kinda hero?â he sneers.
spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. ânah, heroâs a big word. iâm just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.â
with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spidermanâs side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. âokay, buddy, playtimeâs over.â
before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the manâs head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.
spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. âyou know, iâve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but thatâs next-level dedication.â thatâs when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you canât help your excitement when you realize that heâs here in the flesh.
ânice hit, by the waââ
âitâs you!â you exclaim.Â
âwhat?â he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. âme? oh,â then he straightens up, âyea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. â he shrugs.
you continue, excitedly, âright, youâre the one on the newsââ you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the manâs grip catching up to you.Â
he doesnât miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. âhey, weâll have to get you home. do you trust me?â
you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. heâs saved you, heâs probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, youâre looking at him with heart eyes. but you canât exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a ây-yeah. my dormâs randall.â
he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. âhold on tight, randallâs just a swing away,â he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.
before you can even process whatâs happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like youâre something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didnât just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.
âthis is your stop,â he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.
âuh⊠yeah. thanks. for the rescue,â you manage, your voice a little shakier than youâd like. you donât know if âthank youâ is enoughâit doesnât even come close to covering what you feel.
but he just shrugs, taking a step back. âall in a dayâs work,â he says. âor nightâs work, i guess.â he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. âget some sleep, yeah?â
and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as heâd appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.
back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonightâs events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thingâif maybe youâre just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.
but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.
just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. âthe cityâs vigilante, huh?â you murmur, as if heâs somehow still listening.
the thought is wild, a bit surrealâand strangely comforting.
âŠ
âone caffe americano!â you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mindâa web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your armâand you shake it off. thereâs no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.
when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.
âhey, finally off the clock?â she asks, raising an eyebrow.
âyeah, barely,â you reply, rolling your eyes. âiâm still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?â
âof course. nanamiâs already inside,â she says, gesturing toward the building.
you sigh. âyou wonât believe the things that happened last night.â
she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. âwhat happened?â
you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you shouldâve told her earlier, kento wouldâve been able to beat his ass if she hadnât gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. âi would give him what heâs missing,â you sigh, dreamily.Â
utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. âand thatâs all you got from this? for fucks sake, heâs a vigilante, you donât know if heâs started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.â as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. âand no, i donât give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenciââ
âweâll revisit this conversation later.â you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated âyea, cause iâm gonna kill you otherwise.â the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.
inside, you quickly spot kentoâs shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadnât realized you were carrying.
âlong night?â he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.
âyou could say that,â you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. âjust work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.â
nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. âwhat?â
his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as sheâs settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. âitâs a long story, iâll tell it to you later.â
he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru getoâs is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you donât register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.Â
heâs about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because heâs usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you donât think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.Â
but today, he looks differentâmessy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.
your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. itâs so out of character for him that you canât help but wonder whatâs going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanamiâs usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yagaâs opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyoneâs gazeâor so you think, until you feel it.
as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you canât shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself itâs probably nothing⊠except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.
âokay, now that weâre all here,â yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojoâs direction, âletâs begin with todayâs lecture on groverâs.â
professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. âgroverâs algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isnât considered an exponential improvement?â
you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, whoâs leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yagaâs attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how groverâs algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.
determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. âwhatâs with him today?â
nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. âmaybe he finally realized that he canât get by without skipping class today.â
utahime snickers quietly. âdoubtful. more like he thinks itâs funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.â
âexactly.â you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojoâs rare absences donât even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, heâs always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, somethingâs⊠different about him. like heâs made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.
âmoving on,â yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. âthe heart of groverâs algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attentionâthis concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.â
as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in groverâs search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojoâs gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, thereâs nothing thereâjust him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever heâs staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.
whatâs his problem? you give him a questioning look, but heâs adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as heâs pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yagaâs yapping about, but the way heâs using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that heâs probably on papaâs freezeria instead.
you decide that youâre going to waste your time wondering how gojoâs brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didnât understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.Â
ânow,â yagaâs voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, âthese iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attentionâespecially those of you who have a habit of being late.â his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.
gojo doesnât even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like heâs about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the roomâhalf the students are waiting to see if heâll fumble, and the other half already know better.
âprofessor yaga,â he drawls, âdonât you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way itâs typically presented, youâd think groverâs algorithm was just⊠guessing with style.â he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. âbut we both know itâs more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isnât just luck. or maybe thatâs all too technical?â he leans back, feigning innocence.
the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.
âactually, gojo,â you interject, your voice louder than you intended, âcalling it âguessing with styleâ is a very gross oversimplification. groverâs algorithm isnât about intuition or luck. itâs about optimization. itâs not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, itâs more like rotating the probability in a controlled mannerâwith iterationsâto amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.â you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. âitâs not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.â
as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojoâs eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like âyea, thatâs basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove weâre not just wasting our timeâ but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.Â
ânow,â yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasnât paid enough to deal with this shit), âthese iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attentionâespecially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.â
youâre just left confused as to why the conversation didnât escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because youâve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didnât know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you canât help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.
âŠ
âi canât believe youâre making me go.â you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.
utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfitâcomplete with horns perched precariously on her headâlooks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.
âstop pouting,â she chides. âiâm not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. iâm pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in yourââ
âutahime,â you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.
âpussy,â she finishes, completely unbothered. âiâm going to find you a guy to hook up with. iâm not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.â
your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. âdonât even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you donât at least try to enjoy this, iâll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.â
âi canât believe this,â you mutter, crossing your arms. âyouâre supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.â
âoh, iâm your friend. thatâs why iâm doing this. youâll thank me when youâre sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.â
âiâm not boring,â you counter. âiâm selective.â
âsure,â utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. âand whatever weird sexual tension youâve got going on with gojo doesnât count.â
you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. âwhat tension? weâve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.â
she doesnât respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. itâs already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.
you follow utahimeâs gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.
âlooks crowded,â you mumble. âmaybe we shouldââ
before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. ânope. youâre coming in. no backing out now.â
the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahimeâs grasp.
âgod, it smells like a gym locker in here,â you say, covering your nose.
utahime doesnât seem fazed. sheâs already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. âthis is perfect!â she says, beaming.
âfor what? contracting a fungal infection?â you mutter.
but sheâs no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. âhey,â he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know sheâs going to eat it up. she likes it when theyâre a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.Â
âhey,â and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, âwhatâs up?â
 they exchange a few words, and before you know it, sheâs smiling in that way that tells you sheâs found her entertainment for the night.
âgo ahead,â you say dryly, waving her off. âiâll just fend for myself.â
utahime starts to protest, but youâre already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink thatâs not too crazy to survive the night. itâs surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simpleâlike water. a series of ding! ding! ding!âs go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.Â
standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but itâs just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.
âlet me get that for you.â
you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.
gojo.
heâs standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but thereâs something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear youâre so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the nightâa shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldnât be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahimeâs, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.Â
âwell, well,â he drawls, handing you the water bottle. ânever thought iâd see you here.â
you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. âdidnât have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.â
his grin widens. âclassic. let me guessâsheâs off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?â
âsomething like that,â you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping heâll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.
âso,â he says, tilting his head, âi heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.â
that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. youâve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so youâre confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you canât help but smile softly to yourself. âit was amazing. heâsâheâs incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. heâs like a real-life superhero.â
youâre basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. heâs looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, âsounds like youâre smitten.â
âmaybe i am,â you admit, laughing. âi mean, who wouldnât be? heâs brave, heâs kind, and he doesnât even stick around for the credit. itâs like heâs this selfless, untouchable figure.â you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.Â
âuntouchable, huh?â gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry andâŠjealous? âsounds like someoneâs got a crush.â
you roll your eyes, but itâs half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way youâre heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. âdonât be ridiculous.â
âiâm just saying,â he continues, leaning closer, âif thatâs your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.â
you raise an eyebrow. âand what, youâre not?â
he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. âiâm better. iâm real.â he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. âi can prove that to you.â
and you hate your body for being soâŠreactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. âgod, youâre insufferable.â
âreally?â he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if heâs waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that heâs treading very close to your panties, since your skirtâs really short.
"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.Â
it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."
maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"
he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. âi donât know, someone whoâs as smart as you,â he murmurs.
âyea?â you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. âand how would you know how smart i am?â
satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. âbecause iââ
but heâs interrupted, because you both hear a âsatoruâ and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojoâs best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. itâs not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, âthereâs a burglary happening nearby.â then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. âmake sure to stay safe.â
he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?
you try to seek the answer in gojoâs face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because heâs raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a âuhââ he says âi have to go.â
âoh.â you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that youâre not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojoâs last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.
taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state youâre left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more stickyâyou reach under your skirt to adjust them so they donât stick to your crotch so muchâand youâre hot all over.Â
then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?
you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy whoâs now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.Â
âsorry,â you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.
âŠ
the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoruâs apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeoutâboxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticksâlittered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadnât thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasnât focused on the ball but on you.
it was starting to feel like an obsession. heâd always been able to compartmentalize thingsâhis studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? youâd broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.
âdo you think she likes me?â he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. âwho, starbucks girl?â
satoru scoffed. âsheâs not starbucks girl. sheâsâŠâ he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.
suguru smirked. âoh, sheâs got a name now? progress.â
âshut up.â
but he couldnât shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasnât just that heâd noticed you nowâreally noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.
satoru had always known who you were. you werenât exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didnât shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didnât bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.
âfrigid,â they called you. âtoo serious. probably thinks sheâs better than us.â
they werenât entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your workâpapers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesnât even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.
and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.
that day at starbucks, though.
satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadnât expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. heâd been desperate for answers thenâhe had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after heâd been horribly sick. he knew he shouldnât have gone fooling around in new yorkâs subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.Â
and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.
youâd handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something outâsomething ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and youâd said something.
what was it again?
âit doesnât have to be âmoreâ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.â
the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didnât know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, heâd started noticing you in ways he hadnât before.
the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasnât an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smileârare, fleeting, but utterly disarmingâthat occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.
âyouâre doing that thing again,â suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
âwhat thing?â satoru asked, sitting up straighter.
âbrooding. youâre thinking about her, arenât you?â
âno.â
suguru arched an eyebrow. âyouâre a terrible liar.â
satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. âfine. maybe i am. but itâs complicated.â
âhow is it complicated?â
âshe doesnât like me,â satoru said, shrugging. âat least, not as me. she likes spider-man.â
suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. âyouâre being stupid bro.â
âiâm not being stupid,â satoru argued. âshe thinks spider-manâs this amazing, selfless hero. she doesnât know iâm just some guy who canât even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.â
suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. âso let me get this straight. youâre worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like itâs some kind of split personality thing?â
âwell, when you put it like thatââ
âit sounds dumb,â suguru finished. âbecause it is dumb.â
satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voiceâcalm, steady, and unexpectedly warmâechoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didnât even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasnât supposed to be so drawn to you, wasnât supposed to imagine what itâd feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.
âlook,â suguru continued, âif you like her, shoot your shot. youâre already overthinking this, and you havenât even done anything yet. whatâs the worst that could happen? she says no?â
âor she laughs in my face,â satoru muttered.
âwhich would be deserved, honestly,â suguru said, smirking. âbut seriously, youâve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.â
satoru didnât respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasnât so sure.
because it wasnât just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to youâif his double life brought danger to your doorstepâhe wasnât sure heâd ever forgive himself.
but then there was suguruâs voice in his head, steady and persistent: youâve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.
âŠ
amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory buildingâs roof.Â
you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.
setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.
ârough night?â
you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you canât find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.Â
âyou scared the hell out of me,â you sighed, clutching your chest.
âsorry,â he said, though his tone didnât sound all that apologetic. âdidnât mean to interrupt.â
âthen maybe donât sneak up on people like that,â you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.
he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than youâd expected. ânoted. so, whatâs got you out here at three in the morning? donât tell me youâre pulling an all-nighter.â
you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. âitâs not an all-nighter if the night isnât over yet.â then, you squint at a random spot, pretending itâs him. âbesides, why are you here? shouldnât you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?â
âdone and done,â he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. ânow iâm just enjoying the view.â
you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. âso, whatâs a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?â
âcould ask you the same thing,â he countered.
you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. âjustâŠneeded a break.â
âfrom?â
âeverything,â you said, exhaling slowly. âclasses. expectations. people.â you paused, then added with a faint smile, ânot you, though. youâre an exception.â
âoh?â his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. âshould i feel honored?â
âmaybe,â you said. âitâs not every day you get to meet a real hero.â then, âokay, but why do you always hide in the dark?â
his voice is smug, meant to be playful. âit adds to the mystique?â
you pout. âwhat if i call the police?â
âitâs not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses arenât enough to keep up with me.â
you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. âis success getting to you?â
âwhat success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.â
âreally?â you teased. âthatâs not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.â
then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. âare you one of those girls?â
you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you canât exactly tell him that, yes youâre absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.
âyou should do that more,â he said.
âwhat?â you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.Â
âlaugh.â
the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. âand you should stop being such a flirt,â you said, though there was no bite in your voice.
âcanât help it,â he said, leaning closer. âitâs kind of my thing.â
âis that right?â
âmm-hmm.â he paused, then added, âyou know, thereâs something iâve been meaning to ask you.â
âwhat?â you asked, arching an eyebrow.
âtake my mask off.â
the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his faceâor at least what you could see of itâfor any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.
your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. âare you sure?â the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.
ânever been more sure of anything,â he murmured, voice low and steady.
you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.
with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into viewâa shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.
âgojo?â
the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.
he grinnedâthat grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. âhey.â
âhey?â your voice cracked as you took a step back. âthatâs all you have to say? hey?â
âwould you prefer, âsurpriseâ?â he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.
you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldnât contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. âsurprised? youâve been⊠youâve been spider-man this whole time?â the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didnât belong in the same sentence as gojo satoruâthe one youâd argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the cityâs most infamous masked hero.
gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had wonâwhen he thought he had it all figured out. âi know. itâs a lot to take in.â
you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knewâthe guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comebackâand the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.
you didnât know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.Â
you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. âyou... you saved me, gojo. youâve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.â
âguess iâm just that good at keeping secrets,â he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldnât quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of somethingâmaybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.
the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didnât know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. âthis is insane.â
he didnât seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. âyeah. but youâre handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.â
the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didnât make perfect sense yet.
and yet, something about his presenceâhis undeniable realnessâfelt oddly grounding. he wasnât the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.
something in gojoâs facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, âdo you trust me?â
âyes.â you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. âwhy?â
âiâm taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.â
you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. âi donât think this is a good ideaââ
âyou trust me, donât you?â
and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.
âfine,â you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.Â
he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. âanywhere you wanna go?â
you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where youâd like to visit thatâs open at this ungodly hour. âdo you know that one shawarma jointâ-â
before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free handâthat is, the one thatâs not clinging onto your firmlyâto shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then youâre off the ground, soaring through the air.
you let out a scream of terror against gojoâs chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, âare you having fun?âÂ
âgojo,â you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.Â
when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathlessânot just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.
âyou good?â he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, mustâve been messed up from the wind passing through it.
âi hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, iâm good,â you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.
when youâre done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. âready to get some shawarma?â
âŠ
the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.
âokay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,â gojo walks alongside you. heâs thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.
ânothing tastes better than something youâre eating when youâre supposed to be studying, instead,â you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that youâre still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?
you roll your eyes, but deep inside, youâre really biting back a grin. ârelax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.â
gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. âyouâre still thinking about that, huh? admit itâyou loved it.â
you raised an eyebrow. âi screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?â
he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. âi dunno. thereâs a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto meâŠâ
âyouâre insufferable,â you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.
âand yet, youâre still here.â
his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.
âguess iâm curious,â you admitted.
âcurious, huh?â he said, taking a step closer. âcareful. curiosity killed the cat.â
without thinking, you blurted, âat least iâve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?â the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.
but then gojo laughedânot the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look youâd expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.
the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.
gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. âyou know,â he murmured, his voice low, âiâve been wanting to do this for a while now.â
your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. âdo what?â
âthis.â
before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.
when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. âso, was that better or worse than shawarma?â
you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you donât have to make eye contact. âi hate you,â you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.
gojo doesnât let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
âoh my god,â he says, a grin spreading across his face. âare you embarrassed? youâre so cute.â
when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that heâs nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, âgojo?âÂ
somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. âiâm here!â you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. itâs coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.
âseriously?â you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.
gojoâs perched on the side of the wall like itâs the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. âyouâre slow,â he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.
âwhat are you doing?â you ask, crossing your arms.
he gestures toward himself. âyou came looking for me, didnât you?â
you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. âwhat, did you think iâd just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?â
âwell,â he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, âyou couldâve left, but i had a feeling you wouldnât.â
before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.
âso,â he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, âare we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?â
your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them togetherâthis time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.
and just like that, you start to fall intoâŠsomething with not only the vigilante thatâs swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.
âŠ
when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesnât expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.
itâs undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. youâre not exactly a hook-up to each otherâyou two havenât had sexâbut youâre not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and itâs not something casual, either. he doesnât reveal that heâs spiderman just to get into girlsâ pants.Â
youâve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. itâs been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. youâve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.Â
heâs even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesnât have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.Â
youâre both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.Â
but right now, heâs perched outside your window like a creep. youâre sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but youâre so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldnât be doing this, but he canât stop.
satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and thereâs no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.
you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. âyou know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,â you say.
âi like to keep things interesting,â he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.
he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. âwhatâs got you looking so miserable?â
âphys401,â you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. âthis problem set is impossible.â
satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. âlet me see.â
acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. âhere,â he says after a moment, âyouâre overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since theyâre orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.â
you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. âhow are you so good at this?âÂ
âphysics prodigy, remember?â he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.
âthanks for the help,â you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. heâs kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.Â
his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. âanytime.â he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. âyou know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, youâre not half bad at it,â he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him. Â
you roll your eyes, shifting so youâre cross-legged on the bed, facing him. ânot all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.â Â
he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. âhard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.â Â
you snort and joke, âif charm was all it took, iâd have aced the midterm.â Â
thereâs a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. heâs corrected a mistake you hadnât even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. âhow do you do that?â you ask, more to yourself than him. Â
âdo what?â Â
âmake it look so⊠easy,â you say, frowning slightly. âeverything. physics, life, swinging through the city.â Â
satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. âtrust me, itâs not as easy as it looks.â Â
you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. âwhat do you mean?â Â
he shrugs, but thereâs something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. âi mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.â he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. âguess iâm just good at pretending.â Â
you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. âyou donât have to pretend with me, you know,â you say softly. Â
his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the maskâthe real oneâdrops. âi know,â he says, just as softly. Â
the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. youâre hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours. Â
âthanks,â he says, his voice barely above a whisper. âfor letting me be here. forâŠâ he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up. Â
your breath catches. âsatoruâŠâ Â
âyeah?â he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now. Â
âiâŠâ you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say. Â
he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. âcan i?â he asks, his voice barely audible. Â
you nod, and then his lips are on yours. Â
the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesnât stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeksâmonths, maybeâfinally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake. Â
his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you. Â
thatâs when he freezes. Â
he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. âwe canât,â he says, his voice hoarse. Â
your heart drops into your chest.
âwhy not?â you ask, trying to catch your breath. Â
âbecause,â he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and heâs heaving. âbecause iâm spider-man, and youââ he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. âyou deserve better than this. better than me.â Â
you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. âthatâs not your call to make, satoru.â Â
âiâm trying to protect you!â he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.
you canât believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after youâve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflictedâwhatever you had, it didnât have a label. but that didnât mean that you didnât want that to be true. badly.
âand who asked you to?â you snap back. âiâm not some damsel in distress who needs saving.â Â
âi know that,â he says, his tone softening. âbut if something happened to you because of meâŠâ he shakes his head. âi couldnât live with that.â Â
the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. âso what? youâre just going to walk away? after everything?â Â
he stands, his expression pained. âiâm sorry,â he says, heading for the window. Â
âdonât you dare apologize,â you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. âif you leave, donât bother coming back.â Â
he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. âiâm sorry,â he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night. Â
the window clicks shut behind him, and youâre left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.Â
âŠ
the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. itâs a quiet shift, the kind youâd usually relishâexcept today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.
youâre stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahimeâs voice breaks through.
âalright, spill,â she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.
you glance at her, eyebrows raised. âspill what?â
utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. âoh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. whatâs going on?â
ânothing,â you lie, turning back to the steamer. âiâm fine.â
utahimeâs skeptical gaze bores into you. âyouâre a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.â
from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. âitâs boy trouble,â he says flatly, like heâs solving an equation.
your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. âexcuse me?â
âitâs obvious,â he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. âyouâre distracted, you look upsetâitâs boy trouble.â
utahime perks up, leaning closer. âwait, is he right? is this about a guy?â
you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. âcan you two not gang up on me right now?â
âso it is a guy,â utahime says, her tone turning smug.
âi didnât say that,â you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.
nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. âyou might as well just tell us. itâs not like weâre going to let it go.â
you sigh, running a hand through your hair. âfine. itâs⊠someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was tooâŠdangerous to keep going.â
utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. âdangerous? what does that even mean?â
âthatâs what iâd like to know,â you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. âhe acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like iâm some fragile thing that canât handle it.â
nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. âhe might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.â
utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. âwhatever his problem is, itâs not fair to you. if he canât get it together, thatâs on him, not you.â
you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. âi know that,â you say quietly. âit just⊠sucks.â
âof course it does,â utahime says, her voice soft but firm. âbut youâre not the problem here. donât let him make you think you are.â
nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. âand donât let him live rent-free in your head. if he canât see what heâs giving up, thatâs his loss.â
their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. âthanks, guys.â
âanytime,â utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.
âŠ
the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. itâs lateâso late itâs earlyâand for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you havenât been able to sleep all week. youâre also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.
then it comes again, a little louder this time.
you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.
satoru.
heâs crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like heâs barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, itâs tired and pleading.
you donât thinkâthereâs no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. âsatoru, oh my god,â you breathe, your voice shaking.
âhey,â he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. âsorry for the mess.â
âshut up,â you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. âwhat the hell happened?â
ânothing i couldnât handle,â he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. âyou should see the other guy.â
âyouâre bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didnât handle it.â you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.
âiâve had worse,â he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.
âstop talking,â you say, your voice trembling and cracking. âjustâjust stop.â
for once, you thank the gods that he listens.
you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. itâs not prettyâhis torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turnâbut you keep your focus.
when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.
âsorry,â you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you canât bear it anymore, going back to your work.
his fingers loosen but donât let go, his grip warm and grounding. âyouâre good at this,â he says softly, his voice rough.
âyeah, well,â you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. âyouâve given me plenty of practice.â
the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when youâre done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. âyouâre an idiot,â you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
he laughs, soft and hoarse. âyeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.â
you look up at him, and the weight of everythingâhis injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between youâcrashes over you. âyou canât keep doing this, satoru. you canât keep pushing me away just to show up like this.â
his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. âi know,â he says, his voice barely above a whisper. âi know, butâŠâ
âbut what?â you demand, your voice cracking. âyouâre spider-man? you think thatâs an excuse to keep shutting me out?â
âitâs not an excuse,â he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone elseâs, youâre not sure. âitâs a reason. i donât want you to get hurt because of me.â
âyou think iâm not already hurting?â you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. âyou think it doesnât kill me to see you like this and know i canât do anything to stop it?â
his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that heâs just twenty. a college student, not someone whoâs wanted by the cia or someone whoâs battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he canât even legally drink.Â
and your heart canât help but melt as he says, âi just⊠i donât want to lose you.â
âthen stop trying to,â you say, your voice softer now. âstop pretending like youâre protecting me by keeping me at armâs length. let me in, satoru.â
he stares at you, his breath hitching like heâs holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.
âiâm sorry,â he whispers, his voice breaking. âiâm so sorry.â
you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. âjust stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.â
he nods, his grip tightening like heâs afraid youâll slip away. âi promise,â he says, and for the first time, you believe him.
âŠ
a cramp gripping satoruâs entire leg is what wakes him up.Â
he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.
he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.Â
you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.
nestled right against his morning wood.
good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. heâs already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.
oh, say can you seeâ
to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.
âoh, fuck,â he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he canât even control his lust for you.
but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. youâre awake.Â
and because satoruâs selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.Â
âbaby,â he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. âis this okay?â
you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. âi thought it was a dream.â
he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush heâs getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. âno, this is very real.â
âhm,â and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, âit still feels like a dream. like youâre not real, right now.â
oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. âi know, baby. you feel like a dream.â his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.Â
you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.
âiâm going to make you feel good right now. tell me if itâs a fucking dream,â he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.Â
you gasp out a âsatoru,â wriggling in his grasp, and he canât take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.
satoru just tied you up using his webs.
you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. âsatoru, what theââ but youâre muffled, because heâs kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if heâs devouring you while making out with you.
âdo you know,â and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, âhow youâve teased me with these shorts?â his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, whoâs left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. âevery fucking time iâve sneaked up in to your room, itâs been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. itâs only fair you pay the price, right baby?â
itâs not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.
âoh, fuck youâre so pretty,â he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. âmy good girl.â
then, you feel pressure at your opening. âsatoââ you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.
and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. âoh, so thatâs the spot, huh?â he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, youâre only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.
âwhatââ you mumble mindlessly, until you see what heâs doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and heâs not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and youâre just staring in awe at its sheer length.
âwhatâre you looking at, baby?â he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. âwant it so bad, isnât that right?â
you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. âjust put it in, gojo.â
âoh,â and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. âitâs gojo, now is it?â
 âsatoru,â there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, âplease. i need it.â
a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. âanything for my woman in stem.â with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojoâs back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.Â
he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. âfuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.âÂ
you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. âsatoru, âm not gonna last long.â with the amount of foreplay heâs done alongside how sensitive you are, youâre steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoruâs now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.
wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.
âi love you,â he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. âi love you forever and will do so. so you canât break my heart,â and heâs desperately thrusting again, âand you canât leave me. please.â
at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. âtoru.â
he takes one look at your stateâface impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.
for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. âso, whatâs it like to fuck a superhero?â
you take one look at himâall smug and propped up on his elbowâand spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because youâre then wrenched back with a reminder that youâre still bound. âsatoru,â and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means heâs in trouble, âwhen are these going to dissolve?â
and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. âuhmâŠmaybe five hours?â
if it werenât for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldnât have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. âsatoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instantâ-â
âi donât know,â he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. âyou look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.â but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he wonât mess with you.
âi hate you,â you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.
 satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. âno, you donât.âÂ
you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. âclean me up. now.â
at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. âanything for you, maâam.â
at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never wouldâve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldnât trade it for the world.
when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. youâre a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesnât dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating youâve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.
satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavierâlike a tether pulling him between the life heâs chosen and the life he craves.
you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?
still, he knows he canât walk awayânot from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.
âiâll keep you safe,â he murmurs, barely audible. âno matter what.â
instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.
kinktober masterlist | general masterlist
a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up
